Entering the walls of Pamplona

A fun part of walking the Camino is the people you meet: the French ladies who gathered morels along the trail, or the local Basque fisherman proud to show the trout he caught, or the nun in the convent of Zabaldika who let us climb the tower and ring the oldest bell in Navarra.  We walked the Arga river trail to the 15th century walls of Pamplona (Iruna in Basque), and climbed up through the gate into an old city lively with modern people and ancient monuments. In the evening children kick a ball down the street and through a tapas bar. Everyone's welcome, though they have to argue about which are the best pintxos to share with us. We seem to be only Americans around -- many signs are only in Basque. We found a room high above the central Plaza del Castillo, and slept well, though below in the streets the party continued 'til just before the pre-dawn bird song and cathedral bells.
Tomorrow we climb the Alto de Perdon, sad to leave Pamplona but looking forward to whatever adventure comes next.

 

Rolling across the kingdom of Navarra

Navarra is a land of forested ridges framing green valleys with white stone villages, hillsides dotted with sheep and cute new lambs, and farmers just starting to plow fields that were under snow two weeks ago. Trees are budding out and each corner in the trail brings a new flower or bird song. In Viskarret we stayed in Casa Maitetxu, guided through the village by their young daughter Maite ("beloved" in Basque).

Today we head up to a convent, then down to Pamplona.

Over the Pyrenees -- a day in the clouds

No words needed . . .  a perfect day.

From the sea to the sky

Axun and Steve drove us down to the sea into France at Biarritz for the day, to walk the promenade above the beach, drink coffee in a French cafe and wine by the fish & vegetable market next to the seaside mansions, imagining we knew one of the movie stars that come in "the season" (not now, when locals in wetsuits surf the winter waves). Towards evening, they drove us up the canyon of the Nive river to Saint Jean Pied de Port to start walking the Camino de Santiago, on the route of the ancient Celtic pilgrimage west to the sun. Since Paleolithic times this land is formed by the hard dolomitic limestone that sheds the calcium and magnesium that plants, sheep, and humans thrive on. Over aeons that hard rock threw up the rugged Pyrenees mountains that shaped the Basques, and still protect them from barbarian lowlanders. (Saint Jean's 15th century castle is a reminder of the French garisson that tried, unsuccessfully, for a thousand years to conquer the fierce Basques of Navarre. To this day proud French wince at Charlemagne's troops being slaughtered by "sheep herders with steel".) Modern houses in St. Jean date from the 16th century, many are older, their hard stone carved by 500 years of mountain storms. Thankful for the warmth of the setting sun, we wandered up through the old castle, down along the river, and reflected on life and our journey in the medieval stone church 'til late, then closed a French bar over Basque chicken and pizza and wine. This morning we went to the farmers market to buy bread, sheep cheese, pears, and pain au chocolat for our climb. En camino, it's been a quiet, beautiful day walking up country roads and trails with only bird song and wind, passing sheep and an hour later looking down on the same herd as little dots before they disappear into a fold in the mountains. Gryffon vultures glide far above us -- aged sheep or aged pilgrims are all the same to them. We're thankful for bread and aged sheep cheese. Snowclad peaks rise into view as we climb, one step at a time, winding around the ridges. That's for tomorrow. Now we're up in the Refuge Orrison warming up over hot chocolate and wine (sense a theme here?), and ready for dinner. We've warm wool covers to add over our sleeping bags. Oh it's a rough life being a pilgrim! Stars will be our blanket.

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