This morning I found a guide book in English. I have been looking for one

since Roncesvalles where I first learned of their existence. I bought

a Spanish guide in Pamplona and had been using it until I lost it

somewhere along the way. It was somewhat useful, but since I don't

read (or speak) Spanish, only the map part of the guide was of value.

I left my pack with my wallet in it back at the refugio, so I asked

the storekeeper to hold the guide and a few postcards for me until I

returned. Back at the refugio, I noticed that someone had picked up

the air mattress and sweat shirt that I left in the previous town,

Obanos, and left it on the table at the refugio. Naturally, they were

thinking they were doing a good deed and helping out a careless

pilgrim. In fact I left the items to shed a little weight which I was

becoming painfully aware of with every kilometer. I supposed that

this was a sign that I wasn't spiritually prepared to lighten up yet.

The idea of leaving behind physical objects as a symbol of lightening

up spiritually appealed to me and I decided to continue to leave a

little something behind occasionally as a conscious reinforcement.

I decided to give it another try and just left the stuff on the table

and returned to the shop to buy the map and postcards. 10 A.M.

Leaving Puenta la Reina.

Finally leaving Puenta la Reina. After cafe solo and croissants I

bought bread and cheese for lunch, not wanting to repeat the

starvation ordeal of yesterday. The market had a large poster of St.

James on the wall which made me feel good. Halfway down the street, I

realized that I left my walking stick behind and just as I turned to

go back, the shopkeeper came running up to me with it. I thanked him

profusely and continued, feeling the weight of my heavy pack. A

perfect day, about 70 degrees, with bright sun on the low hills of

wheat. As I walked I worried about the American couple Linda and Ron

who I haven't seen since Zurini. As it turns out, I would never see

them again or hear any news. Just another fleeting acquaintance on el

camino. At a turn in the path I came upon a bag of small apples

Gift of apples.

opened very invitingly. After considering for a few seconds I decided

to accept the invitation and eat one, even though I wasn't hungry. I

could sense that someone had placed the offering with great

deliberation. It tasted sweet and was very refreshing. I silently

thanked whoever had left them as I walked on. Gratitude, I have

learned, is a significant part of the learning and spiritual growth

process. It helps to neutralize negativity and points out the

positive aspects of my life as the result of grace rather than

ego-driven achievement.

Hospital de Bargota.

At the top of a steep path I came to the ruins of the Hospital de

Bargota according to my new guide, which I could finally read, and

reinforced by a large sign proclaiming the spot. As I looked around

however, I saw no ruins. All I could detect that could even remotely

be taken for ruins were a pile of rocks a few feet away from where I

was standing. I thought that labeling this pile of rocks as a

cultural site was really going too far with the celebration of the

historic. I selected a small one to bring home to Cameron, took a

photograph, and walked on. The black flies were becoming very

annoying and the bottoms my feet hurt badly. Just after the town of

Cirauqui I stopped at a Roman bridge to rest.

Ancient Roman bridge.

I hoped to make it to Estella by the end of the day, a distance of

about 22 kilometers (13 miles). Not very far, but considering the

terrain and my condition, making it remained an open question.

Eventually, as I continued to walk I began to feel a little better

than I had the first few days which were filled with fear and

uncertainty when I spent time playing back old movies in my head of

imaginary mistakes and regrets causing the path to be torture both

spiritual and physical. The voice of the self-recriminator seems

always to be ready to take control if he is allowed. As I emerged

Invitation.

from a bushy trail I came upon a chair placed in the center of a

clearing. A simple chrome tube kitchen type of chair. I take this to

be another invitation like the apples in the path earlier, so I sit

for awhile and admire the view. At 3:30 after trudging up a hill I

stop for lunch in a cozy little rose garden in front of the church at

Lorca. Except for the constant barking of dogs, it was a pleasant

place, slightly more that half-way to my destination of Estella. A

bit further on, I encountered what I thought to be a truly ugly

Ominous architecture.

church. Huge, with walls shaped and reinforced much like a bunker of

some sort. Something about it made me cringe. After walking few more

kilometers, on a hill overlooking the town, I came upon another

bunker type building which to me resembled the church very closely

and confirmed my suspicions about the ominous ugliness of the church.

This newer and smaller building was very mysterious. I have no idea

what its purpose was and there was no signage. The bunker had no

windows and concrete ribbed sides very much like the church.

Frightening really. I couldn't help thinking that something sinister

was afoot in both structures.

Bunker.

Made Estella at 6:30. The refugio in Estella is

modern, clean, and run by a man who hates pilgrims which has a

seriously dampening effect on the welcoming experience. Upon checking

in, you are asked to sign up for the breakfast he provides for an

additional 500 pesetas. The breakfast is a rip off, consisting of

fruit and a variety of packaged pastries. After selecting my bunk, I

performed the daily ritual of washing my socks and shirt as soon as

possible so they will have the maximum time to dry before I leave in

the morning. The room has tiny balconies outside the windows from

which I can find a spot to hang my laundry to dry. My laundry duties

done, I venture out to explore the town and find some food. Estella

is a very picturesque town with a river running through it, a couple

of quaint little bridges crossing over. I crossed one of the bridges

and ran into a group of Americans who were on their way to dinner. It

turned out they were guiding a small group of students over part of

the camino, and invited me to join them at the restaurant where they

had made reservations. The dinner consisted of a couple of paper thin

pork chops, soup, and wine. We had an interesting conversation about

the nature of Art and photography since a couple of the students were

studying photography. After learning that I teach photography in

Boston, one of the students asked me if I considered photography Art.

I responded that the question had been settled in photography's favor

decades ago and that the question of Art or not Art is not determined

in any way by the medium an individual is working in, but rather by

the ideas and attitudes that motivate the individual.

Estella.

Estella: rare example of defacement.