Tuesday, April 9: Puente la Reina to Estella (25.8 km; 16 miles)

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy… John Denver

Yes, a lot to be happy about today! Was it the weather, the beauty, the fact that we pilgrims are getting into the groove and figuring out how to appreciate all there is to savor to each day? Whatever it was, I sensed a slowing of the pace today. Less urgency for “getting there” and more relaxing at stops along the way. (Or was the pace due to aching knees and throbbing feet? No, why would that be?)

Gifts of the day

• The aforementioned sunshine that accompanied us; afternoon rains were possible, but we had to be content with some threatening clouds. Jackets and long underwear were removed as the day progressed and my sun hat was put to use for the first time
• The town of Puente la Reina. A medieval gem! I hadn’t seen enough of it yesterday to satisfy me, so I started my morning with a couple of kilometers up and down Calle Mayor and a few narrow surrounding streets. I passed gaggles of school kids on their way to the local colegio, stopped in the XIIth century “Church of the Crucifix” to say a few prayers, got a good view/photo of the arched bridge (the puente de la reina from which the town derives its name), and headed out of town with a smile on my face as I felt that sun on my shoulders.
• Views that continue to be stunning. It’s lovely to see villages off in the distance, often on hillsides, the churches’ bell towers beckoning from afar
• Spain in miniature as olive groves butt up against vineyards. The latter show no signs of spring yet, but the former have leafed out
• Trails with fewer rocky portions to navigate than on previous days
• The best “rest stop” ever! Ever! Ever! Ever! A young man from Pamplona by the name of Iván bought property along the trail in 2017 to try his hand at agriculture, olive trees in particular. “And this is what I ended up with,” he grinned as he nodded towards the area he has designed for pilgrims to rest and socialize and “experience Camino.” He calls his place Olive Gard-zen. I’m hoping you’ll Google it or look for his Facebook page. Not only does he set out a lot of food for pilgrims (I enjoyed fresh strawberries and pineapple, but there was also hot coffee, oranges, bananas, cookies, all available for “donation” or for the taking if a donation isn’t possible); he also has various seating areas up among the olives, including books for passing pilgrims to take (yes, I know, like we want more weight in our packs and actually have free space), a table where walkers can play chess with painted rocks as pawns, whimsical ribbons and other decorations hanging from the olive trees…. Delightful. I enjoyed an extended conversation with him. I asked him if he had met someone from Minnesota in the half hour or so before I showed up. He looked pensive. “Oh, if she has been through here,” I told him (in Spanish), “you would know it. She would have been very expressive and grateful.” And then there came Ginny who, unbeknownst to me, was behind me at that point. I left Iván in good company as I headed down the trail.
• Having long stretches of time alone on the trail, but meeting up with familiar faces from time to time and meeting some new pilgrims. Among the latter: a young man from Russia who had completed 45 km on each of the preceding days and who was so earnest as he conversed in English (and I was so humbled that he knew where many of our states were, while I couldn’t place the various places in Russia that he mentioned to me…); a sweet young man from Manhattan who is trying to figure out the next stage of his life; Carlos from Alabama, who shared the motives behind his pilgrim journey; a pair from Germany and the Netherlands dressed in attire from the 15th century (and at least one of them wondering why they came up with that idea; they’re going to be pretty hot come May, I’d reckon; they admitted to their fondness for reenactments and thus they already had the clothing); and many more. This is only day 5, and of course we aren’t all going at the exact same pace, but given the spacing of the towns, many of the same people are in the same towns as they make their way along. A community is forming.

Challenges of the day

• Removing long underwear and storing it away after the sun warmed things up
• Caring for feet
• Remembering names
• Remembering where we’ve put things
• Remembering where we’ve put things
• Remembering where we’ve put things
• Being tired (as in “sleepy”)
• Being tired (as in “physically”)
• Making the mistake of looking at a map to see our progress across Spain (should have waited at least two weeks, probably three, before doing that!)
• Finding time to connect with the “folks at home”
• Getting up into the top bunk in tonight’s hostel
• Getting down from that bunk (the rungs of the ladder are not round; the ladder is not steady; I am not young)

1st world problems, for sure! I’m going to do my best to solve one of them in a matter of minutes. Yes, the “tired-as-in-sleepy” one. Night all! (Thanks for reading this. Thanks for your comments. All are read and appreciated. It’s not likely I’ll find time to respond personally.

I’ll post a photo or two below if my connection is good enough. Check Instagram or Facebook for additional ones.

There were three chairs like this one in a little plaza in front of a very old church. Take a close look in front of the chair. Yes, pedals!

15th century pilgrims

A happy poppy

Day 4 (April 8): Pamplona to Puente la Reina (29.5 km; 18.3 miles)

Morning

Hey, it wasn’t the sleep I’d experienced in Pamplona four or five days ago, but not bad. Not bad at all. And could have been better –as in “longer”–if I hadn’t written such a long post last night. My bad. I’ll learn. I returned to our room as quiet as a mouse so as not to disturb Barb and Ginny and the male cyclist Jaimie (not a typo… although I’m not proofing these blogs so I’m sure you’re having to deal with some typos along the way..) who has been making his way from England to southern Spain, averaging about 100 miles per day. His plan, similar to ours, was to be up by around 6:00 am). The other bunks in the room, the top ones, were empty. Hey, lucky me: I removed my clothing and hung it over the bars of the ladder leading to the bunk over mine.

Barb’s alarm and mine sounded almost simultaneously. Soon I glimpsed Ginny trying to catch up on some email before beginning the packing ritual. I fumbled in the dark, removing clothing items one by one from the adjacent ladder and returning them to the body from which they’d been peeled the night before. By 6:30 Jaimie was stirring and it felt like the time was right to turn on the lights and trade our whispers in for morning voices. About 15 minutes later I was startled by a voice that gently asked: “Is it OK if I move this aside?” What?!*. The question came from a young woman leaning over the bunk above mine! She was gesturing to my fleece vest which I had yet to put on. Apparently this young woman from Macedonia, in Pamplona for business, had arrived while I was blogging in the lounge last night. Barb and Ginny were aware of her existence, but I hadn’t had a clue. (It did explain, however, the one time during the night when I heard noise that sounded like it came from above me, but which I figured had to be Barb in the bed across from me.) Fortunately this girl had not had the need to negotiate the ladder during the night or who knows how my clothes might have altered her descent.

Self-serve breakfast included in the 15 euro price of our lodging. There was toast, marmalade, juices, fruit, corn flakes. Much more sensible that the elaborate breakfast buffets we were served in Austria and the Czech Republic a couple of years ago. Totally adequate, but nothing to write home about. And yet I have, haven’t I?

Loved, loved, loved heading out during the morning bustle of a good-sized city: folks on their way to work, students on their way to school. Life resuming after a day of respite. 47 degrees? A bit of rain? No matter. For the first day on this trip, I started off with a rain jacket instead of a winter coat. AND: I remembered from our meanderings the evening before that we needed to make two rights, then head towards the brown building, then towards the bike path at the Ciudadela park, then keep our eyes open for the yellow conch shells and arrows that mark the Camino de Santiago. (I only mention this because I feel I am getting the reputation among my travel mates of being totally incompetent when it comes to knowing where I am at any given moment. I’ve not only been losing/misplacing everything I brought with me–which wasn’t much!–but I’ve also been guilty of being clueless about where I am. But the way I figure it, why should three of us wrestle with maps, be they paper or electronic, when one would suffice. I save my limited logistical abilities for when they are needed. Case in point: I’m the one nominated to call ahead for reservations in case my Spanish gives us an “in” at the “inn.”

I’m proud to say that we passed right by the bakeries, with barely a second glance. Two of us passed by the University of Navarra’s campus with just a glance. We were surprised when Barb came up behind us as we were finally exiting town. She had left earlier at her brisk pace, but she had taken the time to make a quick spin through the campus.

I’ll mention this: pilgrims stand out with our backpacks, walking poles, and strange languages. Sometimes we’re carrying maps. We were helped three times as we left town, people pointing, gesturing, opening car windows and indicating, either verbally or by body language, the route we should take. The markings in Pamplona were also excellent and reliable. Great infrastructure!

And finally we were in the countryside. Barb had whizzed ahead, leaving space for Ginny and me, with the city traffic noise behind us now, to do a bit of catch up on our life and times since we’d last been together the previous August. Catch up interspersed with the suggestion, sometime by Ginny, sometimes by me, that we move into a period of quiet reflection.

Until this one or that one happened by. My God, I think Ginny knows half of the pilgrims who began walking from St. Jean the same day we did. Hugs for Michelle, for Jose, for Christina, Suzanne, Oliver. I’m in awe at her ability to associate names with faces and greet each one so warmly and affectionately. (Then there’s me…. Two minutes after being excited to meet the Irish woman named Maura–and telling her that we had given our daughter that name–I asked her: “Remind me of your name.” That’s what lack of sleep does to an already poor memory…. I’m wondering if I need a C-PAP like Ginny’s to improve my memory….). Truly, it’s fun to watch her in action!

The walk, morning AND afternoon, was up and down (160 floors by Fitbit’s count), sometimes on unbelievably rocky paths. Mist in the hills was ever-present and beautiful in its own right. Many near 360-degree views, small villages off in the distance, houses seemingly clustered close to very old churches. It was a joy to pass through the villages with their stone houses and narrows streets. From one end to the next: a mere 5-minute walk. Except when there was a little store selling fruit, snacks, Camino mementos, and café con leche from a dispenser not all that different from one that would sell pop.

A quick refreshment and on our way again.

One of the photographic highlights of the Camino is the wrought-iron representation of medieval pilgrims at the top of Alto de Perdón (at an elevation of 2,590 ft., the highest of our day’s journey, a steep climb up and an even steeper and rockier one on the way down). If you’ve seen many photos of the Camino, you’ve seen photos of these sculptures, most likely with the valley spreading out way below in all its glory…. Alas! No need to dally at that spot today. A quick photo and then we were on our way as the wrought-iron peregrinos and the modern-day flesh-and-blood ones were surrounded by mist. Valley below? If you say so.

The downhill walk called for an adjustment of the walking shoes, a tightening of their laces in hopes of keeping the toes from creeping forward in the shoes. Oops, one of us thought such tightening wasn’t necessary. About a third of the way down she had a change of heart, but by then the first blister in nine months and some 900 miles of hiking made its entry into the world…. Some people are slow learners. Need I say more? (I had had every intention of practicing blister treatment during my months of training, but I never had the opportunity or need. I don’t suppose this will be the last one of the trip, but hopefully it’s been caught before much damage has been done.)

One more incident from the morning must be reported. At some point after we left Pamplona and were no longer walking on pavement, Ginny wanted to stop to remove the rubber tips on her poles; the unadorned stakes would provide a better grip on the otherwise uneven gravel. Sounded like a good idea, so copycat that I am, I decided to do the same. One tip off with a big tug. Then working on the other which was very resistant to my efforts, and then: sh*t! Not only the tip but the whole bottom third of my pole ended up in one hand, the remaining two-thirds in the other. Nurse Ginny, knowing I’m no good at fixing things, took charge… and before you know it… that pole was history. What do you want for under 9 euros? Nothing for it but to find the next garbage can. Pilgrim’s rule: never carry more than what you need and will use.

Afternoon

Per prior agreement, we turned on cellular data a bit after 12:00 to check in on each other. Barb had forged ahead. Just as Ginny and I entered the small village of Uterga, ready to look for food, we heard from Barb who was finishing up her lunch at the only eating establishment in town. Funny: outside this bar/restaurant was a vending machine filled with Compeed (blister treatment) and pain pills. I bet they make a fortune!

“Hey, Katy,” Ginny tells me, “they’ve got a tortilla española over there with green peppers. Want to split one?” And then she trails off to the bathroom. I mosey over to the display counter. I see a couple of slices of “regular” tortilla and one huge tortilla (six servings or porciones) with some pepper slices on top. “Wow,” I thought, “is Ginny proposing we buy that whole thing? That’d be way too much!”

When she returned from the bathroom, I asked for clarification. “Oh, no, not the whole thing, just a slice. We can share a slice.” Are you kidding me?! Ginny has been hanging around me for 60+ years and hasn’t realized what a big appetite I have? “No way, Ginny. I don’t know about you, but I want a heck of a lot more than half a slice,” I declared, setting things straight. In the end, we each enjoyed our own slice, plus the bread that came with it, plus half an apple each. We needed our strength for…

For the detour, of course. By adding just 3.1 kilometers to our route, we could visit the basilica of Santa María de Eunate, a 12th century Romanesque church considered to be one of the gems of the Camino. A gem indeed! This plain, unadorned church served as quite a contrast to the ornate one in which we attended mass yesterday. Lovely in its simplicity. Amazing to think that this spot was serving pilgrims’ spiritual and corporal needs eight or nine hundred years ago. We lit some candles, said some prayers, took some photos, and did this unusual thing, upon the advice of a Portuguese couple we met there. Tradition has it that a pilgrim is to walk the exterior of the church three times counterclockwise, then the interior “courtyard” or outer porch of the church the same number of times, but clockwise, all the while giving thanks. And so, of course, not wanting to buck the tradition as it has been passed down (and, no doubt, greatly altered as people speaking different language try to communicate to others the procedure…), we did just that.

Upon returning to the office where we had left our backpacks during our tour of this unique eight-sided (but, really, tiny) church, I spotted some poles in the lobby. The blue pair, the reeptionist told me, belonged to the young Spaniard who was visiting the church, but the single red one? She didn’t know. Must have been left there by a pilgrim. Left there alone, to serve no particular purpose? We couldn’t have that, could we? So that it could live out its life in a useful fashion, we had to bring it along with us. The morning’s problem resolved so much more easily than we had any reason to expect. Onward!

Until finally reaching our hostel for the night. Super nice! We’re not done with the large hostels, but we’re finding that for just a few more euros, the private ones really have some fine amenities. I can’t speak for the rest of Europe or, for that matter, the rest of Spain, but these private hostels on the Camino have their act together (or almost). I’m very impressed by the bunk beds which have built-in or clip-on lights at the head as well as plugs to serve as charging stations. Some of the beds also have partial curtains or, in the case of this hostel in Puente la Reina, pull-down shades. There are cubbies in which to put valuables, gathering spaces, very clean bathrooms in which one person can shower while another, in total privacy, can attend to business. Tonight, in this four-bed room, we are just three. (Since it is already after midnight, I doubt that I’ll find someone in the bunk above me when I wake up, but after this morning’s experience, I’ll probably check before I start banging around in the morning.)

Evening

One of the hardest things for me on this trip is to arrive in a new town and, instead of checking it out, having to take care of business. “Business” means making a bit of a plan for the next day (as in a reservation for the night; the Camino is more popular each year, and people are starting their hikes earlier in the spring or later in the fall to avoid the summer crowds. If one wants to be spontaneous, explore and take detours during the day, then… seems best to be assured of a spot to rest when day is done. Business also means to shower, decide which clothe need to be washed and hung to dry… and…. maybe check email, ideally connect with folks back home if the timing is right, then wait until your travel mates have done all of the above. Some would think a nap would be welcome, too.

Me? What I really want to do is dump my backpack and head right out to explore the town. But clothes and hair washed at 9:00 or 10:00 pm are going to be problematic come morning.

Finally, by 7:15 or so, we were out the door and happy to discover that our hostel is just up the street from the most recognizable feature of this town and the one from which the town’s name is derived. Puente la Reina means “the Queen’s Bridge,” and refers to the 12th century bridge named after the wife of Sancho III. I’m quoting here from John Brierley’s Camino guidebook:

[Doña Mayor] commanded the magnificent Romanesque bridge to be built to support the safe movement of the increasing number of medieval pilgrims who joined the route at this stage from the Camino Francés and camino Aragonés.

It’s an impressive bridge with its six arches spanning the Arga River. We tried our hand at taking a few evening photos before our stomachs cried “enough already” and we headed down Calle Mayor (Main Street) in search of evening vittles. I tell you in all earnestness: even a short walk on Calle Mayor makes me think how wonderful it might be to just stay put in this little town (population 2,500) for a few weeks. It absolutely “reeks” medieval with the massive stone blocks from which the houses are constructed, and the massive wooden front doors with unique knockers. Hope I can attach some photos.

And if all meals in this town might be like the one we had tonight. 7th heaven, for sure! We chose a restaurant that had 3-course meals, plus bread and wine, for 11 euros. I say chose: it was really the first one we came to. That’s how hungry we were. The waiter looked at me a bit surprised when I said that we wanted to order an additional salad to divide between the three of us (an addtional 7 euros). “Oh, but you can order a salad for your 1st course,” he told me. “And it’s a big salad. Look over there,” he added as he pointed to another customer’s plate. It was big. “We’re really hungry,” I replied, “and we want other things for our first course.” So be it; the customer is always right, right? Besides, Americans are pretty crazy. Surely those were his thoughts.

If I never have a better meal than tonight’s while I’m in Spain, consider me totally satisfied! We finished every bit of that salad! We enjoyed pork, lamb, and fish, all served with fried potatoes. A basket of bread (which we did not finish). The menu said the meal included choice of beer or wine. We figured a glass each, but the waiter uncorked a bottle of local wine for us and we didn’t want him to have to waste any. It was good. And then, a wide choice of desserts. Flan for me, very rich looking chocolate cake for Ginny and Barb. With tip, 15 euros each.

In the morning we’ll part company for the time being. With my mini-blister and a few threats on Ginny’s heal, we’re not keen on the 18 miles Barb has planned for tomorrow; we’ll stop about 5 miles short of that. Hopefully catch up/reunite down the “way” a piece. If not, though, we’re all pleased to be reminded that we are each doing “our Camino” and had agreed from the get-go that a sense of freedom to do what works for each of us is paramount. Three can laugh harder than two, though, so Barb will be missed, no question. WhatsApp doesn’t cover all the bases, but it will be a way to stay in touch.

I promised shorter. I didn’t deliver. Oops! Tomorrow will give me another chance to practice brevity. But this is also true: the Camino experience doesn’t make brevity easy!

Postscript: Did you notice that in spite of the title of yesterday’s post, I never mentioned Hemingway? And here is this post, titled “What rain?” Did I even mention today’s weather? I started this post so long ago that I don’t even remember. For the curious: 47 degrees and very light rain when we began walking today. It was the first morning I started out with my rain jacket rather than with the winter puffy jacket I fortunately brought along. The light rain fell on and off for a couple of hours, maybe. Not a problem at all. At one point in the afternoon I actually put on my sunglasses, though distant horizons spoke of some wicked weather that never arrived. So far so good as far as weather goes. Pretty perfect for hiking.

With a bit of luck, some photos will show up here!

Ginny with a fellow from England. He is 76 years old and is on the Camino for the 17th time!

Sorry! Too slow. Maybe tomorrow…..

Camino Day 3 (April 7): Larrasoaña to Pamplona; 18 km (11 miles)

I stayed up too late writing a post last night. When I headed up to the “dorm room,” the other 5 (I was wrong when I wrote last night; there were only a total of 6 beds in the room and only this morning did I find out that there was another woman in there with us, that Julio–a Spaniard with whom I had walked for a while during the day–was sleeping directly under me, and that, while I was thinking that there were several Koreans in the bunks, if that is the case, then one of them was dreaming in an English that he couldn’t begin to speak properly. Case in point: I hadn’t yet fallen asleep when I heard a loud male voice (in our room) yelling “Help! Help! Stop doing that!” Our door opened and two faces peered in. My glassses were off so I couldn’t begin to identify them, but by then the perceived emergency seemed to be over. “Someone was having a bad dream,” I told the inquiring heads. “It seems to be over now.” All was quiet again. Except my mind which was replaying the beauty of the day and having trouble settling down after the effort of getting day clothes off, night clothes on, a couple of devices placed on chargers, etc., all by flashlight, and trying to be a quiet as possible. Apparently I eventually did fall asleep, as the 6:00 am alarm definitely startled me this morning. Time to go at it again.

A net bag with our clean laundry in it had been set outside our door. Great! Only a matter of pulling it out of the bag and putting on every stitch of it. In the dark. Ah, but it didn’t take light to feel that the clothes were still damp. Quite! Thank you, Barb, for ringing the bell outside our hostess’s private quarters to ask if she could put the clothes back in the dryer. That delayed our hoped -for 7:30 start time, but by 8:07 am Ginny had joined us and we headed off, Pamplona bound.

Today marked the third time in my life that I was so bound. Yes, the third! My first trip to the famed running-of-the-bulls city was back in July of 1967. I was participating then in a 7-week summer program in Spain. Our first month was spent in the northern city of Santander where, with other students from Clarke College, I was enrolled in some intensive Spanish classes. At some point during the second week of July, during the sanfermines (the world-famous week of raucous debauchery when testosterone-overloaded males want to prove how macho they are, but which was, at one time, a week in which to celebrate the patron saint of the area, Saint Fermín, thus the term sanfermines)… as I was saying, at some point during that week our program rented a bus so that we could experience the event first hand. (Yes, it is as wild as they say it is. The air reeks of wine and sweat and the strands of garlic that many wear around their necks along with the iconic red handkerchiefs contrasted against their white shirts. It was an eye-opener for my then 17-year-old self.)

Second time in Pamplona was at the start of this trip, so I’m doing a bit of backtracking here. Barb, Ginny, and I arrived in Madrid last Wednesday, April 3. First item on the agenda, after changing some money, was to make our way by bus–ah! We’re on O’Donnell Street where I lived back in 1968-69! There’s the Parque Retiro! There’s the Prado!–to the Atocha train station (quite beautiful, with gardens [and pigeons] bringing in a touch of the outside) to catch the train for a ride of a bit over 3 hours north to Pamplona. We saw some countryside a bit reminiscent of Southern California, but we also caught a few winks.

(Permit me another aside before you’ve totally forgotten the Atocha train station. Back in ’68-69, there on O’Donnell Street, I had a roommate from Venezuela. Rosalba was dating a madrileño named Jesús. Long story short, they married at some point, maybe in the mid-70s. Unfortunately, Rosalba’s was a very premature death. I lost all contact with Jesús… until this past fall.

“Of course I remember you,” he responded (in Spanish) to the email I sent. He sent me photos of his family and caught me up a bit on his life and times since we had last seen each other in 1972 and assured me that he would enjoy spending some time showing me around a transformed Madrid if my schedule would permit it. Once he knew the schedule of our departure for Pamplona, he was able to time a visit to Atocha for a “meet and greet.” Perhaps he is not to be believed, but I didn’t mind hearing that I “hadn’t changed a bit” in the intervening years. It was a short visit, perhaps 25 minutes at most, but it awakened some memories and it was a fun treat to see him. End of this aside.)

But back to this trip’s first visit to Pamplona. Thanks to the marvels of the internet, we knew how to catch Bus #16 from the train station to Beds4U, our “motel” for the night. Clean and totally adequate. Though we’d been given some solid recommendations for seeing the sights of the city and catching a good meal, we opted to eat somewhere closer to the motel and save our visiting for morning.

We’re now rising on Thursday, April 4, with time to “play” until catching the bus for the almost two-hour ride over the same mountains we’d begin crossing by foot during the following couple of days. Playtime could begin as soon as we took care of business.

Item #1: send a package back to the States to lighten a load. (Not mine, but I’m not going to tattle.). That was a huge laugh fest as the post mistress inquired, with me interpreting, if the package would have anything “liquid, perishable….” (you know the rubric). By the time she insisted we remove half of the things that were going to be sent home (tush wipes, alcohol prep pads, a sewing repair kit with a needle in it, a couple other toiletries with alcohol) the box was no longer going to carry much weight, but it got sent with a few items of clothing and someone’s back and body were going to thank her for lightening the load.

#2 item of business: buy some SIM cards. Easy peasy, right? That’s what we’d read in a few Camino forums. “Don’t just buy one from a drug store,” Kevin had warned me, totally dubious that I would manage this technological feat. “And make sure they install it and have it working before you complete the transaction.” The expression on his face said it all! So of course I had to make it work. Up to the sixth floor of Spain’s most noted department store we went, and… a good hour, some Google research, several phone calls, and lots of frustration later the nice woman had us ready to leave with our 5g of data and mere 15 minutes of phone. But hey, for the bargain price of 10 euros and, with luck, we can add minutes. Poor lady, though. As we were leaving she commented: “I’m going to tell the next person who asks for one of these cards that we don’t have any.” (“Especially,” she might have added, “if it’s a helpless American.”)

Item #3 on our to-do list: purchase some hiking poles (not having been able to bring ours as carry-on luggage). This task was the easiest of the day. We had the address of the Caminoteca store which is a handy stopover for pilgrims who have realized they are missing some important items. The store is located within sight of the Cathedral, which, in turn, is right along the Camino route.

In the end, our errands gave us a chance to walk some of the streets in the “old part” of the city. We saw fountains and monuments typical of European cities, saw some of the streets involved in the annual running of the bulls, walked around the outside of the Cathedral and admired the view from along some of the old city walls. Our watches told us it was time to be heading to the bus station to catch the 2:30 coach to St. Jean. It was disappointing not to see more, but we knew we’d be back in just a few days.

Out came the phones, then, to help us navigate to the bus station which we had spied that morning as we took a local bus into town from our hotel. I think we had a paper map out as well, one we had picked up that morning at the hotel.

“¿Qué buscas?” (What are you looking for?) came the voice, the question having been uttered by a 40-something male with a full graying beard. Soon we were following the gent. Well, Ginny and Barb were following the fellow with whom I was engaged in a rather deep and complicated conversation. Ginny was making sure that our meanderings were indeed bringing us closer to our desired destination, while both of them were wondering what I had gotten them into. Truly, I had just expected this man to point us in the right direction, not to accompany us. Just get us around a corner and then send us on our way. But no, I got the full story. Turns out he wasn’t Spanish at all, but had arrived from Syria about 4 months ago. His Spanish was limited, as was his English, but from the tears streaming down his face, I tend to believe that he was telling the truth about leaving his wife and children back in Syria, about his difficult travels, about not having had word of his family in six months. And, finally, telling it very sheepishly but, still, not mincing any words, about being hungry. I couldn’t locate the lunch bocadillo I’d made for myself at the motel’s breakfast buffet–losing or at least temporarily misplacing things: story of my life on this trip–but I did find my apple which I gave him along with a few of our newly acquired euros. We’re we “taken”? Yes! We were taken to the bus station which is where we needed to be. And I had an “encounter” and a chance to listen to someone’s story. Priceless, in a way, no?

Now here’s the interesting thing: you think that I’m never going to get around to talking about today which is, of course, the real reason you opened this post in the first place. If you’ve been patient enough to get this far, then here, finally, is a bit of a reward. Today, after a short (only 11 miles today!) hike into Pamplona, we found ourselves sitting on a bench in front of the Cathedral, eating left-over bread and chicken and cheese from last night’s dinner. As I’m stuffing my face, I hear Barb say, without great enthusiasm, I might add, “Oh, here’s our guide from the other day.” Indeed there he was, and, upon seeing us, his face lit up in recognition. We greeted him back, but, for better or for worse, we offered him neither euros nor food, and he continued on his way. We didn’t tell him we had to locate the hostel where we had made a reservation for tonight.

Story not quite over. A few hours after we arrived at the Aloha hostel, in comes a pilgrim from Ireland, Maura by name. She was so happy to finally have finished the day’s trek. “A Syrian guided me here, she informed us. “Big beard.” You’ve got to give him credit, don’t you? Certainly more creative than standing on a street corner holding a cardboard sign. Why shouldn’t he be rewarded for his service? Clever job creation on his part, says I.

It won’t surprise you that I’m really thinking how nice it will be to climb into bed. The last really good sleep I had was right here in Pamplona at Beds4U back on April 4. I’m due for another, for sure. Going to finish this rapidly. Really. It’s a promise.

Today’s gifts on the trail (as they occur to me)

• Lots of trail time (and almost no street walking until we reached Pamplona)
• Roosters crowing as we made our way through mist-filled hills
• Declaring “quiet time” and keeping to it for a good stretch of our morning
• Fewer than 100 floors of climbing today
• Old stone homes, old stone bridges, old stone churches
• The “best pastry” ever to tide us over until reaching Pamplona
• A snack along the trail early on in the day where “Dan” offered croissant, fresh fruit, tortilla de patatas, good coffee, juices, etc. Neat: there was a photo of the stand’s proprietor (Dan) with Martin Sheen, taken at some point during the filming of The Way (movie in which Sheen plays the part of a peregrino). It was a fun stop.
• Admiring the suburbs as we approached Pamplona, seeing people promenading in their Sunday best, noting some extremely nice houses, AND enjoying a hike when raindrops were almost non-existent (though we put on rain jackets and covered our packs just to be on the safe side)
• Seeing cyclists on both roads and dedicated cycling paths; these were not cycling pilgrims (though we have seen a few of them) but rather folks out to enjoy a Sunday bike ride, some casual riders and others obviously “the real deal”

Today’s gifts in town (in what will most likely be random order)

• That chicken, cheese, and bread upon arrival in town. Something warm might have been good, something indoors, but we were hungry and what’s not to like about using up leftovers?
• Discovering that our hostel is quite nice. Could be warmer, but I’ll soon be crawling under a thick comforter that I trust will do the job.
• Here at the hostel: one of the volunteer workers (I gather he helps out here and gets free room and board) really likes to cook. He transformed the pile of fresh vegetables we had seen on the kitchen counter into the best-smelling stew. “Do you want to try it?” He didn’t need to ask twice. It was delicious! Apparently on Sundays he makes a big pot of something and shares it with the pilgrims/guests who arrive early.
• What with showering, looking at tomorrow’s route, getting clothes washed, sampling rice-and-veggie stew, securing a spot for sleeping tomorrow, visiting with Maura from Ireland, and thinking how nice it might be to just curl up and do nothing, I declared that I was determined to go out exploring and if anyone wanted to go with me, they had three minutes. Thus it was that about fifteen minutes later we made it back to the streets. It might have been too late to tour the Cathedral, but we enjoyed

Walking in several parks (the Ciudadella and the Parque de la Taconera

Observing how many people were out walking and playing and meeting up with friends to visit and have a bite or a coffee; the city was vibrant with motion

Just as we were about to pass the Iglesia de San Lorenzo, the church bells began to peel and the faithful were flowing in. Ginny and I joined their stream for this 6:00 pm Mass. Good music, good acoustics, good homily about refraining from judgment and being forgiving of the faults of others because we all have plenty of our own. I haven’t done any research on the church, but it had lots of side chapels, one of which was the chapel of San Fermín, so I have a feeling this is an important church for the locals. We lit some candles. For ourselves. For you.

The stew was wearing off and so Barb had scouted the streets in the vicinity of San Lorenzo and when we emerged from church she led us to a cafe called El Peregrino (remember, that’s “pilgrim” in English) where Barb had some real hot chocolate that she claimed was velvety and lovely, while Ginny and I both chose steamed milk. Couldn’t drink without eating something, so we had to order some sweets, right?

And now… it’s past time to head to bed. Yeah, a lower bunk tonight. (It was challenging to find the ladder to climb into the upper last night in the pitch dark.)

Be it resolved: tomorrow’s post will be considerably shorter. No worries. Hey, thanks for reading, for commenting, for praying for us, for being understanding about not getting many (any?) personal responses. There are all too few hours in the day.

Will see if I can add a few pictures before I post this. No promises! Night all!

Ginny and Dan. Look closely and you’ll see the photo of Dan and Martin Sheen.

Day 2 (April 6, 2019): from Roncevalles to Larrasoaña. 29 kilometers (18 miles)

Highlights

I can’t begin to do justice to this day. Can’t even begin. It’s already lights-out time, but the particular albergue where we’re staying in this very small town has a lovely lounge and great internet. Would love to be expansive, but… well, after the longest walking day of my life, the “lights out” idea sounds pretty appealing.

So… I’ll just have to give you a few highlights of this splendid day in a quick and dirty format. Here goes.

1. Picture this: heading out at 7:20 am (20 or so minutes before sunrise) into the fresh-fallen snow (about a quarter of an inch, and still falling, but without much conviction). It was very still. No wind. Warming. Quiet. Beyond lovely. Were the chirping birds greeting us, the snow, or just the new day? It was truly magical as we walked through some lovely woods. Pine trees. Lots of holly trees. You had to be there!
2. Breakfast a couple of miles down the road. Yogurt and half an egg sandwich (tortilla española). 2 euros each.
3. In the distance: misty vistas, clouds concealing the hilltops; in the forefront: horses with bells, a couple of colts taking nourishment from mama. Nothing if not bucolic!
4. No walking on the road today. All pathway. Challenging walking, even if today’s “190 floors” (Fitbit doesn’t lie) hardly compare to yesterday’s 424. (I’m telling you, yesterday was a “bugger,” its difficulties being a big part of people’s conversations today.
5. Sharing the trail with Jorge and Adriana from Brazil, Julio from Spain, Mike from Ireland, Al from Korea, what was his name from Mexico…. and others. Re the couple from Brazil: I was delighted to realize that I could understand most of what they said to me in Portuguese while they followed the questions, comments, answers that I gave them in Spanish.
6. We are in the most lovely private albergue tonight. We’ve only met Vanessa, the sweetest and most enthusiastic hostess who bends over to accommodate. She and her husband just opened this place two months ago and they sure seem to be doing things right. 15 euros covers a bed and a breakfast in the morning; for an extra 5 euros Vanessa washed and dried our clothes. She’s definitely the right kind of person for this business.
7. Here’s the clincher of the day. Being disappointed by the meal offered at the town’s only bar/eating establishment, I went to the “supermercado” which at first did not seem at all super. It had very few shelves; more like the kind of store you’d find at a campground. But I kept looking around and trying to use my imagination. I remembered that our hostess had pointed out a microwave in the lounge of our albergue which we were free to use. Before long I had placed on the counter: a loaf of “French” bread (you know what I mean), a bottle of wine, a shrink-wrapped whole chicken, pre-cooked, a bag of salad lettuce, a frozen box of risotto and a couple of items for tomorrow’s lunch. I asked the grocer if he could open the wine for me, and, when he asked, told him where we were staying. I told him that I sure hoped our albergue had some plates and silverware, to which he replied (translation mine):

• “For how many people is this meal?”
• “Three,” I told him
• “You come here for dinner. I heat it all up for you. I reserve that table there (one of two in the small store). I have it all ready at 6:30. You come on time.”
• And so we did. He seemed to happy to do this for us. When we arrived back at 6:30, the table was set, the salad and a bit of bread (the rest he knew we wanted for our lunches tomorrow) at the ready. Promptly he brought out the chicken and the risotto.
• Wow! Best meal ever! (A good third of that chicken is in reserve in the albergue’s refrigerator; along with the remaining loaf of bread and some sliced cheese; it will be our lunch tomorrow.

Lowlights

Everything happens for a reason (maybe…) and so in the end we decided that we shouldn’t complain, but still…. We were given a list of hostels, albergues, pensiones, refugios, and so on. Those of us–and this includes most of us–wanting to do the Camino “on the cheap” hope to find shelter in the municipal or church-run hostels. Well, both the town we ended up in tonight and the town prior to this one (Zubiri) have the low-priced places, one holding 44 pilgrims and the other 36. Ah, but only when they are not being renovated as is the case at present. Result: a lot of pilgrims looking for a place to stay, only to find “no room in the inn.” Barb and I arrived about an hour before Ginny, found two spots in one albergue and we were scrambling to find a spot for Ginny who had let us know she was on her way. Ah, and then we learned that she happened to be walking with an Irish gent named Martin. (I had encountered Martin earlier in the day when I spent a good 15 minutes walking not all that many paces in front of him and his at-the-time walking partner. His brogue was to die for! Stories weren’t bad either, for that matter.)

But then the problem was: we needed to find a spot for Ginny and Martin… and we considered ourselves lucky to find the last room in the town. Here’s the conversation I had with the innkeeper (over the phone, mind you, in Spanish, translated here for your reading pleasure):

Says I: “Yes, I’d like to take that room you mentioned earlier, the room for two with the private bath. For my friends.”

“Oh, a married couple, is it, then?”

Pause on my part.

“Friends.”

“Oh,” he replied, with a I-know-all-about-that-sort-of-thing attitude.

“Well, no, not like that,” I explain; “they just met a little over an hour ago.”

Pause, this time on the innkeeper’s part.

We have roared with laughter over this arrangement. Martin, jokester that he seems to be, immediately wanted to get his picture taken with Ginny so he could send it to his wife. (To his credit, he wanted me to capture the fact that the room had two beds.)

The Camino is like this! What might be so unnatural under other circumstances just rolls right off you. (Barb and I share a bunk-bed style room tonight with five males. I wouldn’t know them if I saw them on the trail tomorrow.)

Not much of a “lowlight,” actually, is it?

If it could be said that there was another “low” to the day, perhaps these: 1) mostly it was a rain-free day, until shortly before reaching our destination. Then, while we were looking for lodging, the rain picked up; 2) the only bar in town is where “pilgrim meals” are served. When I stopped in to make reservations for us there, I was told that they really weren’t preparing them tonight, that there would be just bocadillos (the iconic short loaf of crusty bread with a piece of cheese inside, and maybe a piece of ham). Really? After walking more than 18 miles? But you read above how our dinner turned out, so again, a low turned into a highlight.

Want to see some photos from yesterday and today? Hop on over to Instagram (katys.camino) or to Facebook (Katy’s Camino). I’ll try to add a couple at the end here. Perhaps tonight’s internet will cooperate more than last night’s.

Challenging path

Morning magic