mrbrianking

Today we walked………..

…………………………………. a long way.

We got moving late today. We have carried a lot of extra stuff, which was useful when we had to cross the Pyranees, but is just extra weight when on the lowlands. Stuff like fleeces, gloves, wooly hats, etc., etc. So last night, we pulled all this out (3.5 kgs worth). You can post it to yourself at Santiago and we were told that the post office opens at 8 am. In fact, as we discovered, opening time during the week is 8.30, but on Saturdays, i.e. today, it is 9.30. So we boxed it and posted it but we didn’t get going until 10 am.

During the morning, we entered the Rioja province, so, as you can imagine, we spent the day walking through miles and miles (that’s 1.6x(km’s and km’s)) of vineyards. On every side, there are vines in long straight rows just waiting to burst into leaf. Be at peace, wine lovers. There is much to come.

All along the Camino, there are small concrete posts marking the route. They might be a few hundred meters apart in some places or a km apart in others. They have nice Camino tiles on them. As we approach Lagrono (a large city and, I believe, the capital of the LA Rioja province), I notice that the tiles have all been taken off the posts. At first I think that they are hanging in some student flat, but there are so many missing, they would be enough to tile a whole house. A large one.

The approach to Lagrono is not nice but as we get close to the centre, we cross a lovely bridge and enter the old town. In the main square, they are preparing for a festival. Stages have been erected. The place is covered in balloons. People are dressed in fancy dress, everything from flamenco dancers to a flip-flop. Yes, one girl is walking around dressed as a flip-flop. Sitting in the sun, at a restaurant in the square, we find Taya, a Danish friend from two days ago. We join her for a coffee and sandwich and watch the festivities for an hour, before moving on. Moving out of the old town and through the modern commercial streets, I begin to feel out of place in my dusty hiking gear. I am very glad to leave Lagrono behind.

As we start to climb, we hear loud claps of thunder and the rain starts. The usual procedure. Off with bags. Get all the wet gear on. Take a few steps. Rain stops. Reverse procedure. Walk half a mile. Rain starts. Repeat procedure. Repeat reversal. It never gets too bad. And we don’t get hit by lightning.

We have a hare and tortoise situation here. I should say a hares and tortoises, (is that the right plural?). There are two Asian ladies walking the Camino. We met them in St Jean Pied de Port on our first day. They could be mother and daughter but as they speak no English, we don’t know. They walk really, really slowly. At a snails (tortoises?) pace. Yet everyday we pass them. That is to say, every day they start out ahead of us! I think they must never stop to sleep. They just plod along all night. They always smile and wave and greet us as we go by, but they never tell us how they got passed us in the first place. It’s a mystery.

On this section of the Camino, I am very conscious that my son has walked it before me. It makes me feel somehow connected to it. I feel his presence, that he passed these trails, these bridges, these villages. That he stayed at these albergues or had a beer or coffee at these cafes. We will talk about it someday and he will laugh and call me sentimental. In Spanish of course, and I will not understand. But I will still enjoy the shared memory.

It is a beautiful day to walk. The countryside is open farmland. There is no shade, but there is little sunshine, so all is well. We pass many enormous piles of hay, stacked in blocks. It all looks as though it were last years crop, left to rot. Some of it has grass growing on it. And if there is all this hay, where are the cattle? I see no herds of cattle. In fact, very few farm animals of any sort. Just vast fields of grass and flax. And vineyards of course. Acres and acres of vineyards.

Every Spanish village is placed on a hill! Whether you walk up or down or level, for the day, sure as you’re tired and want to enter a village or town, you have an almost vertical climb. It’s just done to spite the poor walker. It could be midday, and your starving with thoughts of lunch. It could be afternoon, when you need a beer. It could be evening, when the last drop of energy has been shed. Whenever it is, if you want to enter a Spanish village, you will find it is 100 meters above you.

On the other hand, when you finally get there. Oh! When you get into a room. Oh! When you take your boots off. Oh! Oh! And when you step into a hot shower. Oh! Oh! Oh! It’s the little things that make it all worth while. And by the way, we’re staying tonight in a refurbished palace in Viana. A refurbished palace no less. So there!

And the Lord said, “Go forth and multiply”. And only the midget was awake that day. And he took upon himself the responsibility for all the world. And he went forth and he multiplied at a great rate. And he came to the Lord and said, “Lord, we have multiplied but we have nought to eat”. And the Lord heard and he thought, “Oh, the midgets have nought to eat”.  And so he sent pilgrims. And then were the midgets thankful, and they did eat well of the pilgrims, who suffered the indignity of midget attack, and did swear, even to the dismay of the Lord. Just as well they had “Pardon to the end of the Camino”, having crossed over the Alto del Perdón yesterday.

The morning had promised rain but we got none. In fact, it was a perfect morning for walking. Cool but not cold, overcast but bright. A Goldilocks day. Except for the midgets. They came in clouds as we walked through fields of flax. Then the track left the flax fields and the midgets disappeared.

There are water fonts along the route at fairly frequent intervals, so that you can top up your reserves. But just outside Estella, there is a wine font. Yes it’s true. A font where you can stop and have a glass of wine, (indeed, I suppose you could fill up your bottle if you wanted). It’s there, free for the drinking. We were not greedy. We had a glass, (actually a plastic), and we moved on. It was very nice by the way.

The only way I know, the only proven scientific method, the only system that has been carefully tested, in controlled conditions, to stop the rain, is to put on all your wet gear. Yes, this method I have used many times and can vouch for it’s effectiveness. So when it started to rain, we stopped, took off our fleece shirts, packed them away. Took out our waterproof leggings. Put them on. Took out our raincoats. Put them on. Put the rain covers on our rucksacks. Picked up and reset our rucksacks. Took four steps, (the actual laboratory test says, “Up to ten steps”). The rain stopped. We kept everything on for about twenty minutes but it got too hot. The procedure was reversed.  Strangely, it did not start raining again.  We were happy, until we saw what lay ahead.  Up, up, up.  Tired and sore we climbed, until finally, happy again, we arrived at Villamayor de Monjardín, our stop for the evening.

No dinner served at this albergue, so over to the shop to get something to cook. I took one look at the woman behind the counter and said, “She’s a sister of the woman who ran last night’s albergue”. “Excuse me, are you a sister of the woman in the last albergue?”  “Yes, I am.  Why do you think she suggested this town and this shop as a place to stay?”

There’s no answer to that!  We had dinner with some friends we met along the way. Good food. Good wine. And we played Farkle. I lost!  Both games!

“Sarah Quigley?”

“What do you mean, ‘Sarah Quigley’?”

“Sarah Quigley is on the Camino”
“Is she? I didn’t know”
“You said she was”
“No I didn’t ”
“You said, ‘There’s Sarah Quigley ‘”
“I said, ‘There’s Zariquiegui’! That town ahead. There”

“By the way, I meant to ask you, ….. ”
“No!”
“No?”
“No!”
“Oh? OK”

“Hey. You sound Irish”
“Yes”
“Thought I recognised the accent. I was just talking to that horse. Last time I talked to a horse, he broke out of the field and followed me for three miles. I had to bring him all the way back”
“Right so”

“Oy’ve jast ad lanch “. (That’s an Australian accent. Maybe I should forget that and you can do the accent yourself.
“I’ve just had lunch and i’ve done enough walking for today. I’m staying put”.

Ah yes. It’s not all deep soul searching, you know. There’s still time for the simple things in life. Meanwhile, we hiked 32 km’s today. Uphill and down dale. More uphill actually. It’s our march towards heaven. Oh by the way, on passing today’s high point at Alto del Perdón, we were pardoned for all our sins, not just to date, but for the rest of the Camino. In case we die on the way, it seems. Yippee!! That’s a load off my mind.

Fed and watered in a wonderful,old stone building Albergue in Cirauqui. Off to bed.

Remember Ernest Hemingway? Yes, of course you do. Well he’s a really big deal in Pamplona. It seems he lived here on and off during the 1930’s, 40’s and 50’s. There are streets named after him, statues erected to him, bars and restaurants that bear his name. In Pamplona, Hemingway is the man.

We arrived here on Tuesday morning after a short 8 km walk along the river and through the wonderful medieval city gate. We decided to treat ourselves, have a day to tour the city and stay in a hotel. All right, all right, yeah, yeah, yeah. I don’t care. We deserve a treat. And a treat we had.

Pamplona is a lovely city. We walked it end to end. Sat in the plaza. Walked the city walls. Lunch in a cafe bar in a busy side street. We did the bull run. Yes, Pamplona is of course, famous for it’s running of the bulls. Up it’s narrow, winding, cobbled streets, from the city entrance to the bull ring. It’s very dangerous of course. Only for the brave. So we did the bull run. Mind you, there are no bulls there until July. That didn’t stop us though.

Vicki had to buy a new rucksack, so we went to a hiking shop. It is run and co-owned by a really nice young lady from Hungary. She did the Camino four years ago and it changed her life. She gave up her job in Hungary, moved to Pamplona and opened her shop. You never know where things will guide you. So watch out when we get home.

You can get a great dinner in the evenings here in lovely little restaurants at very reasonable prices. We did just that. Full and happy we made our way back towards our hotel and stopped in for a nightcap in a bar on the way. There we met Carlos, a banker from Angola, who is doing two weeks of the Camino. He only came in to watch football on the television and ended up getting his photograph taken with us! Lucky guy!

Off to bed in our comfy hotel. And maybe another shower!!

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.

I may have changed my mind about the French Air Traffic controllers. Well softened a little anyway. Without them and their strike, I’d have started from Pamplona and missed this crossing of the Pyranees from France into Spain. And it was worth not missing.

We start out just after 8am. The sun has not been up long before us but, even though still low in the east, he rules the sky. There is not a single cloud to compete. It’s a steady climb all morning as we rise to 1,450 m, (about 4,700 feet). We are constantly meeting, passing or being passed by, friends from last night. We catch up, talk for a few minutes and move on. Everyone at their own pace. Everyone with their own thoughts.

On the higher ground, there is snow. I don’t know why I am surprised by this, but I am. Long stretches of the track are covered in snow and I pick my way across it, as carefully as is possible with 10 kgs on my back. These careful steps bring me over a small, not very interesting looking cattle grid, that marks my crossing from France into Spain. At the highest point, Col de Lepoeder, (which, by the way, I thought was the highest point on the Camino, until I was told this evening that no, that little bit of excitement doesn’t come for about three more weeks – something to look forward to), the snow was about 6 feet deep. The poles marking the track were barely poking their heads over it. The map shows a road here, but it can’t be seen. Buried below.

The target for the day had been Roncesvalles, but we arrive there at 1 o’clock, which seems a bit early for a finish. We have a sandwich and a beer and decide to push on to Espinal. As the afternoon gets hotter and the feet get tireder, we cross a little bridge over the Urrobi river. Off with the shoes and socks, sit on a stone and plunge the feet in. Jeez, that’s cold! It’s like ice. The pain of the walking instantly gives way to the pain of the cold water. Pure torture! Why do I do it? Still, when I get my feet dry and my socks back on then, boy does it feel good.

In Espinal we find a lovely Albergue, and actually get a private room, a luxury on the Camino. We have dinner there with Kastos from Denmark and with Daniel and Gina who are both from Berlin but who did not know each other before this evening. Time for a few drinks with Kastos before bed. What a wonderful day.

Our Camino began in St. James’ Gate in Dublin, where we collected our passports and had them stamped in the church of St James and again in the Guinness brewery, where they take pride in their centuries old connection with the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. But that was weeks ago. Really, it began as we arrived now in Dublin airport. And with it, our first piece of luck! The good people of Ryanair had randomly allocated us seats in row 17. Guess what! It’s the emergency exit row. Lots of extra legroom. Lots of extra space. A little bonus to send us off in good form. And it worked!

We arrived in Biarritz and went to checkout transport to St Jean. Of course we had checked this out online, (doesn’t everyone), and we knew that there was a shuttle from €15. From €15!! Note the word “from”. It was quite a long way from! €120 per person. That’s how far from. We also knew that there was a bus to Bayonne railway station, with connecting train to St Jean, so,I asked at the Information desk at the airport. This desk, I have to say, is staffed by the nicest, friendliest lady ever to sit at an Information desk. “Yes”, she said. “You take the number 14 bus, from outside the door, to Bayonne. They run every half hour. €1 per person. Off to Bayonne with us for €1 each. At Bayonne railway station we discovered that there is no train to St Jean. The track has been subject to falling rock and is out of use for repair. There is however, a bus. Going in one hour, €10.

On the bus we met fellow pilgrim, (we’re pilgrims now, by the way), James. James has done the Camino three times, twice on a bicycle. We tell him our plan to stay in St Jean tonight and head for Roncesvalles tomorrow.

“That’s a long way”, says the experienced James. “25 kms and over 4,500 feet of a climb”. James had a suggestion. “Check in at St Jean, then hike as far as the albergue (pilgrim hostel) Orisson. This is about 7 kms along the route. It can be easily made in time for dinner and takes the pressure off next day. We took his advice and so here we are at Orisson. A lovely dinner. A glass of wine. Good company among brand new friends from Germany, South Korea, Australia and US. A welcome shower. And so to bed.

Every story has a beginning. Endings are optional, or may at least, be beyond our sight or beyond our grasp. But a beginning, there must be. The story of my Camino begins with Ryanair. Well to be fair, a combination of Ryanair and the French Air Traffic Controllers.

My plan, our plan, Vicki and I, as we prepared our souls, oiled our feet and packed, unpacked and re packed our rucksacks, was to fly to Biarritz and make our way to St Jean Pied de Port, to start our 790km walk.  Price of flight to Biarritz ……. €720. I kid you not.  €720!  Change of plan. New plan, fly to Santander and get to Pamplona to start. Good plan!  Flights booked, souls prepared, feet oiled, etc., etc.

On the day before departure, at 5pm, I received a text message from the good people at Ryanair with their apologies.  The flight was cancelled. I could have my money back or rebook at no extra cost. Good of them, I hear you say. Could I rebook to Biarritz at no extra cost?  Yes!  Yes, booked to Biarritz for the same price and only one day lost.  Excellent!

Next day I received a text from those same good people at Ryanair with their apologies. The flight to Biarritz was cancelled. I could rebook, at no extra cost. They didn’t say, but I’m pretty sure that the not-so-good, (in my current opinion), people of the French Air Traffic Control, had an active part in this little affair. I’m all for the rights of the working man, (and woman by the way), but I do wonder how many of the Air Traffic Control brigade will be standing on the barricades in Paris, for the next revolution.

Never mind, we are re-rebooked, with the promise that we will be delivered to Biarritz next Saturday morning. That will be the beginning. The beginning of our pilgrimage.  The beginning of our adventure. What and where the end will be?  Well, it wouldn’t be an adventure, if we knew that.