Puente la Reina > Estella > Los Arcos

Early Friday morning, we left Puente la Reina, a town that takes its name from the romanesque bridge built on the queen's command in medieval times to allow pilgrims safe passage. We glanced back to take a photo of the still sleeping village at dawn and then set out for Estella.

The path was hilly but rarely steep and at many times we found ourselves walking on the old Roman built road or crossing a Roman bridge. Those Romans built things to last. We also are learning that it is not only the paths between towns that are steep. You don't just pass through a Spanish town, you climb the town. (see photos)

In Lorca, about 7.5 miles into the day's walk, we stopped for a quick break at a cafe. As we crossed through the town square on our way out of town, we passed a gathering crowd of people wearing matching t-shirts and carrying musical instruments. A stage was set up in the square and they appeared to be preparing for a town fiesta. As we turned onto the Camino path we heard the band strike up and begin to march. They were marching our direction so Dad and I ducked into an alley to let them pass, then we marched along behind them until their path and ours diverged.

We paused at the foot of a roman bridge to eat our 'bocadillas' (sandwiches bought at the local cafe early in the morning) for lunch; and made our weary way into Estella.

The end of day ritual of finding a bed again required an uphill climb. We were fortunate to get two of the last available bunks that night. A few minutes after we collapsed on our bunks, a pilgrim came in with a mattress to put on the floor as there were no more beds in the albergue.

We ate the 'Pilgrim Menu' (salad or pasta to start, choice of fish, pork, or chicken with french fries as second course, and yogurt, fruit salad, or ice cream to finish), then wobbled on sore feet back up the hill to bed.

Up at 5 am, packing in the dark because other pilgrims were still asleep. A quick breakfast of bread, butter and jam, a stop at the panaderia for the day's bocadillas, and we were off again by 7:30.

The trek to Los Arcos was the gentlest slope and least rocky we've had so far. The second half of the 14 mile day, however, was without shade and without passing through any towns. We sheltered in the shadow of a tall stack of hay where we joined three Frenchmen who were having their lunch there as well.

We had made good time and arrived at the edge of Los Arcos at about 2:30 pm.

Walking into a Spanish town mid-afternoon feels like an old western film. The streets are deserted. All is silent except for the sound of the wind. Dust devils kicking up are the only movement one sees.

We were parched from the long walk across the sun's anvil and were greatly relieved to find a small shaded alcove at the very edge of town. There were benches to rest on and vending machines with ice cold drinks. Dad had a coke and I had water. Cool, clear water.

After the last two days' push to find beds, we decided to book into a hotel in Los Arcos. We have enjoyed the private bathroom. I took a shower and two baths. Bliss.

We went downstairs for dinner in the hotel restaurant and found ourselves in an episode of Fawltey Towers. The waiter arrived at our table to announce,"There is problema en cocina. Only no chicken." Confusion reigned for nearly 10 minutes while Dad, I and a nice Irish lady named Evelyn tried to communicate with this ranting Spaniard and his resignedly calm female co-worker, his voice growing ever louder and more emphatic, she kneeling between me and Evelyn trying to whisper and point at menu items to confirm whether they were available and WHAT exactly they contained. In the end, we each managed to order and then just sat and laughed until tears were streaming.

Meal accomplished, Dad and I turned in and slept well. Today is Sunday. the forecast is for temperatures in the 90's and the trail has two very steep and treacherous descents with no place for shade or water; so, we've decided to travel this section by bus to Logrono. We'll have another night in a hotel there then set out in foot again on Monday morning.

I've prevailed upon Dad to do shorter distances each day for the next week- to give me time to build more strength and get back to 100% health.

Love to all. Hasta mañana.

P.S. Looking back at the photos I see that I forgot to mention the fountain that offered a choice - water or wine. As we were passing it at 8 a.m. Dad and I opted to take only a photo.

Also, the picture of my pack was taken after our climb in the rain - to show the mud that we've accumulated.

P.P.S. The poodle is one of the pilgrims on the Camino. I'm told his name is Einstein. He accompanies a young man whom we have not met.

Thursday - Pamplona to Puenta la Reina

We left Pamplona this morning at 6:30 a.m. It was still dark, so we followed the Camino out of town by spotting the metal medallions embedded in the sidewalks, bearing the sign of the scallop shell (the symbol of the Camino) and gleaming under the still glowing street lamps.

After we left the city behind, the sun rose and the day's climb began. In the distance, we could see a line of wind turbines along a ridge. a light rain began to fall.

We kept climbing, the grade getting gradually steeper and the rain coming and going. Sun would break through while rain would be moving in on the next wind. As we emerged from a sheltered lane, the vista opened up and we could just see the beginning of a rainbow. As we stood there, it grew stronger and developed into a full arch.

The trail grew rocky and Dad and I were glad we'd stopped into a sporting goods store in Pamplona and purchased another pair of walking sticks. Now, each of us has two sticks giving us improved balance and shifting some of the load off our knees on the steeps.

We were climbing up to the ridge with the windmills and, as you might expect, the wind picked up and kept us cool.

We arrived at the peak - called 'the point of pardon' because in earlier days, pilgrims who reached this peak and were unable to go on, were given a pardon from finishing and granted their compostela. As it happened, while we were standing on the peak admiring the sculpture there (a metal silhouette of a line of pilgrims) some people arrived from below with the news that a woman had broken a leg on the trail. Other pilgrims had the necessary phones and language skills to call for help. we are told that the EMTs arrived about 15 minutes later. Apparently, she was someone who attempted the walk without being fit. (A pilgrims staying at the albergue with us tonight is a doctor and was there on the peak at the time).

We, in the meantime had headed downhill -very cautiously. This descent, we decided, was a mere class 4. It only lasted about mile and a half. Then we had relatively level going all the way into Puenta la Reina.

We arrved at about 4 pm- nearly ten hours after we started put

Arriving in town at about 4 pm means that there are no more spaces at the first albergues you come to. Today, the albergue with space was on the other side of town and we were worried they would fill up before we arrived; so we pushed on as fast as I could go. We arrived to find that the albergue was at the top of a steep hill.

I was lagging and other pilgrims were coming along behind. I could go no faster and within two minutes found myself watching as Dad left me in his dust. He trekked up the hill as if the hike was just beginning. When I dragged myself to the door 15 minutes behind, a grinning German couple informed me, "Your fasser hass already arrieft".

Later, as I was leaving the showers, a woman stopped me to ask if I was Linda. When I answered in the affirmative, she said, "I've heard a lot about you. you and your father are famous on the Camino."

Quelle surprise.

Again, photos cannot be posted in order. you have to guess where each one fits in the story.

a few more photos

Tomorrow, Pamplona (again)

This post was written around Sept 11 but due my fumble fingers on the iPhone has been accidentally moved to this later position in the blog series. It tells of the very first portion of our walk (from St Jean Pied de Port >Zubiri>Pamplona). To read it in order, it goes between "1 a.m in Madrid" and "A few more photos".

When last we had wifi, Dad and I were leaving Madrid by train to Pamplona and from there by bus to St Jean Pied de Port in France. We arrived fairly late in the day and the town was full to bursting with eager to begin pilgrims. we were turned away from one hostel with a recommendation to try #15. so off we went, down the hill. At #15 Rue de Castille, we knocked, then opened the door onto a hallway that, for all intents and purposes looked like a private home. We walked down the hall to the back of the house and, seeing no one, turned to head back out. As we passed by it, a door to a kitchen opened and a lady (in her 70's?) asked if we were looking for a place to stay. She had one room left. We wanted to be sure there were two beds and in the course of that conversation (in a mix of French, Spanish, and English) she realized that we were father and daughter. We got a reaction that we've now come to expect-surprise and delight mixed with a measure of relief. (How very European to not assume anything until told.).

The next -inevitable - question was "How many years has your father?". And when I told her, 82, she threw up her hands and said, "Ay! Que guapo!" Which means, roughly, "he looks great!" But her admiration did not stop there. She continued to exclaim over Dad's beauty as she led us up 3 flights of ancient stairs to our (very nice) room. There she stayed with one hand on Dad's arm the whole time, chattering about how much she loves the US and how gorgeous he is. There was kissing too (on the cheek). I was starting to worry that things might be getting out of hand, but she eventually left with our payment for the room in hand.

Her name, it turns out, is Maria Camino. And the house she lives in and runs as a hostel for pilgrims was bought for her by her husband of 70 years with the money he earned in the 7 years he worked as a shepherd in Nevada. She showed us a photo of him standing in the foreground with his border collie and the flock behind him.

we walked out the door of #15 at about 8 a. m. on Sunday, and started up into the mountains. The day was warm and grew warmer. The hike was steep and grew steeper, until even the Germans were commenting on the difficulty.

At one point, we passed a young woman carrying her 11 month old daughter in a sling and accompanied by the baby's teenage uncle. Later, they caught up with us and we all stopped to meet, greet, and take photos of what are likely the youngest and oldest pilgrims on the walk at present.

We continued uphill until we reached Orrisson. We had walked five miles and it had taken nearly 5 hours. We stopped at the albergue (al-BEAR-gay) in Orrisson and asked if they had room for us to stay. All the beds were taken, but they had one tent left. It was the one with no mattresses, just two foam mats and two blankets. We took it gladly.

At dinner that night, everyone took turns introducing themselves, saying where they were from, and any other detail of importance. As you might expect, everyone wanted to know - and then was amazed to learn - Dad's age.

The next morning as we gathered over coffee and were preparing to set off again, heading further up, people kept commenting on what an inspiration it is to have dad on the Camino- to see him not only vital and engaged, but also vigorous and fit.

We were on the way to Roncesvalles. Up was steep, but never as steep as the day before. We passed sheep herds grazing unfenced, beautiful vistas, and many landmarks such as the shrine to Mary and the baby Jesus. We felt great to reach the top of the pass and meet a 37 yr old Brazilian who, upon learning Dad's age, grinned hugely and proclaimed himself ashamed of feeling tired in the presence of Harold. Then he asked if I would take a picture with his camera of him and Dad. The Norwegian lady wanted her photo with him too. Celebrity Dad.

That was the peak. It was the descent that nearly killed us all. It began with a downhill stretch covered in loose rock. and so steep that people were walking down it sideways, like crabs. We became connoisseurs of rocky-steeps and began classifying various stretches as if they were rapids. The first stretch was Class 5 rapids. After that we were grateful to encounter Class 3 or under!

At about 4:30 pm we arrived in Roncesvalles and were given our bunk numbers for the night. Happily, we were each given lower bunks, so the midnight toilet visits did not involve climbing ladders (or unzipping tents, for that matter). A hot shower, a hot meal (at La Posada - in case you've seen The Way) and we stumbled off to bed.

lights on at 6 am and hiking by 7:30. We made good time and felt great, even though it was another day of steep descents. The morning descents were smooth trails, but at lunch we learned that the afternoon would be a steep climb followed by an extended and treacherous Class 5 rocky descent. I have been feeling a little under the weather so while we were stopped for lunch in a little cafe, Dad suggested we call a taxi to drive us the last 10km to Zubiri. . . Deal.

And so, we find ourselves in Hostelria Zubiri (a hotel) with an en suite bathroom - both tub and shower. We've washed our clothes, hung them to dry on the terrace, and had our pilgrim meal. Dad is already asleep and I'm only awake because wifi allows pictures to upload for the blog.

Tomorrow, we plan to catch another taxi and spend the day resting in Pamplona so that I can get back to full strength and start keeping up with Dad again!

Zubiri tonight, Pamplona tomorrow (again - having been through on our way to the start).

All is well. We are loving it all. My feet H. U. R. T. = ) The photos are all out of order. The phone app won't let me post them in order. Sorry.