Sunday, May 6, 2012
Roncesvalles, at the Spot Where My Camino Began
790 Kilometers to Go
A day of indescribable beauty. There is nowhere on earth I would rather be. A climb through the mountains, surrounded by forests, and vast fields of long, dark green grass, covered with wildflowers. I finally stopped taking pictures because I could never take enough. Sometimes it seemed I had stumbled onto the set of The Sound of Music.
Occasionally I would stop just to savor the silence. Crisp, clean air, absolute silence except for bird song. Once I heard a cowbell, several times sheep. In one forest I heard a cuckoo, a first. I had no idea they were so loud.
The Open Road and a Sheep Farm
I had planned two nights in Roncesvalles, but the whole thrust of the Camino is forward. Today was perfect...clear and cool. A lot more climbing than I had imagined, and a lot more mud. It was good I started today; rain is forecast soon.
A View From the Road
This is said to be one of the more difficult stretches and it seemed that way to me. I would not have wanted to walk it in the rain.
Not that many pilgrims on the road, and 90 to 95 percent of the time I had complete solitude, not a soul within sight or earshot. People are friendly and talkative at the rest stops, but then they close up when they return to the road. Nice to walk alone. Thought of Susan frequently and found that crying seemed more natural on the trail. What perked me up was a small bird, almost spherical. Unlike most small birds, he was not skittish or shy; I could get right next to him (her?). He had broad orange stripe under his beak, and would look straight at me. He communicated serenity and hope. I took his picture when I found one on a fence post.
A Bird that Helped Me
I had one funny encounter. After one particularly long climb, I saw an Asian couple resting at the summit. I decided to rest too. They asked me where I was from; I told them and asked them the same question. They were from South Korea. So I gave them a Korean greeting which pleased them. We quickly found that we could not converse, so I started singing Arirang, the Korean national anthem and the woman joined me. I remembered one more song from Korea. One of my Korean students had taught me the song Daymuree Chonga, which begins something like this:
The bald young man passed my window today; he is so handsome, I hope I will see him tomorrow.
Believe me, one does not forget a song like that. Does any other country in the world have such a song? So I started, then doffed my hat to display my pate, and they roared with laughter. A nice moment.
Americans are in short supply. I’ve met only one. Lots of Dutch.
The steep descent into Zubiri was described to me by my Camino guru as “a killer.” It was a case of geology against man. The trail is sedimentary rock turned up towards the walker about 15 degrees and weathered, so that as you descend you face a series of sharp, jagged ridges about 4-8 inches apart. You can’t take a complete step forward; you have to turn your foot sideways and try to get a footing. It was all covered in mud and slippery. Slow going.
I felt bad trudging into a nice hotel in my muddy boots, but nothing was said. I checked in, went to my room and washed my boots clean in the bathtub. I dined alone, but adjacent to my table sat a Spanish couple, Miguel Llopis Cartagena, a urologist from Alicante, and his wife Rosa, a professor of Spanish literature. Very nice couple; we had an extended conversation.
Miguel
& Rosa Llopis Outside Pamplona
Un abrazo fuerte para todos,
John
No
Smoking, in Euskera, the Language of the Basques
| NEXT: Zubiri ==> Pamplona