and Here ya go guys. This took a lot longer than I thought once the memories came flooding back and it only covers the first day and a bit so if this is too long and boring let me know and I'll turn in into a coffee table book instead, heh, heh.
A couple of pictures too but of course there are a whole lot more (like thousands) to pick from
So the most important thing to tell you guys is to listen carefully when your wife starts to babble enthusiastically about something. What started all this was, a couple of years ago I guess I was only sort of paying attention when we were watching a movie called "The Way" with Martin Sheen. It was her kind of movie, a tear jerker about some grumpy old ophthalmologist who was walking the Camino Santiago to honour his dead son, and when is was over she turned to me and said brightly, "We're doing that!" I then made the mistake of saying the all-purpose noncommittal wife-humouring word, "Whatever." That was a HUGE strategic blunder as I found myself accidentally committed to something I didn't even understand (sort of like marriage itself.)
A bit of background on the Camino Santiago may be called for here. According to Spanish legend and the Catholic Church the beheaded body of one of the apostles of Jesus, after he was martyred like most of the early Christians, came to be buried in the town now called Santiago (St James in spanish) de Compostela under what is now a huge cathedral. Starting about thousand years ago, performing pilgrimages to purify oneself, work off criminal sentences or perform penance to many holy sites became the sanctified thing to do and this become one of the most popular. It became known as The Way of St James or just The Way or The Camino Santiago.
Since this forum is definitely not here to discuss religion, I will not go into that aspect of it much more except to say that people walk this Camino nowadays for a lot of reasons, not necessarily only spiritual. It has that aspect but it also has fantastic scenery, great history, pretty good weather, cheap food and beer, good, non-franchised tourist infrastructure and a sociable, safe (more or less) environment which is easily accessible by airlines or what have you. So, lots of reasons.
Anyway, if you want more info on the Camino there is a ton of stuff in books, on the web or youtube for that matter.
I originally thought that I would prepare for this like I have prepared for most of the big events in my life (i.e just show up) but at my age and given my wifes unshakable determination about this nonsensical project I figured that I had actually better try to get in some kind of shape to at least play along.I walked with a pack for about hundred klicks around nice flat tarmac at the airports where I was based with the airtankers this summer and figured, That should do it!
Even after that distance was done, I have to say that my face was still pretty much perfectly round as was my belly. So basically, I was a typical early 60ish Canadian, short, stumpy and packing too much weight with knees that were starting to hurt whenever I knelt down.
As I got off the shuttle bus in St John Pied de Port in southern France, which is the usual start point for the pilgrims, I stared at the Pyrenee mountains that divide France and Spain and that we were going to walk over and I have to admit I kind of wished I had worked a bit harder on slopes.
We were going to have to climb about 4500 feet and then descend about 2000 with the backpacks over a distance of about 15 miles (25 klicks) for an average of a 7% grade. That may not seem like much in a car but using an old, chubby, jetlagged body with about 2 hours of sleep the night before and carrying a 25 lb pack will test you. Also, that is the average slope and there were stretches that were a lot steeper than that. It was even more daunting when we would encounter a periodic memorial along the trail where somebody had dropped. I was scanning for one that would have had a truthful inscription such as, I told you to train for this, fatso!, but I guess the mourning families who erected them were being diplomatic.
What was even more depressing from my point of view was that almost everybody was passing us.I could ascribe it to the tendency of my wife to stop every hundred feet or so to take a few pictures with her fancy new smartphone/camera.I have to admit it was beautiful there and got more so the higher we got but you could never really get a good walking rhythm going.It was like walking with a cat and made for a lot of muttering under my breath. Of course, now Im very happy that she did try to capture the experience.
The other reason, which I did not want to acknowledge, was that it could also be because almost everybody seemed to be in better shape than us judging from the rippling calf muscles that I could see on everybody. There was even one French guy that was carrying his pack and his girlfriends as well and he didnt seem to be huffing and puffing nearly as much as me.Very humbling.
I kept my fluorescent white, lumpy, Canadian legs covered almost all the time so as not to look even more decrepit and so as not to blind anybody with the white glare.I actually only met one other guy with legs whiter than mine and he was from the middle of England where it rains pretty much all the time.My wife uncovered her more shapely legs most days and it was interesting to see them turn into what looked like neon red leggings over the next couple of sunny days.
We had decided in the planning for this to go only partway across the Pyrenees the first day to an Albergue which is kind of a hostel for pilgrims that combines a dorm-type room and bed arrangement with a café and small bar, although not all those things were at every one. This place was about 2500 feet up and 8 klicks from St John, perched on the edge of a mountain view and was quite new. Its a good thing we booked ahead as it was already turning away people when we showed up. (If you want to see what it looked like here is a link to the site.)https://refuge-orisson.com/en/
We staggered in at about 2:00 oclock with huge sighs of relief that the pain was over (Oh really?). I ordered what would be the first of many well-deserved cold beers on this trip along with a sandwich of fresh baguette, ham and cheese.That is really living!
It was a bit reassuring to see a middle-aged blond lady come stumbling in after us along with a rather stern looking lady partner.We helped them with what we knew of the place and made a spot in the dining area for her to flop down exhaustedly on a chair.
Once she got her breath back, it transpired that she was a very chatty lady from Idaho who was a nurse and was walking with her friend who also was a nurse but a military one. In fact, she was a Colonel in the US army nursing core so the stern look kind of made sense.The curly blond lady was named Debbie which seemed about right, given her personality.
Once we had lunch, we were shown to our rooms and took a submarine type shower (water is hard to supply there) and then gravitated to the outdoor patio which was across the road (on top of the dorm rooms) where we met quite a few other pilgrims.There were many other people from many other countries but at least we could communicate with the Americans so we tended to gravitate to them. It was a rather delicate process to try and tease out if they were Trump people or not as that tended to sort of dictate what you could even talk about safely. However, a few more cold ones did make the talk flow quite easily until it was time for supper.
This was a communal supper that was included in the price for a nights stay there so we packed into the dining room, all 40 of us or so. Before the main course but after the wine the hosts asked us each to stand and say why we were walking the Camino. I stood up first to break the ice and get it over with and said something kind of superficial but as the sequence went on it was apparent there were some really deep motivations as well. It was especially moving when a group of South Koreans gave us a little song in Korean. (Apparently walking the Camino is really popular in South Korea as there has been a reality show about the Camino for a number of years there.)
A great pilgrim meal with great company and a heck of promising start.Now the real challenge of the night began.As it happened, I was the only guy in a room of seven women on bunk beds in our dorm -type room.Given my necessity to get up in the night (if you know what I mean, and I think you do), I convinced my sweet wifey to take the top bunk so I wouldnt kill myself trying to creep out of bed periodically.Also given my reported tendency to snore like a fat old man, according to my wife (although I have never heard this supposed snoring myself) I figured that either I am going to sleep (finally!) but nobody else in the room will, or I will have to pretty much stay awake all night and let all the womensleep.Since I didnt want to infuriate 7 women I decided to do as much as I could to not snore, whatever it took.
So another night with maybe two hours of light sleep and even so when we got up to get going I got a couple of fairly cold looks especially from the colonel. However, Debbie told us that it was mostly because sleeping in lazily until 6:30 am was according to her, wasting the day, even though it was still pitch black out there. Debbie said the Colonel was usually up and at the gym by 0500 hours. I had to wonder how compatible they were going to be when Debbie looked at me with a beseeching look andasked us to pray for her.
Breakfast was not like at Dennys.It was a cup of black coffee or hot chocolate and a couple of pieces of toast and some yogurt. I was hoping this was an anomaly but it turned out to be pretty much the norm along the way.I wasnt sure how I was going to make the rest of the day as we still had to do about 17 klicks uphill and then down to the next big refugio (a place for pilgrims) and it was raining by now.
My wife was talking to one of the other ladies and had heard that for the nominal fee of 5 euro you could actually get your backpack hauled to your next location. She asked me if I wanted to send my massive pack up ahead and being the bonehead purist I was at the time I said that it would be no problem for me to take my own pack, like a man!
This turned out to be not true and while my wife frolicked and skipped along lightly on the path, I trudged up the endless hills in the freezing rain feeling like a pack mule and moving like an ox. She did her usual delighted picture taking while I just tried not to die.
We had bought a couple of sandwiches at the Albergue to last us the day but at the rate I was burning calories climbing the rest of the 4000 feetI was going to be out of even my fat reserves by noon.Luckily and somewhat miraculously from our miserable starving point of view, there was a mobile café (I.E a van) parked along the road just after after one of the steepest, rainiest, foggiest stretches. This blessed angel (although he actually looked like the fairly wet, slightly disgusted, chubby Frenchman) was selling hot coffee, hot chocolate, hard boiled eggs and his home made sheep cheese all of which we scarfed down madly.
This gave us some heart just when we needed it and we continued to scramble up what became a very rocky trail after we had to finally leave the narrow, paved road. It is amazing that a trail that has hosted pilgrims for 1000 years and was used by Napoleons army still looked like it was a goat trail in this part.
Once we scrambled over the wet, rocky summit we walked along a really narrow path in the fog next to scarily steep slopes that seemed to go down as far as we could see. I could easily see now where people could slip and die here.
By this time we were approaching the border with Spain and after a quick stop at a stone mountain hut to get out of the wind, fog and rain for a while where I made the rookie mistake of sitting down wearily next to the outer wall to get a bit of shelter only to discover that (probably) thousands of previous pilgrims had used that same wall as a urinal. Bleh!
Oh well, on we went, it all washed off, and just another couple of klicks later we actually crossed the border into Spain.
It was pretty cool to think that quite a number of airmen and allied soldiers must have used this same route during WWII to get out of France and into neutral Spain and probably heaved a huge sigh of relief at this point. I just heaved a tired one.
The border was just a weather-beaten sign in the middle of nowhere just after a mountain spring called Rolands fountain after the famous medieval knight but it meant we were actually getting somewhere.
To be continued if you want.
-- Edited by 66 Grande guy on Wednesday 13th of November 2019 12:55:15 AM
-- Edited by 66 Grande guy on Wednesday 13th of November 2019 01:18:19 AM
-- Edited by 66 Grande guy on Wednesday 13th of November 2019 11:11:04 AM
Oh yes keep it going with every detail. Ive just been reading parts to my 2 visiting daughters and weve almost finished drying the tears from laughing so hard. Ken youve got a gift, not just a world class hiker, but a world class humorist. Cant wait for chapter 2.
Oh yes keep it going with every detail. Ive just been reading parts to my 2 visiting daughters and weve almost finished drying the tears from laughing so hard. Ken youve got a gift, not just a world class hiker, but a world class humorist. Cant wait for chapter 2.
Yup, what he said.
__________________
63 Parisienne sport coupe (The Big GTO), black, maroon interior, 409 4 speed; former owner of a 59 El Camino, 63 Corvette SWC, 62 Chev Bel Air SC. 1963- Pontiac top selling car in Canada
Mahone Bay, NS Still not old enough to need an automatic
Enjoying the read so far... looking forward to the next installment!
In light of Remembrance Day, this line struck a chord with me:
"It was pretty cool to think that quite a number of airmen and allied soldiers must have used this same route during WWII to get out of France and into neutral Spain and probably heaved a huge sigh of relief at this point. I just heaved a tired one."
Yes Ken, please continue. Your story telling abilities are unmatched. They provide a much needed chuckle and I will even learn something along they way.
And like Mark, can't wait to hear more of Debbie and the Colonel.....
'64 Parisienne CS "barn find" - last on the road in '86 ... Owner Protection Plan booklet, original paint, original near-mint aqua interior, original aqua GM floor mats, original 283, factory posi, and original rust.
By the way if you want to actually see the walk over the first two days here is a link to a sped up Gopro video a guy has posted on you tube that shows that whole stretch over 45 minutes or so.
It still doesn't really do justice to the slopes but at least you can hear him huffing and puffing where he takes a break. I don't know how long it actually took him to do it but it is about 25 klicks horizontal distance so pretty much the whole day for this fit young guy I would think. We didn't really want to die so we split it up into two days.
There was more uphill to go after the sign and my constant reassurance to my wife and all the other sweaty panting pilgrims within earshot that it flattened out just up ahead were starting to ring pretty hollow even to me, when it did actually flatten out up ahead and the sun came out. Quite a difference in mood once that happened but I guess thats mountain weather for you. After one more short uphill and a couple more curves I could see a bunch of pilgrims milling around a cross and some benches at a viewpoint. Once we got there we could see almost forever to the south. We actually had survived to make it to the summit!
Now it was all downhill to Roncesvalles which was going to be our destination for the night. There were a couple of routes you could use but one pilgrim who seemed to know what was talking about (always a warning sign as we found out) told us the short way was wickedly steep and quite dangerous when it was wet. Nevertheless we saw quite a few souls head down that way. The other choice looked like a nice country road that had just enough downhill to kind of push you along without having to work at it. Looked good, so we took it.
Roncevalles is an old monastery that had been converted to a huge albergue that could accommodate about 200 people but with the huge cluster of pilgrims that were starting at the same time as we were it as bound to be packed. (it had been an extremely hot summer in Spain so we had heard that many people had delayed their plans until September causing quite a constipation of pilgrims jamming up the trials and the accommodations. This was an issue we were going to have to deal with for pretty much the whole time.) In any case my wife had been smart enough to book this place before we ever left Canada for this night so we set off downhill smugly thinking the worst was over for the day.
if I had had access to a calculator, I would have worked out the somewhat alarming fact that we were now going downhill at the rate of 1600 feet in about 2.5 miles to the monastery which was situated at the end of a valley in the south end of the Pyrenees. That is actually a steady 12 percent downhill grade which was certainly enough to push your toes into and almost through the front of your shoes. I didnt have access to those numbers then but they wouldnt have too comforting then either.
The experts had told us the downhills were actually harder than the uphills, which I had scoffed at like a true rookie, but now I could feel the reality. With my 235 lbs of manly bulk and another 25 lbs on my backpack my knees had to do a lot of mass deacceleration work for the next long while. Like any aging suspension setup, they started to get pretty hot and creak quite a bit with that kind of work. Just how much bad news this was going to be I really didnt find out till later
As usual most pilgrims left us in the dust which was just as well as one of us needed to use the non existent bathroom facilities pretty badly. There wasnt a lot of choice with the road being on a sidehill so you really couldnt go up or down off it at all so we had to just pick a time and do what we had to do. It was certainly a lot easier if you were a guy and I was accused of having the luck to be one of those many times over the trek. One thing we did find that helped the privacy aspect out quite a bit was that most pilgrims are so focussed on moving forward nobody really ever looked backwards very often at all so you can do what you have to do as long as you have a gap behind you that lasts long enough.
That being said, We always tried very hard to make it to a bar/cafe and buy something (usually a beer, heh heh) in order to give us license to use their washroom. Mostly that worked.
As for other pilgrims, all I can say is that if you were a bit unsure if you were still on the trail you just had to step out to the edges and look for toilet paper. It was a dependable, if somewhat disgusting trail marker even more than the yellow arrows that were the official markers. That being said, there really was very little other litter so at least there was that level of respect for the trail.
Anyway, after that quick rest stop we continued the slow descent. We had to be really careful with the many slippery loose stones that were on parts of the trail because if you ever turn an ankle you are pretty much done for the duration and we sure as heck didnt want that to happen this early at least. (or at all!)
With the constant picture taking and the fact that my wife has never developed the ability to jump, it was a very slow and progressively more painful descent until at about 3 pm we finally wobbled in on a last lovely flat piece of trail into the back door of Roncevalles. I got the feeling we were kind of tardy as we hadnt seen any one on the trial for about the last hour but with the booking we werent too worried. Still, as we approached the entrance and saw the ubiquitous lines of pilgrim laundry hanging on lines on the lawn, I did kind of wonder if we had missed the boat.
Once we entered we joined about 100 other pilgrims all milling around in the foyer either trying to convince the volunteer staff to give then a bed or waiting to be called if they were lucky enough to have one. Once my wife confirmed the reservation did in fact exist we were handed a coloured badge and told to wait until our colour was called.
We waited on a blessedly soft wooden bench in the courtyard while I tried to get some feeling back in my toes and soaked in the warm Spanish sun. Pilgrims came and went with everybody else seeming to know where they were going. I got into a conversation with a staffer who was out for a smoke break so we got some good info as to how this big operation actually worked. Turns out it was a bunch of volunteers from Holland who came out every year to run this very strategic stopping point. Most Spaniards count this as the actual start point for the Camino so many of them join the trail here which might have explained the sudden influx of people.
After about an hour we were shown to our respective cubicles. The were laid out in groups of 4 with two bunk beds facing each other. They looked like heavy duty institutional IKEA. Not too funky anyway. They had a foam mattress and disposable covers for the pillow and the mattress but no other bedding. Hmm, maybe I should have packed the sleeping bag after all. Oh well, Ill just sleep in my clothes and use my down jacket as a foot warmer.
Once we managed to get a spot in the busy showers and got cleaned up we felt a lot more human and were ready for a bit of a lie down before the supper seating with was at 8 oclock for us. (We had to eat in shifts as there were so many in this little village.) I managed to gain a bit of privacy by hanging my towel over the side of the bunk above me to dry out and to muffle to noise a bit. That worked very well and I noticed quite a few other people were using that technique as well.
There was an older French couple facing me and a Korean guy above. I gathered from the couple (who looked at least in their 70s) that they had stated walking from Paris a couple of months ago so already had about 700 kms under their shoes. Wow, I thought our plan was ambitious but those mild looking old people were amazing!
They must have been telling the truth because they both sacked out really early and we never really talked after that.
Supper was in a small local restaurant that has an arrangement with the albergue so we sat down with a couple of ladies at a table got acquainted and were offered two choices that constituted the pilgrims menu
Fish or chicken and frites (Frys) The fish was served grilled and whole so first I had to cover up the accusing eyeball staring up at me before I could rip it to shreds. Good though! My wife made the observation that if you are a pilgrim you had better like roast chicken because thats pretty much what you will get with every pilgrim meal. (not a fisheater, her)
Back to the dorm in time to settle in for the night and start to add to the chorus of grunting, farting and snoring, most of which I suspected would be coming from me. There were some conversations especially between my wife and a couple of really enthusiastic Floridian sisters in the next cubicle but that died down pretty fast as every body was very tired.
I have to say I quickly grew to pity the poor souls who had the bunks next to the communal bathroom entrance as they had put up with old men like me as they drained out the supper beer and wine over the rest of the night. I was trying to be discreet but the motion light kept lighting up when you opened the bathroom door. I thought Id be roundly cursed at some point but those folks must have been pretty damn tired too.
So was I and eventually even with the weird sleep setup I dropped off and finally got a few hours of deep sleep.
I think you are ready for Everest! Keep on trucking Ken!
__________________
Prince Edward Island
'64 Parisienne CS "barn find" - last on the road in '86 ... Owner Protection Plan booklet, original paint, original near-mint aqua interior, original aqua GM floor mats, original 283, factory posi, and original rust.
OK for those who are still following here ya go with the next couple of days:
Day 3!
0500 hours and I was briefly awaked by the sounds of someone running down the hallway in what sounded, from all the rattling, like full hiking kit. Turned out it was a Korean girl who just had to be out on the trail before anyone else. We found out later that this was the usual technique among the young ones on the camino so make sure they would be in place in the next albergue before the rest of the slugabeds like us.
Their technique seemed to be starting with a brisk two hour walk on a treacherous trail in the pitch darkness and then holistically experiencing sunrise, with breakfast eventually at the first café/bar that would be open, at the albergue by noon, laundry done, hung and showered by 1 oclock and the rest of the day sitting under an bar umbrella getting hosed, while smirkily watching old people stagger in.
I have to say as an older Canadian I have seen enough sunrises,( mostly in winter admittedly), so walking the camino in the dark never made much sense to us if the whole idea was to see the country you were walking through. With the trail terrain as rough as it was, it would be pretty easy to fall off a cliff or just wipe out on the rocks but this is what so many people seemd to want to do.We heard of one lady who walked 6 kms the wrong way before she figured out where he she was.
However, I digress with my rant.
I was gently re-woken by the sound of recorded Gregorian chants at 0600. What the f---!
I guess that was the way the staff flushed out the pilgrims and it worked like a charm. Out we all went to our respective breakfast sittings. Another batch of toasted day old bagettes, coffee con leche, cola cao (which is their version of hot chocolate in steamed milk-pretty much the only thing I saw my wife actually consume every day)
We shared a pretty tired silent breakfast table with the french couple where the guy was carrying both packs and we did get to say hello to a nice couple from Manchester who we hoped to keep pace with but already the pilgrims we had bonded with at Orisson were scattering given our different paces and different schedules.
Once we were out of there, we mounted up the backpacks and walked across the street to the sobering sight of the highway sign that told us just how far we still had to go. See picture. So my thinking was Have I got that mileage in me considering the way my toes and knees feel today. No way to find out except to give it a try!
Determinedly, off we went, past the ominous sign into lovely shaded trail though a nice level forest path. We kept meeting local people out for a walk from what we assumed what was the next village. This was our first experience of the greeting we experienced from almost everyone we met whether they were local Spanish people or the pilgrims that pounded past us everyday. Buen Camino! - Which is a heart warming, long-standing tradition of greeting people on the trail.It means Good road or good travels)
I actually heard it so often that later I jokingly would introduce myself as Ben Camino to quite a few of pilgrims we met while pointing it that it was so cool that everybody seemed to know my name. Theymostly just looked at me strangely, but one guy from California who was walking with his teenage son (and looked amazingly like Billy Bob Thornton) kept calling me Ben wherever we met again.I liked that.
Anyway this was a day that was going to have some severe logistical problems in that, try as she might the night before, my wife could not find a booking for any kind of bed in the next logical stop, a town called Zubiri, 22 kms down the trail.
In fact we couldnt find anything even close to It because of the clog of pilgrims on the trail right then.
After some heated but hushed discussion about the purity of our quest we managed to find a booking in a 4 star hotel right in the centre of the city of Pamplona (You knew the running of the bulls and all that stuff.) It was right next to the cathedral in the middle of the old town and kind of was the antithesis of all the experiences we thought we were going to have.(and it was wickedly expensive to boot.) But there just was no other place we could find. Finally, reluctantly, my wife pushed the book button on her phone as I silently exulted at the chance to actually sleep in a room with a private bathroom again.
The only problem was that it was about a 50 klick walk and we were not done with the mountain stuff just yet either.Daunting indeed. So, bearing that sobering knowledge we figured wed better set a faster pace than our usual senior citizen mosey.
We did stop at a supermercato at the first village we passed to pick up some fresh bagette, cheese and chocolate for a bit of trail bite if we needed it.
I should explain here that up to here we really had no idea what was coming at us on the route as the wife had decided that carrying a guidebook added too much weight to the pack so we were walking with a certain amount of blind faith that we would get to some place where we could eat and/or sleep. The occasional wifi hot spot did allow her to check ahead but it was pretty limited.
We entered another small village after this and since I was still learning how to look for the ever-present but sometimes cunning disguised yellow arrows that mark the trail I absentmindedly strolled a couple of blocks to far.
I knew I was off when I saw my wife making little jumping jacks in the middle of the street a way back and finally figured out that she wasnt just getting extra exercise.From that point, after the lecture,I really tried to keep my neck on a swivel as the arrows, which were usually just roughly painted using brush or spraybombs could appear on pretty much anything from building walls, to rocks, to roadway asphalt. The were all different sizes too and we even saw a few on camino t-shirts worn by locals. Not sure if I was actually supposed to follow them though.
The morning went pretty well all things considered. The terrain was good and we werent crowded as the herd had more or less passed us by in their stampede for beds.It was on one of the lonely stretches of the trial we first met the one guy we would end up encountering for almost the whole length of the camino. He was ambling down the trail wearing a old fashioned square red rucksack and just seemed aimless and a bit lost.
My wife was a bit concerned for him thinking that he had a medical problem or might have gotten dehydrated so she asked him if he as OK. He replied in a monotone with an decided eastern European accent, Ok Is relative. Then he went on to say that people did not understand him and my wife replied that she understood him very well.He made no reply to that so she asked him if he had enough water and his lugubrious response was that he had too much water.Ok-getting the willies here, so we looked at each other, shrugged and left him behind, I secretly hoped, for good.
Somewhere about in here the toe blisters and knee strain from yesterday started to make themselves apparent as the flats gave way to undulating hills and steep little slopes.I found I had to sit every half hour or so and let the knee kind of loosen up.The toes I could ignore.Once again we got passed by more people . At one point I was sitting in the entryway to a very dark, overgrown forest trail entrance that sort of looked at ominous so I started croaking at people as they went by in an Orc like voice Welcome to Mirkwood until my wife caught up and told me to grow up for Petes sake.Even thebewildered guy withthe red pack looked at me like I was nuts as he wandered by. Oh well if you cant have a little fun.
Unfortunately the fun didnt last. We started hitting some really rock-strewn downhill slopes and by the time we crossed a little river just outside of a town called Viskarret my left leg had seized up so that I couldnt bend the leg without major pain. I was trying my best to ignore it and walk it off (like a man!) but I couldnt even keep up with my wife so I knew I was in major trouble.
I managed to hobble into a little bar thinking pretty dire thoughts about probably having to pack it in so we had to strategize over a beer or two (for me) to see if we were going to survive.This was a serious blow to my manly ego as I sure never thought Id be the one to crap out.
The best plan we could come up with was to see if we could order a taxi to take up all the way into our hotel in Pamplona where we had booked two nights and take a rest day hoping that my knee would magically heal itself.
After a another beer (only to keep our legitimacy as table occupiers, let me hasten to add) the taxi that the bar girl was kind enough to call showed uploaded with 6 other crippled pilgrims.Made me feel a little better but I still had to hide my face from the outside walkers as we boarded and left for Pamplona.
We spotted a few more people we had met still hiking sturdily along the trail during the ride so I was grateful that the windows were shaded during the Taxi Ride Of Shame. It was a 55 km ride but luckily we could split the taxi fare with the others. It was pretty scary to see even from the highway the terrain we would have had to get through that day, so it was a pretty quiet and kind of depressed couple of old grubby pilgrims checking into the luxury hotel. It seems they saw quite a bit of this sort of thing so no eyes were rolled but a few noses may have been sniffed as we were a little sweaty and grubby for sure.
A very uncertain evening although the luxury was unparalleled in my experience. Soft bed, beautiful hilltop view to the west of Pamplona overlooking the city and a stocked minibar.I managed to limp my way with Terry to a nearby hole in the wall pizza place hoping to find the mythical perfect take out pizza from proverbial humble shop. Such was not to be, and munching on our adequate pizza and drinking an overpricing tiny little mini bar beer I drifted off, hoping for the best for the next day.
Day 4.
This was a day full of not much.Our first involuntary rest day and I spent it pretty much on my back while my wife got restless and decided to explore the town.When she got back we did a bit of planning and our first pack lightening rethink. We got rid about about 5 lbs between to two of us mostly consisting of some really heavy industrial type sandals that I knew Id never use.
We went out for lunch to one of the many cafes in the main square where I ordered the only thing I could actually read on the menu, Calamari.An entirely too short interval of time later the waiter proudly displayed my lightly grilled dish which looked kind of like a beef tongue from a cow that had died of strangulation judging from the bluish colour of the slab on the plate.Thanking the waiter with an enthusiasm I did not exactly feel, I quelled a shudder and started to cut pieces off the thing.My wifes amusement was only a bit noticeable as she ate her frites but got a bit more obvious as I choked down what tasted like fishy rubber and had the consistency of gristle.
Its hard to believe this is a coveted dish in Spain but tastes do vary, I guess. I moved it around as much as I could and ended up covering most of it with the napkin as my wife asked me with a bit of a smile if I had had enough. Oh Yeah.
Otherwise the highlight was to get our pilgrims passports stamped at the cathedral. We had a small collection of those hard-earned affidavits by this time and thiswas to become almost an obsession with my wife.In this instance we happened to enter the cathedral just after a service and the person we thought was the priest was leading a small group of pilgrims back to his office in the back. We fell into line and ended up getting a lovely signature and a bit of a blessing from that very dignified older gentlemen who turned out to be the bishop as we found out later. It was a nice moment that kind of humanized that huge cathedral.
Back to the room to discuss the next day to see if I was fit for the trail.Felt pretty good and the knee had loosened up almost completely so it looked promising.
I would expect the food to be much more appetizing. I've had Tapas many times and always found it to be VERY tasty. I'd probably have my left knee act up ... I feel for you Ben.
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Prince Edward Island
'64 Parisienne CS "barn find" - last on the road in '86 ... Owner Protection Plan booklet, original paint, original near-mint aqua interior, original aqua GM floor mats, original 283, factory posi, and original rust.
This wasn't tapas but a house speciality and I guess just ordered something that I wasn't used to. I don't mean to demean the cook or the meal, Its that that it was totally alien to me. In the story I just wanted to make a hopefully amusing point about my reaction more than the quality of the food
Maybe with an acquired taste it would be great. I mean my only other experience with calamari is the usual cnandian one.
I ate a lot of other food and tapas in a lot of other places wherever we could find it generally in pretty humble bars/cafes, not fancy restaurants as we really didn't have the time or energy for that (or the clothes for that matter)
The cool and challenging thing was that you really couldn't predict exactly what you were going to get as all of these were owned and operated by local people and all were different.
We did run across a few of the usual franchises like McDonalds in the bigger cities but avoided them as that really wasn't what we were there for.
That meal in Pamplona was the only meal I regretted (although there were a few that did weird things to mu digestive system later.)
Wow! What an adventure! Thanks so much for sharing with us. I was at home, sick, yesterday and reading your tales helped brighten my day! It also convinced me that I will never add the Camino Santiago to my bucket list! (lol)
Your meal experience reminded me of the "Steak Tartare" episode of Mr. Bean...
I look forward to the next installment! I think you should write a book...
I would also recommend that you watch some you tube videos from a lady who calls herself Homemade Wanderlust. She's from Alabama and as it happens she walked the camino about a week after us so what she shows and what she learns if very close to what we experienced. She also likes to rescue bugs and such as does my wife so there is a certain kinship there. I would point out that at 9:50 of the video clip here they are at the same bar where my knee gave out. The synergy is quite cool.
Got up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head, found my way downstairs and drank a cup and looking up I noticed I was late. Found my coat and grabbed my hat made the bus in seconds flat. Oh wait a minute these arent my memories, I was listening to Sgt Pepper while I was writing this and I guess the lyrics leaked into my brain. Still, most of that applies except for the bus part.
It was a truly a pretty rushed morning as we knew had a long walk ahead of us.One thing we did that really paid off later though was to decide to leave my 25 lb heavy pack in the room as we were going to get back to it in any case.We had a little string day pack and I just packed a couple of water bottles and a few things we might need on the trail so I was giving the knee as little weight as I could manage.
We called a taxi to the hotel and told him in our stumbling way that we wanted to get aride to Viskarret and then walk back to Pamplona, at which point he kinda rolled his eyes.
It was a very expensive ride back there as nopilgrims were probably doing anything that dumb so we couldnt share it but we felt it was worth it to get back our wounded pride.Once we got there I tried to hunker down in the taxi until there were no walking pilgrims visible but just at that time in the morning there was a real traffic jam so eventually we got out and faced the stares of the curious and judgmental.Oh well it wasnt like we were going to keep pace with those athletes any way so off we went after a quick bracer of espresso.
It was like walking on air without that stupid pack! Made great time into Zubirri. Every once in a while, wed cross the highway that we had just travelled and we would stare judgmentally at the people in the taxis as they went by. Made me feel better somehow.
After a great pilgrim lunch at a bar were hit the trail back into the hot sun. The pace was good but we were going to hit yet again some pretty good hills. Where were the nice flat trails I was dreaming about?
We kept meeting and chatting with pilgrims that had no place to stay so I was glad that we had even this rather pricey plan.There were a couple of young Spanish girls who were just done and still had no place to stay. Next to tears.Kind of a depressing prospect as we found out later.
Luckily the trail started to level out and run alongside a very pretty river for quite a distance. I dont know if we were as slow as usual but we were alone on the trail for quite a while until we encountered a really nice Taiwanese guy who had set up to camp along the river. We stopped to chat and he offered us some green tea and bitof bread.We took the tea and were quite grateful for the refreshment it gave us but tried not to eat any of his bread.As far as we knew this was the middle of nowhere so we didnt want to deplete his supply.
However, it was only about another 5 klicks until we crossed the river and found a humble little riverside bar. We initially passed it by and right then the trail headed out along the sundrenched highway for a ways so it was only a few metres later I made the call and we turned back to see if he was open.Still had 11 klicks to walk and we were starting to fade.
Good move as the beer was nice and cold and the tortilla was nice and hot.The proprietor tried to let us know about an easier path we could take for part of the way but we (I) didnt absorb the details. Ended up walking right past the opening and immediately into a very narrow rough section with yet another sobering death memorial.
As we stumbled wearily along this narrow path I could actually see a local family out for a walk with a toddler and a dog on the good trail below. They were outpacing us. The wife was kind enough to kind enough to point that out as well.
The next decision point was at a rest stop along the busy highway into Pamplona where we thought we could actually see the city.Turns out it was a suburb and we were headed off in a different direction entirely. The Camino seems to work like that at least for the larger cities. As you approach a city its sort of like landing at an airport.The trail circles it once or twice at least before you head in. Maybe just my impression but very frustrating when youre pooped.
It sure seemed that way to us as 1800 hrs came and went and we were still crossing under roadways through graffiti-filled tunnels or walking up endless slopes that wound around hills.It was getting dark by the time we actually crossed a bridge in what we thought was finally Pamplona but was yet another suburb.
From being all alone for a couple of hours to walking though city streets was a bit jarring. In Spain dusk is when all the people come alive and the whole populace was out on the streets, in cafes or in the parks.We must have looked like deer in the headlights to these people but we had no option but to keep on plodding. Not much was being said by this time.
Finally we could actually see the cathedral butfirst had to cross one last river then through a pretty sketchy neighbourhood with the proverbial shifty-eyed characters hanging round the street corners so our pace therewas the actually the quickest it was all day.
Crossed the bridge next to the cathedral and trudged wearily in complete darkness by this time up the last hill to the blessed hotel lobby. Too tired to eat and since I had already cleaned out the mini bar we just basically went to bed. 35 klicks may not sound like a lot to you youngsters but it was almost double what I had actually done in a day inmy training so we quickly decided to spend one more day here and get some mojo back
Turned out to be a good plan as the next walking day we were going to climb the Alto de Perdana 1000 foot climb also known as Where the path of the wind crosses with that of the stars. Sounds scary.
Did you happen to bring back any unusual souvenirs?
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Prince Edward Island
'64 Parisienne CS "barn find" - last on the road in '86 ... Owner Protection Plan booklet, original paint, original near-mint aqua interior, original aqua GM floor mats, original 283, factory posi, and original rust.
Thanks for the feedback. At this stage we were still getting used to what was going to be required to get this done in the way of bookings, the pace we could actually do every day and just what the routine would be. From Pamplona it is still about 730 km to go.
In terms of unusual souvenirs I don't know if a bad case of sciatica counts. Considering you have to carry everything we weren't really doing any shopping to speak of. My rule was if you cant eat it, you cant buy it.
Needless to say whatever we brought back had to be really light and small. Our most meaningful souvenir was probably a shoelace but I'll get to that story later.
-- Edited by 66 Grande guy on Saturday 23rd of November 2019 11:45:31 AM
-- Edited by 66 Grande guy on Saturday 23rd of November 2019 11:48:16 AM
