Kiwi on the Camino Read online

  We take the Camino route along a minor road. Gradually the roar of the N-135 gives way to that of running water. Climbing above the maligned magnesium complex, we pass over a medieval bridge and bypass Larrasoaña, despite its reputation for quaintness. We cross the Río Arga a few times. The river runs deep in places and occasionally there are still pools with the promise of summer fun. Some of the infrequent houses that back on to the river have steps from their back lawns down into the water. These families have a private backyard swimming pool without all the tedium of the maintenance usually associated with home pools. We pass fields with ponies who watch us with interest. So many ponies, some with neck bells, others not. “Why so many ponies in this district?” Neither of us can answer my question.

  It begins to rain again and the temperature drops, but I don’t notice as I am immersed in our surroundings. We reach Villava and notice it is now only 4° C. We are very cold. I should not have taken off my wool layers. We look for a café in the hope of finding some pilgrims we recognize, but it is siesta time and everything is shut for the sacred family rest between 2 p.m. and 5 p.m. I spot some seats out of the rain in front of council offices. Bruce and I take off our packs and search through them for warm clothing and the food I had managed to buy in Zubiri. After a while we can continue and at last we reach Pamplona, the city established by Pompey and which Hemmingway loved for the running of the bulls.

  We walk into Pamplona in dreary drizzle and I feel a long way from home. I have never previously travelled without leaving a day-by-day itinerary with family. Usually they would have the phone numbers of all my pre-booked accommodation. For one who likes to be in control, to plan for all eventualities, I feel out of my depth and disoriented. No one who loves us knows where we are. Despite Bruce’s company, I feel very alone. For the first time, I begin to wonder if I can cope with the walk. My ankle is aching.

  The drizzle turns to rain. As I stumble along the old cobbled streets at dusk with four storied buildings looming above, I feel even more bewildered. I look in vain for the Jesús y María albergue. I want to stay there as the albergue is attached to the 17th century church, Ignatius Loyola. Ignatius was the founder of the Jesuit order involved in the Counter-Reformation. The order is reputed to have transformed the Roman Catholic Church.

  Ahead of us is the pilgrim couple from Prague whom we had met on our first night at Valcarlos and they tell us where to find the albergue. Upon entering we see one of the two pilgrims from the Netherlands who were also at the Valcarlos albergue. We are with friends again. I book us into the albergue, show our credentials and obtain yet another crucial stamp. We hear Rana call our names. The three Aussies are here also.

  We choose our beds. I am grateful I will not be sleeping on a top bunk tonight. Bruce crashes onto his bed as he is very tired and cold. I go in search of some dinner companions, but cannot find anyone. I am cold, tired, with a throbbing ankle and again feeling a long way from home. I go into the darkening streets, turning first this way and then that, looking for a familiar face and begin to be concerned I will lose my way in this ancient city. I come across Heather, a young woman from Finland, who is walking the Camino alone. We had briefly met earlier in the evening and together we go in search of the post office as she needs to post letters. We wander the streets, admire the buildings and plazas as the lights come on, and watch people gather to talk. Heather can speak Spanish and is spending four months in Spain to improve her language skills. She has been working in various places for food and board.

  At the post office, we dance with the intricacies of the Spanish postal system. When Heather’s number flashes up, she goes to the requisite teller, only to be passed on to another teller, which means a further wait for yet another number and corresponding teller.

  Having accomplished Heather’s errand, we head outside into the rain and cold of the night. I make a mental note to return to the post office in the morning to send postcards to our grandchildren. At the supermarket, we buy frozen beans and pre-prepared tortillas and wine, then head back to the albergue. All the pilgrims we had met at Valcarlos are in the dining room and they have been looking for Bruce and me. I like these evenings where we share stories and laughter. One pilgrim talks of the, “joinings and leavings” along the pilgrim route. Friendships are established so quickly, only for the new friends to part again within a few days as everyone’s pace of Camino is different. The couple from Prague are trying to watch a downloaded movie and give up with all the noise.

  The three Aussies decide to have a rest day in Pamplona the following day. Bruce and I had already planned to have two nights in the larger cities. I am glad to know we will not have to say goodbye to these fun companions. Rana will book the five of us into a hotel for our second night in Pamplona so we are more comfortable and can rest. My ankle is certainly demanding a pause. The swelling has reduced and the bruising has come out in shades of blue, green and greeny-yellow. It stretches from above my ankle down to my toes on both sides of my foot. As well as giving my foot a rest, the break will give me the opportunity to catch up on washing, emails and sleep. I am looking forward to the privacy and comfort of a hotel room for two. I send out an unspoken plea that the private bathroom will have a bath.

  Bruce wakes and joins with the merrymaking pilgrims in the dining room. Rana gives him the tapas she had brought back for him. He stays to eat and talk, but I head off to sleep.

  Rest day Pamplona

  Our minds are over-saturated and demented.

  We need to rediscover ascetical tranquillity and come

  home to the temple of our senses.

  John O’Donohue (1956-2008)

  March 26, Day 5

  IT IS COLD AGAIN, THE temperature fluctuating between 4°- 6° C. I don’t know why I continue to be surprised that it is cold. After all, we had been lighting the fire in the evenings at Pollensa and we are now further north than the warmer island of Mallorca. I have been dressing as warmly as I can with my limited wardrobe, but am always cold.

  We are a reduced number of pilgrims meeting in the albergue lounge. Gwen (one of the three Aussies) has already left Pamplona and is walking with a woman from the USA. The woman had convinced Gwen that she, as a veteran pilgrim of four days, would be able to assist in helping her, the new pilgrim, find the way. Bruce and I are both very concerned as Gwen is tired, the weather still very bad and she does not have adequate rain or snow gear. The remaining four of us plan to visit the cathedral, but first I need to shop for an adaptor plug so I can charge my iPad. Sherry is going to buy some over-trousers for the ongoing wet weather.

  The Gothic cathedral, Catedral de Santa María la Real, is built on a Latin cross design and the ancient kings of Navarre swore their oaths in front of the image of Santa María la Real visible above the high altar. The nave is conspicuously devoid of grave sites unlike other great cathedrals we have visited. This cathedral is not one big tomb. Only the bodies of the Navarre royalty are entombed here and they are confined to the one tomb in the middle of the cathedral. I experience joy and delight as I meander through this lovely cathedral with its stained glass windows and gold and silver covered carvings. The ceilings throughout reach up high, stone upon stone supporting each other, immovable in their breath-taking simplicity. The foundations were so well laid that eight hundred years on, there is no sign of movement of any of the great stones. The cloisters and the square courtyard are exquisite.7

  After visiting the cathedral, we enjoy mingling with the people of Pamplona going about their lives on the streets of this, the first big city, we have visited. We stop and admire the Town Hall with its ornate flagged exterior.

  It is raining again and I remember with regret the umbrella I left behind at Pollensa. While the umbrella is a regret, my discovery that I am locked out of our New Zealand bank accounts is a colossal anxiety and worry. I cannot get cash from any account. Along the Camino it is cash that is needed. “Plastic cards are used i
n the USA, Australia and New Zealand,” we are told. I email my parents and ask them to take the photocopy of my passport and birth certificate to the bank in the hope they will unlock my accounts. I am relieved on one level to discover the bank has such great security – I had forgotten to tell them I was heading overseas – but I am now desperate. My mother emails to say all they could get from the bank was a number for me to phone. I only have a Spanish SIM card which is why I haven’t just phoned the bank in the first place. Another pilgrim comes to my rescue and using his phone, I contact my bank and all is sorted. We can continue our journey. I am so relieved.

  For our evening meal, we are a group of six: Bruce and I with Rana, Sherry and two other women they met up with, one of whom is Annemarie from the Netherlands, who was also at the albergue at Zubiri. We dine well on tapas in a bar in the old part of Pamplona. Large hams are suspended by hooks from the ceiling above the bar counter. Tables are spread throughout the long, narrow space. The walls are lined with bricks of different sizes. The varied ceiling lights send an array of colours onto the brick walls. The floor is worn flagstones. The décor makes for a convivial setting. I like watching other groups enjoy one another’s company. There are very few mixed gender groups. Is the other gendered adult at home with children? Our evening is saturated with warmth and friendliness. I begin to worry about over eating with all the new and interesting food.

  After such an evening, we anticipate sleeping well in our budget blowing hotel, with our own bathroom complete with bath. It is a relief to have privacy after sharing spaces with others. Our room has a balcony and we have a picturesque view looking out to one of the medieval bridges over the river Arga. The lights on the bridge, in the hotel courtyard below and over the river, all sparkle in the dark of the evening.

  Pamplona to Uterga via the

  Mountain of Forgiveness

  12 kms (7.5ml)

  710.7 kms (441.6ml) to Santiago

  I travel the roads of this world until the time comes

  when I shall be at rest….sinking down upon the earth

  Which so many years has provided my daily food and drink. And though so grievously ill treated, still allows me to walk upon her.

  Marcus Aurelius (121-180)

  March 27, Day 6

  WE WAKE TO A DRAMATICALLY changed view. There is snow, lightning and thunder. Oh no! Should we have another rest day or move on? I want to keep moving, but we cannot walk in lightning. Bruce, and I meet with Rana, Sherry and Annemarie (who has joined us at the hotel) in the lounge to discuss the weather situation. Rana and Sherry decide to catch a bus to Puente La Reina. They have always intended to bus some of the way because of time restrictions. This is the way of the Camino. You meet people, separate, meet again, then move on. Bruce and I have begun to realise that of all the people we have met so far, we are among the few who are here to complete the whole journey.

  Bruce and I are sad to see Rana and Sherry leave. They have been part of our Camino beginning and we have talked and laughed together. Rana has also given me tuition in the use of my iPad. Annemarie and I look at several weather websites and after talking with Bruce, decide to start walking at 10 a.m. when the weather is predicted to improve.

  We are not the only pilgrims in the hotel. There is a group of five from the USA. When they checked in last night, the five pilgrims stood around taking up a lot of space with their large suitcases corralling the group. Each night they are to stay in pre-booked hotels. Their luggage is transported by the Camino shuttle service and they carry just a small pack to accommodate their wet weather gear and lunch. They were not at all interested in engaging with us as we sat observing them. Perhaps such a Camino might deprive them of meeting and mingling with pilgrims from many other nations. Our small group agrees that staying at albergues gives us opportunities to meet people from other cultures, to exchange Camino stories and to receive and give advice as we interact with other pilgrims. However, we have appreciated the luxury of this hotel.

  The rain is of a wetting kind, but at least the snow has stopped and the storm has moved on. I am happy and can hear Bruce humming as he walks behind me. He bought an umbrella for three euros and is pleased with his purchase. Annemarie bought a pilgrim poncho, bright orange, so very appropriate for a woman from the Netherlands and we won’t lose her.

  As we leave Pamplona we walk through the park-like grounds of the university. Crossing a small stone bridge, we are greeted by a reporter and cameraman from Spanish television. “Hablas Espanol?” “Un poco,” I reply and quickly indicate they would be better to interview Annemarie as she speaks Spanish. They ask (in Spanish), “As pilgrims, what do you think of this snow, the first snow of winter in the province of Navarre?” We miss our Aussie mates and know they would have enjoyed this moment of fame. They later text to say they saw us on Spanish television while drinking coffee in Uterga. By the time we reach Uterga, Rana and Sherry have taken a bus to Estella and the fountain of red wine, Fuente de Vino.

  Annemarie, Bruce and I walk through fields of every shade of green. Bruce is humming again. I, too, am happy and feel as if there is a New Zealand bell bird chiming within me. I love the colour green and as I walk, even though the distant hills are obscured by rain and cloud, my emotions remain buoyant. Around me are the bright yellow greens of spring, the deeper green of newly seeded grass and the darker green of grass that escaped the harvesting machines. The major crop is grass, interspersed with lucerne and chrome yellow flowering mustard. The yellow stretches in patches and brightens our day despite a slate-grey sky which prevents the higher yellow bursting through. The fields have rolling contours which remind me of large swells mid ocean. The occasional hilltop village has an assortment of old stone houses, with newer homes built to blend in with the old. Annemarie is taking photos with her phone. As a landscape photographer, she wants to focus on the essentials of the walk and therefore chose to leave her work cameras at home. She grins at me from underneath her orange poncho hood. She too is glad to be walking her Camino.

  We are heading for the Alto El Perdón, the Mountain of Forgiveness. I am no longer worried about the steep climb of seven hundred metres, despite the guidebook warning. My ankle is healing and getting me from place to place. Although the rain does not let up, I am not cold, despite it being just 3° C. I reflect on our walk out of St-Jean-Pied-de-Port in sunshine when I was dressed in T-shirt and shorts. I am not used to such fluctuations in weather temperatures, but at last I have learnt how to dress for the conditions. I now know how many layers of wool I need. I am so thankful I have my icebreaker jersey, good tramping coat and waterproof over-trousers.

  The three of us stop for hot chocolate drinks at Zariquiegui and I order our drinks in my Spanish. (I am trying to add a few new words to my vocabulary each day.) Fortuitously, a local customer standing beside me at the bar, recognizes my interesting language and acts as interpreter. There is much laughter shared among the local clientele and the three pilgrims. Our hot chocolates hit the needed spot.

  Fortified by hot chocolate and shared laughter, all three decide we are warm enough to attempt the climb up to Alto del Perdón. The uphill gradient is at first very gentle. Climbing, we remember to look back and see how far we have come. Together we marvel, that despite our slow pace, we do cover a surprising amount of distance. With the lowering cloud, we surmise that the promised view down to the villages on the other side of the summit will not be visible.

  Closer to the top we begin to hear the vibrations of the great parquet ecolōgico (wind turbines) as the wind picks up. We are now back above the snow line. I do not recognize the stunted mountain vegetation. Amazingly, despite this harsh environment, small purple violets line our path. These purple beauties gradually disappear as we climb to the clumps of snow which remain despite the continuing rain. We sense, rather than see, the gigantic wind turbines when we summit, arriving at that Camino defining sculpture: Monument to the Pilgrim’s Way to Compostel
a. We are very excited and Annemarie waves her walking pole to the closed sky.

  We cannot see down the hillside back to Pamplona, nor can we see ahead. Up on that Mountain of Forgiveness, we are swathed in cloud. The cloud is more appropriate to the Mount of Transfiguration. Perhaps my Camino will have elements of transfiguration. I hope so. In the silence and solitude of walking the Camino I hope to become more of the person I am seeking to be. I appreciate the silence on top of this mountain and the fact that we are alone with the remarkable sculpture built to represent pilgrims over the ages; it is historical and eternal. We are in a time capsule with the clouds as our frontier.

  Below are portions of the plaque explaining the Monument.

  El Perdon Mountain Range, Monument to the Pilgrim’s Way to Compostela

  We are on the El Perdon mountain range 770m above sea level. It is a place where pilgrims from Orrega/Roncesvalles pass through on the way towards Puente la Reina……… Until the mid-19th century a chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary of El Pardon stood here together with a pilgrims’ hospital …… They say that when the pilgrims reached the summit they obtained forgiveness for their sins and their spiritual health was guaranteed for the rest of the route in event of their death.

  The El Perdon wind farm was the first one set up in Navarre. It has 40 turbines. They are 40 metres high and have 20-metre blades.

  After the wind farm entered service in 1996 the Navarrese sculptor Vicente Galbete was commissioned to create a set of sculptures dedicated to the Pilgrim’s Way to Compostela; the set is called “Where the route of the wind crosses that of the stars”. It represents the evolution of the Pilgrim’s Way throughout history in the form of a procession of pilgrims from different eras. It consists of 14 natural-sized iron figures that make the journey on foot, on horseback or riding donkeys.