The new King of England and I took a rest day today. I don’t know what Charley got up to but I visited the Marquez de Riscal winery and hotel for a tour and a tasting. The hotel was designed by Frank Gehry who also designed the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao. It is avant-garde, meant to blend with the surrounding vineyards and the adjacent winery, built in 1858, but rather stands out with a flourish of giant ribbons. The trip to Elciego and the tour of the winery were quite a departure from the more austere and contemplative temperament experienced on the Camino.

The tour was worthwhile and the tour guide lively and knowledgeable, imparting bits if knowledge useful for those occasions when one opens a nice bottle of wine. The tasting consisted of three wines, a white and two reds, the latter of which was the flagship Grand Reserva. I still prefer a Ramon Bilbao crianza to the Marquez’ Grand Reserva.

The taxi driver who took me to the bodega was the son-in-law of a wine grower who was also well versed in the trade with hands-on experience. He explained how the long even rows of vines, like soldiers in formation, were usually Tempranillo and were harvested with machines whereas the older vines in uneven groupings were garnacha or mozuelo grapes and had to be picked by hand. In short, an interesting diversion, but I am anxious to get back on the trail.

I met with Lisa and we visited the Monastery, had a bite, and later met to go to Vespers followed by mass. Tonight the townsfolk are celebrating their fiesta and we checked out the band before returning to the hostal. We plan to meet up at 06:30 tomorrow for a rather leisurely 13 mile stroll to Santo Domingo.

All pilgrims must find their Camino pace. And this pace varies by day and by time of day. It can change depending on who you might be walking with. For example, my pace has slowed down over the past two days. My original pace, especially when walking solo, was too fast to be sustainable over the long run. It felt frantic. Life is slower on the Camino and my pace was out of sync. My mind was slowing down but my pace was not. What works in Texas or California may not be appropriate for the Camino.

For example, I departed Logroño with Chris, a Canadian from Vancouver who lived in Bangkok and picked up his tailor made suit from Jesse at Rajawongse at the same time that George Bush had his final fitting. We discussed how finding one’s way out of town in darkness is like a hash run (as in Hash House Harriers). But his pace was slower than my new slow pace. This is neither good nor bad, just different. I then walked with Scott from Detroit whose wife injured herself and was taking a taxi to Ventosa where they would stay the night. Our paces were practically the same. After breakfast in Ventosa, I walked with young Flores, a Belgian lad who prefers second division football clubs because they have not been ruined by money and high expectations, and Tiffany, from Victoria, who likes to drink fresh orange juice daily and whose son is getting married in December. Flores had a very quick pace, but by carrying on a conversation among the three of us, we were all three able to keep up, without feeling rushed. However, when I came to the big Norwegian fellow who had been in the south of Spain drinking too much – and thus decided to try something healthier- my pace slowed to his stroll. He had a parasol, was listening to music and was wearing flip flops. He was definitely not in a hurry. He drifted on as I stopped at a troubadour in a shady spot. He played what he claimed was an age-old folk song of the trail. He was a Woody Guthrie of the Camino. I then continued on with Jim, another Belgian, and again we had a steady not-too-fast pace. We didn’t talk much. As I came close to the end, I came across Hank, a South Korean who is on the verge of retiring and lives in New York City, but also has a place in Ho Chi Minh City, where his son and daughter are running a ladies fashion clothing manufacturing shop. I slowed down to match his pace until we came to the park just outside Najera where we rested, drank water and shared some almonds.

My pace will vary but my average pace going forward will likely be less than the pace the first several days. I think it takes everyone a few days to “find their pace” on the Camino. Hey, just like in real life!

Tomorrow I take a day off while waiting for Lisa and going with her to Santo Domingo de La Cruzada. I want to give my feet a good rest, along with the rest of my body. Tomorrow is the feast of the Virgin of the Holy Cross. We will see what surprises that brings!

That’s the name of the hostel I am staying at in Logroño. It is clean, newly remodeled, efficient (e,g. big drawers under the bunk beds, big enough to hold backpack plus a lot more) and right next to center of town. But I have not had a glass of wine yet. Too many selections. Easier to order beer.

The roadside motel folks were kind enough to give us wayward pilgrims a ride to the center of Los Arcos this morning, but too early to see the magnificent altar of the Santa María church. So, even after the best sleep of the trip, I was not in best mood. It did not help that 5 km later, at a coffee stop, the proprietor had a fit that I put some trash into his waste battery collection. I departed and began getting a little upset about the pilgrim graffiti. “Shine bright! You are the light!” I am not a light thanks, so don’t tell me what to do. “Follow Jesus!” I’d rather follow the Camino trail markings and prefer you not to deface them with your suggestions.”I love you Kevin.” Well, your settling for a loser. And too many more that I have tried to forget.

Things took a turn for the better when I came across Casita Lucia in the middle of a forest patch. Had a great coffee and felt truly relaxed when I resumed my trek. Then I heard bells ringing in the distance which actually turned out to be a guitar player serenading the pilgrims. Then, as I entered Viana, the penultimate stop, I noticed a barricade surrounding an area full of dirt and people of all ages dressed in white with red bandanas. Turns out the village was celebrating their harvest festival in the honor of La Virgen de La Nieva with an encierro, or bull run through the main street. Fun to watch, though the bulls were not as big and wild as at Pamplona. That evening they planned a capea, where they allow a cow into the barricaded area and let people go and play dodgebull and other games meant to annoy the poor animal. But all in fun and an escape, I suppose, from the drudgery of life. Boy, I was feeling much better by now!

Arriving in Logroño I checked into the alberge and then wandered around town for a few hours. I visited the Museo de La Rioja which depicted the changes in the region’s culture since Roman times. Interesting and right up my alley. I ran into a few familiar pilgrims and met a few new ones, mainly my roommates. No communal dinner needed here with all the restaurants and pintxo places.

That brings me to now, sitting in the Winederful and finishing this blog. Too early to go to bed and too late to go out. Ever have that feeling? Well, maybe I have time for one glass of wine.

Let’s start at the end of the day, of which Los Arcos was the destination. I arrived expecting to check in about 4:30 only to discover that my hotel was not a cute little inn in the center of the old town but a roadside motel about 2 miles on the opposite side of town. I was with two other pilgrims who had no reservations anywhere and we were hurrying as fast as our sore feet permitted to beat approaching thunderstorms. They went off to the local alberge. I wandered off the Camino onto city streets and then highways thinking my dying phone somehow had the wrong address. Then it started pelting down rain. I finally realized my hotel was part of a gas station convenience store. It helped little that four other pilgrims were staying at this same place with gasoline pumps our only view. Meanwhile, the other two pilgrims found a place in the center of town and texted me that they were eating paella and squid. A pilgrim must believe: the Camino will provide!

OK. Back to the start of the day. The night in the alberge was amazingly quiet once the church bell across the street went off-air at 11 pm. No snorers or sleepwalkers or falling out of bed. I was up and out the door by 6:30 and a full moon helped guide me on my way. I made good time before the sun came up, even finding a table with toast and olive oil with a sign saying “Para los peregrinos”. I went through Lorca and encountered two of my roommates, a couple from Puerto Rico. We continued on to Villatuerta where we had a great breakfast. We split up and I went to Estella and visited a few churches. Michener writes about Estella, but I am not sure what attracted him to this place. I must have missed it, but I did find a Supermercado to buy bananas to keep my potassium levels up.

I then came to the well known winery in Iracha where they have two spigots: one with red wine and one with water. You are supposed to use your scallop shell (which every pilgrim carries) to sip wine from. Well, my scallop shell was so small and so well attached to my backpack, that I had to come up with an alternative, not having a wine glass handy.

I should have opted for the water! The wine was very young, had seen neither barrel nor bottle and the bit that remained in my water bottle cap tainted the taste of my water for the rest of the day! Not good marketing. Later I met a local man who recommended Iñuriati winery, in particular a blend called Puro Vicio. It was a fortuitous meeting because he showed me a beautiful mountain trail whereas most people take a treeless path alongside the highway.

My plan was to get to get to Villamayor de Monjardin no later than 1 pm because it is an 8 mile push to Los Arcos with no rest areas or trees. I found a place where I could take off my shoes and socks and rest and cool my feet for half an hour. I was about an hour behind schedule but not concerned, even though the distant sky was darkening. You know the rest of the story.

Tomorrow: Logoño, capital of the Rioja wine country. I have a reservation for a place and I made sure it is smack in the center of where I want to be. Wanna know the name? Tune in tomorrow!

I’m a worn out pup. I’ll write more tomorrow!

Tomorrow I plan on 20 miles to Los Arcos, but I will porter my backpack.

What a day this was! But first I must set the record straight: on days one and two I portered my backpack, meaning I had it sent ahead and carried instead a small day bag with extra water, snacks and a few other items. In retrospect I am glad I did because they were two rough days! But on day two I noticed I was passing a lot of other pilgrims who were loaded with their backpacks. I felt a bit guilty, so on this third day, I carried my own backpack. I definitively noticed the difference by the end of the day! I want to commend Lisa who carried her backpack all three days, through all the ascents and descents and many trail sections which were tricky going.

We slept in this morning to take advantage of the Hotel Akerreta breakfast consisting of croissants, toast, jelly, cheese and coffee. It was nice to have a later start and another chance to chat with some of our fellow pilgrims, like John and Billie who have like 5 kids and twelve grandkids, and Todd and Carol who live in Cordillera Ranch near Boerne.

I took heed of information gleaned from my sister Katita’s Camino blog (https://katitaannette.wordpress.com/) and booked a couple rooms at the Hotel Catedral in Pamplona. It turned out to be the perfect place: close to all the action, but situated on a quiet street. And there was plenty of action with a lot of people in town celebrating Saturday. I quickly took care of some chores: did my laundry (the machines dose the load with soap so all you need are dirty clothes and some money), replaced my faulty charger with a 3.4 amp super charger, hit the ATM (yes, Paula, I remembered my PIN), and bought bananas to treat some leg cramps.

I met Lisa at a pintxo place she had heard about and we drank wine and ate a plate of pata negra and a pintxo consisting mainly of eggs scrambled with morcilla. We decided to try a different place so I suggested Calle Estafeta where I had seen a lot of bars and people. On the way, we bumped into a waiter who had served me a beer while I was waiting for my clothes to dry and he suggested El Gaucho. Off we went and had txangurro au gratin and patatas entrufada con alcochofa, washed down with glasses of Ramon Bilbao. We then went to the square in front of the Ayuntamiento to look for Paul, a Pamplona local we be met on the Way who offered to give us a tour of the area. We did not connect with him, so went to Hemmingway’s Corner at the Cafe Irún for another refreshment and watched all the people watching people at the Plaza del Castillo. After that we went in search of the Pilgrim’s mass but unfortunately went to the wrong church. We visited the Cathedral hoping it was there – wrong again but we wandered the big church and admired the intricate paintings and carvings. As we returned to the hotel we wistfully watched as the crowds, even bigger and more boisterous now, settled into the evenings partying. Another time we would have joined in. But this is a trip with a different mission.

Sorry for going on and on but as I said at the top of the post, it was quite a day. Luckily for you, I have an early start and must now get some sleep!

Left Roncesvalle at 7 am after a visit to the chapel and hiked over 30 km to Akerreta. But the big news of the day is that my twin granddaughters are training for the Camino!

I experienced a deep sense of satisfaction while walking the final kilometer of the first day’s trek. After endless uphill passages and some steep difficult descents, through mountain passes crossed by ancient armies, the final bit of this 25 kilometer journey wandered through a wooded valley alongside a bubbling brook, the perfect element in which to meditate upon the day’s achievement. This was the longest distance I had ever walked in one undertaking in my life! And included an elevation change of 1200 meters to boot. I awoke from my thoughts as the trail opened up into the village of Roncesvalles.

At long last, here I am in St. Jean Pied de Port, the semi-official start of the Camino for pilgrims doing the French route. The journey here was long and arduous, for there is not an easy way to get to St Jean. I met up with Lisa Bartges and got my Camino “passport”. Lisa had arrived the day before and had a chance to tour the town. She told me that in St Jean Pied de Port, one eats trout. And so we did, at the Cafe Pip. As the town settles into evening, I will settle into my bed at the Villa Esponda. If I dream at all, it will be of tomorrow’s adventure.

Much of the physical Camino de Santiago has its origins in pre-Christian times when people of the Celtic tribes made their way from central Europe to the mountainous region of Galicia on the Atlantic coast in the final centuries before Christ.  Some continued by sea to Ireland, but for Celts who remained in Iberia and called this isolated highland stronghold their home, following the sun and watching it set over the endless waters must have been a spiritual experience.  The Romans, arriving later and controlling the entire region by about 75 BC, built roads to exploit the silver and ore mines in Galicia but could not dislodge or overcome the Celt-Iberians; nor could the Visigoths who came as the Roman Empire decayed, nor the Moors, who never posed a real threat that far north.  

As the Christian kingdoms of northern Spain pondered the Reconquista, legend has it that in the 9^th century a Christian hermit saw a glowing light in a forest in Galicia.   He alerted the religious authorities who discovered that the aura was emanating from a spot holding the remains of three men, one of whom was beheaded.  It was revealed that these were the remains of Saint James and two of his acolytes.  After all, when the apostles spread out across the known world to preach the gospel of Jesus, St James apparently came to Galicia.  On returning to Palestine, he was beheaded by Herod.  Thus, the legend was born that the body of St James was returned to Galicia where eventually it was found by the hermit.  A religious shrine was built and dedicated to the apostle.  It was rebuilt after being destroyed by the Moors, and by the 12^th century the Cathedral of Santiago was attracting pilgrims from all over Europe, who travelled along the well-constructed Roman highways built centuries earlier. 

With the Protestant Reformation, wars in Europe and the isolation of Spain during the Franco years, the number of pilgrims decreased.  However, since the 1980s there has been a resurgence in the popularity of the Camino attracting those seeking a religious or spiritual experience as well as tourists looking for a new adventure.  I began to give it some serious thought in the years before retirement and after returning to the US after many years overseas, it was only a matter of determining when I would depart.

When my original plan to walk the Camino in April 2020 was ended by the Covid pandemic, I lost some of the passion I had for it.  Sometime during the “lockdown” I mentioned it to Lisa Bartges, who had always been keen to give it a go, and my desire was rekindled.  We decided in October 2021 that we would walk the Camino in September and October of 2022. 

Thus it was, that on Wednesday, February 23, 2022, Paula and I flew into VC Bird International Airport, Antigua, and found Rodwell Henry and his purple black van.  He delivered us to the Antigua Yacht Club for our rendezvous with Lisa and John for the purpose of planning our pilgrimage to Spain in September. 

You would not be out of place to ask why we had to spend 10 days on a sailboat in the Caribbean to plan a journey to northern Spain half a year in the future.  Well, as Lisa said, “It’s more fun to plan a trip when you are on vacation.”