Puente la Reina - Estella

Day 5 (Sunday 12 May) Saturday evening I'm in bed by 21:00, tucked into my silk liner (thanks Sarah) and lightweight sleeping bag (bivvy sack). I sleep until 01:00, then drift off again about 2 hours later. I'm awake at 05:00 but lay in bed until flashlights and minor commotion indicate that others are packing up to go.

I follow suit, my small head-mounted "miner's light" proving to be a great help. I also have my clothes and shower/toilet articles in 2 separate 5 litre waterproof bags that are different colours. This makes it easier to find what I need when I open the ruck, either from the top or from the zippered "torso hatch" that facilitates access to the middle and bottom of the pack. I must be getting faster at this, because I'm out the door in the dark by 06:00. The sky appears to have a thin mid-level overcast (suggesting that it could go to a broken layer later in the day and offer up some sun), the winds are light, and the temperature is around 10 Celcius. No complaints though; there has not been any rain for 2 days and, in the event, there won't be any today either.

Whatever advantage my early start could offer on my walk to Estella (22 kilometres away) is quickly squandered as I lose the trail just outside Puente la Reina (you run out of Camino trail markers and sense that all is not right). I actually have 2 false starts, as I search for the Camino. Eventually, after looking for close to an hour, I see the trail below a highway overpass. I descend to it through some tall grass, which does not amuse a pack of dogs in the adjacent farm. Fortunately they're fenced in and can only voice they're displeasure. In any case, all you can do is mark these things down to experience and soldier on.

Shortly after regaining the trail I catch up to Craig from Dublin, one of my dorm mates from the night before. He is a cook/chef who is between jobs, and is contemplating a career change. He explains that his current profession is rather anti-social, as he sometimes starts work at 10:00 and doesn't finish until 12 or 13 hours later. He was employed in Florida for several years before returning to Ireland. He says that he misses the sun as Ireland doesn't have seasons, just "various shades of grey".

A short while later, I encounter the Jamaican/Canadian girls from yesterday afternoon. They are underway early and I surmise that the younger has encouraged the older to get moving. That is not the case, however, as one explains that they had to sleep on the laundry room floor of their albergue where the toilets were also situated. There was people traffic to the toilets all night long, and they got very little sleep as a result.

Craig and I pass through the village of Maneru at about the time that I have mentally estimated (I spent a large part of my professional life calculating ground speed, ETA's, and fuel consumption and I'm not going to stop now). We"re hoping for a pastry and a coffee, but it's early Sunday morning and nothing is open. Pressing on to Cirauqui, 3 kilometres away, we find a bakery and I purchase something cream filled that suits me perfectly, except that they don't sell coffee to go with it. Many walkers carry on past because of this, only to discover that it was that bakery or nothing.

The next town is Lorca, almost 6 kilometres away, but it does have a bar with both coffee and WiFI. I post my blog from yesterday and answer a few e-mails. I also discover a small blister, but on the palm of one hand. My walking sticks are chafing my hands somewhat, but that is a small price to pay. The sticks have proved to be very helpful as they improve your walking efficiency by approximately 15% and are a boon to balance and safety when you are descending down a steep slippery slope. There have been quite a few of those crossing the Pyrenees and moving west through their foothills.

Shortly after I leave Lorca, Edmond from Paris catches me up and returns my Canada flag luggage tag that had dropped off the side of my ruck.

I make it to Estella just about noon hour and track down the small, ground-floor St. Miguel parish hostel (sleeps 30). I'm the second one to arrive, but have to wait until it opens at 13:00. It's very basic but the smallness of it is a plus. I ask for a lower bunk and our hostess is happy to oblige. There isn't a fixed price for an overnight stay - they simply ask that you put whatever you wish in the donation box by the front door. As part of the package, they offer breakfast starting at 06:30 the following morning. That's when I usually try to set out, but will make an exception tomorrow just for the experience.

As I haven't had any lunch, I accompany multi-lingual Annie from Germany down the hill to a tiny grocery store and buy some sausage, bread, and chocolate cookies (I already have some cheese). Then I join several others at our small eating area table (it doubles as the reception desk) and make myself some lunch. I put the cookies in the centre of the table for everyone to try and they are quickly gone.

Following the usual shower and laundry, I start work on this blog. It's a pleasant task given the positive feedback that I'm getting from family and friends, and helps to pass the time until I have to hunt for a restaurant that has a pilgrim's prix fixe dinner menu.

One of my dorm mates, Andy, is from Washington, DC, and he informs me that the wall outside is from Roman times. Now the pilgrim's washing is hanging out back at its base. Perhaps it was also that way 2000 years ago?

 

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