Month: September 2016

The pervasive smell in the hotel last night, Vic tells me, was that of newly fermenting wine.  I’m used to it so I didn’t notice.  If it didn’t come from the local winery, one of the nearby apartments is brewing their own.  The local winery is a large one, but on the edge of town.  It is one of the high points of the Camino, as it has a free wine fountain available to pilgrims.  Unfortunately there was no wine available (at 9 AM) as it appears the tap was broken.  There were many disappointed pilgrims milling around.  You can see it on the internet webcam  http://www.irache.com/en/enoturismo/fuente-del-vino.html if the webcam is working any better than the tap.  There was another major winery and more grapes seen later in the day – that great Navarre wine has to come from somewhere.

Breakfast usually opens at 7 AM, we and get underway by 8:30.  Today there was no real practical place to stop for coffee until well into lunch time.  When you miss the first open coffee stop in a village, assuming the second one will be less crowded, and there is no second one, there is not enough energy to go back to the first one and you carry on.  And you do it twice.  This afternoon’s walk was along 13 km of gravel road winding through mildly undulating stubble fields.  A taste of what is to come in the Meseta.

One of the groups that we have been leapfrogging on the Camino is a couple of mildly overweight old guys (said without prejudice) from Brittany.  One has a full backpack, but the other has his backpack in a 2 wheel cart made of plastic plumbing attached to loops on his belt.  It seems that would be okay on the level, but we do run across some terrible rocky stretches that would seem to be difficult.  Notwithstanding, they keep up with us.  The Canadian guy who walked across Canada had a similar one wheeled device, but with a much better hip and shoulder harness.

 

Vic has been powering through the blisters like a trooper. However as we turned into the hotel she felt a sudden surge of pain.  We subsequently found that she had pulled the toenail of her little toe loose making it far too painful to walk.   We hobbled over to the medical clinic, some 50 meters away, which was closed, but the hotel opened for us. The female doctor and male nurse had a look at it, bandaged it, said ‘no walking!!’, (duh!) drained a couple blisters, and sent us on our way – with a bill for 121 euros.  Maybe this is what the travel medical insurance is for – we’ll see.  Anyway, it is a good thing this happened at the hotel, as if it had been a couple hours earlier, I would have had to drag her by the other foot miles down a gravel road and that would have been exhausting.

We have sort of made arrangements for her to go by taxi to the next hotel, and I am thinking of walking tomorrow with a couple of American women we met.  We’ll see how tomorrow goes for the future walking.

We hobbled Vic over to the church to have a look.  Los Arcos is a relatively small town, but they have a magnificent church.  The area behind that altar, and the side walls are covered in ornate gilded wood baroque carvings the equal of which we have never seen before.  It is the Church of Santa Maria, and the centrepiece is a Virgin and Child carving from 1175 located high in the altarpiece.  It was originally a black Virgin from Madrid, but was ‘restored’ in 1947.  As we watched, the setting sun streaming through a round window in the rear moved across the panels settling perfectly on the carving of the Virgin and Child.  It is a combination of astronomy and our good fortune that resulted in such a scene.  There were a couple dozen photographers ready, so it is a known thing, and only occurs once a year.  The rest of the church was decorated with many other styles of carving, and wall painting.  Worth much art study.

We noticed in the early days that pilgrims of some national groups walked faster than the rest of us.  They have gone far ahead, and the ones from a day behind us are long gone by the time we get on the road in the morning.  The rest of us walk at roughly the same pace, leapfrogging at picture, lunch and rest stops.  You get to know some of them quite well through repeated encounters.  As a result of our rest day in Pamplona we lost our original crew, and now have picked up another set.  As we left Puente la Reina we came across a couple who were carrying an 18 month old child in a backpack.  That surely is going to be a task.

We also noticed that some national groups are much louder than the others. They announce themselves a long way ahead. Their nationality shall remain anonymous, as they probably don’t realise it themselves.

The small towns that you walk through often seem abandoned, particularly during siesta. Not a thing is stirring, even the dogs are asleep. However, a few of the inhabitants pay tribute to the pilgrims.  Yesterday, as we walked through a deserted town, there was a little old lady on her doorstep passing out ripe figs to passing pilgrims, along with a ‘Buon Camino’ wish.  Today there was a place with boxes of walnuts and hazelnuts for the pilgrims, along with a brick to crush them.  Most everyone seems to actually like the pilgrims and wish us well.  I compare this to Banff, where the inhabitants consider the tourists as vermin to be exploited.

The Camino path seems to go from town to town but, since the goal of a true medieval pilgrim was to pray at every opportunity, it really goes from church to church. Only those cases of modern rerouting will take you through a town away from the church front door.  Unfortunately for the true pilgrim, most of the churches today are locked, except for mass times. The church originally was usually built on a hill, and the village grew around it. The valleys are better suited to agriculture.  As a result, there are many hills to climb on the Camino as you go from church to church.  I seem to remember that in Galicia and Portugal, the Way also included each wayside cross, and they are ALWAYS built on the highest hill around.

Today was another 25 km day, but did not have any major hills to scale, although the small ones did seem that way. The muscles are not yet toughened up, nor the endurance strengthened, but the blisters are worse, slowing us down.  It takes a couple weeks to toughen up.  The scenery is gradually changing – the stony sunflower, corn and hay fields are slowly yielding to vineyards.

Tonight is another very nice hotel, although not exactly “right on the Camino”, as advertised. It is across the river from the Camino, and so has less of the pilgrim/tourist influence.  We ate our evening meal in the city square, watching the evening town rituals. The young children playing skateboards and scooters in the central square; the matrons gossiping and having a glass of white wine around the edge; the gigantic bell of the church tolling for the 8 o’clock mass. All just like you have read about.

Puente la Reina translates to The Queen’s Bridge, but history is vague as to which queen.  The bridge refers to a medieval multi-arch bridge at the far end of town. We haven’t actually seen the bridge yet because we haven’t got the energy to walk that far. The town is about four blocks square, laid out in 1122, so it isn’t all that far.

The town has long catered to pilgrims.  A Templar’s hospice was documented in 1146.  A 1235 document says the main street was “populated with pilgrims”.  In 1447 the custom was to ring the church bells 40 times at 9 and 10 o’clock as a guide to pilgrims that might still be on the road.  I just know these things.  If you don’t believe me, I can give you the name of the book I got it from.

The walk from Pamplona today came to 26 km, the longest so far. And it involved a major hill or, actually, crossing a range of hills. The highway goes through a tunnel, the pilgrims go over the hill.  The way up wasn’t bad, but the way down was a steep stony dry river bed.  As a saving grace, it wasn’t raining (as predicted) or it would not have been a dry river bed.

The range of hills is surmounted by a row of more than 50 gigantic wind mills.  Spain has invested a lot of (European Union?) money in wind power – currently providing about 1/5th of their electrical requirements.

The top of the hill (Alto del Perdon) also has a row of famous sheet metal sculptures depicting pilgrims. It is courtesy of a movie company.

Another high point along the way was an old church, San Andres, in Zariquiegui.  It wasn’t much in itself, but it was the pleasant attitude of the caretakers that was worth remarking. They also had a list of suggestions or meditations to make your pilgrimage more successful. The point of a pilgrimage is religious of course, but even after subtracting the religious part the suggestions could be a life message. We’ll try to get a copy for you off the internet.

The hotel here is in one of those medieval buildings, but has been remodelled in this century – it even has an elevator. The four (approximately) block square town has 13 restaurants – none that we could find open before 7 PM. We settled on a wine bar that eventually became a restaurant as the evening wore on. The highlight tonight was garlic soup.

The town has three major churches, the nearest being one dedicated to Santiago himself.  The basic structure is from before 1122, but the interior is baroque 17th century gilded carvings that would be better with more light.  The Santiago statue itself is 14th century gothic.  The bells rung all afternoon – possibly for a funeral. They are a few feet outside our window. They ring the hours and the quarters.  It is going to be a long night.

Today was a much needed rest day in Pamplona.  It has a lovely old city core, although it did not entirely seem that way when walking in yesterday afternoon. Coming into a city of any size is a bit of a shocking change from the Camino, as it usually entails walking through endless industrial areas or residential suburbs. Pamplona has done their best by bringing the Camino in through a chain of parks, but it is still CITY with all the congestion that entails. You no longer great everyone you meet with a friendly smile and Hola!.  Everyone is in a hurry to go somewhere. There is constant noise.

The first time we were in Pamplona many years ago we were searching to replace a broken spark plug on our English van, eventually unsuccessful. Last time we were here the hotel did not have our reservation when we arrived late at night. This time the city treated us better and all seemed to go well.

The food is good – I am getting to like Bull Stew in its taste variations. The meals are still the Spanish “If you wanted vegetables you should have ordered them” concept. Two meals of Bull Stew have provided one cherry tomato, as decoration. This evening we discovered pintxos – pronounced pinchos. It is an up market version of tapas – small treats usually provided free with your drinks. Pintxos are sold individually, but are larger and more filling. Two or three constitute a meal. They usually seem to involve artful combinations of ham, cheese and bread, or egg pie variations.  They are always impaled on a toothpick, which is the origin of the name.

Tomorrow is a very long hike, and it involves going up and over the very top of a large hill, and down again. It is going to be a trial.

Amazingly enough, the pouring rain predicted for today did not materialize, and we had to walk in nice weather. Tough.  I was SO keen to walk in the rain.

We spent last evening bantering with a couple groups of Irishmen, and continued to cross paths with them today. Many other Irish voices were overheard. Hello? Is there anybody still left in Ireland?

One of the highlights of today was a visit to The Abbey – actually the church of Santa Lucia in Ezkirotz (q.v.). This is an old church now owned by a South African couple. They started by trying to rent the adjacent house and ended by buying a church. Apparently buying a church from The Church in Spain is not easy. The local priest refused to sign the deconsecration papers, even though it had been abandoned for years. Eventually the archbishop declared the place a ruin, which automatically deconsecrates it. However it is not a ruin if it still has a roof, so somebody somewhere along the line told an untruth.  It was considered a 16th century church, built on the structure of an older fortified building. A few years ago somebody stole the 16th century altar, revealing a much older (13th century) altar that was strange in many ways, possibly with pagan influences. There are other indications of Moors buried under the floors, and possibly Templar influences in the structure. He has had a number of art historians look at the place and they all have opinions.  Different opinions.  Anyway he is trying to stabilize the structure and do the archaeology, largely on donations from passing pilgrims. Really all very interesting.

He also pointed us to another church further down the road, interesting because all of the pictures of the saints are female, and in the traditional Madonna portrait it is Joseph who holds the Child. To top it all off, the current caretaker is a nun. We did not see it since it was up a long hill, and that was just not ‘on’ at that point.

So we arrived in Pamplona, footsore and weary, to find they are holding a festival this weekend in our honour.  Actually the festival is for San Fermin, but still, a festival is a festival. The streets are crowded with people, there are balloons and firecrackers, and the kids have wheelbarrow-like devices with a bull’s head on them, running into people. The San Fermin celebration that includes the famous running with the bulls now happens in June when the weather is more predicable.  Today is San Fermin’s actual feast day.  I imagine the kids are in place of the real bulls but hardly less dangerous in their own way.

We are installed in a rather posh hotel beside the cathedral, with washing hanging all over the room. We have just had a very fine dinner (I had Bull Stew – left over from the ring?) and that is today. Some 20 km.

Today was one of the longer days of our schedule – some 23 km. There were no mountain ranges, but enough significant ups and downs to fully check out the jellied muscles of yesterday.

I (we) love walking on the Camino in Spain. At exactly 10AM you turn right into a sun-dappled courtyard where the tables of a roadside café await you. For 2€ ($3C) you can order up a double espresso – giving you a shot of caffeine that will make a Starbucks barista’s eyes water.

There are three such high points to the walking day: morning coffee, lunch, and afternoon coffee. At about 11:30 or 12 you turn left into the sun-dappled courtyard…..etc. There you can get a beer and a bocadillo. 11:30 is not too early for a beer, if you are walking – is it?

A bocadillo is the Spanish Camino equivalent of an American hamburger – generic fast food. It consists of a half of a French baguette containing a few paper thin slices of stringy ham or salami. It may also contain cheese, if you are fortunate in your choice of sun-dappled…..etc.  In France we had a paté version.  It does not come with butter or any condiments. Knowing this we brought a zillion packets of Canadian mustard to zing up the ham.

Afternoon coffee may or may not be another beer, depending on whether you have finished walking. By mid-afternoon conversation flags somewhat and each is left with their own thoughts, debating internally deep philosophical questions like “Lord, will this downhill ever end?”   That last three km into Zubiri down a stony ditch was a real killer.

The standard greeting when encountering anybody is the Spanish hello – Hola!  When passing, or being passed on the trail, a “Bon Camino!” is required. In either case, if the reception and accent is acceptable, it is immediately followed by “Where are you from?” The answer to that can lead to many interesting conversations.  One of the customs of the Camino community.

We encountered a pair of retired lady teachers near our age from Alaska last night. However they run marathons so they intend to walk a couple towns further than us tomorrow. We will only see their backs, and that for not long.

We briefly met a young Spanish couple that had just finished doing the Camino backwards. I thought that was impossible, since you would always have to look over your shoulder to see the yellow arrows pointing the way you had just came from. Of course you could just struggle upstream against the oncoming tide of Pilgrims. Hola! would wear thin after a while.

The Camino is remarkably clean with nary a piece of litter to be seen. No candy wrappers or Macdonalds containers. Only the ubiquitous tissues behind every tree.

The weather today was good, cool in the morning and rather warm for walking this afternoon. The forecast is for walking in pouring rain tomorrow, just to test us.

Things are looking up – today everything worked as it should have!  The weather is still good, if a bit cooler with more cloud.  The bus dropped us off at the Virgin.  It was invigorating to whiz by the 12 km of walkers trudging nose to tail along the roadside   (The pilgrim office told me that 300 started yesterday – probably a round number, but close.  Last year apparently 9000 started in September.)  Since a good number of them were what I consider to be 3 hours up the road at 8 AM, they either started at 5 or ran the first few miles.  It is deadly dark until 7 AM, so who knows?

As we  got higher – not finished climbing yet – the weather got cooler, with a biting wind.  Finally over a pass into Spain, it turned from barren hills to warmer, treed paths. The final  pass is over 1400 m, so we had put on another 300 m of climbing – to roughly the altitude of Banff from that of Toronto yesterday morning.  After the final pass the trail descends everlastingly and steeply to Roncevalles.  A couple of hours of that rocky downhill slope turns a whole new set of muscles to quivering jelly.

Roncevalles is a small town – to quote an old joke, you can literally see both town limits signs at the same time. Really, you can!  And most of that  space is taken up with a huge 13th century monastery.  Part of it is now devoted to a refugio for the pilgrims’ sleeping quarters.

The town only has a permanent population of 30, but it must daily accommodate and feed most of the 300 who started that morning from St. Jean.  The refugio takes most, the hotels the rest.  To feed that many people, a traditional pilgrim’s meal is offered.  All three hotel restaurants have it, as well as the refugio, each at different prices (and quality).  The idea is a simple communal repast – as a company of pilgrims would have.  We opted for the one at our hotel at 10€ each.  There are large tables set for convivial dining. They served a large tureen of soup, and a bowl of pasta with sausages and tomato sauce for everyone to help themselves from, which I thought was quite enough food.  Then they individually served a chicken leg with chips or fish with chips.  The fish turned out to be a full trout. Nice, eh?  And some yogurt for dessert.  And wine.  Apparently wine is traditionally part of a pilgrim menu. And why should it be otherwise?

It is so good to be in Spain where a bottle of wine comes with a 10€ meal, as opposed to France (30 km away) where it is a 10€ (or more) addition to a 15€ (or more) meal.  And it is the same wine!  What is this Common Market stuff all about?

Always an ‘adventure a day’ on the road.

The first day`s walk out of St. Jean is a long one – 25 or so km, and includes a mountain range.  One of the ways to manage it without killing yourself is to go part way, have a taxi come and take you back to your B&B, and drop you off the next day at the same place. As a matter of fact, our trip company had arranged that – sort of.  Her instructions were: at the 12 km mark, at Orisson, the bus will pick you up.  The trouble is, Refuge Orisson (a popular spot)  is at 8 km –  but at the 12 km mark there is a Virgin Orisson statue, which is also said to be a bus pickup point.  (The bus is actually a bloke in a mini-van, incidentally.)  So we walked further on up to the Virgin and waited – and waited.  When no bus arrived, we started walking back down – for what could have been a VERY long 12 km.  Definately a communication problem with Andaspain.

However, soon a car stopped to ask if we were okay – walking in the wrong direction is apparently a sure sign of not being okay.  He was a local B&B owner showing some Aussie guests the road, and gave us a ride home – such a generous move.  Maison Gure Lana.  Stay there if you can.  What could have been a total disaster turned out okay (after another good meal and a jug of wine).

Anyway, tomorrow we have to see if our return transport is actually booked at all, and if we can get taken up to the Virgin from the Refuge.  I do not relish doing that steep 4 km again.

It is not that the 12 km is a long walk – we do that most every day at home.  It is that there is over a thousand meter elevation gain.   That is two-thirds of a mile – straight up!

The scenery is spectacular,incidentally.

And when we got back we tackled the telephone lady.  She tapped on her computer for a few seconds and fixed the problem, so now we have data.  She gave no indication yesterday that she could do that.  And she refused to tell us what she did today.  As a matter of fact, she has also apparently lost all of yesterday’s fluency in English.