Days 5-6 To the West

To help find the way

Day 5
Trinidad de Arre to Cizur Menor 5.58 miles; 17,809 steps; 702 km. to go

Very pleasant walking day along tree-lined sidewalks into Pamplona. They´re getting ready for next week´s San Fermin madness. The barriers are going up. Even if there were a chance to see someone trampled during the Running of the Bulls, it wouldn´t be worth waiting here a week at exhorbitant hotel prices, so onwards I go.

Pamplona does have a good cybercafe where I spend 2 1-2 hours in air-conditioned cyberbliss.

Cizur Menor must be a variant of Seizure Minor, an affliction brought on by marching uphill in the heat. Next door is Seizure Major for the fools who eat a big meal in Pamplona and then attempt the climb. Tomorrow is supposed to be a steep one.

The refugio I´m at (4 euros) is operated by the Sovereign Order of the Knights of Malta, and there are lots of pictures of their famed knights on the walls. Too bad the Travelers´Century Club doesn´t recognize the property of the Order; I could claim a new country?

Day 6
Cizur Menor to Puente la Reina 11.78 miles; 36,951 steps; 683 km. to go

Out the door at 6am, a necessary evil because the heat swoops in by 11am. The scenery has transitioned from the deep wood and mountain foothills to rolling farmlands and vineyards, and the towns have a more Spanish look to them. It´s still hard going over rocky trails and this up and down business, but I have accepted that that´s just the way it´s going to be from now on out.

Walking on these rocks is murder on the feet

A 350-meter climb takes me to the Alto de Perdón, a ridge that's topped by windmills and cast-iron statues of medieval and modern pilgrims. The steep climb down the other side is brutal: big chunks of loose slag rock. It takes me forever to get down. Pilgrims, whose knees are soon going to be blown out, pass me by.

Alto de Perdón

A worthwhile detour--even in the heat--is Eunate, an octagonal-shaped church with mysterious origins. It could have belonged to the Knights Templars, who often built octagonal-shaped churches in the style of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, or it could have been a burial chapel for pilgrims since shells have been found in ancient graves along the wall.

The church at Eunate

On to Puente la Reina. It has a good bar scene for a Sunday afternoon. I´m in a place that looks like a stone cave. A beer and tapas are in order, while happy and probably bored older Spanish men sing Spanish love songs at the top of their lungs at the bar. They´re actually pretty good. Meanwhile the top news of the hour is playing silently on a plasma TV. Starts off with Euro Motocross and flips to sobbing Brazilians, disconsolate over their World Cup loss to France. Then it flips to graphic pictures of boob jobs gone bad, a bombing somewhere, dead bodies paraded through the streets of Gaza. The men at the bar sing even louder. Back on the news lot´s of people seem to be under arrest today--immigrants, some famous Spaniard who doesn´t want his face shown. Now it´s drops of blood on the sidewalks of Barcelona and the neighbors are interviewed. What a shame, the men at the bar have left, and I guess I will too. I feel better.

The Romanesque bridge at Puente la Reina