Day Three
Queridos amigos,
I managed to break my camera half way through Day Two. I had put it in the belt of my backpack so I could reach it quickly, but when I slipped off my pack for a break, it struck a rock and no longer worked. Shopped for one in Pamplona, but they had no cameras with an optical viewfinder. I passed, but wish I hadn’t. Missed many good shots today. I’ll try again in Burgos.
A rich breakfast buffet in the hotel, which found me surreptitiously slipping rolls into my pockets, and wrapping ham and cheese slices in my napkin. I paid dearly for that breakfast and I just didn’t want it to stop.
Departed Pamplona in a light rain; reassured to discover all my rain gear worked.
A few kilometers outside the city, I found myself next to fields of a particularly vibrant, and I mean electrically vibrant, yellow flowers. I asked a passing Spaniard what they were. He told me the name; I asked him to write it down, but I don’t have it with me. I asked if it were a vegetable, he said no, but it had medicinal uses. I lacked the vocabulary to understand his answer, but I’ll google it when I return.
Vibrant Yellow Rape Flowers
In the first three hours, only one pilgrim, on a bicycle, passed me. Other than that, I had the Camino to myself. Vast fields of green wheat, growing right next to the road, and so tall and strong that I could lean my trekking poles against them and they held the poles upright. The fields are laid out on huge, gently rolling hills, a patchwork of different colors: dark and light green wheat, sand-colored fallow fields, and these shockingly yellow patches of fragrant flowers. Hard to believe I was alone amidst all this splendor.
Fields of Rape and Wheat
After three hours, I stopped to continue my breakfast and was passed by a French threesome on foot. We were all making our way up the Alto de Perdon, the Hill of Forgiveness. It rained every day last week, and again today.
This meant that whenever I took a silence break, I could usually hear rushing water. But it also meant that the trail up the hill was a sea of mud. There was no other option; you just had to plunge through it. My boots were big clumps of mud, and the mire covered my trousers well above the knee.
The hill is at the base of a long ridge that reminded me strongly of the steep ridge where Death leads his captives at the end of the film, The Seventh Seal. All along the top of the ridge are wind turbines. They normally spin slowly, rather majestically. These spun faster than any I’ve ever seen.
At the summit of
the Alto de Perdon, there is an unusual monument to the pilgrims. An iron silhouette of pilgrims past, all in a row, all heading west to Santiago. The guide book says they are all medieval. But one of the figures is wearing a tricorn hat, very 18th century. And the last figures are obviously packing modern gear.
The first figure is a woman, the second, a man; the third is a couple. And at the base of this third one I left a lock. Left another closer to the edge of the hill, with a clear view of this stunning valley, in a rock with a cleft in which was a faded rose.
Pilgrim Monument at the Summit of the Alto de Perdon
The Alto de Perdon. Susan’s lock is buried by the couple on the far left. Two other figures appeared farther to the left but could not fit the frame of the camera.
A few pilgrims, all on bicycles, were on the hill. But that was the last I saw for the next 5 hours or so. Can hardly believe I have all this grandeur to myself.
Descended on the other side of the hill, the west side, and left another lock looking over it. She looks east, she looks west. The trail for the next few kilometers is called the Camino de Perdon. I needed that.
A few kilometers along this camino was a statue of Mary with a nice prayer to her. I suspect not many of you are interested in Marian spirituality, but those who are may ask and receive the prayer in Spanish and my rough and ready gringo translation of it. Susan would have loved it, so I left a lock in a pile of rocks at the base of the statue.
As I neared Puente la Reina, my destination, I decided to take a 2.8 km detour recommended by my guidebook to see the 12th century octagonal church at Eunate, “one of the jewels of the Camino,” it said. I saw it in the distance, but I also saw a fast moving thunderstorm heading my way.
The weather grew so threatening I decided to cut the detour short and get back to the main road. I was caught out in a torrential thunderstorm for several miles. Rather enjoyed it, until I realized I was the tallest thing in the valley and might be struck by lightning before anything else. With water streaming down my glasses, it was helpful to remember that Francis of Assisi also made this trip long before there was rip-stop nylon, Gore-Tex boots, or carbon fiber trekking poles.
Finally made it to Puente la Reina, where Susan and I visited in 2001. Checked into Hotel Jakue, a delightful three star hotel, with attached bar, restaurant, and albergue, a dormitory for pilgrims. In the bar I encountered the urologist and his wife, who enquired how I resolved the issue of the lost pilgrim’s passport. I was happy to relate what happened, and they were happy to hear it.
In the restaurant, an elegant four-course dinner was served buffet style. Each table, regardless of the number of guests, was served with a bottle of wine and a liter of water. Wonderful meal, and I left feeling rather mellow. While there, I encountered the Dutch couple I met on Sunday; we had walked the first few miles more or less together .
A tip of the Tilley hat must be extended to the volunteers called the Way Markers, who try to keep the signals on the proper route up to date. In the middle of nowhere, you encounter a fork in the road. You look, and there is no sign. A slight uneasiness sets in. Then you see it--the roughly spray-painted yellow arrow, perhaps on a tree or a stone, badly weathered, that lets you know the way forward. The color of the arrows is disconcertingly similar to the lichen that abounds here.
Lichen and a Painted Waymark; Find the Arrow
The cycle of exhaustion and renewal a pilgrim encounters reminds me of a passage in James Michener´s Hawaii. He describes an especially destructive fire that devastated the Japanese community in Hawaii. He concludes: “Night falls with the smell of destruction; but dawn breaks with the smell of wet mortar, and building resumes.”
And so it is with your correspondent. When I finally limp into the place that will be my lodging for the night, I smell like destruction, even to myself. But a hot shower or perhaps a hot, soaking bath, a good dinner, and a middling night’s sleep prepare me to step out smartly in the morning, right foot foremost.
The only downside so far is what I expected. It’s what one Austin podiatrist calls ‘the agony of de-feet.’ But there is too much beauty here to think about one’s feet. This is a great place for taking your mind off things, especially off yourself.
And if you keep putting one foot in front of the other, you will always arrive at your destination.
Un abrazo fuerte,
John
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