Days 3-4 Down the mountain

Day 3
Roncesvalles to Zubiri--13.64 miles; 33,414 steps; 727 km. to go

6am lights on, pilgrims up and about, scurrying like mice. I´m walking by myself today, and it´s a lovely trail with lots of Bambi-like forests filled with ferns and wild strawberries to the side. The air is perfect, and the fog and mist remain back in France. In Burguete (a town made famous by Hemingway, who liked to come here to fish and, in fact, used it as a backdrop for a chapter in The Sun also Rises) has an excellent panaderia with delicious coffee and croissants.



Here´s a picture of the trail through the forests. The yellow arrows marks the way to Santiago de Compostela:



Down the road in a tiny village, an elderly man comes by while I´m sitting on a low wall and wishes me courage for the journey and offers some bread to take. The people, especially the older ones, are very sweet.



As perfect as everything is, it´s still walking up or walking down--not much on the level. Walking down uses muscles you never knew you had. The feet are the only body parts that don´t hurt, perhaps this is due to my sock obsession for the last few weeks before I left.

I arrive in the pretty little Basque village of Zubiri and wildly blow 21 euros on a private room where I can stand under a hot shower for half an hour. Then it´s off to the farmacia:

"¿Tiene ibuprofeno?"
"Sí, señora."
"¿Cuál es el más fuerte que puede venderme?
"600 miligramos. 3.48 euros"

I love this country.

(Today is June 29. Happy birthday Gregory, wherever you are)

Day 4
Zubiri to Trinidad de Arre 9.92 miles; 27,769 steps; 711 km. to go

The ibuprofen kicks in; the aches are minimal, and off I go.

Today is easier than yesterday. The trail pilgrims are supposed to follow goes up and down hillsides, paralleling the main road, which is always level. It´s a choice then of killing your legs or dodging cars. I mostly have the trail to myself with the occasional pilgrim or cyclist along the way.

In Larraosaña, I meet an Italian pilgrim, Roberto, who has walked since Roncesvalles. He left at 4am with a headlamp and intends to be in Santiago in 24 days. He is an animal. And there in the village bar enjoying le petit dejeuner is Marie-Agnes, the French pilgrim from two days ago, still plodding along with all her kitchenware.

The walk is lovely and follows a stream for most of the way with wild orchids on the side and 1000s of butterflies.

I decide to call it quits for the day in Trinidad de Arre, or else it´s into Pamplona, which is too complicated. I meet up with the Italian uber pilgrim again, and since the refugio doesn´t open for a few more hours, we go for a beer. (I never drink beer at home, but after these long marches, throwing down a cold liquid with a pleasant buzz is divine). Anyway, we enjoy one of those conversations that´s part Spanish, part French, part Italian, and anything else that seems to get the point across.

Back at the refugio there is Marie-Agnes, all happy and smiling. She wants to cook dinner for everybody. You cannot stop, or would you want to, a French woman who wants to cook. This is a fantastic turn of events. I go to the supermercado with her to help translate between French and Spanish, a scene in the vegetable section and cashier´s line worthy of a video. My head spins.

The meal is superb: 2 salads, une omelette, haricots verdes, le pan, la pasta, le fromage, le dessert, le vin. I am a happy pilgrim.


Marie-Agnes, some Spaniard on the other side of me; the guy in the red shirt is the Italian uber-pilgrim, and the one in the forefront is a fussy English minister of some sort.