Having troubles with photos so resending this.
Trudging up the hill from Pampalona in the heat of the day, no breeze, sweaty hot step after step. Breakfast in Pampalona was a great idea, and enjoyable in the moment, but we’re paying for it now doing the last 10km in the heat of the day.
We argue about nothing really, what to do in Pampalona, when to leave Hemingway’s bar, why we’re in Hemingway’s bar….shit really. But the joy of the Camino is that you’re walking beside your loved one step by step, kilometer by kilometer and it all comes out and we’re holding hands and reflecting how stupid it all is (arguing) and how, even when you’ve accepted that it’s all you’re own shit (because it is ….all your own shit) that you still have to deal with the emotional charge. And we talk about that, step by step, as we walk along.
Pampalona is a nice city. Old town, narrow cobbled streets, cafes overlooking the square. Lovely, but it’s a city and, to us it detracts a little from the ‘minimalist, walking with nature, small village feel’ and we’re happy to eat and move on.
Movement’s a useful term here as, after ham and onion potato and egg cakes for breakfast in Pampalona, we both need to dive to the bathroom to support movement of said potato cake. Happily it’s a swift movement and we’re back on the road in moments – but not before one more potato and onion cake – so good – damn the consequence.
We stop for some respite, deep in the wilderness, just by the ‘deep in the wilderness woolies’ (Carrefour here) and snack on some olive, pepper and anchovie toothpick-kebabs, pork charcuterie, and pineapple under the shade of a baby English plain tree before heading up the hill to our destination.
We’re in Zariquiegui (I can’t even say it) now. The alburgue is full house, lucky we booked ahead. We shower and head down to dinner, and our host (and his dog Luka), plonk a bottle of red on the table and serve us up salad, roast chicken and pork. It’s delicious and goes down so well after a days walk.
Spirits are high, and we’re chatting with Bob and…let’s say Alice, from Glebe, Sydney, and Richard who we Boarded with way back in Border. Our host (I think it’s Sergio), offers us some of his own home made Patxaran, Google says; “the small, dark-purple fruit of the blackthorn tree—in anise-flavored brandy (anisette). The mixture is typically soaked for one to eight months, producing a red-colored, fruity, and sweet digestive drink that has been popular since the Middle Ages.” It’s excellent and after dinner, Di, Gabriel, a Parisian, and I, and Luka, the dog, take our wine and Patxaran (and cigar) outside and toast Harry for submitting his PHd today, as the long Spanish evening draws to a close, ‘to Harry’. Luka raised his paw. The cigar went down very well with the Patxaran…thanks Harry.
All in all an excellent day but we’ve learned our lesson; to punch out the big K’s in the cool of the morning. Let’s hope that’s possible after all the Patxaran! Buen Camino.
