Solitude

Cizur Menor to Puente La Reina (Queensbridge for Anglophiles)- Monday, May 31st. A really good day of walking. There were still hills to be climbed and descended - and I´ve given up really trusting the elevation charts that they first gave us when we started back in St. Jean Pied du Port. They seem to give false impressions about how difficult or easy days or going to be. Or perhaps our abilities and expectations have changed?

For once, I am not with a walking companion during a good bit of the day, although there is almost always someone within 100 or 200 yards ahead and/or behind me on the trail. I was just talking with someone else today (June 2) about this and she agreed, I have never once felt afraid or even alone. It´s sort of like the Communion of Saints, for those of you reading this who are familiar with that phrase. I see the footprints in the dust or mud of those who have gone before and know that mine are being left for those behind me. God knew my pack was too heavy and I somehow managed to leave my copy of the guidebook behind early in the trip (probably in the Atlanta airport), so I look at Stella or Mary´s most mornings and then just go from there. But the trail is so well marked that I have not had to worry.

Anyway, it is a gorgeous day on the trail. Out of Cizur, there is a nice flagstone trail for a while, across relatively flat fields with low bumps of hills. Loads of wildflowers line the walkway, and occasionally pilgrims "a bici" pass me by, some at higher rates of speed than others. The red poppies are prolific here. At one point, I glance up to my right at a hillside where there appear to be two ruins of buildings and one looks for all the world like a stone jack-o-lantern looking back at me. Up on the hill to the left is a village but we end up bypassing it.

Then we begin to climb the side of a ridge leading up to yet another peak, Alto de Perdon, though now, relative to the mountain, none seem so bad. The path has changed to gravel. All along the ridge are wind turbines.
The guide book describes their sound as an eerie whoosh. Personally, it just sounds like wind to me. They are lovely, like ballet dancers. There are very dark clouds closing in and I am sure I am going to get caught in a storm on this side of the ridge, but the rain stays off in the distance. Finally reaching the crest, there is a wonderful, two-dimensional sculpture, kind of life-size, of weathered sheets of inch thick metal. It is a Canterbury Tale like parade of pilgrims, modern style, done to commemorate the Camino. There's even a dog! As I arrive at the top, there are lots of people there and I think that they are all pilgrims who have have stopped to celebrate. Then I realize that a bunch of them are simply on a bus tour! There's a refreshment stand taking advantage of the trade, so I get a granola bar and pause, enjoying the vistas in all directions, then head on.

I descend another steep and rocky descent into fields and I feel like dancing in the fields, ala Maria in the early scenes of Sound of Music, which I do, kinda, but restrain myself a bit. It is lovely! There are a number of small towns, including one that has a special octagonally shaped church, but I decide not to detour to it. There is a church with a stained glass windown with a scallop shell in it, though. Then, I reach Obanos, which goes out of its way to welcome pilgrims. It begins with a welcoming walkway, complete with inlayed bricks and six inch, bronzed or copper scallop shells in relief. They form a path along the Camino as it wends its way through the town. If you´re not looking at shells, you´re not on the right path. In the middle of town is a church with an interesting crucifix and (I think) an outdoors baptismal font. Then you go under an arch (marked with the scallop shell symbol) and out of the town. As you exit, still on this nice path, there is a sign from the Ministers of the town to all pilgrims wishing us "Ultreya!" which means "Onward!" and something else which I couldn´t quite translate. Not all the towns are quite this welcoming. Many of the communities along the Camino exist solely for the purpose of the Camino, sort of like railroad towns in the States. This town knows it and is grateful.

I reach Puente la Reina by a little past noon which is wonderful - I have plenty of time to get settled into the alburgue, cleaned up, wash clothes and explore the town! Puente la Reina, another town which exists solely for the Pilgrimage, is an important point on the Camino Francese. Three main routes through France all merged to come through Roncevalles and on to Pamplona, but a fourth, the Aragonese route, now joins the other three here in Puente la Reina.

The alburgue isn't bad - I claim my bunk in one of the rooms, take a shower, wash out my clothes and go hang them up on the very colorful tendedero (clothesline) outside. There are already a number of pilgrims relaxing on the sunny lawn. I walk down the Calle Mayor (Main Street) and see the sights. I marvel at the gardening people can do in their walled backyard gardens. The sidewalk is higher in some places, so I can see over! Their gardens are so neat and well tended, and the soil looks so rich. One building has red geraniums across the length of every balcony from top to bottom! Not much is open at this time of day except a few cafes.

Centuries ago, the town was renowned for bandits which plagued the pilgrims who crossed the Arga river on a ferry at this point. So a queen (they aren´t quite sure which one of two) gave the town this beautiful stone arch bridge so the pilgrims could cross safely. We will use it as we leave tomorrow. After exploring the bridge, I find a pharmacy and get a support for one knee that is bothering me after all the rocky, steep descents. Then I look for a place for lunch. There is a nice little cafe with tables and chairs out by a tree-lined esplanade, so I settle in there. As I'm enjoying a salad with the local white asparagus on top and a glass of the local wine, thinking about how amazing it is that, here I am, sitting in this neat little town in Spain, all by myself, someone calls my name! It´s Paul, a young man from Chicago, who will be going to Roman Catholic seminary this fall, and three young women with him, Therese, Taryn and Dana who are doing the Camino. They wave and call "Buen Camino!" as they walk by and I return the cheer. The German and French men in a group at the table behind me, who have been discussing the running of the bulls in Pamplona in English, now switch to a discussion of the Camino and why people do it. Eavesdropping can be interesting! (And it isn´t as if I had a choice ;)) Then, right after that, I get a phone call from Mary´s other niece, telling me about the arrival plans of Lexi and Josh who have finally managed to catch a flight the night before, albeit to Barcelona. It feels very surreal to at one moment be thousands of miles from home by myself in Spain and the next moment have my name called by someone walking by and then get a telephone call. This is the 21st century!

At last, I end my wonderful little lunch and make my way back to the alburgue. Stella and Mary have arrived. In the evening, we wander back towards the downtown, stopping into the church next to the alburgue. There are storks nesting in its dome. The crucifix there was carved and given to the church by a German pilgrim. We stop in another church in the center of town, and there is a statue of St. James inside which is covered in gold leaf. More stores are back open now after the afternoon siesta, including some little touristy ones, catering to pilgrims. We come back to the little cafe where I had lunch and have a nice dinner. Ed and Terry from Rochester and Laurence from Montreal end up joining us, as does a woman from Florida. A delightful evening in a delightful little town!

Creation

In the last segment of the blog, I wrote mostly about human companions, but I am so aware of the flora and the fauna with which I share this journey as well. I begin each day with what Mary, my spiritual director, mentioned to me, "Oh Lord, don't let me miss anything this day!" And while I am sure there really is quite a bit that I am not able to take in, because there is just sensory overload with new things all around me at each moment and around each bend, I do my best to be aware of the changes in trees and flowers and shrubs, the terrain, the animals, the way the light hits everything at different times of the day, and how everything sounds and smells. It is truly a feast for the senses and such a gift to be walking in Creation for this length of time.

On the way out of Larasoana, there was this wonderful stretch where I was walking by myself through these beautiful, cool woods on a nice, soft, dirt path. Suddenly, there appeared before me a horse, all by himself. He seemed a little startled to see me, and a little shy, but not too afraid. This one, as opposed to the ones on the mountain, was full sized, built more like a draft or farm horse, but free to roam through the woods. He looked at me and then gave me no more thought as he walked up into a clearing. A moment or two later, another horse appeared in the fringe of trees along the path. Though it stayed in the trees, it was within perhaps four feet of me as I passed. Okay, here´s a secret - I talk to animals as I pass them: Buen perro! (Good dog!) Hola, Caballo! (Hello, horse!) Gracias, parajo! (Thank you, bird!) Buenas Dias, Gatito! (Good day, kitten!) Buenas Tardes, Vaca! (Good afternoon, cow!) Call me Dr. Doolittle if you will, but I suspect deeply that they know and they do answer, whether I can really understand or not. So I talked to these horses which kept appearing in this sort of magical woods all along the trail. Unfortunately, I didn't get any pictures of them, because they kept catching me by surprise. If they were white and each had a horn coming out of their foreheads it couldn´t have felt more amazing and grace-filled. There are definitely times when I feel a little like Dorothy walking towards Oz on this trip. It is so awesome to me, in the best sense of that overused word, to be in the wild in the presence of another part of God´s kingdom, such as a horse roaming free, and to feel accepted by that creature. I loved being in that stretch of woods. I paused by a river (the same one that had the trout, I think) and just enjoyed watching it rush through the rocks and trees, the play of nature, one part with another. The music of the rushing water was wonderful. Later, I paused on a bridge into a village over the same little river for my mid-morning break to eat an orange, and again enjoyed the rush of water over rocks, looked for the fish, listened to the breeze in the trees that lined the banks...ah, nature!

Today (June 2) as I'm writing this, we saw our first snake on the path, probably something akin to a garter snake, about four foot long and what looked to be non-poisonous. It ran away from us (Carmel and her son, Alex, from Halifax, Canada and myself) on our way to Los Arcos. I also saw one of the many falcons today, but haven´t had a chance to check the guide book to see which kind yet. There are lots of birds of prey here (kites, kestrals, falcons, hawks) and I can't really tell most of them apart, but I love watching how they ride the winds and swoop over the fields, searching for their meals. Two nights ago, in Puenta La Reina, there was a stork (they're everywhere here!) nesting in the top of the dome of the church next to our alburgue. (The picture is actually the church tower in Belorado because the nests show up better.) There were some fledglings poking their little white heads up out the large, messy twig nest. Cuckoos have called in many places. I guess it's the influence of Monty Python, but I can't help imagining this big joke, where men in tights are always running around within a couple hundred yards of me in the woods or somewhere just out of sight, pushing around a huge cuckoo clock! I have a hard time believing they are real birds, I guess, but I understand they are not very nice as they take over other birds' nests and kick out their young to raise their own. That's not near as cute as they look on clocks!

Yesterday, as I crossed over a river that is drying up (that according to the 14th century guidebook you aren´t supposed to let your horse drink from because the water is bad and it will kill your horse, and there are bandits waiting to skin your horse) there are frogs that sound just like sheep bleating. And not only do frogs sound like sheep, sheep sound like cows, because sheep wear cow bells here. Only I guess they are sheep bells.

A day or two ago, I saw this amazing bug crossing the trail. The front of it was the size of the thorax of a large ant, but the back end was a good inch and a half long tapering, conical (like the twist of ice cream on a cone)in black and red. The bug just dragged this huge back end around with it wherever it went. There are also lots of snails - the kind that become escargot, and people actually come out and collect them!

White butterflies are everywhere, and some small orange ones and today I saw the most amazingly vivid, periwinkle blue one. No fireants, but they do have big gnats as of yesterday's walk.

There are wildflowers and cultivated flowers everywhere, some are familiar and some not. Hydrangeas, primrose, daisys, pink honeysuckle, purple thistle, something like tall, yellow buttercups and lots of orange and red poppies, and now just today, pink poppies. Then there are little white star shaped flowers, and lots of purple, pink, and blue flowers and yellow scrubby bushes. There are flowers everywhere!

Olive and almond trees are in groves lining the hills. And here in Navarra, lots of fields of vineyards, out of which they produce white and red wine (which is pretty good!)

The weather has been cool and breezy, which has been great for walking. It is hard to resist taking a picture of every beautiful vista, and our pictures don´t really do them justice anyway. One of these days, I will be at a computer where I can share them with you!

Companions

I´m having trouble keeping up with these entries because of lack of computer access. Even though I´m schlepping my netbook, I have yet to find wifi anywhere but Pamplona and, as at this alburgue, which has only one computer with free internet, access and time are very limited!

So, here goes a brief update...

We left Larasoana over the little narrow bridge infamous several centuries ago for the bandits that would attack pilgrims as they entered or exited the village. The creek that runs under it is famous for its trout and salmon these days. We were none too sad to say good bye to the place. It is still our yardstick (that is, absolute zero, on the scale) for measuring the quality of our accommodations.

From Larasoana, the road headed through Trinidad de Arre (the picture is the old bridge leading into it) to Pamplona (the city gate in the old fortified defenses) , to Cizur Menor (Little Cizur), a little town a few km on the other side (flags - including the Knights Templar - inside the 12th c. Order of Malta church in Cizur). For the record, there is also a Cizur Mayor (Big Cizur).

The walk to Pamplona was pretty enjoyable. I had my pack sherpa´d so I just had a light bag (maybe 6 or 7 lbs) to carry the necessities of the day and that in itself made the journey easier. The sun was out in a bright blue sky. A lot of the path was dirt and rocky, but not too strenuous. Parts of it were flagstoned. Some of it paralleled old Roman roads, where we could still see the ruins.

But what really makes the way enjoyable each day are the traveling companions we meet. I have shared most days with different people. Part of yesterday, before I met up in Zubiri with Michael (Denmark) and Christian (Sicily), was with Emilio from Milan. He and I had a great conversation. Then, when he found out that I was an Episcopal priest, he just really had a difficult time absorbing that information and processing it! So interestingly, he soon dropped behind! But, as often happens, we keep running into the same people over and over, so he is very friendly and waves and wishes "Buen Camino!"

On this day, I journey with a man whose name I never learn, but who is from Holland. He is about 15 years older than I am. And we enjoy a lively conversation about all sorts of things as we traverse a wide range of trails. He had owned his own cafe and then a restaurant for a number of years, and then had been employed by a bank, I think. (It´s really a great thing that so many people speak English!). Then, he had worked for three years helping people who had had brain injuries. At that time, he was 65 and he decided it was time for him. So he retired on a pension.

Walking the Camino was something he had planned to do for quite a number of years he said. He told me he planned to try to do the whole thing. (Lots of people do it in segments over a number of years, picking up where they leave off. Lots of people also do it multiple times, either choosing different routes, different modes of travel or just doing the whole thing over again. You can go 'a pie', on foot; 'a bici or bicicleta', on bicycle; or 'a caballo', on horseback.) At some point he asked me what I did. I told him I was a priest. I got the usual reaction, much like Emilio´s the day before, raised eyebrows, big eyes, skepticism. We talked about it. One of the things I said was "I marry people and I bury them," somewhat humorously. Well, that touched something in him, because a moment or two later, he turned around, really whirled around, and looked at me very seriously and said, "Are your REALLY a priest?" And I said, "Yes, I really am." And that opened the way for him to tell me the real reason that he was walking the Camino, something he had never told anyone, something that, on behalf of someone else, had been weighing him down for years. We talked about it and as a result, he is now in a different place, and not just geograpically. And to be honest, so am I, because what he told me touched me very deeply. I had tears in my eyes when he was telling me. It was a sacramental time. When we parted ways in the center city of Pamplona a while later, he was practically skipping, not able to wait to get to Santiago, years lighter in weight. If for nothing else perhaps, that is why I was to do this Camino at this time. And I never even learned this particular companion´s name...

This gentleman and I had walked fast, even for me, so I knew that I would have a wait for Mary and Stella to catch up. I didn't expect them to be that far behind and I thought perhaps we could have a Sunday meal together somewhere in the city. I decided if I waited by the city gate, they couldn't possibly miss me. So I sat down and waited. And I waited. And I waited. Pilgrims came and went. I couldn't believe they could possibly have been so far behind me. Three hours later, they finally came trudging up cobbled hill towards the city gate, having had a nice morning break somewhere, a stroll through Trinidad de Arre with someone showing them the way through town and not really interested in a meal! Oh well. At least I had had a good rest.

We stopped in a bar with loud music open to the street to use the facilities. Little did we realize that it was a Basque separatist stronghold! As we were leaving we got into a conversation with one of the young men there and he explained their cause. Spain has a law whereby prisoners must be put in prisons in the same region where their families are so they can have visits and some sort of outside contact. But for Basque terrorists or those who are labeled such when arrested, they are immediately imprisoned on the far side of the country, and if and when their family members make the journey on visiting day, they are told, "Sorry, visiting hours aren't today." So this young man said they are just asking that the prisoners be repatriated, in accordance with Spain's own law, to their own province, in this case Iruna, or Basque. Once we learned the flags and symbols of the separatist movement, it was easy to spot them everywhere, and for quite a distance from Basque, even in Madrid, later. And now I have a bumpersticker to prove I met a Basque separatist! After this, we got on the road again and headed on to Cizur Menor.