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Beware The Azucar

IN A TEMPEST

Through a thickening swirling fog we drag ourselves down into the pitch-black valley. The darkness is suddenly replaced by an eerie electric blueness as lightning hits very close, blinding us for some seconds. The thunder cracks which follow seem to shake the very ground we’re on and the storm gets wilder and wetter and windier at every turn. Cold, tired and desperate, we cannot tell how far away we are from sanctuary. All we can do is descend as fast as we can.

After what seems like an eternity we hear dogs barking. We think this is a good sign. We must be near to civilisation, perhaps a farmhouse where we can ask for shelter. The other possibility is too frightening to contemplate - there could be wild dogs here, circling us, preparing to attack! We're desperate now.

RONCESVALLES

At about 22:30 we see dim lights which slowly and fuzzily morph into medieval buildings - it's Roncesvalles - a small settlement, but it’s an enormous relief to know we’re safe. There's a little tavern, and we ask the man where the pilgrim refugio is. He shows us the building, and we knock on the door, but no answer. The sign says that it closes at 22:00. Damn! What to do? We try the hostel which is too expensive at 20 euros each but they're very friendly and offer us a caravan for 6 euros each. We’re happy to get out of the rain, but it's too late - the entire contents of our backpacks are soaked.

Andi pulls off her walking shoes to examine her injured foot. Her toes are covered in blood and are very swollen and it hurts me just to look at it. I can tell she’s been in more pain than she’d expressed. She washes her foot and, assuring us that there are no bones broken, insists she will be all right after a good nights sleep. We are so tired we don’t want to eat and very soon we are all dead to the world - happy to have survived this ordeal.

SECOND DAY

[ From left to right: Csaba, Andi, Gergő, Gábor & István ]

At breakfast we meet a Spanish couple who speak English perfectly, so we start a conversation. They tell us that they’ve heard a radio broadcast which said the massive hailstorm we experienced had killed seven people near St-Jean. Hail the size of tennis balls was hurtling down and these people didn’t stand a chance. We understand the horror they must have experienced in not being able to escape that onslaught.

Nature can be a cruel and unstoppable force. We had thought of ourselves as being unlucky to have been caught in yesterday’s storm. Now we realise we are lucky to have survived it. Things can appear very different depending on your attitude to it.

Hopefully, today will be easier. The sun is shining but it’s not too hot as we walk the path through the forest. Some cyclists pass us. We soon learn to dislike cyclists because they always arrive at the refuges earlier than the walkers and reserve their space. Often this means there is no bed for people who are in most need of somewhere to rest.

CREATIVE MINDS

We invent a new method of drying our clothes; stretching out a clothesline between Gábor’s backpack and mine as we walk. We can't go too quickly but who cares? This is fun. After a few kilometres we meet a lady, who turns out to be an American with a pleasant, youthful personality. She finds our invention so hilarious that she takes a photo of us for her children.

IT’S A KILLAH

I fall into conversation with her as we walk. Asking her motivation for doing the Camino, she tells me, ‘It's a God thing.’ I get the impression she has read a number of books about this pilgrimage and keeps on saying 'It's a killah!'

She feels compelled to do it, though she isn’t sure where she’s going to find the strength. However, like us, she feels today is easier than yesterday. There are more villages, many with their own tiny supermarkets and it all seems much more ‘civilised’.

Following the American lady’s example, we find branches and turn them into walking sticks. She is right - they do make walking easier.

BEWARE OF THE AZUCAR!

After some time, we see Zubiri from a distance, and descend to it. We are told the refuge is full and consider going on to the next town but quickly realise this would be too far for Andi who is suffering in silence. So we are stuck until fate helps us; five French girls decided to move on and we get their bunk beds. Merci beaucoup! We go to the local shop to buy some food: beans, lentils, badly flavoured carrots (the Spanish love to add sugar to everything - beware of the azucar), ham, bread.

After our evening meal I talk with some Spaniards from Valencia - a middle-aged engineer with his rather lovely wife. We will meet them again, just as we meet many travellers over and over again. Some people walk faster and further than us and thus we encounter them only once, but basically it’s the same group of people everywhere because we walk about the same distance each day, at the same pace. At about 11, we go to bed. We are thankful that day two was nowhere near as traumatic as the first, though both Gábor and I are now suffering some blisters. We don’t complain, knowing that Andi is suffering chronic pain. The next day, we are surprised how early people are leaving. It's not 7 o'clock yet, but almost everyone's gone - they are conforming with the advice to get an early start.

FOLLOWING MY TOES

Walking is about as interesting as any other way of travelling - it can become boring. It makes no difference whether you're on the third day or the twentieth - you just walk. We try to cheer ourselves up by singing but that gets boring too. Sometimes kilometres pass without a word being spoken between us. My mind turns to mental doodling...

Sometimes I find myself observing the countryside in great detail...
Sometimes I’m not looking at anything but the dusty track in front of me, following my toes...
Sometimes I snap back into consciousness - just like in the middle of a boring lecture or class...
?!Where am I!? Am I on the right path? Did I miss the turning?

Actually, it would be difficult to get lost on this leg of the Camino because usually there are very obvious signposts but that is not true for the whole of the walk.

Sometimes there is nothing to indicate the best possible route to take...
Sometimes you have a map but you can’t read it...
Sometimes the map is inaccurate and you end up lost...
?!Where am I!? Am I on the right path? Did I miss the turning?

How do you navigate through life? Do you use your nose, your toes? Do you wait for guidance at every corner? What do you think István means by “Sometimes the powers-that-be can see much further than me.” ?

Sometimes friends leave signs - offering their experience as guidance...
Sometimes instinct seems the best guide for me...
Sometimes following your nose or your toes can get you somewhere wonderful...
Sometimes it lands you in trouble and strife for the rest of your life...
Sometimes the powers-that-be can see much further than me... so...
?! Where am I!? Am I on the right path? Did I miss the turning?

BLISSFUL WATER TORTURE

Crossing a bridge, we see a crystal-clear river. Let's stop! Gábor and Csaba, the two water-maniacs want to swim. The water is freezing and we are paralysed. Actually, cold water performs miracles on aching feet.

By early evening, we arrive in Pamplona, the town famous for ‘the running of the bulls’.

We arrive in the refuge which is actually a big sports hall transformed into a huge dormitory of bunk beds. We shower and then lie down for a much needed rest, desperate to take the weight off our feet.

Part 3 continues...

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