Day Five: Muruzabal

Here are the troublemakers, both of whom got left in Pamplona.

I can’t take a picture of the other troublemaker, nor can I leave it in Pamplona. Butt: I might need to poo. Me: Well? Do you or don’t you? Butt: No. (I finish packing, get my poles, head out. 20 steps down the street…”Yes.” (Sigh)

I met Jackie on the edge of town, completely by accident. She had sent her pack on and only had a Day pack, (the cheap red and white one, btw, Fred) so I didn’t recognize her at first. She was going the wrong way, something I had already done twice. We walked together again today.

Today was the first day that it really began to dawn on me that I am walking across Spain. Before, when I was in the mountains, it was simply walk to the next tree, walk to the next rock, cross this bridge without falling in the stream, go down this slope without falling on your face or your arse.

Today we walked through fields of wheat sprinkled with poppies. The clouds silently chased one another across a field of deep blue, while the golden wheat whispered to itself, and the red of the poppies sprang from the gold like small children saying “Boo!” only to hide again, laughing. Such peace. Such beauty. Something that has dawned on me is how few (as in no) airplanes I have seen. I realized that yesterday when I saw something black in the sky and assumed it was a plane, only to realize it was a hawk, and I hadn’t heard a plane since I’d landed in Paris. (I haven’t heard a train whistle either, praise and glory be.)

At one point Jackie and I stopped and said, “There. We just walked from there.” It seemed incredible to gaze on Pamplona from a distance, and to know that as far as it was, Santiago was farther. And that our feet, those things we hide in shoes and cover with socks and apologize for during pedicures, THOSE were going to carry us all the way.

Today we found some pilgrim (what do I call them? Sculptures?) They were in “The Way.” They’re on top of a high hill where the wind never stops blowing, so much there are turbines on the hill. Jackie, Jerome, and Elisabetta took their pictures with them, but so far I have had no desire to insert myself into the landscape. Maybe because this might be a book later (Maybe. Yes, Fred, I’ll take you out), or maybe because I want you, my reader, to feel what I feel as if you are there, and you can’t if you are always “looking in my mirror” so to speak. If I get demands to put myself in I will. Some.

Jackie and I stopped for water, but didn’t eat lunch till after 2. I just haven’t been hungry. I’m sure it’s heat and exercise. I try and drink lots of water, and I keep “pain de chocolate” (croissants with chocolate) on me st all times. For lunch I had a txistorra sandwich. It is a type of chorizo from Navarre, where I am.

As we came down a wicked slope I told Jackie I needed to stop. I was getting a hot spot (pre-blister.) I also wanted to lace my boots for going downhill. There were some benches, and on them was a young woman. She invited us to her family’s albergue. It sounded lovely, but Jackie already had a reservation in Puente la Reina. I told her I might stop, but it’s at least 5 km from Puente.

Relacing my boots made a HUGE difference. I thank God for the Camigas (although they did recommend the shampoo bar, which I am now using as LAUNDRY SOAP.) It was there I saw a poster on different ways to lace for different purposes. I figured black toenails were from your toes hitting the ends of your boots, so a lacing for that would work for downhill. It did.

When we got to Albergue de Muruzábal Jackie needed to use the toilet. I told her I’d buy a coke, but as I looked at the beautiful garden with its soft grass, I knew I wanted to stay. Here, HERE, was an albergue of which I had dreamed. Beautiful garden, better view, wide veranda where dinner was served.

Everything was clean and new, either warm wood or terra-cotta. Four other pilgrims and I ate dinner together. Salad, pasta, pork with peppers, and an orange, with plenty of red wine. Ignacio and Resendo only spoke Spanish. Bernie and I only spoke English. A nun (I never got her name) translated. Bernie is a monk, and he sat next to the nun, so Ignacio said we were separated into “santos y pecadores.” That actually sounds better in English. “Saints and sinners.”

Before dinner I did my laundry by hand and hung it up (on the wrong line as it happens) hoping everything would be quick dried by dinner. No such luck. I’ll have to pack in the morning and hope the dew won’t rewet everything. I’m meeting Jackie in Puente la Reina at 7, so I’m getting up at 5:15. Good night.

I just realized I didn’t post my signpost picture. Here it is.