I’m still confined to bed. No improvement. The Ibuprofen is turning my bowels to mush, and 24 hours from meeting Andrew, I’m terrified that my Camino is coming to an end. More later.

Day 4: Camino Day 3 Roncesvalles to Zubiri

Did I text someone “KILL ME NOW”? Did the Brierley guide lie? Am I a wuss? The Polish girl I met yesterday is walking her second Camino. She told Lihi and me that today was also an extremely difficult day. Lihi read that on a scale of 1 to 4, with 1 being the easiest, today to Zubiri was a 1. Maybe Lihi lied to keep us walking. Good strategy!

We left the monastery at Roncesvalles spiritually refreshed. A mass during the previous evening in a fabulous church was moving and inspirational. The priest read out the names of each country represented on the Camino that evening, and read a pilgrim’s blessing in almost each of those languages.

A few meters outside the monastery, Lihi and I decided to grab something light for breakfast. I grooved to Genesis and complimented the barrista on her cord and bead bracelet. (High school Spanish is serving me well.) As soon as we sat with our cafe con leche and guilty pleasures, a Camino amiga ran to us with the terrible news that one of our American friends had caught her hiking pole in a raised grate, had fallen, and smashed her knees, hand, and forehead. When Kim happened along with her husband Gary, we did fear that her Camino was finished. Nope. She’s probably in Santiago now as I learn to be in the moment and accept my painful knee.

The group of us left the cafe and made our way past a cafe that housed a piano signed by Hemingway. He’s kind of a big thing in this part of Spain. 😉 The cafe was closed, so we continued through numerous pastures, always remembering to close the gates behind us. Where  in Ontario can you walk with such freedom through a farmer’s pasture? Some pilgrims forget to close the gate. Are they lazy? Forgetful? How hard is it to close a freakin’ gate?

After much walking, our band of Camino buddies arrived at a remote cafe. After downing one more cafe con leche (from now on ccl), I opted to stay behind with Anjia who suffered from sores I’d be hard pressed to call blisters. Holy shit!

Anjia and I continued at our own snail pace towards Zubiri. Perhaps we both misread the guide and the maps and the barristas, but it sure seemed a piss lot longer than 10k to the Zubiri finish line. I took my second outdoor wizz in the woods and struggled uphill over loose rocks and downhill over loose rocks and REPEAT FOR SEVERAL KILOMETERS!

Never have I laughed so hard or so long. I suppose Zubiri residents thought we were mad. When we arrived after 6 pm, there was no room at the inn. Or the next inn. Or the next. We just happened to meet Lihi who scored us each a mattress on the floor of a handball gym (?) after a game (Think athlete smell. Think pilgrim smell.) We enjoyed a great pilgrim menu with wine, walked to a neighbouring bar where Liam the Irish paramedic did terrible but healing things to Anjia’s blisters, and enjoyed the best sleep ever!

Lessons: I’m never so dirty that I’ll shower in a Zubiri handball shower room. However, I do remember saying I’d sleep with bedbugs or serial killers if either offered me a bed. I was THAT tired.

Ultreia!