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Larrasoaña → Zariquiegui 25.2 km (15.7 mi) |
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¡Buenas tardes, todos!
Boy, was I excited to be out of this albergue! I packed up my things and shot out the door… into the drizzling rain! I was prepared for it, but I hoped deep down that it would clear, because I wanted to take some pictures in Pamplona now that I had my camera. Today’s plan was to cut the walking short, tool around Pamplona, and stay in the Albergue Jesús y Maria again, so I took my time and had a chocolate croissant for breakfast at Casa Elita. That let me jump in step with Dermot and spend a nice, soggy morning having super-sophisticated discussions about Youtube clips, like the one with a green heron using bread crumbs to lure fish closer and snap them up! Seriously, folks, we smaller critters are smarter than we’re made out to be! And what a remarkable thing is the internet to allow people from countries across the world to swap stories like this so easily!
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We picked up a few more peregrinos on the way into Pamplona as the rain started to turn fickle. However, by the time we reached the beautiful village of Arleta, I lost all of them. Why, you ask? I found a much dreaded blister to the left of my toe claw! I couldn’t believe it! I’d been so good about rubbing Vaseline all over my feet in the morning before I started walking, but there it was. Luckily, it was more annoying than painful, but as this was only Day 3 of walking, I felt a little concerned. Maybe beaver feet just weren’t meant to wear shoes.
In any case, I continued onward, though by now I had no hope of catching up with anyone until Pamplona. This gave me time to learn some neat facts, like a lot of Basque people glare at you when you say “Buenos Dias!” to them, and that sycamore trees can be grafted together to form arches over city sidewalks! This practice is called arborsculpture or Pooktre! As I later found out, some people can get really imaginative with their Pooktre!
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Pooktre is fascinating, but I was getting pretty soggy. Pamplona wasn’t much further, and before I knew it, I’d crossed the Puente de la Magdalena and started up the same road I’d ridden with Juan González only three days ago! I entered the city through the Portal de Zumalacárregui, formerly known as Francia. The name was changed in 1939 in honor of General Tomás de Zumalacárregui, who had escaped from prison through this portal and raised a ragtag army that took over most of northern Spain. See, in 1833, the King of Spain, Ferdinand VII, happened to die, which raised a whole hullabaloo over whether the throne should go to his brother, Don Carlos, or his 3-year old daughter, Isabella. Hmm…
Tomás supported Don Carlos and nearly won this Carlist War for his patron, had Carlos himself not thwarted him! He could have taken the capital of Madrid, but Carlos ordered him to take Bilbao instead, where he received a small wound. Instead of letting him see a competent, trusted doctor, Carlos required him to use an “approved” doctor. And he died. Let that be a lesson to us all!
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I arrived at the Catedral de Santa María la Real to find Jean milling around and unwilling to go inside. Well, I thought, that will not do, so we went inside together. Inside, there are three naves, bordered by smaller chapels and capped with several magnificent retablos! I was particularly captivated by the Retablo de San Fermin with its intense portrayal of the Archangel Michael using Deadly Art #1 on a demon! He had some nice form, but I guess that’s required if you’re going to apply for an archangel position!
From there, we circumnavigated the cloister, treading upon numbered, removable tiles, which still remain a mystery to me. Were they for meditation, or are there secret items stored below each number? Maybe both! At the center of the cloister, surrounded by iron fencing, was a lovely green space with a fountain. At first, I thought it was sealed off from the outside, and though a gate in the corner proved me wrong, the idea of a natural space sealed off for eternity was really neat!
Thirdly, we visited the museum, which featured dozens of sculptures of saints and matching models of the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus. By “matching,” I mean both Mary and Jesus in every pairing had the same faces! That brings up a whole bunch of metaphysical genetics questions, but I’ll leave those to someone more qualified. Some of the sculptures had their eyes crossed! I wondered if the sculptors intended for their work to be goofy or if the expression had a different meaning back in their day.
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The rain clouds parted just enough for me to race to the Plaza de Toros, the third largest, but most famous, bull ring in the world! Every year on San Fermin’s Day (July 7th), the Plaza becomes the finishing point of the Running of the Bulls, where the bulls are locked in to face the toreros (this is called the Encierro)! Fortunately for me and my short legs, I was there months before any bulls took to the street. I remembered that because of a song I heard once long ago.
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San Fermin’s Day used to be a small, local festival, but it has exploded into multinational notoriety thanks to this guy: Ernest Hemingway. He spent a great deal of time in Spain, fishing for trout and attending the festivities of San Fermin’s Day, which inspired his lush book, The Sun Also Rises. However, he later came to regret his success at popularizing the festival. When a local tradition becomes multinational, it gives up its local charm to appeal to a wider tourist base. It’s like installing a luxury hotel at Machu Picchu or taking a Great Leap Forward!
On that note, I was very surprised to see so many people in Pamplona dressed in the punk style, with black clothes, many piercings, tattoos, and the like. It wasn’t the sort of fashion I expected to see in Spain, much like American pop was not the sort of music I expected to hear everywhere! Apparently, the punk scene emerged in Spain in the wake of Franco’s reign of moral oppression. When you’ve lived so long under pressure, someone’s got to wear leather, right?
I had originally intended to stop in Pamplona, while Jean wanted to get out of the big city for the night. There was so much to see here, but at the same time, a smaller, quieter albergue with a new friend did seem appealing, so long as it wasn’t like the one in Larrasoaña. After another picnic, this time in a park, I decided to go with him through the newer, more modern parts of Pamplona, toward the distant mountains. We passed through Cizur Menor, which had a really neat name but not much to back it up, and found ourselves, once again, in a sudden deluge. I wish the weather would make up its mind already!
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We were within sight of Zariquiegui when we ran into Serge and Didier, who were walking from Bordeaux to Santiago and back! Now that’s an incredible journey! Serge was having some leg problems, but he hung in there, even after we got to the albergue and no one answered the door. Fifteen minutes of wandering later, Belen, the hospitalera, who was still in the process of cleaning the place for the new season, welcomed us inside, sat us down next to the fireplace, and whipped up a sumptuous meal. Tonight’s dinner gave a great opportunity to practice some French and the international language of laughing. I did promise, though, that I would be much better at speaking French the next time I set foot in the country.
I think this was a good decision to continue to Zariquiegui. I feel like I’m becoming part of a small Camino family. Still, with a blister on my toe and the talk of finishing the Camino on the 30th (I was planning to get to Santiago on the 3rd of April!), I don’t know how smart it will be to keep up with them. Maybe I’ll just listen to my feet tomorrow. For now, it is nice just to be here.
Buen Camino!
P.S. Just before bed, I met an unpleasant fellow named Señor Chinche, sitting on my sleeping bag. He tried to bite my arm, so I asked him very politely to stop, warning him that I was well-versed in the Deadly Arts. Suddenly spooked, he scuttled away. I called after him to tell the King of the Bed Bugs that any attempt at biting us would be met with swift punishment. I think he got the message, but before he could relay it, Serge stepped on him. We’re sleeping with the lights on tonight!
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Total Distance Walked: 89.1 km (49.2 mi) |
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