It was a smart move to end yesterday in the little village of Ventosa and stay at the Auberge San Saturnino.
I got to end the day early and reorganize my backpack for the 30th time. Have I mentioned this phenomena? No matter how many ways I move things around in the backpack, it never gets lighter.
Science. So amazing.
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After enjoying the festivities in Logroño last night, I somehow had it in my head that a super early start was just the ticket.
Getting up at 6 am and leaving as quietly and quickly as possible is accepted protocol, especially when you are sharing a room with 20 to 30 bunkies.
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Today was a long one — 18 miles from Los Arcos to Logroño— but it felt like it took no time at all.
It was different from the start.
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Just keep on walking all day long!
Since arriving at Casa de la Abuela at 3 pm, I have checked in, made up my bunk with the sheet and pillow case provided, grabbed a responsibly long hot shower, gathered together the dusty clothes for laundry, hung laundry to dry, walked down the street for a cold Coke, booked a room for tomorrow in Logroño, discussed hiking strategies for tomorrow with bunk-room mates, answered e-mail, went shopping for trail snacks, had dinner with housemates, organized my pack for tomorrow…
Today’s walk from Estella to Logroño was 13.5 miles in 85 degree heat.
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It was a day of pain angels, steep climbs and descents, charming villages, persistent knee pain, and smacking good conversations.
Somewhere on the road, an ex-US citizen named Lori dropped in and deduced that my knee was in intense pain.
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The trouble with walking the Camino all day long and pulling into a new town is, you’re never going to get enough of it.
If you aren’t weary to the bone, there’s laundry to do, sore feet to attend to, a backpack to resort and repack, a communal dinner to attend.
Something. Always something.
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So, it’s my right knee.
These things happen. How? I have no idea. I wasn’t jumping fences or rock hopping.
I mean, this is the Camino, right?
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“Everybody was so stressed about climbing the Pyrenees yesterday that making new friends was the last thing on their minds,” a young friend suggested today.
We were marveling at how social everyone had become overnight.
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The energy on the street builds like a pressure cooker as pilgrims arrive from all directions, register for their Camino, hunt for food and drink, check into auberges for the night or trundle up the road to the Pyrenees.
At 10 am when our train arrived from Bayonne, St. Jean was oddly quiet.
“Where is everybody?” I asked a Dubliner named Guy in the Camino registration office.
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So, this is France. Nice place. Bayonne, specifically. Having left San Miguel de Allende on Sunday morning by ETN bus, it is now Monday night and I got to Bayonne just in time to catch the sunset.
Let me tell you that between there and here, not much happened. In Mexico City, I sent my Uber driver to the wrong terminal at CDMX.
No problem. That’s what the tram is for.
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