Day 9, June 16th, 2023
I get up at 4:30 and wait for dawn. Before I went to bed yesterday, I treated myself to some more charcoal tablets, and another few again this morning. Since then everything is fine, and I am happy that I can continue my way.
On the outskirts of Estella - unfortunately I didn't see anything of the town itself, an intense aroma from a bakery wafts into my nostrils. You wouldn't believe it but I buy some bread! The baker has fresh baguettes, still warm. I buy half a loaf and didn't even find it disgusting. Walking was surprisingly easy too, looks like I am on the upswing.
It is still not quite light, and I don't see any other pilgrims far and wide. The air is so wonderfully fresh, and the birds are singing like in Dolby Surround, they practically echoing from all sides. And how beautiful the landscape is, shimmering pastel colors in the rising sun. I almost feel like I am high. High from the smells, the sounds, and the scenery. I swear, it really was just charcoal tablets! I am sure everything only seems so intense today because I have been feeling so awful for the last two days. On the other hand, I think even without being ill, I would describe this moment as magical. Walking along beautiful footpaths past vineyards, where everything smells so fresh with herbs and flowers and being accompanied by nightingales, is something truly special in any situation, isn't it?
I completely miss the famous wine fountain just past Estella this morning. The idea for the fountain came from the Bodegas Irachewinery, a former monastery vineyard back in 1991. Thirsty pilgrims can help themselves to some wine from a tap that pops out of the wall. Aside from the time of day, I wouldn't have been in the mood for wine anyway. Instead I munch on a banana and nibble on my fresh baguette. My belly feels fine, I think I can keep this in. Even so, I better sleep in a hostel again tonight, just in case I need the toilet.
Far too early, at 11:20 a.m., I arrive in Los Arcos, my destination for the day. Yesterday I never would have imagined I would manage 20 kilometres today. My chosen hostel is still closed, so I sit down on the ground leaning against the opposite wall, where I finish my baguette and eat a few more charcoal tablets, don't ask me why.
I am the first one here today and have my pick of beds. Without hesitation I am choosing the lower bunk of a bed situated cosy in a corner. Blue rubber mattresses protect against pests like bedbugs, and there are the obligatory paper sheets and a paper pillowcase. My sleeping bag serves as my blanket.
The hostel is playfully and colorfully decorated with a hodgepodge of old things and furniture. It is charmingly quirky with several small terraces in different corners, stairs, side entrances, a garden with washing facilities and a seating area, a massage corner and a kitchen. I mustn't look too closely though, or I will see all the grime, especially in the kitchen. Some pilgrims have left things behind such as pasta and couscous. There are also a few groceries in the refrigerator, but I don't know how old they are or if they belong to anyone.
Flo and Julia
I am sitting in an armchair near the reception when I hear German voices. They are Florian from Switzerland, called Flo, and Julia from Germany. The two met somewhere along the way and have been walking together ever since. Flo looks quite rustic. He is wearing a long brown woollen robe, heavy boots, a leather vest, fingerless gloves and carries a big pilgrim's staff. He started walking from his own front door and has already covered 1.800 kilometres. When he hears that I am currently recovering from illness, he becomes very empathetic and says that he knows exactly how I must be feeling, and then he tells me his own story:
Flo was walking somewhere in France in a remote area. He hadn't seen a soul for days. Then he drank water from a rain gutter and became so ill that, after endless vomiting and diarrhoea, he was delirious with a fever of forty degrees Celsius and could no longer stand upright, practically crawling on the ground. He had previously tried unsuccessfully to get a taxi or any other kind of help when suddenly, out of nowhere, another pilgrim came along and found Flo. This pilgrim, fortunately also Swiss, carried him to the nearest road where they actually found a taxi in the middle of nowhere that took him to the nearest hospital. He spent a few days in the hospital where he recovered with some IV fluids. For Flo this was a true Camino miracle.
Julias story is similarly bizarre, because until two weeks ago she was in a hospital in India after she had a motorcycle accident. She says she never wore a helmet which isn't mandatory in India, but on that very day when she hit a bump at 50 kilometres per hour and crashed, she was wearing one. Thanks to the helmet she escaped with a traumatic brain injury, burns and a broken shoulder. A metal plate was subsequently inserted. Of course the wounds haven't healed yet after such a short time, but she is here now, carrying a rucksack on her injured shoulder. Completely insane.
Flo and Julia are nice people, and I am happy they are here. We sit outside with a few other people, mostly young pilgrims from England, America, and Australia. But it is too hot for me, and I am not entirely comfortable with the crowd. There are too many voices, constant loud chatter. And someone is always smoking - I am enveloped in smoke from all sides. My beer doesn't taste good either, so I pour it away. I finally retreat to the kitchen where I can have some peace and quiet and cook myself some pasta. I can imagine it will be good for my stomach.
The kitchen faucet is missing, only the pipe sticks out of the wall with the opening facing up. So the water bubbles upwards like a fountain, and I have to catch it so to speak. I can't find any sauce or ketchup but I do find mustard, so I am eating pasta with mustard and am surprised how good it tastes.
After my feast I eat yet some more charcoal tablets, figuring it can't hurt. How incredibly stupid because from now on I' would have a completely different problem!
In bed I watch »The Way«, starring Martin Sheen. In this film Sheen plays a father who walks the Camino de Santiago for his son who died in an accident in the Pyrenees. A beautiful film albeit quite unrealistic in my opinion. Nobody skips around as lightly as the characters in the film do. In fact, they don't seem to experience any physical pain when in reality everyone here is suffering.
Distance: 20,3 km / Steps: 3068