Steve : The second 30km day. I was hurting…

Logrono is a pleasant town with a huge park on the outskirts.

We’ve now come far enough to get a better calibration of our physical abilities. I was fine, except for probably the most important part of the walker’s body, the feet.

My trusty Merrells, which have transported me without incident for nearly two years, were producing blisters.  And then blisters on top of the those blisters. I was hurting a lot.

My default position when in physical pain like this is just to knuckle down and go. This is fine when I’m at home in the Scottish hills and I can spend the next day resting up.  But the Camino is relentless and you simply cannot rest up.  If we are to get to Santiago in time for our flights home for J and H’s graduation we have no slack at all in our schedule.  In fact we need to claw a day back somewhere.

At the end of this day we knew that wasn’t going to be possible.  We can do 20-23 km days,  we cannot do 30 km days.  At least not without sufficient rest, and that’s just not possible.

We’ll need to make an alternative plan.

In spite of all the pain it was another beautiful day in the Spanish countryside. Lunch in Navarrete…

..and a climb over Alto San Anton. Then a long descent in Najera, a rather scrappy town by Spanish standards.  But it does have this rather famous landmark.

We trudged into town, absolutely exhausted.  This abandoned sofa next to a yellow ‘go this way’ sign felt like an appropriate metaphor…

The municipal albergue was full so we went private, which was probably a good idea.  Jen had a spot of sun stroke – nothing serious but enough to send her to bed for the evening. We had a room with shower for just the three of us – a rare luxury. No snoring!

Our fellow albergue occupants were a gregarious bunch of South Africans so we sat in the back garden and talked.

H and I dragged ourselves for an evening walk around town, primarily to try and prevent our legs from seizing up.

An early night.  Tomorrow we need a better plan.

Day 8 : Stats

Steve : Today is the first of two long (c 30km) days, back to back.

Paul Simon once wrote “I can gather all the news I need from the weather report”. The Camino is one place where that is true.

Thunderstorms were predicted and the sky looked like something from the ‘Twister’ movie.  Beautiful and deeply threatening.

We left Los Arcos and headed west…

Thunderclouds to the east. Thunderclouds to the south. Thunderclouds to the west. But blue sky above us, which is what matters as we still haven’t got any raincoats.

We strode out at a good pace. H has a new app that tells us that we’re averaging over 5km an hour. And, without wishing to brag (ok, allow me to brag a little) we were not overtaken once on this particular day.

20km of walking found us in Viana, another simply beautiful Spanish hilltop town. An early lunch of goat’s cheese salad and we were off again, 10km still to go.

The walk into Logrono took us through the outskirts of town, something most people zoom through in their car.  This hinterland between the picture perfect country side and the ancient medieval town centres has become a common feature.  Let’s just say they are never the favourite part of the day’s walk.

We arrived in Logrono and went for a wander to find raincoats and a cheap bag for us to fill with all our rubbish that we want to forward.  That done, plus some ice-cream and a visit to a rather splendid photography exhibition about Chicago.  We were overwhelmed with the visuals of Spain and now we were immersed in Chicago for an hour.  Surreal…

Today we booked into a donativo. These albergues are free and are run, usually, by the Catholic church as a service to the pelegrinos. There is a rather different ethos to these places.  There is a simple communal meal for dinner and for breakfast the following morning. Today was a vat of pasta and tomato with salad and red wine for the 25 or so pilgrims. The priests welcome us, offer a grace and help get the conversation going. Sitting around us were Mexicans, Germans, French, Koreans and Bulgarians.

After dinner and a communal washing-up (where we fought to help) …

…the priest led us through some tunnels under the ancient donativo building into the equally ancient church.  We crept through the huge dark sanctuary into a back room. There we had a short service of blessing and he stamped our pilgrim ‘passport’ with the official albergue stamp.

As you’d expect by the name, donativos, are kept going by donations.  But at no point did anyone even mention money.  As we were leaving the next day I had to hunt down the donations box.  And when I found it, it was open, with money in it and was just sitting there.  As I’ve said already the Camino does things to your sense of honesty.  Good things!

I think the donativos are the best albergues.  They preserve the original intent of the Camino.  This is supposed to be a pilgrimage, and a pilgrimage isn’t just a long walk. You are supposed to think about life, the universe and, indeed, everything.  Even if all you can really think about is how much your feet hurt…

A good, if immensely tiring, day.

A postscript.  Some quality graffiti in Logrono

Day 7 : Stats

Steve : In spite of the previous day’s sog-fest, we were up…

…and out by 7:15am.

On the outskirts of Estella is the village of Ayegui which has two things going for it.  Number #1 is the ‘100km’ marker.  Yeah!

Number #2 is the wine fountain.  Yes, indeed. A fountain of wine…

Check it out for yourself.

The weather was still a bit dreich (a quality Scottish word – look it up) but the panoramas raised our spirits.

And then the sun came out and the perfect Spanish landscape revealed itself.

We rounded a corner and came upon a orange juice vendor.  He was playing aged rock music very loud. The slightly surreal combination of Steppenwolf ‘get your motor running, head out on the highway’ and the slow pace of the actual trail was duly noted.  We head-banged with AC/DC as we drank our orange juice – freshly squeezed from actual oranges.

We are getting closer to Spanish wine country and the vines are more frequent.

We roll into Los Arcos mid-afternoon. Jen remembers this from last year and the Albergue La Fuente came highly recommended.

In the town square we had a “Who looks coolest in Hamish’s Ray-Bans?” competition.

No contest, if you ask me…

The Camino is a real Catholic pilgrimage, through a country with a long and strong Catholic tradition. In the town square photo you can see the Church of Santa Maria. There was to be a pilgrim mass at 8 pm and we slipped in to the church in good time.

The overwhelming first impression of these small village churches in the extravagance of the altar pieces.  The contrast between this…

and the rather austere village architecture is marked.

We’re not Catholics (S and J are Christians, H is ??) and we weren’t quite sure what to expect. We thought the mass started at 7pm so we were sitting in the beautiful church for around an hour before things started to happen. An elderly lady was moving things around and opening and closing various sections of the altar area. A few more locals of advanced years ambled in and then at 8pm recorded voices came over the speaker system. For 30 mins or so there was a recorded ‘call and response’ – our Spanish isn’t good enough to interpret the meaning. But the surprise to me was that the whole thing was pre-recorded.

I don’t know what I make of this. I’m well aware (being both a Christian and a scientist) that there are those who would side with the Pink Floyd lyric

And far away, across the fields
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells.

I understand the power of words, and I understand the purpose of liturgy. The extreme form of liturgy in this church is not my cup of tea (maybe, as the Camino progresses and wifi permits I’ll elaborate on my own theology) and I wouldn’t like that in my church.

But, but…

I recall many years ago reading a Clive James article in The Observer about some TV documentary on Lourdes. The programme was rather sniffy about the tourist tat often to be found side by side with some important religious place. But, says James, “objections to Virgin Mary holy water bottles are objections to the universality of the faith”. It seemed clear to this onlooker that the elderly audience were clearly getting some benefit from this peculiar service.  Maybe Clive James’ comments apply to this case, too.

What exactly is the purpose of the ritual of of Catholic Mass? Are the words the important thing? Do they, in themselves, serve some purpose?  If so, then the fact they are recorded is collective culture where a recording of emotions is a good-enough stand-in for the real thing.

I own hundreds of LPs (yes, I’m old…) and thousands of CDs and have access to the infinity of internet music.  If listening to the Afro-Celt Sound System play live in Glasgow is the ‘real thing’, then my complete CD collection of their works is a good-enough replacement for those occasions (99.9% of the time) when such a real interaction is impossible.

In which case you could say that the recorded Mass is functionally the same as a recording of your favourite piece of music?

Meanwhile back on the Camino…

Jen made us dinner in the albergue kitchen.  We marvelled at a group of Koreans (about 12 of them) who were cooking up a storm every night in a whirlwind of food and efficiency.

A good day.

Day 6 : Stats

  Steve: It rained.

Rain, rain, rain, rain, inclement weather, rain, may as well stand in the shower, rain, rain, drain pipes emptying on my head, thunder, rain, rain, no *^£$^%& raincoat – whose idea was that?

Arrived, H’s bag send to wrong albergue, rain, rain, get to albergue, soaking, laundry, more rain, miserable cafe, lost my glasses, rain, rain.

Time for bed – the sun comes out!

Municipal albergue stinks of Eau de Wet Pilgrim.

Yuck.

Miserable sopping wet photos of miserable sopping wet people and a miserable sopping wet landscape will be not be uploaded as they’ll just put you off. So, take a break and go and watch this…

Steve (again, a few days later): Well, you’ve got to tell it like it is.  Just prior to the downpour I did see this at the side of the trail…

The day was overcast from the start as we wandered out of Puente la Reina.  The first 15 km to Lorca were quite splendid.

Lorca has a first rate cafe on the right hand side as you pass through.  The proprietor was playing Maria Callas at maximum volume. She seemed able to communicate with all the customers in their native tongue – Korean, Japanese, English, German, Danish.  Impressive.

A km or so before Villatuerte the rain started.  I tried to wait it out in a tunnel running under the main A-12 road.  After about 40 mins of waiting it looked like things were easing off so off I went, hurrying to complete the last 4 km to Estella.  Big mistake…

The rest of the day was pretty much as described in my first draft of this post…

But here’s Jen, asleep in the cafe.

Day 5 : Stats

Steve: Pamplona – the best albergue so far…

Just around the corner from the cathedral and 15EUR including breakfast.  Like most albergues that provide breakfast the host sets things up the night before and you help yourself to bread, jam, juice and coffee and let yourself out by 8am at the latest.

We’d had a good nights sleep…

…and it was raining slightly (and we’d foolishly sent our Rab rain jackets home the night before) so we loitered in the convivial kitchen talking to our fellow travellers from Korea, Australia and the US.

Around 9am we set off, hoping that Hamish’s ankle would hold up.  We’d decided to use one of the courier services that transport baggage from town to town and 5EUR got Hamish’s ankle a good rest (and I confess that Jen and I took advantage and we stuffed H’s pack as full as we could with all our bits and pieces).

The hills around Pamplona are covered in wind turbines, and, indeed, it was consistently windy as we wended our way along the 14 km or so to the top of the range of hills that lies to the west of the city.

Here we find one of the highlights of the trip, the monumento peregrino.

There was much rejoicing…

An inscription on one of the donkeys…

…reads “donde se cruza el camino del viento con el de las estrellas” which in English means “where the path of the wind crosses that of the stars”, a reminder that our destination is Santiago de Compostella – the milky way, or way of the stars.

The wind blows hard up here and behind us was the thrum thrum of many wind turbines.

Getting to this monument was something of an ambition of mine. Now I really was a peregrino. We were all suffering from CALS (Camino Adjusted Lachrymosity Syndrome – in which you, ahem, get all emotional over things that would pass you by in real life – more on this later…) so we shed a collective tear and moved on down into the valley beyond.

We’ve travelled from the Pyrenees, which look like parts of Switzerland to me, into Navarra, which looks like Tuscany. The sun was shining, the crops were bursting out of the ground and the whole thing looked like one of those paintings in the National Gallery.

Hilltop villages with perfect churches were every few kilometres,

All this time we were watching the sky as the clouds gathered and we sensed that the afternoon might not go so well. Indeed, around 4pm the thunderclouds of judgement struck.

We hid in a cafe and contemplated getting a taxi for the final 7 km (aaaargh!).  The rain cleared somewhat and we set off to arrive wet and bedraggled at Albergue Estrella Guia, a second floor flat, in Puente la Reina. Our splendid host was an A-grade hippy.  The incense sticks were out and the flat was covered in inspirational messages of peace and goodwill.  Hey, if you can’t be a hippy on the Camino, where can you?

Day 4 : Stats

Steve: The municipal albergue in Zubiri is a splendid place. We checked in and put the gadgets on charge (spare sockets are highly valued on the Camino) and did the laundry.

Camino life has this rhythm: walk, arrive, check-in, plug in the gadgets, shower, laundry, food.

Note to self: explain to our dear readers the mindset that allows pilgrims to leave literally thousands of pounds worth of phones, iPads , cameras and the like in an open dormitory whilst they wander off for a few hours of eating and site-seeing.

And so we set out to find some food.  Some veggie lasagnes and a pizza later, we stood in the river and cooled off.

Then back to the albergue to fight with wifi and technology to try and get a donations page up on this website for our non-UK readers (hello to you all…).

Early to bed. SNORING. Up at 5:30am and off we go.

The air was cool and pleasant as we set off up the hill out of town.  After about 3.5 km we were watching the morning traffic jam…

…when I realised I’d left my watch tied to the bed rail in the albergue. A very bad thing. So, as H and J waited at the side of the trail I walked as quickly as I could back to the albergue, passing bemused peregrinos as I went.  What a waste of 6 precious km….

Today’s trek was some 22km through lush old-growth woods.  Occasionally a green and pleasant view would appear in a gap between the trees.

But, but… all was not well with Hamish’s right foot.  He sprained it badly a year or so ago and it seems that his excellent Salomon boots weren’t sufficient to prevent a stabbing pain from returning.  Progress slowed considerably as various bandages and strapping were applied.

The first town we arrived at (Illaratz) seemed completely closed up.  We were ambling down the main road when a man gesticulated that we’d taken the wrong path (this is very common, the locals are always correcting the peregrinos wayward sense of direction).  Following some Spanglish to-and-fro where we explained we were looking for a cafe, it turned out that he ran an albergue and asked if we wanted breakfast.  Coffee, toast and cake (always cake for breakfast) and we were on our way.

Eventually we limped into Arre, about 4km from Pamplona.  We sat in the square and ate every single vegetarian item that the cafe sold (all 3 of them…) and tried to come up with Plan E.

No matter what Plan E held, we still had to get into Pamplona.  That would be where the doctors were and the buses that might help up get to the next town.  It took H a painful couple of hours but he made it to an excellent albergue just a few streets from the cathedral.  And, as it happened, almost directly across the road was a physio/massage place offering discounts to peregrinos.  Hamish booked himself the 6pm slot and waited. J and I did the usual shower and wash clothes routine.  We also did the first bag triage.  Jen and I took my Salewa shoes, both Rab rain jackets and a few bits and pieces (books etc) around to the Post Office and sent them home to Britain.

Jen warned me about the literal pain of too much stuff.  She was right…  Travel light!

Around 7pm Hamish literally bounced in from his foot-doctor session.  Much joy.

To celebrate we awarded ourselves a slap-up meal of bread and cheese from a supermarket and sat in the square, watching what we think was the local literary festival.  You have to like a town that has a literary festival buzzing with people.

Day 3 : Stats

Steve: A day in Camino-speak isn’t in sync with real-world time, rather it runs from leaving one albergue to arriving at the next albergue.  So, from now on I’ll try and post, wifi permitting, in the afternoon after we’ve arrived at our destination, and we’ll decree that to be the end of the day.

We were a bit slow getting up and out of Roncevalles.  H and I are new to this and it took ages to collect our belongings and our thoughts together to actually make it out the door.  Jen, the old hand, has a stinky cold so wasn’t much better at it than us.

We dragged ourselves and rucksacks to the cafe next door and had breakfast.  That was so nice, we had another breakfast.

And then to the trail.  After a hundred metres we saw this frightening sign:

which does rather take the shine off things…

The sun was shining and the way was relatively easy after yesterday. And mostly downhill.  This part of Spain is very picturesque.

The rest of the day was a blur.  We arrived in Zubiri, another beautiful town, around 2:30pm.

Dear reader, a sudden wave of fatigue has overcome this particular author – so here’s Jen.

Jen: Upon arrival, we headed to the nearest albergue (the municipal one) and collapsed in a heap for a while before heading to the showers. I personally had a very long and tiring day. I’ve had the flu since Monday and it’s so bad that I need not even milk it.

The other two wandered out in front and I got chatting to a South African woman who was walking at around the same pace as me. She had done the Camino before, from Sarria to Santiago and was back to do the beginning piece with a few friends. I like the way the Camino mixes groups of people who would otherwise never mix. We’re yet to meet any Scottish people, but there are plenty of Brits about and lots of French people. It’s a different demographic this year compared to last.

Anyway, in Zubiri I sloped into the showers and scrubbed till I felt human again, and dad and Hamish milled about playing with this website. I was feeling dreadful but a shower and some food helped. We got some dinner (veggie lasagne – a rare treat!) and packed our bags ready for morning.

There was lots of standing in rivers today in an attempt to cool down swollen feet. Here is Hamish standing in a river.

A long day, so definitely time for bed. G’night all.

Day 2 : Stats

Steve: We’re here and it’s actually happening…

Bayonne: A shaky start – I didn’t realise that my Fitbit watch was still on UK time so when Jen knocked on the hotel door at what I thought was 6:09am it was actually 7:09am and we had a train to catch at 7:46am.  We made it and set off to St Jean.

St Jean: Then to the Pilgrim Office to pick up the ‘Pilgrim Passport’ without which you cannot stay in the albergues (I’ll get Jen to write a glossary of Camino terms).  It was getting real, 6 months of planning and here we (eventually) were.

Now, it may be corny, but they say that the longest journey starts with a single step.  So here are those steps:

By my reckoning when we reach Santiago we will be on step #1,000,000 or thereabouts.

The sun was shining and the birds were singing as we set off through the very picturesque town of St Jean towards the big hills of the Pyrenees.

Day One of the Camino is reckoned to be the most difficult and we were rather nervous.  It’s basically the equivalent of climbing Ben Nevis, Britain’s tallest mountain. You hear horror stories of people falling to their deaths and getting hopelessly lost. As I’m a regular walker in the Scottish hills I treat these things with respect.

As it happened it was all really rather easy.  I was expecting rough trails, as you’d find on a Scottish hill.  Instead 90% of it is tarred, and tarred to a higher standard than most of central Edinburgh.  I’m sure it’s properly nasty in winter but on this fine May afternoon it was almost a walk in the park.

So, from St Jean to Orisson, some 8km.  Note to future self: there’s a splendid albergue in Orisson with a magnificent view across the Pyrenees. Stay here if you ever do the trip again….

We stopped for lunch and toasted our success…

The road wound on and up and into the clouds. We passed the famous statue of the Virgin Mary and ‘Let it be‘ ran on my mental playlist.

At some point mid afternoon we did a very rare thing – something that none of us have done before.  We walked into another country.  Left foot in France, right foot in Spain.  When did you last do that?

5:30pm and a little footsore but much relieved we came down the last few hundred metres into Roncevalles and the huge albergue.

Now most pilgrims start by 8am at the latest and we didn’t leave St Jean until nearly 10, so we were amongst the last in.  By then the only spaces left were in an old dorm which we shared with some 20+ others.

I don’t know what the stats are but I reckon if you put any more than 5 people in a room one will keep the rest awake by snoring.  And, yes indeedy, we had a snore fest.  And – another thing – why do snorers always seem to fall asleep first?  I got out my Sansa Clip and listened to a ‘Kermode and Mayo Film Review’ programme and two Tangerine Dream albums but nothing could drown out the snorting.  I reckoned that I got 3 hours of sleep before the keen walkers were getting up at 6am for the day ahead.  Must try harder to fall asleep faster.

But! We are underway.  Day one wasn’t anything like as bad as I’d feared.  My Salewa shoes did the job (though I fear I have some impending blisters) and the Deuter pack worked fine.

27km down, many many km to go…

Day 1 : Stats

Steve: Proper progress today.

Up at 3:50am in the Holiday Inn Gatwick, a rather soulless place.  Airport hotels, just like airport departure lounges, have a strange quality. They exist in some alternative dimension, just a little removed from the Real World – a few inches over, perhaps. Almost the same, but not quite.

The British Airways desk at Gatwick opened at 5am and, after some more fiddling around with booking numbers, we took to the air at 6:50am -ish and headed for Bordeaux. We all slept the whole way.

From Bordeaux airport to the bus, to the train station, and on to Bayonne on a TGV.  You couldn’t possibly mistake a French train for a British train.  It really is quite a bit more stylish.

Rumour had it that there was a strike on today but we couldn’t confirm that. All we know is that we had an almost empty carriage for the hour and a bit trip.

We’d hoped to go on St Jean today but apparently that particular line actually was on strike, so we’ve got tickets for early tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow we start the Camino proper and we become ‘peregrinos’ – pilgrims.  With ‘albergues’ for accommodation and ‘pilgrim menus’ for sustenance. To ease the transition, tonight we stay in a hotel and eat pizza by the riverside. Impecuniousness can wait for just one more day.

We are porous with travel fever, as Joni Mitchell sang…

Day zero : stats