Day 5, June 12th, 2023
Andrew and I are leaving Pamplona together today because he is afraid he won't be able to find his way out of the city on his own. Everyone else has long since gone, only Lukasz is still sitting on his bed, leisurely packing his things. I wonder if I will ever see him again as I say goodbye, and my heart feels heavy. That is my thing - I find goodbyes the worst, they really get to me.
We walk for ages through the outskirts of Pamplona until the landscape becomes rural again. After only a short while, my gluteal muscle pain returns, and my rucksack already feels incredibly heavy. It can't be true. Andrew gives me an ibuprofen and a piece of his bread, but it only helps a little. And even though the pain slows me down, Andrew walks beside me longer than he has planned. Finally he starts singing again, »He holds the lantern while his mother cuts the wood! He holds the lantern and he does it really good«. And as we leave the village of Zizur Mayor behind and reach the countryside, he walks his own way and picks up the pace. He keeps getting further and further away, it is as if a small dagger slowly stabbing into my soul. I hear him sing one last time, then he raises his hand to wave without turning around before disappears around the next bend in the path.
In Zariquiegui there is a small supermarket. Many pilgrims are sitting on the ground, leaning against a wall, tending to their blisters and resting. The sparrows are chirping away and roses are blooming everywhere, very idyllic. I am glad I have my sleeping mat, which folded up serves as a small bench. I unbuckle my rucksack and make myself comfortable against the wall of the house with a coffee and something to eat. Shame Andrew is no longer with me.
This is followed by a climb to the famous ridge Alto del Perdón. At the summit of this pass stands a metal artwork created in 1996 by the sculptor Vicente Galbete. It symbolises the path of penance and forgiveness and depicts the silhouettes of people and animals on their pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.
The landscape is beautiful. I walk along vast expanses of corn and barley fields, and everywhere the red of blooming poppies shimmers. Larches and nightingales sing all around me, I have never heard so many at once. They accompany me almost the entire time, and in every village I pass through, sparrows and swallows chirp. I hardly see any locals in the streets, they are probably all out in their fields.
In Utega I buy a pilgrim's staff in a small shop, perhaps it will help ease my pain a bit. I rest for a while in a café next door when an American man behind me starts talking almost nonstop in a rather loud voice. He is tall and strong, around forty I would say, with a full beard, a wide-brimmed sun hat and braces. I find out his name is Richard, and he seems to be trying to strike up a conversation with everyone around him, yet he is the only one who keeps talking. Blimey, I better get out of here, before he starts walking beside me and chattering away. So I grab my new pilgrim's staff and head off. I am not entirely sure how best to use the staff though. At the moment it is more of a hindrance than a help.
Andrew has reached Puente la Reina and sends me the name of the hostel where he is staying. I have to see how far I can get, it is still over six kilometres from here to him, and it is very hot. But it would be nice to see him again, of course.
I am really suffering right now. I stop at every shady spot because this stupid buttock muscle hurts so incredibly much. I also bandage my feet and change my socks because apparently fresh socks prevent blisters.
Puente la Reina
At four o'clock in the afternoon, when it is hottest, I arrive in Puente la Reina after 25 kilometres. I immediately find the hostel where Andrew is staying and ask at reception if I can pitch my tent somewhere here. Unfortunately I can't, but they would have beds available and I could stay for twenty euros. Tempting, but no. I don't want to spend that much money on a bed again when I have my tent.
The hostel garden is pleasantly shaded, and I would really like to eat something here, as I am starving. When I finally see Andrew, he tells me there is nothing to eat out here, but I can buy a meal in the hostel restaurant for fifty euros! He himself only eats nuts and drinks beer, that is all they have. My mood instantly plummets, and it gets even worse when that annoying Richard with his braces comes into the garden. Andrew has met Richard before and usually avoids him because he only encourages him to drink again. But now he is here and stirring things up. He buys drinks for everyone, and so it doesn't take long before he has everyone sitting at his table, whose ears he can talk off. This is all too much for me, I am hungry and tired. I want to eat and I want a proper meal, not just nuts. But I don't want to pay fifty euros either, so I say goodbye to Andrew, shoulder my rucksack which feels heavier and heavier, grab my pilgrim's staff and move slowly towards the village center.
Lots of storks are nesting on the church tower, how idyllic. A beautiful village, but it feels oppressive to me. Probably because I still don't know where I will be sleeping or where I can get food. I won't find a place to camp here, that's for sure, but leaving the village now is too far for me either.
There is not a pilgrim in sight, nor a decent bar or restaurant. The bars I do see are full of old local men, and I doubt they serve food.
At the end of the village street, I spot a small inn whose roof terrace looks quite inviting from down here. The door is locked, however, so I ring the bell.
»Hola.« I hear a woman’s voice through the intercom.
»Hola, do you have a bed for me tonight?« I ask hopefully.
»You have reservation?«
»No,« I reply hesitantly, whereupon the woman hangs up the phone without comment.
Great. Now what? Desperately I trudge back the way I came, wondering if I should just go back to Andrew's hostel. But that would be so far away again, and I still haven't eaten. New idea: search online. By now I don't care how expensive it is, as long as I don't have to walk far anymore. On a hotel booking website, I find only one hostel which is a bit outside the village, but at least it is in the direction the Camino de Santiago goes tomorrow. On top of that, it only costs fifteen euros a night. I book it right away before someone else snatches the bed. A local is kind enough to explain the way to me after seeing me with my phone, turning in all directions trying to get my bearings. He says I only have to cross the river and then climb a hill.
Alright then. If I end up lying on my back like a beetle, then so be it. Someone will find and rescue me.
Finally
I reach the hostel in a relatively upright position and am surprised by how beautifully rural and peaceful it is. And what do I see? A large meadow with three tents pitched on it! You can camp here! Unbelievable, and I booked a bed! The only way to bear this is with a good dose of humour. But I live by the motto Everything happens for a reason, so I go to the reception to say that I am here. The reception is also the counter of a large hall full of tables and chairs, similar to a canteen. Nobody else is here except for a handful of people and those camping outside.
And then something fantastic happens. Something incredibly brilliant, a blessing: I am asked if I would like something to eat! I am almost beside myself with joy, so much so that the innkeeper looks at me with wide eyes as he shows me the pilgrim's menu. I decide on a salad, chicken with chips, and yogurt for dessert, plus a beer, all for thirteen euros. And since I am already at it, I buy a breakfast ticket for five euros for tomorrow morning.
How happy I am now! I still have to wait a little while for food, so I am bridging the time with a long shower. Afterwards I sit outside and chat with Hans from Holland, seventy years old, who is here by bicycle, and with Rebecca from Germany, who is traveling with her dog and is also sleeping in a tent. Rebecca says she pitched her tent right by the side of the road on her first night in the Pyrenees, she just couldn't go any further. I need to relax about all that too. I always think I will be arrested by the Guardia Civil the moment someone spots me and my tent.
By the way, I am sleeping in a twelve-bed room here which I am sharing with four French men in their seventies. The bunk beds are arranged end to end, three on each side of the room. Of the lower bunks, only the middle ones are still free, which means that I would have one of my neighbours' feet very close to my head. So I volunteer for a top bunk. Nothing can faze me today, especially with such a feast I am about to have.
I am sitting in the canteen with Hans and Rebecca and can barely speak. I am devouring my food so greedily! These pilgrim menus are never very large, but my stomach has shrunk so much by now that I couldn't eat any more anyway. Many hostels and bars along the way offer pilgrim menus like these. They cost an average of fifteen euros and generally consist of a starter, a main course, and a dessert. Almost everywhere you can choose from options, and the selection is almost always the same: The starter is usually either a mixed salad consisting of iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, olives and tuna, or pasta with tomato or meat sauce, sometimes with cheese on top. Apart from the vegetarian option, the main course is normally thinly sliced chicken or beef with a handful of fries. These meals are very dry because they never come with any sauce, so most people ask for ketchup. For dessert, there is either a small piece of cake, yogurt, or ice cream from the freezer. Today I am getting a small cup of natural yogurt with a packet of sugar.
I am sure I will sleep like a log tonight and go to my Frenchmen, who I am guaranteed not to hear. I am so tired...
Distance: 25,3 km / Steps: 44963