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Zariquiegui → Estella 34.2 km (21.2 mi) |
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¡Ay que loco, todos!
We all made it through the night without meeting any other bedbugs—thank goodness—and sat down for breakfast of toast, jam, and fine Pakistani tea. I didn’t realize just how much I would need the tea, because it was one cold, gusty morning stepping out of the albergue. Still, cold or not, it’s good to have wind where you have windmills! Who knew that the region of Navarra produces a third of all of Spain’s wind power? Just on the Sierra del Perdón, where I was heading, there are over 46,000 square meters of windmills!
My blister wasn’t bothering me too much. At least it wasn’t as bad as Jean’s and Andrew’s (Andrew is from Boston). The backs of their heels had completely peeled away! Gross! Nonetheless, they were both planning a 34K march to Estella today, so I thought, if they can do it, maybe I can too. That was the plan, but who knew it was a crazy one?
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It was a mere 2K climb from Zariquiegui to Alto del Perdón, where, until the 19th century, the basilica and hospital of Nuestra Señora del Perdón attended to peregrinos with blisters like Jean’s and Andrew’s. Now, all that remains is a marker. I wonder why. They couldn’t have been short on business! In any case, the Alto is now home to the memorable Monumento al Peregrino, a line of fourteen peregrino silhouettes installed in 1996 by the Amigos del Camino in Navarra. On the side of the second horse, an inscription reads:
| “DONDE SE CRUZA EL CAMINO DEL VIENTO CON EL DE LAS ESTRELLAS” | or | “WHERE THE WAY OF THE WIND MEETS THE WAY OF THE STARS” |
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Once I passed over the Alto del Perdón, the Way of the Wind settled considerably, the sun shone forth, and the green fields of the next valley stretched out below. I was in a cheerful mood, and as I caught up to Serge and Didier, I learned a new French word: siffler. That means “to whistle!” So, I whistled all the way down the hill into Uterga, where suddenly, everything was abloom! It was as if crossing the Alto del Perdón, the Height of Forgiveness had turned all the thorns that had been lining the path since Roncesvalles into flowers!
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A stroll through the green pastures flecked with white almond blossoms kept me going right through to Obanos, which holds a play every July called El Misterio de Obanos, starring the whole town! The story goes something like this: Once upon the 14th century, there were two ducal siblings of Aquitaine named Guillén and Felicia. One day, Felicia decided to walk the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, and it moved her so much that she left the court of Aquitaine to devote her life to helping people. This infuriated her brother, who tracked her to Obanos but could not convince her return. Consequently, he went crazy, stabbed her to death, then realized that she’d been right all along! In penitence, he walked the Camino and devoted the rest of his life to helping others.
Apparently, 34 of Guillén’s bones are kept in a silver head in the Iglesia de San Juan Bautista, while Felicia’s are in Labiano, where they’re supposed to cure headaches. Isn’t that creepy?
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Mysteriously, I have been completely unable to find any record of these saints outside of this legend. They aren’t listed in the Catholic Encyclopedia of Saints, and I can’t find any nobles of Aquitaine after Eleanor, who died in 1204 AD, over a hundred years before this legend started! In short, I don’t know if it’s historical fiction or just fiction! The play was written in 1962 and first performed in 1965, and the parish of San Juan Bautista just celebrated its first centennial (1912-2012)! Everything seems so new for such an old legend. I just wish someone would have written more about these characters, or at least more than just summaries to bring in more tourists. In any case, it looks like the mystery of Obanos has broken the fourth wall!
I continued on to Puente la Reina, where Jean had hinted he would stop for lunch. Right away, I knew this town, with its maze of streets and no visible central plaza, was too big to find him, so I stopped at La Plaza bar and restaurant for a piece of tortilla and a chat with the bartender. A crusty old fellow on the stool next to me launched into an epic discourse on the unbelievable size of Disney World! He’d visited back in ’97, and the buildings were so tall, he thought the elevators alone were a thrill ride! The things one takes for granted back home!
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I had to excuse myself after half an hour, as I had some ground to cover, and this guy was really getting into Disney World. I headed across the namesake bridge, ordered built by Doña Mayor in the 11th century AD as an aid to peregrinos, and began the second portion of the day’s trek, a true slog. See, I had signed up for a 34K day, but I had only walked 12K, leaving 22 more kilometers after lunch! If anything, this would be a valuable lesson in pacing and overextending myself.
Over the next five hours, I passed through the sort of terrain that made me think I’d stumbled into southern Utah: hot, dry, and red. I also saw my first shepherd, tending his flock in a dry ditch instead of one of the million empty, green fields I’d passed already! Thirdly, I met my first biker peregrino in Mañeru, a British chap named Pat, who had started in Lourdes and was going to complete the Camino in a total of two weeks. Wow! After the last few days of slow walking, it’s getting hard to fathom covering that kind of distance so quickly!
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Pat was kind enough to slow down for me, and we had a lovely, lighthearted chat about the ongoing ramifications of neo-colonialism. When one has a long way to go, it really helps to have company to take one’s mind off the distance. Conversely, keeping pace with someone else does make it easier to forget to take pictures. Anyway, we passed over the hilltop town of Ciraqui, which rang with Orwellian announcements in the streets, and down the other side, a really steep grade where Pat had to carry his bike. As we walked, my feet really started to hurt, and the thought of stopping early in Lorca crossed my mind.
The easy way was not an option, as all albergues in Lorca were closed for the season! The next albergue was in Villatuerta, 4K later. It had to happen. We dragged outselves over to find a carnival setting up and the albergues shut down for repairs! By then, my feet were screaming “¿Por qué? ¿Por qué?” But what my feet didn’t realize was we had no other options. Por qué? 4K!
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Halfway there, Pat veered onto the road. After a day of riding, he had to get off his bike seat. I couldn’t blame him, but when he left, the path seemed to get longer as the sun sank lower. I stumbled past a number of barking dogs, while gnawing feverishly on some breadsticks, eyes rolling and tongue lolling, until at last, I arrived in Estella, and let me tell you, that albergue at the start of town was the most beautiful sight in the world! I hobbled upstairs and ripped off my shoes, and I can’t even begin to describe the bliss of newly liberated, stinky feet! I even ran into Jean and Andrew, and Jean let me share his pasta for dinner! Somehow, even though I had endless doubts along the way, I had made it to Estella! Now, the question was, if it was this hard today, would it be even tougher tomorrow? We’ll find out!
Buen Camino!
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Total Distance Walked: 123.3 km (70.4 mi) |
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