I walked the whole day on my own. I had animated conversations with dead relatives. It was tranquil and peaceful. Very much in the moment. I can’t remember when I felt as relaxed as this. No tension. Just one foot after the other.
“If you are depressed, you are living in the past.
If you are anxious, you are living in the future.
If you are at peace, you’re living in the present” Lao Tzu
Which leads me to…..moan for the day: cyclists. Fucking cyclists. Oh, the mood-swings. Mountain-bikers to be accurate. The world over, bug-eyed, spandex bandits peddle with an air of entitlement (fuck you, stop signs don’t apply to me ‘cos “I’m a cyclist!”) because they choose a vulnerable mode of transport and expect us all to compensate for their lack of awareness, attention and discipline (sorry NH, I know you are the exception). Same on the Camino.
Fucking Cyclists!
They come upon you quickly and quietly and then WHOOSH, they whiz by you. Just. They don’t give pedestrians the distance that drivers are required to give them – ‘cos they’re “cyclists”. And, no bell! No bell!! Why no bell?? It would be so much easier if the etiquette (and law) required a bell. Ding, ding! “On your left” (translated version). All is good. I may have a wet dream that involves clothes-lining one of these fuckers. Just for shits and giggles. Om, shanti Om.
Tomorrow, it is 22km from Puente la Reina to Estella. Limited changes in elevation, but I will leave early (not to win the race, Doris) but because the outlook is for temperatures creeping up and I want to be done earlier rather than later. Also, tomorrow is my last day to enjoy “the water of life”. Thereafter I plan to be dry until I see Doris, Numpty and Maidrian in Grasse on (hopefully) 26th August. Sobriety seems appropriate for a ‘pilgrimage’ but if anyone can cite evidence to the contrary, I’ll be an eager-adopter.
The forecast was for elevated temperatures so the plan was an early departure at 0540, and it was a good one. The change in temperature was palpable at 1000 and full force by noon. I arrived at about 1130. I checked into Albergue Capuchinos and sprung for a single room (no ensuite, no breakfast, no dinner, owned and run by the Vatican…) at €30. Showering and laundry done, I gingerly made my way back into the town for its medieval festival (not planned but how could I miss it?) Unfortunately it was as memorable as the Puerto Rican Day parade in NY, only much less populous (and no spitting, hissing, leering or slaughter of live animals on the street).
Who could resist?
With street food everywhere, I order the local Cidre which was €5, cloudy and didn’t taste too much different to Bragg’s Apple Cider Vinegar. However, it was stronger and with 2 thick slices of charcoal-grilled, local Pancetta, it hit the spot. I shouldn’t pre-judge.
My legs benefited from yesterday’s “therapeé piscine municipale” though the shin splits continue to announce themselves with each step. Hopefully that subsides or I’ll be forced to make some painful analogy with marriage to adequately articulate the repetitive, unrelenting waves of discomfort…..
Much earlier in the day, my bladder burst. The one in my backpack, that is. It happened about 0700. I think it was also the cause of the damp inside of my pack that I’d experienced the last couple of days. I think I can get a replacement on Tuesday when I reach Logroño – but its 22km tomorrow followed by 28km on Tuesday to Logroño and 29km on Wednesday to Najera – so a particularly long couple of segments ahead. Adjusting for ascents/descents adds a couple of clicks to each leg. Hard work ahead with hot weather.
Today’s hike was uneventful but picturesque, starting with a headlamp for thefirst 45 minutes. Maurice had left his towel at a bar and I returned it to him today. I found a cellphone on the ground at the cafe where I breakfasted near the canal de Alloz and decided to hold onto it as the only people there were a group of brightly-dressed Italians, and I thought I’d find them. I did, and returned the phone only to receive the undying gratitude (apparently) of a very hairy Italian fellow wearing a blue Italian football jersey. It was a Huawai phone with a cracked screen. Maybe I should have done him a a favor and just adios’d it with the rest of the food garbage, but I didn’t.…. I’m hoping for good Karma as the segments get longer and the weather gets hotter.
I met Bill from Washington DC. This was his third Camino. He was pretty chilled and I thought he must be from California…… but he’d never been to California – which I thought peculiar. Raise your hand if you’ve not been to California! He’d spent an extended period in Mexico and bopped around teaching in NYC and was now about to start a job as a web-designer. Georgetown economics grad. Deep soul. Hope I see him again.
Apart from chatting with Bill, I spent most of the time on my own. I like the solitude and the focus of one leg after the other, although conversation is a welcome distraction towards the end of a segment when your legs are screaming at you. I may commit heresy and listen to some music over the next couple of days as a substitute. I’m not Catholic, so I can bend the rules. A bit. I hope.
Lastly, a broad observation: the difference between today and 2012 when I was last in Navarre is increased prosperity. You can see it in the people, in the way they hold themselves. Less put-upon, more pride. Cars are unpretentious but new(ish), not the bangers and beaters I saw 5 years ago. Restaurants seem busier. There’s a lot of nicely-done, new-build residential construction – modern with a traditional edge – I’m quite taken, I have to say. Note to Doris: we could live here. Snag another passport….?
That’s it for today. I’ve posted some photos but I’m conscious that this landscape looks much like today as yesterday, so keeping it to a minimum. Beautiful but the same. As I move westwards from Navarre to La Rioja, there will be some changes.
I had planned passage from Estella to Los Arcos, but the weather was kind(ish) so I ploughed on another 6.9km to Sansol, 27.4km in all (though the Danish mum/daughter combo have GPS with them and said it was actually 32km…). I wanted to reduce the trek tomorrow as it is still long and there are apparently elevation changes that make it much more difficult than the maps suggest. So, instead of 27.8km tomorrow, it should be about 21km.
I rose 0545 after a less than satisfactory kip in my €30 single room. I left at 0615 and arrived here at Sansol at 1400, with two stops along the way for water, orange juice, frittata and coffee. As segments go, it’s a bit linear and grey though the landscape is punctuated by swathes of dark red clay soil and more and more grape vines.
About 0.7km outside Estella, you arrive at Iratxe, where there is a Bodegas (owned by the church). There is a wine fountain for pilgrims (and cheap drunks) – apparently very well-known in the guide books. As the photo of the sign shows, the monks originally made provision for pilgrims to have a swig (or “swing” ???, per the sign) and the tradition carries on to this day. Swigging at least. I saw that. I can’t attest to the other. For the record, I didn’t partake. It was red wine and it gushed. I thought about the fuss it would make for my laundry for the day so I strode on. Virtuous and unstained.
Remember the Italian chap whose phone I found yesterday? Well, I was sitting, socks off at my first break of the day at a mobile canteen (Cafe Eduardo) about 6km from Los Arcos. He (I still don’t know his name) bounds up to me, grinning ear to ear. “I heave geeft !” He proceeds to give me pin with the yellow arrow that helps pilgrims find their way. I was tickled. Unnecessary but captures the essence of what’s going on here. We shook hands…and it was then I realized for the third time that as he hikes, he has a Rosary in his hand. He shakes hands with it in place. Something for everyone. Anyway, that was the highlight of my day. Simple things.
No Explanation Needed
Most of my day was solo, although I met Chi-Nu, from South Korea. He was walking wth Josefina from Germany (medical biology student converting to medicine). Chi-Nu is a graduate mechanical engineer who had just interned with Porsche in South Korea for the last 6 months. He turned down a full-time position there so he could do the Camino, figuring there would be other opportunities. Sounds ballsy. He has to be back on 26th August to graduate. I saw a number of familiar faces – Danish mum/daughter combo (tomorrow is their last day), trendy Japanese chap who wears his white Oakleys on the back of his head, NYU professor and Spanish friend, bald Italian chap with the green frames around his shades. It’s all good.
Couple of words about the approach into Sansol. You can see the village from a long way off, but it’s a cruel tease, and the last couple of clicks can be very uncomfortable. Line of sight suggests a short distance to destination but the shale path and then the road (onto which one traverses) bends away so it’s deceptive and a demoralizingly longer last leg. The very last stretch is on the road. Today there was a stiff breeze which was cooling, but when it stopped, woah! The tarmac is like an instant-on, mega-BTU radiator. Without any breeze, the feet heat up very quickly indeed, as does the rest of the body. It’s amazing how quickly that surface can sap energy. Keep it in mind.
There’s a hiking shop in Logroño, tomorrow’s destination. I think I will buy a robust pair of Tevas that I can hike in. The boots really heat your feet up and my change of footwear from 2012 has zero support – “Vivobarefoot”. I think there are a number of segments where I can hike with Tevas and spare my feet. That’s the plan. And in case you’re wondering, no, sack cloth vestiments and bonhomie to all men will not follow…
Soon to be replaced with the “dreaded” Tevas.
Sansol or Torres del Rio for the night was a toss up. I had planned to go the extra kilometer to Torres del Rio, but the Sansol Albergue advertised a footbath. That was enough to stop me mid-stride. Sold!
Sadly, there’s not much to this town, and I suspect there are a lot more of these towns along the way. Couple of streets, this Albergue, another that you needed to phone for access, a ratty bar, maybe another restaurant. The dormitory is almost full. I’m eating here tonight at 1800. The chef is a Moroccan friend of the proprietor and apparently likes to cook Moroccan/Spanish fusion, so we’ll see.
The Main Event
Dining at Sansol Albergue
Fellow Guests
Where did they go. Was it something I said?
I’m still in Navarre but tomorrow, I should enter the La Rioja autonomous region, which begins just outside of Logroño, to the north east of the city. Long day tomorrow.
Logroño is the capital of La Rioja. It mixes bland with splendid architecture but there is clearly a long, proud history here. I got here at about 1030, having left at 0530. As anticipated, the changes in elevation were more pronounced than the guidebook suggested so it was a long haul but at low temperatures, it was an easier haul. I was surprised at my progress ~21km in 5 hours. My scheduled coffee stop in Viana didn’t happen. Apparently they ran the bulls last night, and as I arrived, they were still picking up the pieces so nothing was open except for a lone Panaderia. Breakfast was two doughnuts; one chocolate, one with sugar. No coffee. I was not happy but onwards.
It’s dark until 0630 when you get first light. Hiking alone, in the dark with nothing but Mr Petzl to light the way, relying on an abstract/inaccurate map, occasional way-markers and occasional yellow arrows spray-painted on various surfaces by volunteers makes for an adventure. But, it’s quite up-lifting. You’re in a different world, cocooned by the dark and very alone. It reminds me of flying on instruments, cocooned in the clouds, except that you’ve not got so far to fall if something goes drastically wrong. Then again, in clouds, there’s no risk of being eaten by a large animal.
Photos are relatively limited this leg: there’s only so many times I can take a picture of a field that looks the same as the last twenty and tell you it’s somewhere else.
I got my Tevas at Planet Agua, checked into the Albergue,
Target Acquired.
unpacked, did laundry, showered, moisturized (still doing that), dried laundry and went walkabout. Ugh, this commentary feels very repetitive, juvenile and Facebookesque. Need to think of a different format as I despise the plonkers that lay out the uninteresting, irrelevant, monotonous minutiae of their day on social media. Well, this is anti-social media, but nevertheless….work in progress. I cannot become that which I abhor.
No coffee earlier meant no breakfast, meant early lunch. I found El Ricon del Viño. The photo shows a shabby exterior as you can see, but inside….quite different – as you can see.
Front of house was prickly and hostile, but she let me in 13 minutes early. Precisely 13 minutes as she made a point of telling me. She was fugly. She spoke no English. Didn’t try. Menus in Spanish. Didn’t give a shit. Almost launched the bread at me. She was clearly doing me a favor taking my money; the passive-aggressive abuse was a freebie. Google translate couldn’t give me “Ta luv. You need to get laid very badly”. I did try.
It’s not as bad as les Hexagones, where they treat foreigners as a gladiatorial pursuit deserving persecution, but in Spain, I’m finding certain people just don’t want to try and communicate. Maybe it’s regional. We’ll see.
My usual formula didn’t work here. Usually, I smile, vulnerably, trying to garner some sympathy for being so inept. I shrug my shoulders, raise my eyebrows and roll my eyes in abject, non-verbal apology, yet still no quarter given. It wasn’t that long ago that Spain was a dictatorship (1975) and had an attempted coup (1981), so I guess old habits die hard. A lot of resentment to deal with, still.
Getting back to food, the only thing I recognized on the menu was “Pulpo a al brassa con crema de patata y aceite de pimenton dulce.” I love octopus so that was easy. It was also quickly prepared, beautifully presented (i.e. not
Lunch is Served…
thrown at me) and tasted delicious. The thickest tentacles were steak-like in their density and the texture was sooooo succulent. The thinner tentacles were suitably chewy but not in any way over-cooked. The small slices of potato were subtly infused with cayenne or a similar spice, and melted in the mouth. Olive oil was drizzled in appropriate measure and with suitable restraint. €14.00, for reference. I would highly recommend this restaurant – – to Spanish speakers or non-Spanish with a thick skin. But the story doesn’t quite end there….
In the period of intervening discomfort (entering the building to finishing my pulpo), Google Translate came up with those magic words that can even crack the most po-faced, cantankerous, barren sow:
“Lo siento mucho, pero no ablo Espagñol. Por favor, se paciente conmigo”.
“I’m very sorry, but I don’t speak Spanish. Please be patient with me.”
She giggled. Her eyes did light up. She muttered what were clearly platitudes but I had no clue what she said. She smiled. Took pity. Took my credit card. I left €5 as a tip. Thorndike’s Law of Reinforcement (“Law of Effect”) at work. I can only hope.
I’m heading back to the Albergue now. It’s overcast and almost chilly. I bought a woman’s scarf in pink (thinking of you, Bruce) despite the salesperson’s objections. Spain is not supposed to be London. Summer should not require a scarf.
Tomorrow it’s Logroño to Najera. Distance of 28.9km and sea level +400m climbing to +670m and back to about +500m. As reference, for every +100m in altitude, the guidebooks suggest +300m horizontal equivalent. It feels like much more.
