Morning is cool and brisk. I wake up and find Tom shivering in our dorm room. He slept outside with Roger and Denise but he doesn´t quite have the gear and early morning is cool no matter what the day temperature ends up being. Roger has once again prepared coffee for us on his "pocket rocket". We drink up, nibble on some bread and jam and prepare once more to hit the trail. Today´s destination is Estella, 21 kilometers away. It is still dark as we start walking. Roger and Denise and Jose and Maite are prepared for early morning walks. They are wearing headlamps which light the way and Tom and I are grateful to follow. The rising sun doesn´t take long in making its appearance and soon starts heating up the morning.
The camino is now winding its way through gorgeous green vineyards with laden with baby grapes. Olive trees are also now starting to dot the vista. We continue with our jovial conversations about noises in the night. Although, today there are fewer jokes since Tom and Roger two of the major contributors were outside during the night. Nonetheless, we find endless humor and silliness to be major topics of conversation. All the translating, however, is begin to make my head spin. Jose will ask me a question in Spanish for Roger and I turn to him and ask him in Spanish instead of English or vice-a-versa. Everyone thinks this is hilarious.
We make our usual morning stop at the first open bar for coffee and breakfast and to buy a bocadillo (spanish sandwich) for the road. Aside from walking, our other activity seems to center around food: either finding some or eating some. At this point in our journey, it is quite the necessity. Our bodies are burning up quite a bit of fuel. I have had to remove a strap from my backpack to fashion a belt. My shorts were falling off and flashing my underpants, something I was always bugging the boys to stop doing. I still don´t get how it´s fashionable to walk with your pants falling down your backside. To me it is just really uncomfortable (although right now I take great pleasure in the fact that I´ve lost enough weight for it to happen.)
(to be continued later)
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Cizur Menor to Puente La Reina
We leave Cizur Menor with great memories. The owner of the albergue spent time teaching us how to take care of our blisters on our feet. She also showed us a trick for keeping our feet dry, which helps prevent blisters. The secret: panty liners! The purple for men, orange for women´s larger feet and blue or pink for smaller feet. She has a complete arsenal of supplies, including sterilized (new in package so there are no worries!) syringes which she uses to take out the fluid from the blister. She re-sterilizes it and gives it to you to take with you for blister control along with the color-coded panty liners in your shoes.
Feet good as new and refreshed after our most joyous and raucous evening the night before, we set off for Puente La Reina. But not until we have coffee made on Roger and Denise´s "pocket rocket", an outdoor camping burner. We continue our walk, which today will be 21 kilometers. Roger and Denise are amazing. They take off at a quick clip while Jose, Maite, Tom and I struggle to keep up so early in the morning. Soon, the sun is up and we are walking through gorgeous fields of sunflowers and wildflowers strewn like tiny jewels on a carpet of green silk. While the morning is gorgeous, our humor becomes more coarse and pedestrian, mostly about bodily functions in the night. There is a symphony of snoring very reminiscent of Larry, Curly and Moe going on and Maite has us all in tears as she imitates the noises of the night. Now that we are outside and not constrained by worries of waking up our sleeping hostess, we are soon all howling with laughter. This is very helpful as we are beginning another ascentn up what can only be a goat path. It is very narrow and I can´t help thinking of "Sound of Music" so of course I burst into "Climb Every Mountain." Roger asks me if I can whistle. When I respond in the affirmative, he says good because you can´t sing. After translating to Spanish, we are once again laughing up the mountain.
Our day´s journey is taking us over the "Alto de Perdon". Legend has it that close to the top, the devil offered a very thirsty and tired pilgrim all the water he wanted if he rejected his faith. The pilgrim turned down the offer at which point James the Apostle appeared. He shows the pilgrim the source of fresh water and gives the pilgrim a scallop shell so that the he can drink until he is filled. Thus, the symbol of the scallop shell has become associated with the Camino de Santiago.
When we reach the top, we are graced with the most spectacular 360 degree view. The Pyrenees, Pamplona and Navarra lies behind us and to the front the rolling hills of the wine region of Rioja. The day is absolutely breath-taking. Not a cloud in the cerulean sky. Our other blessing after the morning´s climb comes from a most welcome entreprenuer selling ice cold drinks and food out his van. We pause to enjoy the vista and quench our thirst. There used to exist a hospital for pilgrims and a hermitage that was dedicated to the Virgin of the Pardon where we are enjoying our refreshments. However, there currently is an incredible monument dedicated to pilgrims there instead. It was installed by the Association of Friends of the Way of Navarre. The monument is composed of steel or iron cutouts of pilgrims walking, above them stars showing them the way to Santiago de Compostela. We sit and admire the view, but of course, it isn´t long before our silliness explodes. We put ourselves amidst the steel cutouts and have other pilgrims take pictures of us. Again, you would think we were a bunch of goofy school kids on a field trip taking advantage of not having a teacher in sight. Our rest complete, we lift up our backpacks and start our trek down the mountain to head off to Puente la Reina.
(to be continued later...)
Feet good as new and refreshed after our most joyous and raucous evening the night before, we set off for Puente La Reina. But not until we have coffee made on Roger and Denise´s "pocket rocket", an outdoor camping burner. We continue our walk, which today will be 21 kilometers. Roger and Denise are amazing. They take off at a quick clip while Jose, Maite, Tom and I struggle to keep up so early in the morning. Soon, the sun is up and we are walking through gorgeous fields of sunflowers and wildflowers strewn like tiny jewels on a carpet of green silk. While the morning is gorgeous, our humor becomes more coarse and pedestrian, mostly about bodily functions in the night. There is a symphony of snoring very reminiscent of Larry, Curly and Moe going on and Maite has us all in tears as she imitates the noises of the night. Now that we are outside and not constrained by worries of waking up our sleeping hostess, we are soon all howling with laughter. This is very helpful as we are beginning another ascentn up what can only be a goat path. It is very narrow and I can´t help thinking of "Sound of Music" so of course I burst into "Climb Every Mountain." Roger asks me if I can whistle. When I respond in the affirmative, he says good because you can´t sing. After translating to Spanish, we are once again laughing up the mountain.
Our day´s journey is taking us over the "Alto de Perdon". Legend has it that close to the top, the devil offered a very thirsty and tired pilgrim all the water he wanted if he rejected his faith. The pilgrim turned down the offer at which point James the Apostle appeared. He shows the pilgrim the source of fresh water and gives the pilgrim a scallop shell so that the he can drink until he is filled. Thus, the symbol of the scallop shell has become associated with the Camino de Santiago.
When we reach the top, we are graced with the most spectacular 360 degree view. The Pyrenees, Pamplona and Navarra lies behind us and to the front the rolling hills of the wine region of Rioja. The day is absolutely breath-taking. Not a cloud in the cerulean sky. Our other blessing after the morning´s climb comes from a most welcome entreprenuer selling ice cold drinks and food out his van. We pause to enjoy the vista and quench our thirst. There used to exist a hospital for pilgrims and a hermitage that was dedicated to the Virgin of the Pardon where we are enjoying our refreshments. However, there currently is an incredible monument dedicated to pilgrims there instead. It was installed by the Association of Friends of the Way of Navarre. The monument is composed of steel or iron cutouts of pilgrims walking, above them stars showing them the way to Santiago de Compostela. We sit and admire the view, but of course, it isn´t long before our silliness explodes. We put ourselves amidst the steel cutouts and have other pilgrims take pictures of us. Again, you would think we were a bunch of goofy school kids on a field trip taking advantage of not having a teacher in sight. Our rest complete, we lift up our backpacks and start our trek down the mountain to head off to Puente la Reina.
(to be continued later...)
Friday, July 24, 2009
Update
The last post I did was for Monday the 20th of July. Today is Friday the 24th of July. We are spending the night in Torres del Rio. We calculate that we have walked over 100 kilometers. Only 690 or so more to go.
More details about the past few days will be filled in as I find the time to write.
More details about the past few days will be filled in as I find the time to write.
Pamplona to Cizur Menor Part Three
As you arrive at an albergue, you present your pilgrim´s passport and identification. After everyone in your group checks in, you are given the house rules. At Maribel´s albergue, as we checked in, we were telling jokes and it wasn´t long before she was chastising us to pay attention to the rules. We should have heeded her but more about that later. She told us that she had been born in the house where we were staying. The house rules are pretty much the same at every albergue: directions to your beds, showers, kitchen and laundry area. Doors close at 10:00 and do not open until 6:00 in the morning. Be respectful of the quiet time so that other pilgrims can sleep. Leave the place as you found it. We started in our chores, which was to shower and do laundry by hand, hang to dry, check your backpack and then, of course head out to buy food and have an ice cold beer.
We returned with our groceries, some wine, chocolate and even some cogñac and Maite and Jose prepared the most incredible meal of spaghetti with a tuna sauce, that sounded at first, not so appetizing. But once we tasted it, our mouths stopped with the jokes and there was silence while we devoured our dinner. Actually, it was a late afternoon lunch. We headed for the garden for some relaxation. As the afternoon passed away into the evening, we could not believe we were actually hungry. We decided to go out for another beer and some food. (Are you starting to get the drift of our bonding?) We headed out and found a restaurant-bar a block or so away. I though we were only having a small tapa and a beer but we ended up in the restaurant. Maite and I just had a small snack, the other´s a pilgrims meal. Once again, we found ourselves consumed with laughter and camaraderie. All of sudden, we realized it was a little after 10:00 pm. We quickly asked for the bill but we all thought that a few minutes couldn´t possibly matter. How wrong we were. When we arrived at the albergue, the large wooden door was shut and locked. We dissolved into a fit of the giggles. There was a large brass bell hanging next to the door and we started pointing at each other to see who would earn Maribel´s wrath by arriving past curfew. Jose took the challenge and rang the bell. After a few minutes, we realized there was no wrath because Maribel wasn´t going to answer the door. We stopped laughing, looked at the 7-foot tall ivy-covered wall and immediately dissolved into another fit of the giggles. However, pretty soon we realized we might be sleeping between a rock and a hard place.
Tom suggested that we might be able to climb over the back wall around the corner, which wasn´t quite as high as the front one. He and Jose took off, while Maite, Denise and I continued giggling like naughty school children. Roger started to take umbrage at the fact that he was 65 and should be treated the way he was being treated. Denise replied he wasn´t being treated in any particular way, other than the way one is when one breaks house rules and quit taking it so personally. After translating for Maite, we dissolved into another fit of giggles. Suddenly the door opened and there was Jose standing there with a big grin on his face. We quickly rushed in, shut the door behind us and ran quickly to our rooms, certain that Maribel was going to be standing in front of our room to kick us out. It didn´t happen but the thought of it was enough to send us all into another round of laughter. A great way to end the day.
We returned with our groceries, some wine, chocolate and even some cogñac and Maite and Jose prepared the most incredible meal of spaghetti with a tuna sauce, that sounded at first, not so appetizing. But once we tasted it, our mouths stopped with the jokes and there was silence while we devoured our dinner. Actually, it was a late afternoon lunch. We headed for the garden for some relaxation. As the afternoon passed away into the evening, we could not believe we were actually hungry. We decided to go out for another beer and some food. (Are you starting to get the drift of our bonding?) We headed out and found a restaurant-bar a block or so away. I though we were only having a small tapa and a beer but we ended up in the restaurant. Maite and I just had a small snack, the other´s a pilgrims meal. Once again, we found ourselves consumed with laughter and camaraderie. All of sudden, we realized it was a little after 10:00 pm. We quickly asked for the bill but we all thought that a few minutes couldn´t possibly matter. How wrong we were. When we arrived at the albergue, the large wooden door was shut and locked. We dissolved into a fit of the giggles. There was a large brass bell hanging next to the door and we started pointing at each other to see who would earn Maribel´s wrath by arriving past curfew. Jose took the challenge and rang the bell. After a few minutes, we realized there was no wrath because Maribel wasn´t going to answer the door. We stopped laughing, looked at the 7-foot tall ivy-covered wall and immediately dissolved into another fit of the giggles. However, pretty soon we realized we might be sleeping between a rock and a hard place.
Tom suggested that we might be able to climb over the back wall around the corner, which wasn´t quite as high as the front one. He and Jose took off, while Maite, Denise and I continued giggling like naughty school children. Roger started to take umbrage at the fact that he was 65 and should be treated the way he was being treated. Denise replied he wasn´t being treated in any particular way, other than the way one is when one breaks house rules and quit taking it so personally. After translating for Maite, we dissolved into another fit of giggles. Suddenly the door opened and there was Jose standing there with a big grin on his face. We quickly rushed in, shut the door behind us and ran quickly to our rooms, certain that Maribel was going to be standing in front of our room to kick us out. It didn´t happen but the thought of it was enough to send us all into another round of laughter. A great way to end the day.
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