Today seems to have been a day of breaks. My feet may not agree but as I look back over the day, the recollections come as a string of pleasant stops.

Actually, the morning started with something of a hiccough. The alarm did not go off. Well that’s not strictly true. Due to some deep astronomical reason, the clocks went forward a week or so ago and the Spanish insist on their clocks being another hour ahead and our alarm was set for Irish time but allowing for a one hour difference, ………. , are you following all this? I’m not. But I do know that we woke up at 7.35 and that breakfast was to finish at 7.30. Quickly downstairs to find our place still set and a welcoming host. Phew! Mind you, the welcome is the best part of it. The breakfast is hardly worth the rush. Still, we ate it. Dry bread with jam and lukewarm coffee. Better than nothing.

And so to the trail on another beautiful day. Uphill, through a forest path and lovely pastureland and fields of cattle and horses. After an hour and a half, we are sitting outside a fine little shop, eating yoghurt and pears and pondering the wonder and value of second breakfast. Delicious!

Hiking on through a pleasant forest path, I met David. David is an Australian who is just starting his three months holiday to Europe. When he finishes the Camino, his wife is flying over to join him for two months around Spain, England, Italy and maybe Ireland. We arrive at Alto de Erro. It is only a road crossing with a small car park, but there is a caravan selling coffee, snacks, chocolate, etc. There is also a group of pilgrims gathered around a table enjoying a break in the sun. We gather around the table and enjoy a break in the sun. We also share a Toblerone. That’s the best bit.

An hour takes us on to Zubrini which, though it has a beautiful medieval bridge, is an industrial town and not somewhere we want to stop. We go outside and sit and have our lunch by the side of the trail, at a crossroad. Pilgrims go by and each stops and selects a route. Actually, they all select the same route. None of them has come back yet, so I suppose the chose correctly. We follow suit.

We arrive into Larrasoaña but it’s not where we want to stay so no break here. There is a hotel only 15 minutes down the road. We’ll rethink when we get there. We get there. Beautiful village. Beautiful hotel. Closed. Until the day after tomorrow. That’s too long to wait. An hour up the track there is an Albergue. Let’s make for that.

We arrive into Zuriáin across a bridge where there is an Albergue and bar, right there at the river. Daniel is sitting there with two girls and we join them for a beer. A cold refreshing beer. How wonderful. It takes away the pain and makes life seem good again. Time for decisions. We could stay here. The beer is good. The Albergue is good. My feet are tired. No, no. We’ll move on. One hour further is a restaurant that has been advertising great pizza at various spots along the trail. Trying to divide my thoughts equally, between pizza and feet, I march into Irotz, hungry but happy. Closed. Hungry and sad.

New plan. Heads down and bang on to Arre. We get diverted and end up walking alongside the Arga river to Huarte. After much questioning in our (Vicki’s), best Spanish, we find the Huarte municipal Albergue. This is an old building. This has stood for hundreds of years. There is no-one at reception, which is closed. However, we are told that we can check in at the pub across the road. No sooner said than done. We are escorted to our accomodation. This is a big building. Room for lots of pilgrims here. I don’t know how many beds there are but I do know how many are occupied tonight. Two! Yes, there is only us. No other guest. No staff. No receptionist. No one! At night, the empty halls, the shadows, the echoes, the noises, the emptiness. This place is creepy.  I need a break.