We had a stormy, beautiful climb to Alto de Perdon, rain squalls followed by brilliant sun breaks, wind waves sweeping across fields of yellow canola and green winter wheat. Ancient pilgrims could have their sins forgiven if they survived this far. At the top we leaned into the wind with the famous steel sculptures of pilgrims while the line of giant wind turbines thrummed above.
After our descent the weather and country warmed and softened. We saw our first olive tree in a church courtyard, and grape vines appeared like rows of old gnarled men with arms spread and first soft green leaves, dancing down across the hillsides.
In contrast to the expansive landscape, Navarran hill towns are tight clusters of stone houses and narrow streets leaning in around their church. At day's end we climbed to Muruzabal, and shared Casa Villazon with two women from Argentina. The cook at the tavern stayed late to fix us dinner, and the town's gnarled old policeman came in to chat us up about the outside world and the joys of life. His mix of Basque and Spanish left us mostly guessing and smiling, so he wandered over to the table of grandmothers nursing their wine and began to sing to them. Flattered by the attention, one by one rose to dance with him while he sang.
The next day we saw a stork nesting atop the cathedral in Puente de la Reina, and passed over the bridge that the queen of Navarra ordered built for pilgrims in 1040. For miles we walked the Roman stone road. Tired, sore, and amazed we climbed through more hill towns to a bed in Lorca. Now sun is breaking over roof tops where swallows zoom for morning meals while we linger over cafe con leche. Today to Estella, where the kings of Navarra were crowned for two thousand years.
After our descent the weather and country warmed and softened. We saw our first olive tree in a church courtyard, and grape vines appeared like rows of old gnarled men with arms spread and first soft green leaves, dancing down across the hillsides.
In contrast to the expansive landscape, Navarran hill towns are tight clusters of stone houses and narrow streets leaning in around their church. At day's end we climbed to Muruzabal, and shared Casa Villazon with two women from Argentina. The cook at the tavern stayed late to fix us dinner, and the town's gnarled old policeman came in to chat us up about the outside world and the joys of life. His mix of Basque and Spanish left us mostly guessing and smiling, so he wandered over to the table of grandmothers nursing their wine and began to sing to them. Flattered by the attention, one by one rose to dance with him while he sang.
The next day we saw a stork nesting atop the cathedral in Puente de la Reina, and passed over the bridge that the queen of Navarra ordered built for pilgrims in 1040. For miles we walked the Roman stone road. Tired, sore, and amazed we climbed through more hill towns to a bed in Lorca. Now sun is breaking over roof tops where swallows zoom for morning meals while we linger over cafe con leche. Today to Estella, where the kings of Navarra were crowned for two thousand years.
