Cizur Menor to Puente La Reina Part Two

Our climb down the mountain is uneventful except that the temperature is rising. Thankfully, we are going down rather than up but even so we are starting to slow our pace down. Unlike biking, where gravity propels you down the hill and your legs get a chance to rest, walking downhill is actually more taxing on your legs. With laden backs, your knees start to ache and soon you are walking more gingerly. You also need to be more careful as to where you place your foot as much of the Camino is loose gravel and a miss-placement can mean a twisted ankle or knee and the end of your journey. We are starting to get thirsty for something other than water, so as we enter the small towns along the way, we start looking for a place to get something. Unfortunately, we are not successful. A few kilometers down the road, we plant ourselves under a tree for shade. Jose and I go on a search and finally find a restaurant where we can get some cans of soda to go. We head back to our parched herd where we quench our thirst under the tree and then start our final trek off to Puente La Reina.

Puente La Reina is a small town at the crossroads where two of the camino routes intersect. We are walking the French Camino and we join up with the Aragonese route which starts in Somport, France. The town´s name translates to "Bridge of the Queen". The bridge in question owes its existence to Queen Doña Mayor who in the eleventh century urged that it be built to assist pilgrims who wished to cross the Arga river on their way to Santiago. We pass an albergue on the way into town, but decide not to stay there as we have been told there is one on the way out of town which is new and has a pool. We also pass the municipal albergue. We stop to enquire but are told they are "completa" or full. We enter the tiny medieval town and head towards the bridge to cross over the Arga River on the way to the albergue. What our kind advisor neglected to mention that you needed to climb a rather large and steep hill to reach said wonderfull albergue. After a long hot day of climbing and descending, it felt rather cruel. We trudge up the hill. I am feeling particularly guilty as I was the one who urged our group to this particular albergue. We need to return to town for food and I do not relish the idea of walking back up the hill carrying groceries, so I offer to foot the bill for a cab. No one argues with me.
We check in and we are delighted with our accommodations. As we enter, we are greated with an ice-cool glass of water, which is very welcome. The dormitories are divided into rooms with bunk beds for eight or ten people. There are areas to wash clothes, nice and clean showers. The pool also looks incredible. We hurry up and pick out our beds, shower and wash and hang clothes to dry and then head out to the pool for a nice refreshing dip. Although the sun is warm, the pool is not heated and icy cold. After a shock, the body quickly relaxes. The cool water is great for the tired and worn out muscles. We spend some time in the pool and then dry off on the sun-warmed tiles.

Roger and I decide to head down to town for groceries to make dinner. Although there is no kitchen, we decide to see what we can scrounge up that does not require cooking. We are really tired so we ask at reception if they have a number for a cab. They call for us and we are told that the cab is in the shop. Roger and I decide to walk into town and figure we can call another cab company to take us back up the hill. We look for a grocery store and quickly start making our selection. We decide that a nice big salad would be terrific, so while I start picking ingredients, Roger peruses the little store to see if he can add to our dinner. In Spain, you do not get to choose your own vegetables. You let them know what you want and it is up to the produce person to pick out the item, weigh it and put it in a bag for you. When you have selected all your items and she has weighed them, she punches a button and an itemized receipt comes out, which she staples to the bag filled with items and staples the bag shut. You don´t get to squeeze or check for freshness. It´s a very different way of doing things, but such is life in Spain. I join Roger and soon we are in the frozen food section. We are trying to figure out what to get meat-wise that doesn´t require cooking. We finally find some cooked turkey breast slices which we figure we can chop and put in the salad. We also discover a rather large bag of frozen prawns. We figure we can thaw them and have them for appetizers or even put them in the salad. Pretty soon, we have a pretty good assortment of food for the evening´s meal and breakfast and even lunch. We have figured out that it is a lot more cost effective to pool some money for food, rather than each of us spending 9 to 11 euros for a pilgrim´s dinner. Those mostly consist of a first and second course, wine or water, dessert or coffee. With 9 euros a piece, we can make quite a few dinners ourselves.

Roger and I head out of the store and head out to the bar down the street, where we can call for a cab. The young woman behind the bar is beautiful with honey brown skin and gorgeous green eyes. We spend some time talking to her and discover she is Brazilian and working in Spain for a while before she goes back home. We ask her to help us find a cab. We get a number from someone in the bar and then begin calling. No one is answering our call. Roger and I are starting to get worried. We have about 7 or 8 laden bags plus two bottles of wine we have purchased in the bar for our dinner. The thought of having to climb up the hill again is causing us major discomfort. We ponder our dilemna over an ice cold beer when we are faced with another problem: it has started raining! Well, this requires another beer! As we drink, Roger and I figure that the others are probably wondering where we are with the food. We have been gone for quite a while and imagine that they are hungry. We are told that there is a taxi stand a couple of streets away so when I am done with my beer, I head off in search of the taxi. I leave Roger to have another drink. The rain has subsided and I walk in the direction of the taxi stand. When I get there, I am directed to the bar behind the stand. I go in and ask to call the taxi. I am given a number which I recognize as the same one that was called at the albergue before we started this foraging for food. I am not successful in locating a cab, so I head back to give Roger the bad news. I am feeling really bad at this point. We are very tired, with a few beers under our belt and our arms laden with groceries and not looking forward to the steep climb back up the hill to the albergue. As I enter the bar, Roger is talking to someone. He lets us know that most likely, the cab companies thought we wanted a ride back to Pamplona. As if! People in Spain do not take a cab to go a few blocks, even if it is up hill. When he understands that we are very tired, very weary and very hungry pilgrims, he does not hesitate to offer us a ride in his car. We are dumbfounded by his generousity to two strangers but we quickly accept his offer. We set off back to the albergue where our very hungry walking partners are sitting outside at a picnic table waiting for us. When they see us, they jump up to help us with the groceries. We explain our story and of course, all they hear is that we have been sitting in a bar! Pretty soon, everyone is teasing us and the laughter starts all over again. We ask for something to use to put the salad together and pretty soon, we have a feast: a giant salad with fresh tomatoes, peas, artichoke hearts, peppers, olives, croutons made from left over baguettes, prawns and canned potatoes and the cooked turkey. As we passed holding our giant platter of salad, other pilgrims enviously eyed our dinner. Filled, we head inside to rest and relax before starting our walk all over again the next day. Destination: Estella - Distance: 22 kilometers.