The refugio is in the old section of Pamplona where I had never

ventured on my first visit, since I was so intent on reaching St.

Jean Pied-de-Port. I rang the bell for the intercom and was

buzzed in. The sleeping quarters were three floors up a winding

staircase and I thought I would die climbing the stairs hauling

my heavy pack. When finally I made it, a group of three kindly

old men were running the place, none of whom spoke English. I was

able to learn, however, that the doors close at 9:30 PM. This

earlier than usual closing time created a problem for anyone

interested in eating dinner in a restaurant, none of which serve

before 9:00, not leaving enough time to eat. After showering and

washing my socks and a couple of shirts, I ventured out in search

of food. Although I certainly could have gone for a good meal, I

decided instead to have tapas (various finger foods) and wine at

a local bar. After returning to the refugio just before it

closed, I spoke with Sune and Henrietta for a few minutes before

going to sleep. Henrietta had blisters and I introduced her to a

method I had read about of bursting the blister with a sterile

needle and a short piece of thread. The thread is left through

the blister to allow the liquid to wick out and prevent the

blister from closing up again and continuing to be a problem. The

noise from the street was very loud since there was a festival in

progress, and I heard later that some people just left in the

middle of the night rather than trying to fight it.

The Spanish know how to party. At this hour the paseo is in full

swing, with families and young adults mingling with boisterous

teens in the streets. With hundreds of people out to enjoy

themselves the noise is deafening. Impromptu bands erupt every

few minutes adding to the mayhem yet no one seems to become

violent and no one is threatened. My impression is that this

could never happen in America. There appears to be a social code

of conduct here by which everyone conducts themselves, drunk or

sober, and which disallows threatening others or destroying

property. In my experience, when Americans congregate and drink,

they inevitably become rowdy, violent, and destructive.

I left before dawn the next morning while most of the pilgrims

still slept. I really should have spent a little more time in

Pamplona to look around the historic city and give myself the

opportunity to eat a decent breakfast. I didn't realize how

exhausted I was from the last couple of days of hard walking,

and, as it turned out, I had a difficult walk ahead of me this day.

As I began walking through Pamplona it was still dark and the

only signs of life were the revelers winding down from the

night's festivities. The cars that were out often honked in

menacing manner as they streaked past loaded with kids. At this

early hour there were no bars open in the section of town I was

walking through.

Ahead: Santa Maria de Erreniega.

I was quite famished and hated to see the city

fall behind before even a cup of coffee came my way. As I walked

on past Cizur on my right, I eventually began a trek through a

gently sloping plain which led to the Alto de Santa Maria de

Erreniega. This is one of the highest points of Sierra del Perdon

on which are a series of modern windmills. Climbing this hill

after half a day's walk with no food and little water severely

taxed my physical endurance. I felt like a mountain goat making

my way up the narrow path. Resting frequently, weighted down by

my heavy pack, many pilgrims past me looking very concerned about

my condition. When finally reaching the summit I looked back in

amazement to see the Pamplona basin I had just traversed with the

Pyrenees mountains in the background.

When I turned and looked in

Sculpture and Pamplona Basin.

the other direction I could realized that I would be walking as

far as the eye could see before reaching my destination: Puente

La Reina. I took photographs of the landscape and an amazing

contemporary steel sculpture of a band of pilgrims with the huge

windmills whirring away behind me. Talking to another American

later, he told me that he was so exhausted at this point that he

became ill and vomited before continuing. Here I was, only five

days into my pilgrimage feeling very unfit and genuinely

concerned about my prospects of completing the journey.

Giant windmills.

Nevertheless, after resting for awhile I hoisted my pack up on my

shoulders and continued down the treacherously rutted and stony

path on the other side of the summit. Eventually, I entered the

town of Uterga which seemed like a sizable place-certainly big

enough to have a bar or restaurant I thought. But as fate would

have it there was no such place, only a fountain which I was

grateful for. At about 2:30 in the afternoon I dragged into the

next town, Muruzabal, and immediately entered the bar. I had been

walking since dawn, mostly in the hot sun, and hadn't eaten since

the tapas in Pamplona the previous night. The bar in Muruzabal

was, of course, in the main plaza, and I wearily landed my pack

at a table in the back beyond the bar which was populated by

several natives. Children came and went noisily, and a couple of

old men ate at the table in front of me. After depositing my

pack, I went to the bar and ordered a cafe solo and a couple of

tapas (485 pesetas) which I took back to my table. So much for

cultural exchange. This was turning out to be more of an ordeal

by starvation. I resolved to try and be more cautious and carry

more food and water. Two days of physical hardship have depleted

my energy more than I realized. All the more so when insufficient

nourishment is added to the mix. At 4:30 I arrived in Puente La

Reina and entered the crowded bunk-house of the refugio. There

were at least thirty bunks, triple decker, jammed into the small

"L" shaped room. After selecting a bunk and washing my clothes, I

went to the main building to check in and get my pilgrim's

credential stamped.

Portal of Iglesia del Crucifijo.

Business taken care of, I entered the 12th

century Iglesia del Crucifijo to experience the famous German

crucifix from which the church gets its name. This crucifix is

very powerful and I sat feeling its energy for some time.

Eventually I ventured out into the rather large and spread-out

town and explored it a bit, had a beer and tapas, and headed back

to the refugio. Before turning in, I spoke with a young Norwegian

couple who were doing the Camino at an accelerated pace. They

told me of a pilgrimage of sorts in Norway from Oslo into the

mountains. Not one of a religious nature like the Camino de

Santiago which we were on, but one appreciated for its natural

and pristine beauty. I asked them if they had seen the American

couple I left in Zubiri and they said they had, but I wasn't

convinced it was the same couple, and still worried about them.