Day 2-4 May 12, 2016 Larrasoaña, Uterga, Estella

 Estella, Spain

May 12, 2016
Estella
Albergue Municipal
22.94 miles, 47530 steps, 59 flights, 8:23 hr

Mike says my fan club is anxiously awaiting a blog update... really?!

I didn't think anyone was actually reading this! I'll try to be better about posting periodically. Also, Mike says that posting on Facebook is not adequate, so, I am sending a bunch of you invitations via email for the first time. Let me know if you want me to unsubscribe you.

There is really nothing profound to report, but here's the story so far:

To Roncesvalles

May 9, 2016
St Jean Pied de Port to Roncesvalles

16.3 miles; 42,708 steps, 271 flights of stairs, 6:55hr

I have to say the first day hike over the pass to Roncesvalles was a tough one. I arrived in Roncesvalles at about 2:30 in the afternoon, after just over 6 hours of hiking. I made very good time relative to the estimated 7 to 9 hours, and I'm glad I did. A storm came in, and I later heard that 2 pilgrims had to be rescued from the pass with hypothermia and exhaustion. The hikers who arrived after me were soaking wet and reported a string of extra-weight items which had been abandoned along the trail: empty water bottles, extra shoes, camp stoves... babies.

The albergue (hostel) in Roncesvalles was amazingly well-organized, and I wasn't surprised to find out that it was staffed by German volunteers. They direct you to take off your shoes, and register you quickly and efficiently, offering dinner and breakfast tickets, a bed assignment and a time for the pilgrim mass. They had even picked up the abandoned babies from the trail and returned them to the parents.

Roncesvalles Albergue

Typical bed accomodation

 

I was exhausted and went directly to the shower and then to bed.

I wrote previously that my expedited arrival time came at a cost. I wanted to avoid the storm; so I maintained a very quick pace, but, as a result took no breaks for rest, water or food.... I arrived exhausted, cold, dehydrated and hungry... but ironically too tired to drink, eat or sleep.

I bunked with 3 American nurses. They were all a little freaked out by the co-ed accommodations and bathrooms. It's as if they had never before seen a hairy and chubby middle-aged Italian man parading around in a green thong... how sheltered some people are! They will have some good stories when they get home.

In the morning we were serenaded by the German hospitalerios at 06:00, singing a disturbingly cheerful rendition of Morning Has Broken. I have to say that we were all already awake... waiting for the cacophony of pilgrim snoring to come to an end.

To Larrasoaña, Spain

May 10, 2016
Larrasoaña
Pension Tau
19.16 Miles, 44700 steps, 91 flights, 7:33hr

The second day was supposed to be rainy again, but instead was beautiful with some sun. The relatively level walk was pleasant, and after a short accidental detour, I went beyond the guide-book recommended stop at Zubiri and continued on to Larrasoaña. I employed the remote phone support from Mike, who researched the limited housing options in the very small town and found one that would wash my clothes, and feed me.

In Larasaoña, there was a common dinner with 4 Belgians, who plied me with wine in an effort to lubricate my horrible French. We somehow managed to communicate between my broken French and their broken English. They were all doctors and pretended to be fascinated with teleradiology for an hour, before one had an ah-ha! lightbulb moment and actually understood the concept. The rest of the conversation was mostly variations of "Mais, c'est formidalble ça!"

To Uterga, Spain

May 11, 2016
Uterga
Casa Bastin
22.04 Miles, 54507 steps, 64 flights, 9:10hr

I was off early the next day with the destination Zariquiegui, stopping in Pamplona, for lunch and some shopping. I learned my lesson from the first day, and stopped often for a cafe con leche and whatever food was of the offering, usually tortilla Español, a very satisfying, carbohydrate-rich egg and potato omelette.

I picked up a portable wifi unit in Pamplona, and forged ahead on a gentle uphill grade. Fatigue set in, my feet hurt, and I ran out of water (again). With the long break in Pamplona, I was behind schedule with an estimated arrival time of 5:00. I was relieved, because I could see the mirage of Zariquiegui looming on a hill in the distance. I couldn't wait to sit down, put my feet up and drink a cold beer.

But, mirages are odd things. My good friend Lisa and I traveled through Europe on a budget back in 1982. She will tell you that the mirage effect was present then as well as now: the beautiful castle on the hill that couldn't possibly be the youth hostel... was . The mirage effect on the Camino is different: It can't possibly be that far to the next town, can it?!. Sadly it can, and when you get there you realize that the town you've been seeing on the hill is only half-way to the real destination.

This was clearly the case with Zariguiegui. The adorable Spanish hamlet on the hill only got further and further away, and exponentially less adorable with every step, ending of course with an exhausted trudge up the hill (why are towns always on hilltops?), thinking only of enjoying a very large, very cold beer. The smart ones among you will have already seen this coming... The albergue was completo, full.  There was no room in the inn.  I had made the error of arriving late in a small town.

Nobody spoke English/German/French... but they made it clear that the next accommodation option was 6km further. After some gesturing and non-verbal communication, which would have made my father proud, I asked them to call ahead to make sure there was a bed... there was.

So, 6 more kilometers: I was tired, but it doesn't sound like so much.

Actually 6 Kilometers is a lot when you are tired, thirsty and frustrated. But then, I also knew what was coming: I had already read ahead in the guide book and had seen that the next 3 kilometers of the Camino climb very steeply to the Alto de Perdón, a high ridge dividing the Pamplona basin from the rest of Navarre. So, it was time to put my head down and get to work.  I was shortly rewarded with a view from the ridge. There is a beautiful and moving sculpture on the top depicting pilgrims struggling against the wind, with the inscription "where the way of the wind crosses the way of the stars".

The view was stunning... But really, who cares? I had been walking since 07:30, my feet hurt! In the distance I could see the next village.. Not that far, I should be there in 45 min.

Unfortunately, while the guide book says "enjoy the gentle descent", the reality was quite different. The descent was steep, and the narrow trail was filled with small 5 to 15 cm stones and pebbles, all of which rolled slightly with every step. I could have kissed the ground when I finally got to the gently ascending dirt path to the village. I arrived and woofed down the inexplicably delicious but bizarre combination of fries, rice, salad with tuna, and pork.

I fell into bed and started shivering: the kind of shivering that involves the whole body, with shoulders uncontrollably moving forward and back. It took every blanket I could find, as well as all my clothes to feel warm. What was truly frightening is that it wasn't that cold outside, or in the room. All I can say is it was uncontrollable, and very frightening. What if I was really sick? I'm in rural Spain, alone and I don't speak Spanish.

Which brings me to today. I was ahead of my walking schedule due to the unexpected accommodation problem, and long hike yesterday; so, I resolved to stay ahead of the plan and maybe have the luxury of a break day in the future. That said, I woke with swollen feet and a couple of blisters. I was stiff, sore and walking like an old man. Even so, the day was long, but pleasant... My feet hurt, and there were long gaps between towns and in the food/coffee offerings. Near the end, it rained, and I arrived in Estella wet and tired, with even more blisters. Can I do this even one more day?

As I write this, I have no spiritual revelations, or epiphanies to report. I read what I have written, and it sounds like a lot of negatives. But, somehow, while challenging, it has also been enjoyable and inspiring.

There is a saying here that "the Camino provides". I'm not sure about the divine miraculous appearance of bandaids on the roadside, but I can say unequivocally that angels do exist, at least they do on the Camino.

On the first day I planned to refill my water at a fountain marked on the map.  When I arrived, the fountain didn't exist.  An unknown man who was also expecting to refill gave me half of what he had left.  Chatting with him, I realized he was a true saint. He was carrying his wife's pack on his chest and is own on his back, and they were holding hands the whole way up the hill. I didn't get his name, but in my mind... Martin, after my über-prepared and wonderful friend in Zürich.

Today after my rain-soaked arrival in Estella an Italian woman spontaneously offered to wash and dry my clothes (she was doing a load and had extra room). While I was waiting for the clothes, several people offered me wine and bread. A woman from Nottingham drained my blisters leaving a thread in place to help them to continue draining. I now look like a bad needlepoint project, but the blisters are drained. On the Camino, small kindnesses mean a lot, probably more than huge favors.

Can I make it to Santiago? Well, my embroidered feet feel better now, and a couple of glasses of wine have set well. We will see.

In any case, what have I learned?
1. Water is heavy, but empty water bottles are heavier... Always fill up.
2. The Camino has been routed to include every single roman bridge in Spain... I suspect that the Camino loops around and crosses some of them twice. @ Lisa: what am I going to do with a hundred pictures of Roman bridges?
3. Romans sure knew how to build bridges!
4. Eat as much and as often as possible!
5. As Lisa has admonished me: Orient your map! Any wrong turn is a catastrophe
6. As Loretta has admonished me: keep your feet dry! One change of socks is not enough. I bought an extra two pair in Pamplona. Wet socks = blisters
5. As Blanche DuBois admonished me: always depend on the kindness of strangers!