The Hill of Forgiveness

I'm not sure if it was the cider or the new insert in my left shoe but I had no ankle pain on today's 27k. We left Cizur Menor at day break as 8 bells rang out from Iglesia de San Miguel Arcángel. We walked through some flat farmland with a rolling fog moving from left to right.  Soon it would be on our right. The fog in Spain moves mainly like a train.

Our morning target came into sight with a strand of giant windmills leading up the ridge to Alto del Perdón. These windmills provide all the power needs of the 200,000 residents of Pamplona. Sins can be forgiven for the pilgrim who climbs the Perdón. You'll have plenty of time to recount and codify your many sins as you trudge up to the lofty peak along the rocky path. There is a pilgrim monument at the peak and the locals say that you should shout loudly at the top to release your sins. I let one rip like Tarzan.

The descent is steep and a bit chunky but we had a dry path and took it easy. Clare's knee is still bothering her so Amy loaned Clare her hiking poles to see if this might help. The fog was now officially burned off and we hiked between farms with our path lined by wild asparagus and olive trees. I'm thinking about a salad for dinner with asparagus and olives. Where do I get these ideas?

We stopped at Puente La Reina for an afternoon picnic by the ancient bridge. Muniadona, the queen of Pamplona, had the bridge constructed to help pilgrims cross the river Arga in the 10th century. It's holding up pretty well and allowed our passage today some 1,000 years later.

We decided to push on to Mañeru. The tank was emptied along the 500' rise over the last mile leading to the hilltop village. We dragged into the wonderful oasis of Albergue El Cantero. Amy had heard about it following an Americans on the Camino FB group. I'm giving it my highest rating so far, 4.8 stars. Did I mention that they have a bar? We all have bottom bunks, have showered and washed our clothes and are onto blogging and wandering the town looking for a pharmacy. This is the first day that we have pulled ahead of the Bierly Route Plan but that plan is for 31 days. We are shooting for 27. It's not over yet baby! Now that I've been absolved it's time to hit the bar and rehydrate. Buen Camino!

Running err walking with the bulls

The day started out a bit ominously with the retrieval of some wet underwear hanging on the line and staring at an approaching line of thunderstorms on my radar app. It was still dark and the night sky was illuminated by lightning in the distance. Unfortunately it was coming from the direction we were heading. It was also 10° colder than expected and a moderate wind was blowing. We put on two extra layers and rain gear and headed in the direction of Pamplona. The stage began with a climb and by the top we were all overheated and sweating. Over the next few hours we would get down to shorts and a t-shirt and the storm never materialized. Obviously our rain gear frightened it off. My Camino app recommended a nice breakfast stop complete with outdoor wood-fired oven. Unfortunately like all of the breakfast stops, it was not yet open at 9 am when we arrived. It really looked lovely.

Onward, and pass the corn nuts please. Just before Pamplona we stopped at a bakery and had a hold-me-over pastry and a café con leche.

Pintxos lay 3 miles ahead and we did not want to spoil our appetites. We entered Pamplona through an ancient gate, Portal de Francia just like millions of others before us.

Although the bulls were not running I could imagine the chaos of the event through these narrow cobbled streets with many overhanging balconies with screaming spectators. It feels like the buildings lean in over the roads giving the streets a canyon or tunnel-like feel.

Since we could not run with the bulls we ducked into a restaurant for pintxos. Wow! Pintxos are the perfect food when you don't know the language because all you need is a finger. Point to it and it is yours. I had a deep-fried stuffed pepper double decker which was very tasty but the winner was a soft square slice of bread with jamòn, tomato slice, goat cheese and a marmalade like coating. Pair with olives and a cerveza and try not to moan. It was a thing of beauty for the eyes and the taste buds.

We finished off our meal and wandered up to the plaza of the toros. Still no bulls but there was a guide to the Hemingway tour which seemed to involve most of the hotels and bars on the square. They were all places that he had stayed or drank. It is exceedingly easy to stay on route through Pamplona since metallic markers are inserted every 15 feet from one side of the city to the other. I'm talking for miles.

Eventually we exited Pamplona through the immaculate campus of the Universidad Navarre. We walked along a roadside path in the sun and climbed up to the hill town Cizur Menor, which was planned as our penultimate stop for the day. Several accommodations were open, as were several restaurants. Our intended target, Zariquiegui, 4 miles away, was nothing more than a hillside hamlet which we could not contact by phone. Morale was at an all time low and we were in various states of repose on park benches when an English speaker called out Buen Camino. He was living here and teaching English. He recommended that we stay here as he thought the next two albergues were closed. In fact when he tried to make reservations for us in Zariquiegui no one answered the phone. He sealed the deal when I asked if they had any cider houses. "Only three" he apologized. Rather than hike 4 miles ahead to find nothing open we took the bird in the hand. We checked in to the closer of the two albergues. It was just off from the city center and we had already passed it twice since we somehow managed to get off course coming into the center of town. Albergue de Maribel has 52 beds, 10 to a room and advertises wifi. You can connect to the box but there is no connection to the internet. Interesting. What it lacks in connection to the outside world it makes up for with a sprawling English garden. There is a sunlit courtyard and outdoor sinks for laundry. We have things on the line and are gathering our strength to partake in the basque cider tradition. I have left ankle pain, Clare has right knee pain and Amy has left shoulder pain. No skin breakdown yet, although Clare and I have rashes on our feet. All in all we are doing well. I hear cider has amazing powers of healing. We shall find out. Buen Camino!

The dogs begin to whimper.

I slept well, until 4:30 am when I started the blog update. The albergue in Roncesvalles is not to be missed. Amy would not give it as high of a review, as she as a mom is a very light sleeper. I as a bear, hibernate each night. Obeying Newton's first law I remain at rest. Disobeying Newton's first law I do so even when acted upon by an outside force. In comparison with large brevet overnights this place was near morgue-like quiet. Amy disagreed with me and did not sleep well due to across-the-room snoring etc. I never heard a thing. Clare has inherited my sleeping abilities.

Eventually we got up, repacked and headed out at 8am, into the dark! We used headlights for the first 5 km. We skipped the pilgrim breakfast after experiencing the pilgrim dinner. Unfortunately breakfast in small Spanish towns is enjoyed in the privacy of Spanish homes. Nothing was open in the first 3 towns. Morale began to sag. We hadn't even had a coffee!! I prayed to St James that the next town would have an open establishment serving food and coffee. Santiago did not disappoint. I could smell coffee before I even saw the place. It was less than 25 ft. off the Way. One proprietress adeptly catered to the caffeine deprived masses. We had café con leches with tortilla de potata. The cafés were so good that I had two more just to be sure. I confirmed their goodness. We reluctantly left the café and carried on. At least we now were able to speak.

We met John from Miami who is on his second Camino and searching for a property. He is planning to move here. I commented that I liked his yellow arrow pin in the back of his cap and he dug around in his bag and presented me with one. Camino magic!

The weather was cool and the forecast called for rain. The skies would occasionally spit on us and we would don the Goretex only to stop 10 minutes later and shed the rain gear. It felt like cycling. It never really rained. The course was much flatter but did include some slippery downhill sections. It's good to carry hiking poles on the Camino.  We walked through bucolic farmland, quiet hamlets and beautiful small villages. During another lag in morale we stopped at a two isle market and stocked up on chocolate.

Lunch was acquired at a butcher shop/grocery in Lubiri and consisted of an eclectic menu highlighted by gluten free crackers, laughing cow cheese wheel and yogurt.

The last three miles hurt. Our feet were aching. No blisters but after 27 km we were ready for a
shower and chair. We found our desired wishes at Albergue San Nicolas in Larrasoaña. It was a newer albergue but had hot showers and cold beer. We checked in. Soon the patio filled with pilgrims and lively chatter. It had a true feeling of shared community. More than a few guests were on their second Camino. Even though this was only our second day we felt a part of this tribe of traveling peregrinos.

The sun fell along with the temperature and we moved inside to dinner. A much nicer affair than the previous night and it even included some vegetables and a salad! I'm now racing to beat lights-out on my lower level bunk covered in bedbug-proof sheeting. Stage 3 tomorrow. I pray the dogs are up to it.

Official Peregrinos

We were delivered to the autobus station in Pamplona by Clare's sweet and generous host family. They left us with some food because traveling without food would be unspeakable.

Jamón and tortilla de patata bocadillos with some oranges and torta. Everything was of course delicious. Our bus took us and several other pilgrims over the Pyrenees into France along a very curvy road. Clare and I slept while Amy made sure our driver stayed on the road. The scenery was spectacular and we saw our first peregrinos along the Way. They were the cycling variety and the bikes were loaded with front and rear panniers, front bags, handlebar bags and as such some were being pushed by walking "riders" along this very long and steep roadway.

We made it to St. Jean Pied de Port and found the hotel Beilari. Everyone was in a festive mood at Beilari since this was the last night of their 7 month season. This was fortunate for us since a special meal and celebration was in the works for this evening. Joseph our host informed us that his family would be joining us, including his sister who had driven up from Pamplona! If only we had known. The place had a new age feel and was a wifi free zone but our room had a strong smell of Lantiseptic so I felt right at home. I noticed a poster on our way up the stairs. It's best read with incense in the air and wind chimes calling in the distance. It read, "There is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way." As someone about to step along the Way, this spoke to me.

We gorged ourselves on 10 courses including 3 desserts. It was embarrassing but then again we were about to walk back over those mountains that our bus just labored over for a couple of hours. In fact the same bus the day before broke down 6 km short of St. Jean but since everyone had a backpack they just suited up and hoofed it into town the old fashioned way. The meal was taken in the cozy kitchen with Joseph's wife and 4 y.o. daughter, his sister and her college-aged daughter Annie, Joseph's helper Mary and only one other peregrino, Veronique from Montreal. We learned about each other during an aperitif of Port and local cheese as we passed an imaginary ball around the table. Whoever held the pelota was the speaker. Joseph revealed that this was their third year in operation. It was not always easy and he had thought of quitting many times during the first year. Now he had Mary and he had Sunday as a day with the family. He and Mary were brought to tears. Veronique told the group that she was toward the end of three years away from Canada that began with a midlife crisis. She was now undertaking this as a last gift to herself before returning home due to funds running low. Name a place and she had been there. Somewhere after soup we added Joe from Lafayette, Louisiana and María José from Colombia. Joe was straight off of a cross Atlantic flight to Madrid followed by a missed train and then a caught train to Pamplona and the same bus ride over the mountains. MJ was quiet and conversing with Robert at the end of the table in Spanish. Before the meal was over she had secured a ride for herself and her backpack that night back to Pamplona with Joseph's sister. The reason why is uncertain but perhaps had something to do with Joseph's description of the route, her small frame and her large pack. Eventually the third dessert was washed down with some herbal tea and the meal concluded. As we waddled out of the kitchen Joseph reminded us that breakfast was from 7-8 but we should not set an alarm. Angels would be waking us. We wrestled with our packs and moved items in and out and to different pockets. Thirty minutes later it was lights out and we were in our beds now packing and unpacking our minds and moving thoughts about. Eventually my core temperature dropped to somewhere in the upper 80s and I put on my tights in the dark. I managed a few hours of sleep and Amy the same. Clare slept like a stone.

At 6:45 I heard monks chanting in the distance. Then they got closer and closer and then I think they were under my bed. Oh, these were Joseph's angels. Gregorian chant infused the hotel as Mary prepared breakfast. We ate a bit but really we were still full from dinner. We grabbed our packed lunches which contained one very large omelette sandwich each and added them to our very full packs. We did some last minute fiddling with gear and kit and then we were on our Way. Literally stepping out of the front door put us onto the Camino. It was 8am and just getting light. Seven hours later we would be in Roncesvalles but first the Pyrenees!

Earlier that day at the pilgrim office across the street Mark our Australian guide walked us through the stage that lay ahead. There were many do's and don'ts and my mind wandered a bit but then got refocused when he mentioned "whatever you do, don't go left at the iron cross"! If they have to rescue you by helicopter then they charge you! Being from America I was familiar with the concept but I'll have to say I was intrigued by the left route. Amy gave me the eye. The one that said we are not going left at the iron cross!! We were happy to hear that the high pass was open. Sometimes at this time of the year it is already closed. Another bit of good news was that it was not going to rain. Mark showed us on the computer. Don't trust computers. We should be prepared for wind though. He said it would be around 14. I naively assumed he meant km/hr but it turns out it was 1400 km/hr! We give names to wind events like this in the states. I'll call this one Maria because she was blowing straight out of Spain. I know that people cycle the Camino but I saw not a single cyclist that day. They were probably all hiding in the ditches under their bicycles. It would have been impossible to ride this route even though quite a bit was on a road. It was exceedingly steep and if that didn't get you off your bike and pushing then the Maria would have finished you off. In places it was hard for us to walk and stay on the road! In 12 miles we climbed 4820'. The stage was 15 miles but the last 3 were all downhill. Mark had previewed all of this for us with authority as he had himself done the Camino Frances. He first did the traditional route from St. Jean to Santiago just as we were planning but then returned to do the first half from La Puy to St. Jean. He then did the Camino Portugal but dismissed it as being too short at 350km. "We were about to undertake a mental, spiritual and physical challenge," he cited as reasons for his Camino addiction. He said he was not addicted but he was now serving as a volunteer in the Pilgrim Office. Did I mention that he lived in Queensland. I'll let you decide.

One does not ease into the Napoleonic route out of St Jean. It smacks you in the face as the pitch kicks up to 15% just as you leave town. Also smacking us in the face was Maria. The gradient and the wind collaborated to keep our pace in check. One should never start out quickly on a long journey. Of course everyone does but still you shouldn't.

The scenery was breathtaking but by the three mile mark the cameras were put away in plastic bags and our rain gear was tested. The rain lashed us for a bit but then moved on. We stopped at five miles and regrouped at the now closed for the season Refuge Orisson. We were on a paved one lane road and mainly shared it with other peregrinos as well as the intermittent ring-necked pigeon hunter and farm vehicle. At the iron cross we went right but I was consoled since we were now off road. Just after noon we hunkered down in a leeward cut out and took lunch. Other pilgrims joined us as this was the only place we had seen in the last few miles where it was safe to attempt to open a pack. Joe was one of the pilgrims now lunching with us. He explained how his pack had become free of its rain cover. Marie had separated the two and by this time it was likely somewhere over the English Channel. We re-packed and hiked together with Joe, Veronique, Mark from Ireland and a peregrina from Northern Ireland now living in Cambridge. We made our way to Roland's fountain and into Spain.

Through the Col de Lepoeder at 1426 m and down through a forest to Roncesvalles where Roland had been killed in 778. The albergue in Roncesvalles is an appropriate reward for the weary peregrinos arriving after their Pyrenean traverse. It is a modern clean facility housed in an ancient monastery. It is church-run and operated by volunteers from Holland. It can house 183 pilgrims, but with 4 beds to a pod it has a quiet and cozy feel. We even had our laundry done and dried for 3.50€! We took showers and then attended mass where we and all of the other pilgrims were called up for a special blessing at the end of the mass. This was conducted in all of our native languages including Korean and Japanese by the oldest of the four priests in attendance. This was not his first blessing of peregrinos. We took in the forgettable Pilgrim meal in the village at Posada but enjoyed the lively conversation of the other pilgrims at our table. Some were already a month into their walks, having started in Paris. The first week is the toughest, we heard again and again. After that you hit the walking groove. We shall see. Day two awaits.

Jamón

I became interested in jamón last summer when our vegetarian daughter returned from a summer program in Spain no longer a vegetarian. Clare had returned singing the praises of the dry cured melt-in-your-mouth meat that had extended her dietary habits. Jamón is not simply a food. It is ritual in España. I wanted in.

Clare had spent the better part of last summer in Soria, an ancient hill town in the Castilla Leon region of Spain. She took two language courses through Colorado College and lived with a wonderful host family who now counted Clare as the first American that they had ever met. On our journey to the start of the Camino, Amy and I were now being introduced to Sergio, Montse and Sophia as Clare reconnected with her summer hosts. In arranging our rendezvous Clare may have mentioned my fascination with jamón.

Montse and Sergio were smiling and waving through the windshield of our bus as we arrived from Madrid. They walked us to our hotel just off the main square and returned to work. A few hours later we were taking la comida (the meal) with them in a locals-only place a short walk from the square. In fact I think every place is Soria is a locals-only affair as there seem to be no tourists. The meal consisted of three courses and then a 5 mile stroll around the town. It was all merely a warm-up for the main event, jamón!

After an overnight flight across the Atlantic, a two hour bus ride, the meal and our meandering stroll you would expect us to opt for a rest at the hotel but that didn't happen. It was no contest once the offer of a trip to the grocery was floated, and with the goal of a jamón acquisition!

We walked with Sophia, Montse and Sergio through their neighborhood snacking on roasted chestnuts. I heard that jamón was a possible explanation for the Spanish enjoying one of the longest lifespans in Europe. A more plausible explanation was revealed on our crosstown walk. Everyone was outside and about, everyone. Two to ninety-two were all out and moving. They were walking and talking and running and jumping and kicking balls and you name it, but they were all there. At least that's how it seemed.

We did not browse at the grocery. We were on a mission. That mission was now revealed as we stood before a hundred or so dangling hams. Jamón knows how to hang. It spends most of its 18 month life just hanging. Hanging and curing in a cool dry place after a brief roll in salt which is washed off after after two weeks. Sergio explained to the butcher the specifications of our Serrano-to-be. The butcher squeezed the hams and eventually one was deemed worthy. It was brought down and wrapped in a giant sock and thus deposited into our rolling cart by Sophia.

I was given the honor of toting the jamón back to their apartment. With the pride of a true Sorian I marched back through their neighborhood with a dry cured and salted limb in a sock slung over my shoulder. Once at the apartment the jamónera secured the quarry. After a brief explanation of suitable knives Sergio began the carving. I attempted a few slices which were always met with the same criticism, "más fino". It didn't matter. I was in ham heaven. Clare took over carving duties and performed admirably as I turned my attention more to the consumption phase of the operation. This involved bread and wine and cheese and olives and homemade chorizo and all the things that rank highly on my list of edibles. This was next level snacking. I was hooked.

We did not stay for the covering of the jamón as our jet lag had begun to request an audience. A few of the outer slices will be replaced and the carved area covered in the carrying sock. The jamón will remain on the kitchen counter in the jamónera for a few months while it provides thin slices of vegetarian kryptonite. Eventually only bone will remain and the process will be re-enacted, just as it has for hundreds of years all across España. Más fino!

Photo by Clare

Photo by Clare

The Things That They Carried

The backpack is packed and checked. It weighs 17.2 lbs and will sustain me for the next month. I will carry it from St Jean Pied de Port just across the Pyrenees in France to Santiago in the northwestern corner of Galicia Spain. Contents:
2 shorts
1 long pair of pants
quick dry t-shirt
wool t-shirt
quick dry collared shirt
2 pair Darn Tough wool socks
2 pair quick-dry socks
3 pair REI boxers
one wool long sleeve base-layer
Gortex rain jacket
long fingered gloves
2 cycling caps
wool buff
col'd lizard tights
cut-off scrub shorts
plastic Birkenstocks
hiking poles
various toiletries and personal care items
goPro camera
chargers and cords
iPhone
nail clippers
reflective triangle
headlamp
sleeping bag
dry sack
a few snacks and gifts
a copy of Travels With My Donkey
US Passport
Pilgrim Passport

I'm doing this walk because my wife Amy has wanted to do this for a long time and I'd like to experience it with her. Our daughter Clare will also be with us which is very helpful since she speaks Spanish. I've never been a pilgrim before. I know this will not be easy but that is certainly part of the allure. We will be guided by the millions of footsteps that have trod this path before us.

I'm excited and nervous and all those emotions that usually come before an adventure. I'm looking forward to our first steps and entering the moment. Part of the reason that riders are attracted over and over to the long brevets is the chance to live in the moment. Trust me on this one. No one thinks about work the next week during PBP.

So wish us luck or the traditional Buen Camino!

Not included in my pack is a razor. I removed all hair from my head and face (except eyebrows) this morning. Now for the new crop to come in evenly across the north of Spain.

Pre-Camino

The days for preparation are drawing to a close and much remains to do. Eventually the journey will begin and we will live in the moment. Tonight's chore was drilling holes in a very special scallop shell which will accompany my wife Amy along the way. It was found on a beach in Ireland by our son Patrick. Fortunately I didn't screw it up. Loads of things to still do but eventually the pilgrimage will commence.