San Juan to Burgos

San Juan de Ortega to Burgos  Part One


A miserable night in San Juan changed to a miserable morning in San Juan.  It was cold and raining.  And there was no breakfast.  The hostel had nothing, and the only café in town was not open.

Off we marched.  And again we had to walk uphill for normalcy.  Would we never walk downhill?  Up and up we went in the rain, and the rocks became more slippery as we went.  Once again I thought the camino had trumped itself for dangerous conditions.  These rocks were individual nightmares.  However, we eventually came to the top.

There was a big sign up there, and a big rock arrow, and also a nice tribute to the walk of the Amber series.  We stood in the rain and admired it all, until continuing forward.  After about one hundred yards, I realized I had left my walking poles, so I went back to grab them.  Then I ran back to Leo.  Exhausted I admired a vista, with a nearby sign stating we were leaving the Pyrenees, there were no more vistas.

It is a sad moment.

It is also a freaking “I LOVE IT” moment.

Even as we descended along the fence line of the military base, a group of Spanish soldiers ran past us, and I thought even with the rain, the day was not so bad.

That idea was short-lived as it began to pour. Dripping and soaked, we made it into the town of Orbaneja, and stumbled into a café full of wet pilgrims.  We took a coffee and sat down to contemplate our next move.  Going into Burgos was rumored to have two options:  along the river or along the busy streets.  Even as we discussed the options, a local leaned forward and told us the river route was too muddy.  So we opted for the city walk. (Later we would discover the river walk was ok.)

We trudged along in the intermittent rain, around the Burgos airport and into the suburbs. And then miles of the long highway into town.  Eventually we caught a bus with other pilgrims, and we were deposited within the old town.

Leo and I arrived in Burgos broken.  Our bodies were tired, our spirits were broken.  Our clothes stunk.  About two blocks before the municipal Albergue, I asked Leo to stay in a hotel.  He said sure, as long as it wasn’t expensive.  And so we stayed that night in a luxurious haven.  We spent the afternoon exploring Burgos with Susanne and Heidi, but we failed to meet them for dinner.  Leo wanted private time, and I was too tired to insist on meeting friends.   We were tired, but we knew we had made our first landmark!

Tosantos to San Juan de Ortega

Tosantos to San Juan de Ortega

After a fitful sleep, we left the Albergue fairly late in the morning.  I remember the sun was bright in the sky.  I also remember Luis giving his pilgrim blessing to Leo.  I was feeling short-changed, the camino obviously loved Leo but not me. 

I think I walked a little disappointed and angry on this day, and I was constantly ahead of Leo.  According to the map, we walked uphill all day, but I don’t’ remember that fact.   I do remember passing the Family Fearn at a civil war monument, and talking for a few minutes. Then I was off again, down a short slope, and up a ridiculous climb, and then through the woods for an hour or two.  The path was a firebreak between two sections, and quite unlovely.

Far ahead of me was a young lady, another German girl, who I recognized from her coat and backpack.  She suddenly ditched off to the right, and I assumed she had gone to pee.   I waited, and then waited some more, and finally decided she had died in the woods, so I crept closer.  It turned out she was just having lunch on a log.

I continued on to San Juan de Ortega.  The village contained the church, the Albergue and one restaurant.  I waited until Leo arrived about an hour later, we said our goodbyes to the Family Fearn, and we went inside.

The rooms were backed to the gills, with barely a foot between beds.  The bathrooms were packed with people doing laundry and filthy floors.  And the place was freezing.   We joined the Americans Kay, Maria and Jean for dinner.  John and Penny from Australia joined us.  And a very interesting gay man from China, who lived in South America also joined us.  I forget his name but Leo will tell me.

Dinner, which promised garlic soup, was terrible.  And the dining area was freezing.  Of course, upstairs we were packed like sardines, and it was hot and stuffy.  I awoke at 4:00 am, dressed in the hallway, and then lay awake, waiting for Leo to take me out of there.   When I reawake at 6:30, it was raining.

Granon to Tosantos

Granon  to Tosantos

After leaving the monastery, Leo and I found ourselves walking on a cold and breezy morning.  The sun was out, but it did little to warm us.  However, the dirt path stretched away over gently rolling hills, and we walked several miles looking for a cup of coffee and something more substantial than the toast we had eaten in Granon.  We diverted from the path to cross a highway, and enjoyed churros and chocolate at the Spanish equivalent of a Truck Stop.  Back to the path again, which now paralleled the highway for several miles.  As we neared Belorado around lunch time, the day had warmed itself significantly.  We wanted to stop for lunch, plus Belorado was the last town for several days that had an ATM.

There was a sign for an ancient Jewish quarter in the village, and I wanted to check it out, so we detoured.  We didn’t find the Jewish quarter, but we did find a lovely modern plaza with restaurants, stores and banks.  We also found the Family Fearn, Susanne and Heidi all relaxing in the warm sunlight.  Leo and I had a lunch of bocadillos and beer.  If I recall, this is the first time our sandwich had bacon and was served warm.  The pilgrims drifted away, and eventually we began to walk again.  There were still six kilometers to go for the day.

Tosantos is another village in Spain with a few buildings and no residents to be seen.  The guidebook states 20 people live there, but we did not see signs of anyone.   The Albergue is in an old hopsital.  The sleeping arrangements are again on mats in the attic.  This place is watched by a kind and beloved man named Luis.  He was not there when we arrived, just a group of young Spanish hospiteleros who welcomed us eagerly and kindly.  In the cliffs above the town is a hermitage church carved into the stone, and while the guidebook says it is always locked, a night spent in Tostanos includes a guided tour!  We were to meet in the courtyard at 5:00, visit the hermitage, then come back and prepare dinner with the communal meal served at 7:00.

As there was a line for the showers, I went to the attic and laid out my mat to take a nap.  I had no sooner closed my eyes, then I was surrounded by four German men, talking loudly and organizing their spaces for the night.  Nap ruined, I went outside to find the Fearn children having a great time with the dog of the house.  Of course Susanne and Heidi were there, too.  Today I would also meet Patrick, the movie star from Australia, and Francesca, a young girl from Italy.

At 5:00 we all went to the hermitage.  Super cool but no photos were allowed.  We felt very special to be given access to this gem in the cliffs.  And then we came down the hill to prepare dinner.   Just moments  before dinner was to be served, in walk Stonerboy and his girlfriend.  Suddenly dinner is postponed, and all the young volunteers disappear.  Obviously the weed brigade had arrived.  I really don’t care if people smoke, but I was irritated that all the hungry pilgrims were now put on hold.

At 8:00, we finally sat down to a delicious dinner.  The only problem, all the wine was at one end of the table the OTHER end of the table…with all the stoners.  For everyone at my end, we were given one small gourd with enough wine for each of us to have a sip or two, as long as several others completely passed.  One of the German men was ticked off!  He kept pounding the table and yelling, “More Wine!” but he gave up when he realized the volunteers were completely oblivious.

Dinner was delicious.  I was mesmerized by the movie star who sat across from me.  Also there was a young girl from the Netherlands who had an amazing story of her previous Camino.  She had been hit by a car and her head split open just days from Santiago.  She had returned after healing to complete her journey.

As dinner came to a close, a group of Italian men began to sing.  Of course they were from the end of the table with the wine, so I figured they had too much.  But when they were done, the Spanish began to sing.  And then the Australians.  I realized the idea was moving its way around the table, and each nationality would sing a song to represent their country.  And then I had the horrible realization Leo and I were the only two Americans at the table.  I had no idea what song!

Luckily, Heidi from Switzerland was next.  As I was later told, Heidi was a professional yodeler.  She had traveled the world with her talent.  Not the “yodel’lay ee who” that we think of in the States, but a beautiful slow song.  I just could not believe that beauty came from that small woman.  When she was done, the room exploded in excitement.  Of course nobody could follow that performance, and I was spared singing.

At the conclusion of dinner, Stonerboy Fran announced he was going to set up another service in yet another private chapel.  He also said anyone not attending should volunteer to do the dishes.  Hmmmm.  I did not want to be responsible for the dishes again, and I also did not want to go to another hippie service.  Since dinner was already an hour late, I claimed exhaustion and went to my mat.  I could hear the singing and prayers, as I drifted off to sleep.

Except when the service was over, the four German men came into the room, talking as loudly as ever.  Leo laid down on his mat and told me the service was really special.  Fran was not in charge, it was the beloved host Luis who led the evening prayer and discussion.  I fell asleep a little angry with myself for being so judgmental over a little weed, and disappointed I had missed this opportunity.

The morning would bring a new day, another walk, and more adventures, emotions, opportunities and pilgrims.  Day 11 was now past.

Azofra to Granon

Azofra to Granon

In the morning, we would arise and leave Azofra.  It was freezing cold, and I am not sure we saw another pilgrim upon our departure.  We certainly never saw Irma again.  I hope her all the best in this world and the next!

We walked along empty paths, as the camino had become very quiet after Easter.  We entered the suburbs of Ciruena, an eerie place of empty homes and driveways.  It reminded me of a zombie apocolypse, the way the homes marched on and on, and yet there was no sign of habitation.  Many pilgrims would remark on the oddity.

Eventually we made it to Santo Domingo de Calzada around lunchtime.  The cathedral in this town celebrates the Miracle Chicken.  Leo and I bought tickets into the cathedral, and while Leo heard the chicken cluck twice, I missed it both times.  This was another instance on the camino where I felt God was talking to Leo, and ignoring me.  I started to think maybe my reason for walking was for the sole purpose of introducing Leo to God. 










----Just a side note, looking at our entries to Facebook at this time, Leo and I were both into heavy thoughts of family, God and life.  It is only natural that I would start to think of everything as a sign to improve Leo’s faith. -----

Afterward we hit a café, and there were Kay, Maria and Jean, having lunch and a pastry.  They said Kay’s feet were full of too many blisters to continue, and we all said our goodbyes.

Leo and I continued on to Granon.   We checked into the church, our lodging would be mats upon the floor.  The shower revealed no hot water.  However, several things happened.  I ran into a Hospitalera that I adored from the movie “Six Ways to Santiago”.  I grabbed a quick hug.  Second, we attended Mass, and afterward received a pilgrim’s blessing, the first of our pilgrimage.  Third, we helped prepare a wonderful communal dinner with the many pilgrims staying in the church.  Attending were Susanne, the Family Fearn, John and Penny from Australia, Imca from the Netherlands, Francesca from Italy, and Tomas, who we had not seen since Day One in St Jean Pied de Port.  It was amazing to see him again.   Also,  a man and his girlfriend from Spain and Peru, respectively.  They were volunteers along the way, and they volunteered this evening.

I don’t know, I could be wrong, but I think Fran, Monica and the young hospitalera in Granon went outside and got stoned.  All I know is that after dinner, I helped John and Jim wash dishes, and then went to a famous, but secret sanctuary to sing Kum by- Ya.  It should have been a spiritual moment, but I was too invested in the pot-heads who I thought were ruining my camino.

On the bright side, I finally spoke with the Family Fearn.  (Leo had been talking for days, but I only said hello from time to time.)

Ventosa to Azofra

Ventosa to Azofra

We have begun to lose track of the days.   We awoke early again, and leave the Albergue before the other pilgrims.  Even as I type this, I am amazed, as I remember the camino as all late starts, long after the other pilgrims had departed.   We stopped for breakfast at the only place with an open sign, and indeed while the sign was open, it was a good twenty minutes before the owner was ready to feed us.  And then off we went.

At this point, I think Leo and I were both done.  Tired.  Over it.  We decided to walk only a few miles to the town of Azofra, for two reasons.  One, it was nearby.  Two, the rooms were for two people only.   Albergues are 100% part of the camino, and they cannot be avoided, but they are tiring.  I personally felt as if I never slept in an Albergue, only rested.  The people snore, cough, roll over on their squeaky beds, go to the bathroom, slam doors, turn on lights, have conversations at inappropriate noise levels and inappropriate times.  I was always amazed when someone said I snored, because I had stayed up all night listening to them!

Anyway, Leo and I hobbled toward the next stop.

I passed a woman along the road, long white hair and too many bags.  I thought she was a crazy local, so I waved and continued walking.   Leo of course, slowed and talked with her.  I don’t’ think there was much conversation, but Leo eventually took some of her bags and helped her into town.    Wow, she was wonderful of course, and Leo had shown me again how jaded I can be.

Her name was Irma.  She was 83 years old.  She began the camino from Germany in 2014, but when the cold weather set in, she went home.  As soon as Spring arrived, she went back to her departure place and began to walk again.  She only did a few miles each day, but she was hoping to make Santiago by the end of Summer.   Leo and I got all of this once we had arrived in Azofra and met other pilgrims who could translate.  Irma understood English, but did not speak it.  In fact, while we were enjoying a beer with Irma (she had two!), we met up again with Garry (two rr’s) from Australia.  He was ranting about a woman he heard was walking at the age of 83, while he was proud of walking at 79.  When he realized this might be the woman, he interrogated her until she gave him the German equivalent of a “fuck off”.

They did eventually get along.  Garry did the whole, “I am not worthy” routine, and Irma ate it up.  Also present were Violetta from Poland, Christina from Germany and Yolanna from the Czech republic.

Leo and I eventually got into the two person room in Azofra.  We had dinner with an English woman who taught school in Hungary.  She was avoiding a particularly amorous man from Hungary who was chasing her.  In a hilarious instant, I met him in the hallway as he kept opening his door to see if women were walking past.

The room in Azofra was freezing, near 36 degrees.  It was very cold when we left in the morning.

Easter Sunday: Logrono to Ventosa

Easter Sunday:  Logrono to Ventosa

What can I say?  We got up in the morning and we walked. As crowded as the Albergue was in Logrono, we noticed immediately that there were less pilgrims now on the camino.  The Spaniards were going to service in the morning, and then getting in their cars or trains and leaving for home.

I suppose I wanted to go to Easter service in Spain.  But we left so early in the morning, and I wasn’t really thinking about anything other than our next town.  The previous day’s walk had left us both in pain, and we decided on a short day, not only for the rest, but to get off the guidebook and to start enjoying some of the “famous” stops along the way.

That morning as we walked, I decided to sit down and figure out our next move.   I told Leo to go forward, I would catch up.  The walk was a nice romp around a reservoir.  After a few minutes, I continued along the way.  There was a café about an hour away, and when I got there, Leo was not there.  I checked the bathrooms.  No Leo.   Hmm, our agreement was to always stop at the next café until the other person caught up.   I began to hurry up the next mountain.

Leo always went much faster than I going up, so I was not surprised I did not catch him.  At the top however, once past a giant billboard of a cow, I could see the path for several miles to the next town. And though the people were small, I did not recognize Leo’s backpack at all.   I began to panic, mostly because I figured he had gotten lost, and somehow he was going to blame me if he did (because I had the guidebook).  I began to hurry down the hill.


Eventually I reached the town of Navarette.   No Leo.  I asked the other pilgrims, most of whom I knew by face, not by name.  No Leo.  I desperately searched for Wi-Fi in this tiny village, hoping to get a connection, knowing if Leo were lost, he would find me through Facebook.  No Wi-Fi in this town, and No Leo.   I had decided to walk to the next town, when I passed a café and Leo was sitting there having a beer.  He had no idea I thought he was lost.

So on this particular occasion, there were two routes going the same way.  I took the fast route, Leo took the route through the zoo.  He saw all sorts of animals, while I had a small breakdown.  We would get separated several times again, but I never worried as much as I did on this day.

We continued our short trek, and detoured off the main way to the small village of Ventosa.  The Albergue was quiet, and though it eventually filled, our room was a quiet one that night.  We met Garry, two rr’s, from Australia, who was 79 and proud to be walking the camino.  We had a dinner of swordfish in the local bar, and went to bed.  Easter Sunday had passed.

Los Arcos to Logrono

In the morning we had a lovely breakfast as provided by the Albergue de la Abuela, including a nice cake that is made daily.  Originally the grandmother made the cake for the pilgrims, but now her son carries on the tradition.

It was a beautiful day.  All around us were pilgrims celebrating the Easter weekend.  This would be our longest walk of the camino thus far. I have many pictures of wonderful landscapes and steep hills.  This could be the archetypical day as went walked kilometer after kilometer through the countryside. 
Once we were in the town of Viana,  we stopped for lunch across from the cathedral.  Leo wanted to sit outside, but I was cold and insisted on an inside table.  After lunch we took a few minutes to tour the cathedral.  As we were leaving, we noticed some Spaniards stomping on a stone in the yard.  I asked about it, and the story revealed this was the burial marker for a much hated local politician.  Tradition maintains that visitors show their disgust by stomping on the tomb!










As we approached Logrono, the road became asphalt and our feet began to tire. We crested a hill and began the descent into the city.  There is a woman who lives along this path, her family guarded the pilgrim road into Logrono for generations, and she is still there, greeting weary pilgrims and offering a stamp.  Leo and I stopped for a minute and then continued along.  Suddenly I remembered I had left my guidebook, and I had to run back up the hill.  It was amazing how many pilgrims I passed who were coming into the city.  I grabbed my guidebook and hurried back to Leo, and we entered into the suburbs.

At one point we smelled thick smoke, and ashes fell around us.  We were passing the crematorium!  Service had just ended!  Oh, what a reminder that Europe is not the same as the States!  We continued to along the riverbank, around us more and more pilgrims were marching.  Then up a few stairs and across a wide bridge into the city.  On the other side of the river, the paths diverged to different hostals.  Leo and I decided to head toward the municipal. As we walked up the narrow street, I noticed a sign which translated said, “Go around the corner to enter the Albergue”.  So Leo and I turned when others went straight.

Did I mention it was Easter weekend, and that there were many Spaniards along the camino?   All the hotel rooms, private albergues, casa rurals, etc had been pre-booked by the locals who were coming into the city for Easter services in the morning.

Leo and I walked into the Albergue just as two other pilgrims were finishing check-in.  We handed over our credencials and began the process of being assigned a bed.  Behind us came a tidal wave of other pilgrims.  And here is the thing:  Leo and I got the last two beds in the city.  Everyone else who either have to go back, or go forward…miles and miles!  Women were crying, men were moaning.  Groups began to call for taxis to take them to the next town.  We lost Maas, Anna and Swiss Maria at this time.

All Leo and I knew were we were done for the day, our “dogs were barking”.  We went to find our beds, and well, there was Susanne in a bunk over from us.  She introduced us to Heidi, another pilgrim from Switzerland who spoke very little English.  Glaucia was also there at this Albergue.  We decided to cook dinner in the kitchen.

Leo’s leg hurt fairly badly, and my feet were not happy, but after some initial consternation in the courtyard, we were able to walk to the nearby market for supplies.  Dinner was going to be delicious for only 3 euro per person!  We also stopped by the cathedral, and marveled at the scenic public square.  Logrono is a city I would like to visit again when I have time.

The five of us cooked a wonderful dinner of salad, pasta and wine.  Susanne did a great job!  There was a contigent of young Koreans in the kitchen, and I felt bad that we did not have enough to share, but even as we began cleaning, they went out to the market.  An hour or so later and the Koreans had a dinner twice as amazing as ours.  I was lucky to receive an asparagus wrapped in proscuitto from their feast.

Between the long walk, grabbing the last two beds and the wonderful communal dinner, this was a magical day on the camino.

Good Friday: Estella to Los Arcos

On this particular morning we were fairly late in leaving. Only an hour out of town lies the Irache Wine Fountain, but it did not open until 9:00, so we were not in a hurry.  The Irache Wine Fountain is connected with a monastery that has given free wine to thirsty pilgrims for centuries.  We did arrive near the appropriate time, and we enjoyed sipping wine from our scallop shells (tradition) and we also took some (a little) in our water bottles. 

Not far after the fountain, the road splits with a high route and low route.  There were many pilgrims of many nationalities and languages debating which way to go.  I don’t remember now why we chose the low route, whether it was our tired bodies or lack of desire to climb, but everyone took the low route.






At the town of Montjardin, we stopped for a coffee.  Leo had his lunch beer.   I wanted to go into the small church but the lights were out.  Then I noticed that for a Euro, I could turn on all the lights, so I paid it and went inside.  Immediately all the other pilgrims in the plaza came inside to look.  It was austere and beautiful.

I am glad I took the time, because as we were leaving town we bumped into April and Kevin, the two Irish kids we had last seen in Pamplona.  They waved and shouted, and we discovered they were carrying Leo’s missing clothes!  Kevin had accidentally packed them before bed that night in Pamplona, and since they were sleeping when we left, we had no idea.
We continued our very long hike through the rolling hills of the Basque country.  Leo was much further ahead than me, but I kept company with a wonderful Basque woman who was very proud of her heritage.  The day became very warm, so we were excited to approach a food truck in the middle of nowhere selling sodas, beer and wine.  Of course, I still had the wine from the fountain, so I just relaxed and drank the rest of the bottle.

We continued onward, and reached Los Arcos in mid-afternoon.  The town was so empty, I was afraid we would have to continue to the next village, but then we spied the Albergue de la Abuela.  It had a great recommendation from the guidebook, so we checked in there.  Surprise!  We were sharing a room with three American women:  Kay and her daughter, Maria, and Kay’s sister Jean.  While the hostel seemed fairly empty, we discovered later that all the other beds had been reserved by a cycling group, I believe from Spain.

Leo and I went down to explore the plaza, and basically we ran into everyone we had met thus far on the camino.  Susanne and Glaucia, Mass and Anna and Maria (Switzerland) and Fizz, the Fearn Family, and the Americans with whom we were sharing the room.   There was a lot of gaiety in the air as it was Good Friday.

I went inside for the packed service at 7:00.   It was amazing, even though I wasn’t sure what was happening.   They slowly uncovered the body of the crucified Christ, then removed the crown and the nails, placing those on pillows, and then they lowered the body into a glass casket.  Kay was sitting next to me during the service, and afterward she asked me if I had just recited the Lord’s Prayer in Spanish.  Why yes I did!  I studied for months, and only got to say it three times along the camino.

After the service, I went outside to join the throngs that were now lining the streets.  The Good Friday procession came out of the church and along the main road.  I had never witness anything quite like this.  It was medieval and superstitious and third-world and amazing.  Afterward we went back to the room to find the girls asleep.

I did not sleep well that night, but in the morning I was told that I snored louder than ever.  Kay, Maria and Jean would become the second group of people that I think avoided Leo and I altogether because of our snoring.  (The first group was the four others in the cramped room at Hotel Jakue.)

Puenta la Reina to Estella

Day 6:  Puenta la Reina to Estella

We awoke in our room in the early hours.  The room was pitch dark and stuffy, but the rustling of the other pilgrims signified it was time to go.  The only person who stayed asleep was Maas, the rest of us again gathered our things and left before dawn.  I remember looking for my boots, which were located outside on shelves, and there was no light except from my phone.
Once we left the Hotel Jakue, we discovered we had not even reached the town of Puenta la Reina.  It was a ten minute hike there, then through the town and then we actually saw the bridge for which the town was named.  It was a lesson to never stop at the first Albergue when approaching a village.

We walked and watched the sun come up.  This was our first clear day, without clouds, rain or threat of rain.  I snapped a photo of the blue, blue sky.
 
This entire week was Semana Santa, the Holy Week before Easter, and each day the number of pilgrims increased as Spaniards entered the camino.  For them the camino is always available, and they do different portions at different times of their lives, often with their families in tow.  Also, Spring Break (or the equivalent) had begun all across Europe, and their were Europeans from many countries.  We spoke with many of them, but sadly the names and faces blurred as most of them went home after Easter Sunday.
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The rest of the day was the long walk to Estella, a beautiful town with huge monuments and churches.  We had planned on staying in a private Albergue, but a passing Spaniard told us it was closed.  (We learned later that was incorrect information.)  In the meantime, we ended up at another municipal Albergue.  This was our third municipal, after Roncesvalles and Pamplona, and again it was a huge facility with 96 beds on three floors.  This one had a huge lobby, a nice enclosed courtyard and was the first place we stopped where the hospitalera told us to watch our belongings.  Of course immediately Leo lost his wallet and passport.  This created some worry and commotion, right until we realized both were inside his hat, sitting on the bed.

Leo and I had planned on meeting Susanne and Glaucia to explore this beautiful town, but we had our first major argument of the camino.  Neither one of us remember what it was about, but I would chalk it up to exhaustion, and spending time with one another 24 hours a day.  However, we did meet up with the girls a little while later, and we all decided to forego the pilgrim’s meal and find PIZZA!

We found a nice little pizzeria, ordered way too much food and drank way too much wine.  It was a fantastic bonding experience.  A guest of mine had given me $50 to have a good time in his honor, and as the bill was $50, it seemed a perfect time to do so.  Susanne and Glaucia protested, but I had already paid the bill.  What a fantastic memory.

Leo and I went back to the Albergue, but then decided to share a bottle of wine along the riverfront.  Then we went back to our crowded room of 20, and had a good sleep.

Pamplona to Puenta la Reina

Day 5: Pamplona to Puenta la Reina

Again we awoke and packed in the dark before many of the other pilgrims were stirring. I seriously did not understand how anyone could sleep with this much excitement and especially the noise of the other pilgrims. We did not know it at the time, but some of Leo's clothes had gone missing overnight.  Leo and I left before sunlight and walked through the modern downtown of Pamplona to the University at the far edge of town. As we walked a car screeched to a halt beside us and some teenagers who had obviously been partying all night asked what we were doing. We said, “Walking to Santiago”. They couldn’t believe we would walk all that way. It was a realization that not all Spaniards are teaching their children the old ways. Then it was a steady uphill through the suburb of Cizur Menor. The camino arrows even took us right through the playground of an elementary school which I found both silly and odd.

We could see the windmills on the horizon, and the long trail twisting ever up and away before us. I was worried there would be no coffee or snack for several hours, so at the very edge of Cizur Menor we detoured into a new subdivision of identical apartments and found a café, filled to the brim with people on their way to work. After our coffee and danish, we were ready for the climb.

It is hours and hours of an uphill climb through treeless fields to reach the Alto de Perdon. Slowly the windmills get closer, until you realize the trail is not taking you that way at all, and your frustrated eyes adjust to the new goal. Near the end, the trail becomes extremely steep. Leo and I pass an old man, his long gray hair tied by a bandana, pushing a bicycle up the slope. Leo stops to talk to him, but I am struggling too much for conversation. I just want to get to the top.

Leo caught up with me, and together we marvel at a natural spring that has been dry for decades. Except today the water is pouring out. I took it as a miracle meant for us!    We decided to share the miracle by splashing water on our hands and face.   A few minutes later and we were at the top, taking photos of the famous statues and celebrating with two dozen other pilgrims, including the Family Fearn…..WAIT! They are not all pilgrims. The road goes right past here with a parking lot for tourists. Oh, that was a moment when I truly realized the difference between what we were doing and a normal vacation

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And then we turn to go past the Alto de Perdon. What goes up, must come down. We are stunned. This is the first of many vistas, where we can not only see for miles upon miles into the valley below, but we can see the Way laid out before us. We can see where we will be in five hours. It is a humbling experience.

The walk down was nightmarishly steep and covered in fist-sized rocks. We had to navigate slowly with our walking sticks, being careful not to twist an ankle. I was very worried about Leo, as the long downhill stretch was very painful for his leg. Four teenage Spanish boys passed us going fairly quickly, and one of them drops what looked to be a rolled-up poster. Leo called to him, and he not only raced up the hill, but then raced back to join his friends. I remember thinking that I hated teenagers.

The trail eventually evened out into flat countryside, and we looked back to marvel at what we had descended. After about an hour, we stopped for some fruit and cheese. As we sat there, Patrick from Alaska showed up. He said his Dad was about 20 minutes behind him. I was so relieved they had not left the camino, and that Terry did not have heart issues. While we relaxed on the benches, an American photojournalist came by. He wanted a photo of us doing something “with action”. I think Leo cut some cheese and I peeled an orange. We are going to be in a guidebook, I am sure. We said goodbye to Patrick as he wanted to wait for his father, and we continued to the town of Urtega. I remember thinking we should just stop there. Leo went into an Albergue with a restaurant and had his first lunch beer of our camino. This was something he would repeat often. And I did what I would often do: I got a sweet snack. I am not sure what the chocalate item was that I ate that day, but it was Heaven. And try as I might, I never found that specific chocolate item again. It was similar to a Hostess roll-up.

As we walked, we discussed what a long day it had been, and then we made the oddest choice. We decided to walk another three kilometers to see a special octagonal church called Eunate. This was recommended to us by Susanne from Germany. The last time we had seen her she was sitting on her backpack as we climbed into Roncesvalles, but now we were meeting her often when we stopped for coffee. She always had the best information. So we took the extra time and walked way out in the countryside, only to find the church closed. Susanne and Violetta (Poland?) suggested we wait a little while and it would reopen. And sure enough it did a few minutes later. A small chapel. That was all, and I have to admit, I was disappointed.

Some other pilgrims took off their shoes and walked around the unusual church barefooted. I still don’t know why. Leo and I found the caretaker to get our credencial stamped, and then we continued to Puente la Reina. As we approached there were signs for Hotel Jakue, which boasted a jacuzzi! We were more than ready for that and stopped for the night.

Sadly once we were checked in to the Albergue portion…the hotel was upstairs, the Albergue in the basement… we discovered the jacuzzi did not work. However, the hotel had an amazing buffet dinner, with a wine tap for free wine. We met a wonderful group of people that night at dinner, with Helen, Robert and Barbara from the Channel Islands, including Gary and Maxine (Australia), and a bunch of women from Germany. There was also Maas (Germany), Maria (the Swiss girl from day one eating the banana) and Anna and Fizz from the UK. In fact the six of us would bunk together in an airtight, completely dark room in three bunkbeds. This is the night I discovered I snore.

Zubiri to Pamplona

Day 4: Zubiri to Pamplona

I again wake up at 6:00 and begin to pack. As the other two pilgrims in our room are either asleep or pretending to be asleep, I quietly take all of my belongings into the hallway to pack. Leo and I enter into the pitch dark dining room and turn on the lights-- to find breakfast on the table! And nobody in sight. We decide that it must have been set out the night before.

There is a tiny bit of light as we head back over the Puenta de la Rabia to continue west. We walk until we reach Larrasoana but to get coffee we would have to significantly detour from the Camino, so we continue walking. I remember reaching a fairly large village and being completely dumbfounded that nothing was open there either. Another group of six arrived in the square, and disappointed, we all trudged onward.

I have mentioned the sunrise a couple of times now, but according to my notes, it was near Arketta that we saw our shadows for the first time during our trip. It was a beautiful morning walk alongside a bubbling stream, until we came to a lovely café, populated with a ton of pilgrims. It was nice to have a light breakfast, and to begin relationships with many that we would see again and again. At this point people began to know us by name, especially three Brits from the Channel Islands. Helen, Robert and Barbara.

In my backpack I carried a variety of Travel Bugs from geocaching.com that wanted to be dropped overseas. I didn’t want to carry them a long way, so in my research I discovered a cache big enough to drop them, on the way into Pamplona. Leo and I searched for about a half hour, but were unable to find the cache. Meanwhile other pilgrims kept asking, Are you ok? Do you need help? It was hard to explain we were playing a game along the camino.

We finally gave up and continued to walk Only another mile or so later, we came to an area that looked like a public park and rest stop for cars. I told Leo this was a likely place for a cache, so I took my phone off airplane mode to see if one was nearby. Sure enough there was one far above us on the hill, but the steep ascent was necessary anyway, as the camino went right by the cache.

A short search revealed the hidden cache, and the travel bugs were dropped off. We then continued to the city. It was odd coming into suburbs after being in such small villages for the last few days. But we didn’t really enter into the modern downtown on the approach. Just through some neighborhoods, through the archway and into the old city.

This portion of Pamplona is where the bulls run, and it was exciting to walk the streets we have seen on TV and in newspapers since we were children. We checked into a huge Albergue (114 beds). The woman at the desk spoke Basque, but she knew we needed two beds. This was the second time we managed sleeping arrangements without fluent Spanish. We were surprised and delighted to find Kevin (?) and Alice sharing our quad tonight.

Showered and refreshed, we took a tour of the cathedral, went to find the famous bull run statue and then went to the café that celebrates Earnest Hemingway. We opted out of a pilgrim’s meal in the Plaza Mayor, instead eating tapas at a wonderful restaurant with the deal of two euro for a glass of wine and a huge tapa. So five tapas and five glasses of wine were more than enough for each of us. Tipsy, we had an early night at the Albergue.

　

　

Roncesvalles to Zubiri

Day 3: Roncesvalles to Zubiri

The municipal Albergue in Roncesvalles contains bunkbeds in quads for 180 people. I am fairly sure it was full the night we stayed there. With the snoring, coughing and restlessness of all the pilgrims, it was a fitful night of sleep. Not to mention the adrenaline for the journey ahead was still pumping through my system. When I awoke for the umpteenth time and checked my phone, it was 6:00 AM. In the early days I thought this was the time to get up and go, and so I rolled out of bed to hit the restroom and brush my teeth. When I returned to the bunk, Leo was awake and packing his backpack. I packed mine as well, and we went downstairs to find our boots and some vending machine coffee.

This was one of our earliest departures. We were out of the building before sunrise, sometime around 6:30. Although from time to time we would repeat this early process, it would not be long before Leo vetoed that type of morning rush. Our departure for most of the Camino was between 7:30 and 8:00. Looking back, there was no reason to rush, I was just excited. Besides, going outside in the dark is a great way to get lost.

It was pretty cold and solitary when we left the Albergue. Most of the other pilgrims were moving much more slowly, and they were still inside, dawdling if you had asked me. There were large drifts of snow in the parking lot, which should have warned us there would be snow in the woods. We took our pictures beneath the famous departure sign, and then walked into the dark woods with only a small flashlight. Luckily behind us came a young Asian lady with a large headlamp, and we filed in line behind her. She may have been afraid of the two men following her, but within moments we were a merry group of seven, all following the one woman in the dark, with no yellow arrows and drifts of snow.

Eventually we exited out of the woods onto some farmland, and in the distance we could see the lights of a coffee shop, a beacon for cold, hungry pilgrims. We were not the first to arrive, but almost. However, after a breakfast of fruit, Danish, freshly squeezed OJ and coffee, the sun had begun to crest the horizon and the flow of pilgrims through the tiny café was steady.

So much of the previous day had been spent in the woods, this day would give us our first real taste of the Camino experience: Walking through the countryside, then into a village, walking through the countryside, then into a village. Sometimes there were people about, and sometimes the village would seem completely deserted.

Our first village was not very far after the coffee shop. The small and beautiful town of Burguette. The most notable event there was that Leo and I missed our turn and continued to walk straight. Luckily a man shouted at us and waved us back the way we had come. Sure enough, we had missed the arrows that were prominently painted on the street. Yes, it was only Day 2 but we this was the second time we would be lost. We had not gone too far though, and retracing our steps was easy. Down a small hill, and through a farm (yes, right through the center of the farm yard), and off we would go.

Our bodies were already hurting from the torturous climb the day before, and the descents followed by more steep inclines only made our bodies hurt more. At one point my left foot began to hurt so much that I gained a prominent limp. I could not believe the pain would start so early on my Camino. Eventually a German man named Ogin would come to my rescue. He asked where it hurt, and when I showed him, he told me my shoe was tied too tight. This went against everything I had been told, but I followed his instructions and loosened the laces all the way to the toes. I had immediate relief. For the next few weeks, every time I tried to tie that lace, my foot would hurt, so I kept my left boot loose through the entire trip.

At the top of the Alto de Mezquiriz we would catch Roberto (France) and Yentz (Germany). We would not see either of them again in our journey. Of the five from the first night in St Jean, we had now said goodby to Sophia, Roberto and Yentz.

My notes say that it was a warm day, but I remember a combination of sun and drizzle, warm and cold. The descent into Zubiri would be our first taste of what a “long descent” could mean. This time it was miles of wet shale that never seemed to end. This is also when we became aware of the Family Fearn, as we began to cross and re-cross one another’s path. At one point as they rested< I pointed out the windmills that were distant on the horizon. We would be there in two days. The kids seemed excited.

By the time we hit the bottom of the mountain, Leo and I were both done. We crossed the Puenta de la Rabia (Bridge of Rabies) into Zubiri and took the first Albergue available. The Hospitalero did not speak English, but we were able to get a room with four beds. We thought most of the day that we would have the room alone, but later that night we would share the room with Patrick, a grad student from Alaska, and Terry, his father. The bathrooms were typical American bathrooms with one toilet and one shower, and Leo and I took advantage of that opportunity before other pilgrims arrived. We also were able to have our dirty laundry washed. Yes, Day 2 and we thought we had enough to justify laundry. We were such newbies.

Leo wanted to get away from the pilgrim’s menu and discover some traditional Spanish foods, so despite being exhausted, we trudged to the far end of town, far away from the Camino trail, to a restaurant recommended by another pilgrim. As I recall, Leo had something delicious and I had the pilgrim’s meal after all. The fun part is that we ran into Maria and Mariah, the two Irish ladies from yesterday. They joined us for dinner and we shared a few laughs. We also got a look at their blisters, and realized as bad as our bodies might hurt, we were in better shape than some other pilgrims. On another note, at a table near to us sat a young couple, Kevin (?) and Alice, also from Ireland. They were two of the people who had done shots with us the previous night. They would play a role in our future days.

We returned to the Albergue to find Patrick and Terry already asleep in the beds, despite it being so early. (I say asleep, but Terry was having heart palpitations and he was up all night, texting his doctor in the states.) Leo and I went to the dining area to share a bottle of wine with our friend Glaucia, who we met yesterday as well. And then we were off to another fitful sleep.

SJPP to Roncesvalles

Day 2: SJPP to Roncesvalles

After a fitful sleep, I awake at 6:00 AM, the time promised by the Basque hospitaleros for breakfast. I walk downstairs to discover the three of them brewing coffee and shocked at my arrival. OH NO! In France, tonight was Daylight Savings Time, it was only 5:00 AM. (Did we really have this conversation in Spanish/Basque?) I tried to sneak back upstairs to bed, but by now, everyone was awake.

I don’t know how it all happened after that…. Leo wanted to take a shower, breakfast had to be eaten, Facebook had to be attended. However it happened, while I was the first to awaken, Leo and I were the last to leave St Jean Pied de Port. I would always insist on a early rise and walk, and I would win for awhile, but eventually Leo’s more relaxed beginning would define our walk.

And of course with no one to follow, Leo and I became lost before we ever left the city. In frustration we walked back to the pilgrim’s office and started over. This time we did better. We followed the yellow arrows into the French countryside, and we laughed at the sheep and cows and beauty. There was nothing more easy and beautiful and wonderful as a morning walk through this wonderful country. Yes, there were a few uphill walks, but nothing serious.

While we did not have a choice between the North route (closed) and the South route, we did have a choice whether along the highway or not. We were both bold and untested, and chose the path through the woods. We could see our first village of Valcarlos through the trees, slightly uphill and ridiculously picturesque.

However, right before Valcarlos, the trail dipped down to cross the river, and after passing a pumping station, we were confronted with an uphill climb worthy of an Olympian. I remember bitching all the way.

We had small talk with a couple of pilgrims and went into the shop for a bocadillo and some bottled water. We bought two2-liter bottles. I mention it now because we carried those two bottles across the entire country, filling them in restaurants, cafes and albergues. We added one more bottle during the long Meseta.

Leo also met a crazy man here. He insisted we should have taken the closed Northern Route, despite that it was closed. He also asked Leo to smoke some hashish with him while I was in the bathroom. Leo said no.

We continued, walking along the highway for the first time. I kept thinking this was the highway that took us down to SJPP, and now as feared, I had to walk up the same road At one point we went through a small shopping center. I saw a woman eating a banana, and I asked if there was one in the store where she sat. No, she said, she brought the banana with her.

We continued walking and soon left the road onto a dirt trail, and it was beside a small farm that we met Maria and Mariah from Ireland. They were two super sweet ladies, and their feet were already hurting them.

Leo and I walked with them for awhile. I felt bad for leaving them, but they were walking too slow for me. We said our goodbyes and Leo and I trudged forward. We walked beside a stream, over a hill, progressively more difficult. I asked Leo if we should stop for the two Irish women, and he echoed my thoughts that they would make it.

On and on we went, ever more steep. Honestly, it became ridiculous. . We came upon Susanne (from Germany) sitting on her backpack, taking a rest from the horrible ascent. We talked for a few minutes, but I was sure the mountaintop was only a few feet away, so we eft Susanne and trudged onward.

The top was not a few feet away. It was a grueling mountain. Our bodies were not trained to walk up such a slope with a backpack. We were exhausted and yet we had to keep moving. The sweet jaunt of the morning had passed into a nightmare of completion At one point we passed the highway, and the sister of the host in Belairi , who lived in Pamplona , passed us by and waved. It was crushing.

The last mile up was on a dirt path following the power lines. And then we hit the Ipaneta Pass. Leo got there- all joy and happiness- and I got there _-all bitch and whininess.

At the top there was a talkative woman and man. These were the two from the front of the pilgrim’s office the previous day. The man was Brazilian, I have forgotten his name. The woman was Glaucia, also a Brazilian but she lives in Abu Dahbi with her husband. We all rejoiced to have made it. And then the short descent into Roncesvalles.

The path leads straight into the door of the municipal Albergue. I suppose from research there are other places to stay. But this is where we went. In through the door and met by a kind,, multi-lingual staff. In five minutes we were checked into the second floor of a three-story pilgrim haven. We had nice bunks in a quad. The Brazilian man had the top bunk across from us.

　

I was so tired, I forgot their was a famous church and pilgrim blessing in Roncesvalles. I only wanted dinner. A friend had recommended a restaurant, and we went there for a glass of wine. We bought a ticket for 7:00, and as it was 7:00, we had dinner with a group of Spanish girls on holiday for Semana Santa. We learned during dinner the Northern Pass was still closed (despite the Valcarlos bicycle guy) and that several people had been lost all day, but found before nightfall. We also learned about dried pork and French fries, a camino staple.

　

After dinner, we adjoined to the lounge, and Ogin would buy us a round of shots. In that crowd was a young Irish couple, who we would meet again in Pamplona. After the shots, we went back to our bunks. Our first day of walking left us exhausted.