Day 4. Cizur Menor - Pamplona (Relaxation Day)

After being reminded to leave at least four times and only slightly before physically getting kicked out, Dad, Franz, and I took the bus into town to meet Stacie for some breakfast and game-planning. The boys went ahead with hiking (dejected about being unable to dry their clothes) while Stacie and I took the day to relax and explore Pamplona.

Who knew sending mail could be so daring? Below: What kind of crazy person decides this is a good idea? Oh yeah, my father did about 35 years ago.

There was a small amount of exploration, but when the beautiful, clean, and modern municipal albergue opened in Pamplona a few hours later, we decided to pass the time there. Wifi access helped to solidify that decision. Stacie overheard a man telling another pilgrim that the doors are locked at 11pm - "woah, party hostel!" Oh, how your views change when you wake up at 5am. We eventually rallied the troops to visit the supermarket and purchase dinner-makings. Two dinners plus breakfast and snacks for €7...for Europe, not bad! It was lovely to just take time out and cook our own food for once - plus, we chatted with Canadians whom we had met on the trail a few days earlier. Skype with Mom and journaling rounded out the evening. My body, knee, and psyche appreciated the day off.

Day 3: Larrasoana - Cizur Menor

Much better weather and scenery today while walking on the trail running alongside a central stream. After walking around 4km, we stopped to ask a local where the nearest cafe was - his response, "back about 5km or ahead around 10km, mas o menos." "So....Pamplona then?" "Ehh....si." Appreciate the honesty sir, I really do. Wandered past these beautiful fields of truly green grass, blades dancing in the wind.

Eventually, we ascended to a point that allowed us to overlook the beautifully lush farm fields and pastures below.

We took turns taking Captain Morgan-esque photos with one leg resting up on a wooden fence with the greenlands as the background. (I will spare you those pictures.)

We finally caught sight of civilization and knew a cafe had to be close. We crossed over another beautiful medieval bridge and continued our walk through Villava, a cute area on the outskirts of Pamplona that provided a paved walkway beneath a canopy of crazy, knobby trees leading towards our day's pre-approved ending location.

    With Pamplona finally in sight, we were approached by a class-full of 13-year-old students asking us demographic questions to passing pilgrims. They were quite energetic and full of life, and that gave us enough motivation to get up the cobblestone street leading into the city and through the medieval stone archway.

View from the main bridge into Pamplona.

Papa Franz after an interview with the kids.

The Gateway to Pamplona.

We meandered a bit before dropping Stacie at her "one-star" hotel - so nice and clean, had you told us it was a five-star, we wouldn't have doubted it for a second. The woman who worked there was, by far, the most helpful person we have encountered thus far. We took up quite a bit of space and a good amount of time just sitting on the comfy couches in the lobby before continuing on our route to Cizur Menor, a hill town just outside of Pamploma. After walking past a beautiful field of rapeseed (used to make Canola oil) and its sea of yellow, Franz, Dad, and I eventually made it to the albergue.

A close-up of rapeseed, which becomes canola oil. Below: Cizur Menor.

Laundry, leg massage machines for the boys, and frustrating Internet time for Franz ensued after our arrival to the hostel. We cleaned up with cold shower and headed back into town for a dinner with Stacie. Given the worsening pain in my knee, it was decided that I would stay the next day with Stacie while the boys continued on. A plan was made to meet up the day after. Once logistics were settled, we enjoyed each others' company for the rest of the evening. Franz, Dad, and I enjoyed the most roundabout cab ride in Pamplona's cabbing history - my conversation with the driver went from friendly, to questioning, to near-threatening as our curfew time for the albergue neared. Thankfully, we quickly paid the man and hobble-ran to entrance, barely getting in before 10pm doors closed policies (30 seconds to spare).

Today I walked for: Victor. This amazing boy, who I had the opportunity to live with for a month in Peru, is a FIGHTER! The word "no", "can't", and "unable" are NOT in this kid's vocabulary. Victor dreams big with his huge heart and positive attitude. He taught me that nothing is unachievable, and he proved it simply by LIVING each and every day. Victor, you are a superhero!

Day 2: Roncesvalles - Larrasoana

Awoke relatively sore but alive. Therefore, on we went...this time with half the weight. We decided paying €7 to send a bag with our unnecessaries ahead to the next town was a nominal fee for our increased ability to enjoy this experience and decreased joint pain. Unfortunately, mine continued despite the lightened load, but we trekked on determined to have a better day than the first.

After the first day, this sign was slightly depressing.

The plethora of animals, mainly cows, that we passed throughout the walk quickly became our friends.

My three amazing Camino family members. Good-looking group.

Thankfully, the trail was relatively flat and wound through a series of cute towns, woodlands, and the occasional mudpits. Eventually, we reached the "bustling" Uzbiri, which had a plethora of places to sleep, eat and shop. Of course, we passed all that up for an extra 5km trek along the shoulder of the main road to get to a town that had none of that. Word to the wise, avoid Larrasoana as best you can! 

Trying to channel the "Wild Pilgrim" sign above us.

In one word: Rockstar.

Arrived there to find only 3 available beds for the albergue and only one other pension on the other end of town, where Dad ended up staying. Good call on the pension, because when there are 40 hikers in an overflow building, the probability of having a heavy snorer in the bunch increases exponentially. The tight quarters and stained sheets didn't help the situation much either. We ended up eating at a "restaurant"/convenience store (the only food option in town) under the dictatorship of a scattered, rude Italian woman who showed most patrons little to no respect or gratitude for business. As I was becoming increasingly more frustrated with the Basque attitude, but more especially this woman, the situation, and an extra overpriced pizza being made for us over a miscommunication, we ended up striking up a conversation with two middle-aged female hikers from Australia who reminded us that "these are all experiences that will eventually make the trip what it was!" She could not have come in at a more important time (for me) and helped me remember why we are here in the grand scheme of things. Back to the albergue for a shower, quiet fumbling around in the bag due to early sleepers (6-8pm!), and a fun snoring interlude.

Today I walked for: Aunt Karen.

Thank you for teaching me to consistently strive to learn more every day. You were passionate about helping others, and I know they are better for having met you.

Day 1: St. Jean Pied de Port - Roncesvalles

St. Jean Pied de Port is a beautiful little medieval town, adorned with cobblestone streets, fortresses, and large stone archways leading into the center. We traveled here on a two-car train filled with backpack-wielding individuals from all over. Upon our arrival into St. Jean, we immediately followed the masses to the pilgrim's office in order to register and listen any advice they were willing to give. Once we were shown our room in the albergue, Dad and I set out to explore. There was a very peaceful moment overlooking the town just as the rain clouds moved on and the sun came out in time to set - the sun reflecting off the various puddles throughout the town made for a crystal-like image of shining brilliance. Dad and I decided to jump right into the pilgrim lifestyle (not necessarily by choice) as we shared an apple and cheese dinner overlooking the view outside our albergue room's door.

The view from our albergue.

We shared our room with an older Italian couple, a Bavarian man named Franz, and an American turned French young lady named Stacie, with whom we had conversed during the train ride to St. Jean. This first night of "shared sleeping" was not a gentle introduction for my father. There was some award-winning snoring coming from both Italians - you know, the kind where the snore wakes the individual who produced the noise originally. After less than two hours of sleep, Dad and I headed to breakfast (bread, jam, and cafe) with a group of hikers that would inevitably end up in our camino blob. We bonded a bit more with Stacie and Franz, began hiking with them and quickly learned they would become our immediate Camino family.

Our first beds.

Initially, there were slightly cooler-than-normal temperatures, but no rain or heavy winds at the trail-head out of town. Now, we had been warned by the pilgrim office staff to avoid the Napolean Route over the Pyrenees due to its unpredictable weather - apparently, a hiker from the previous day was still missing. Slightly discouraged about missing the beautiful scenery but not proud, we decided to take the valley route. The woman who gave us instructions did so in Spanish, although she was French. As we soon discovered, there was grave miscommunication that occurred during our 15-minute conversation. As the four of us headed out of town, there was a steep uphill to get the heart going and already make us second-guess our abilities to do this. Eventually, we reached a major artery fork in the road where we had been (or so we believed) instructed to keep right - we did so and continued to see trail markers, thus assuming we did the correct thing. Fast forward two hours later and we were still ascending - we began questioning...so much so, that Franz and Dad felt the need to share a beer at 8:50am. There were multiple stops on the way up, to catch our breaths and share hot beverages. Heavy winds began as we entered the open, winding spines of the mountainside. To continue remaining upright, Stacie and I buried our heads into our rain jacket hoods, leaving little more than one eye exposed to the open air, and walked in a semi-squat position. Dad passed the statue of Mary without realizing because he was walking with his head down in attempts to prevent serious facial windburn. In order to snack without having the food fly away, the four of us dove down and nestled into a trench. The rains were off-and-on, which made the already-heavy, near-16kg bag seem like lead.    

Dad looking through the guidebook, still trying to figure out how we ended up on the mountain route.

Our weather at one point in time...

...and our weather less than 20 minutes after that. We reached a flat-ish part of the trail passing through a snow-covered wooded area that, apparently, was the "top" of the mountain. I remember passing a sign that indicated we were in Spain...things went downhill from there, in every possible way. First, we kept ascending gradually through a snow/slush-filled trail while the heavy rains began. It was at this point that I lost Stacie ahead of me and was passed by Franz while waiting for Dad, who came into sight around 15 minutes later. What goes up must come down, and that we did through similar conditions. I remember walking like an elderly person who lost their cane through the initial downhill, sliding and near-falling many a time. Finally, Dad and I reached a fork in the trail just as a group of hikers were debating about taking the unmarked, gradual descent off to the right or to duck behind the "Caution/Do Not Pass" tape and take the 60-degree, marked descent. We followed the group and did the latter. We all had boots soaked through-and-through with snow slush, sleet, and rainwater. I had a minor mental freakout that involved an internal debate of the pros and cons of crying. Cons: could waste much-needed energy and would not improve the situation in any way. Pros: could be a nice release of frustrations from that day and tears could warm face enough to where I might feel it. Ended up not crying and focusing that energy into preventing frostbite by changing the wet socks out for two dry pairs and a plastic bag buffer for each foot. Snow and slush was eventually replaced with slippery mud and slick, wet leaves. When we finally reached Roncesvalles, we almost collapsed from relief. We had decided to treat ourselves to a hostel room (like a Motel 6) before reaching the town, so the first one we came upon became our new favorite building in Spain. 

That "2.5 hours to Roncevalles" took us close to four.

This was the last photo I took for the day, just before the sleet and heavy rains began. There were some long hot showers and lots of staring at the wall that occurred immediately after entering the room. Eventually, I headed down to the mini-cafe/bar for two "we're alive" emails before setting off to find the other two. At some point, Stacie and Franz walked into the cafe, our eyes met, and although we really wanted to do the watery-eyes, chin-trembling, near-cry, unnecessarily long embraces, all our minds and energy could muster were simultaneous "are you okay?"s. Apparently, they had arrived nearly two hours earlier than we did, and thus, had actually started discussing the possibility of a search party. As Franz went back to the hostel to call it off, Stacie and I just discussed the ridiculousness of the day. Poor thing - as if only having tennis shoes in that terrain and climate weren't enough, she was also by herself for more than hour on the worst section of the steep downhill before her "angel" Franz finally caught up and accompanied her the rest of the way. There was a lot more talk followed by silence and tired stares over dinner. Eventually, when we could maintain our bodies in upright positions no longer, we all retired to our respective rooms and what became our favorite beds ever. Dad and I were seriously debating what else we could do with 35 days if the following day was anything like this extremely challenging first day. Oh gosh.

Today I walked for: Grandma Gen. In addition to the ever-expanding vocabulary of all things sweet, Grandma taught me strength and encouraged me to explore throughout my childhood. I have no doubt she is feeding all the souls in Heaven with the best meatballs they've ever tasted. I miss you so much and love you forever.