I left Ciraqui at seven and less than a kilometre from the town I hit a piece of preserved Roman road. It really gave me a charge just thinking about it. What was left was in remarkable shape for it´s age and didn´t seem to be under any type of custodial care. An hour later I stopped in Lorca where there was already a crowd at the local cafe and I ordered my usual, a short espresso solo, had a orange juice and croissant and was off again, headed to Estella which has sat on the River Erga since the eleventh century engulfing the older Basque town of Lizarra. The town was famous for its Romanesque architecture and statues. The Basques lads from the night before had suggested that it was a great stop with lots of night life but I reached it by mid morning and I was also starting to feel on top of my game so stopping wasn´t in the plan. On the other hand I didn´t want any repeats of the previous day so I was constantly rehydrating. I also saw more evidence here of the Basque seperatists movement with graffitti slogans aimed at tourists sprayed on retaining walls. I made a quick calculation since there was a climb involved in the next stage but it was still cool and the map suggested that the climb was up through a forest so I decided to go for it. First though I would have to pass through the village of Ayegui where next to the monastery there are two fountains, one with cool agua and the other with free Navarre wine. In my youth I probably would have stuck around here for a few hours but the most I could muster up for was a single cup of the free vino straight from a tap and then I was off again past a mob that was already waiting for the local Albergue to open at noon. The climb was up through a pine forest similiar to home and topped off at a thousand feet. I seemed to have my mojo back and along with the shade from the woods I was at the top in no time but then encountered a few kilometres of open trail with no shade on the way to Villamayor de Monjardin. While walking along a plateau I spotted two large dogs and was wondering what that was going to lead to when their owner made an appearance much to my relief. At first he seemed to be practising some kind of irrigation delivered through prostrate science when I realized he was really gathering and feasting on wild blackberries. Well this proved to be a bounty and soon I was stopping and picking, filling my ever useful banadana and munching along the way. In Villa de Monjardin I came across the three Basque lads sprawled out in the shade on the cobblestone street along with an Italian girl from the albergue the night before. They pointed me towards the village fountain where I drank a quart and reloaded my flask. The guides suggested that the next run was merciless with no shade cover and twelve kilometres, but it was all downhill through the vineyards. This time though pacing myself I stopped three times and while the water grew as warm as tea I didn´t run out and by 4pm I was at the village of Los Arcos where there was suppose to be an ancient water fountain to greet the pilgrims from the hot walk. Instead some enterprising entrepenuer had opened an automat full of vending machines. I wasn´t complaining downing two bottles of ice cold gatorade. An Austrian girl I had passed hobbled in complaining about her foot but claimed she couldn´t see anything wrong. I took a quick look and saw nothing but black and blue bruising at the ankle. She told me that wasn´t what was hurting but I think the heat had affected her reasoning becuase the two had to be related. And as my father use to say just before he would clip me for some supposed misdemeaner "where theres smoke theres fire". The first albergue I tried was full and I just managed to get the last bed at the munciplal´just outside the town´s wall and over the river Odron. When I entered the dorm I wasn´t sure whether I hade entered the dorm or the casualtly ward. The air hung heavy with the smell of linament and there was the weirdest array of guaze bandages covering appendages from the shoulders to the knees headíng right down to the feet. Amazingly most of the walking wounded were young males. Most of the women seemed to be alright and there were a few older goats like myself who only seemed to be suffering the day´s fatigue. I wandered around the town then sat in the square after poking my head in the cathredral for a peek at the beautiful frescoes and then watched as the townsfolk mostly older women dressed in their best clothes filed into the church. I headed back to the dorm packed my sack for the morning and fell asleep listening to Shawn Phillips, to be continued |
Be smarter than spam. See how smart SpamGuard is at giving junk email the boot with the All-new Yahoo! Mail
No comments:
Post a Comment