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.

Norfolk to SJPP

Day 1: Norfolk to St Jean Pied de Port, France

We arrived in Paris at 8:30 in the morning after flights form Norfolk to Atlanta, and Atlanta to Paris. We went through customs, passport control and the luggage carousel and exited the airport in a light rain at about 10:30 AM. Outside the airport was a bus terrminal with connections to downtown Paris, the train station and to the other ariport ORLY. We stood in the rain to insure a ride to ORLY.

Our bus ride was an hour, along a highway far from the city, through neighborhoods of dull grey apartment buildings and dull grey businesses. Graffiti was everywhere. Not the lovely graffiti you might expect in Paris, but the same lifeless graffiti supplied by drug gangs around the world. The ride went on and on, and we never glimpsed a view of the Paris of movies.

ORLY was a small airport, but populated with many who were traveling for Semana Santa. Leo and I sat in the food court and watch the French military patrol the area, young men and women with machine guns, who roamed the area with eyes for terrorists. Eventually we were allowed to our gate area, and a few minutes later, onto our plane to Biarritz.

Biarritz was a very small airport, but there were many people on our plane. Surprisingly no one was at the luggage carousel here. They must have all had carry-ons. There was one man, a pilgrim from the States, but he had no intention of keeping a conversation with Leo and I. I hope he had a good time.

We had transportation booked in advance, and we went to look for our ride. Leo walked around the small airport, and I walked outside. I found the young lady carrying a sign “Kirk Springer”. She pointed to her minivan, and I went to grab Leo. Along the way I met a tall, very bald German man named Ogin. He wanted to know if he could ride with us to SJPP. I agreed but let him know our driver would make the decision. She did not approve! Despite plenty of room in the van, she said she could not accept money and she gave Ogin directions to the bus stop.

The hour drive to SJPP was through the mountains. At some point I realized the car was always going downhill, and that made me sad because I realized tomorrow we had to walk uphill for every mile it went down. We disembarked in SJPP, walked through the famous archway and found our hostal,

Beilari, the hostal, had changed hands over the winter, and the young Hospitalero in charge was very nervous. This was his first week open! He invited his sister and a family friend to help him with the operations. He spoke some English, they all spoke Basque. Leo and I entered the Albergue, full of excitement and we were given the tour. There was only one other man there, a Frenchman named Roberto… and no other reservations.

We walked over to the pilgrim office, and while busy, there was no one there with more than a basic grasp of English. This would set the tone for our trip. Thankfully Leo and I are good-humored, pleasant and respectful, and very aware nobody should be forced to speak English when its not the first language of the country. Be polite, smile, nod, try. Most important is to try.

We gathered our pilgrim materials and explored the town.

First we explored the grounds of the Beliari. Up a hill into a prayer chapel, and up further to a small garden. I am not sure if we were just too tired from being awake for 48 hours, or just our cynical selves, but we were not impressed by either. If I were to return, I would definitely spend more time in the prayer chapel, and I would leave a message on their “Intention Tree”.

Then we went up to the fortifications above the town. There was a geocache up there anyway, and I wanted to claim France as a country. Afterward we went down to the church. I could not figure out the Mass schedule…in retrospect it was easy enough, I was just tired… and then we went back for dinner at Beliari.

This is an interesting aside. Leo and I were standing outside and a woman approached and asked if we spoke English. There was another man there who replied Yes, but within seconds they were both speaking Portuguese. Since they were getting along, Leo and I went inside for dinner.

At the dinner table were the three Basque hosts, Roberto and us. Additionally, a 70-year old woman from Australia named Sophia had arrived. And two very handsome men from Germany, Yentz and Tomas. As we sat around the table and talked, I actually thought the two Germans were lovers, but like most Americans, I did not understand the European version of body space. While they sat close, and kept close eye contact, they had just met on the train to SJPP. Tomas was a young architect, had built his own home and lived there with his wife and three daughters. He was on camino to find “guy time”. Yentz had recently separated from his girlfriend of many years. He was still in love. She was not. He came to think about that. Roberto had already walked 500 miles from Le Puy to celebrate the birth of an unexpected grandson, and he was ready to walk 500 more miles to Santiago.

As we drank and ate and conversed, who should walk in but Ogin! He had finally made it to SJPP from the bus. Oh God, how bad did I feel about that? He took a seat and a plate of food. Ogin had walked the camino as a young man. Recently all the hair on his body had fallen out.. The doctors could not find anything wrong with him. He was back to walk a portion of the camino to Burgos, and his son was joining him in a few days.

I had decided before we left Norfolk that Leo and I would pretend to bebe “friends” on the camino. With the religious aspect, I did not want to offend anyone or create a distraction. It was shocking when Yentz suddenly asked, “if you guys are both single, why do you wear the same wedding ring?” Yeah, thanks Yentz. And thanks international language barrier because no one understood the question, and certainly no one understood my weird, evasive reply.

After dinner the seven of us retired to the room with four bunkbeds. Six men and one woman to the same room, and there were many other rooms. So much to learn on the first night:

a) Men and women are not separated, even when there are open beds and open rooms. The norm is to fill a room before moving to the next.

b) Both German guys got up during the night and rustled through their backpacks. I was terrified they were going to go through my bag and steal something. It is a beautiful thing that on night one I realized there was nothing for them to steal that I could not replace. My wallet and passport were in the lining of my sleeping bag. I never worried the rest of my camino.

c) People snore. And cough. And go to the bathroom. And search their bags. And turn on lights. And talk. I should have paid attention to this lesson, because I gave myself more grief than necessary.

I eventually slept. My camino would begin in the morning.

　

　

　

Prayer Along the Camino

I try to say the Lord's Prayer every day.   It is silly, but when I walk the camino, I want to be able to recite it in Spanish.


Padre nuestro que estás en el Cielo,
santificado sea tu nombre,
venga a nosotros tu Reino,
hágase tu voluntad en la Tierra como en el Cielo,
danos hoy nuestro pan de cada día,
y perdona nuestras ofensas,
como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden,
no nos dejes caer en la tentación,
y líbranos del mal,
Tuyo es el Reino el Poder y la Gloria por Siempre Señor Amén

I also want to familiarize myself with the Pilgrim's Prayer:

God, You called your servant Abraham from Ur in Chaldea, watching over him in all his wanderings, and guided the Hebrew people as they crossed the desert.  Guard these your children who, for love of your Name, make a pilgrimage to Compostela.  Be their companion on the way, their guide at the crossroads, their strength in weariness, their defense in dangers, their shelter on the path, their shade in the heat, their light in darkness, their comfort in discouragement, and the firmness of their intentions, that through your guidance they may arrive safely at the end of their journey and, enriched with grace and virtue, may return to their homes filled with salutary and lasting joy.

In the next few months, I would like to attend Mass, as I plan on attending many times during our journey.