…….us stony tracks, today mostly going down! With only 11kms to do today and our albergue not open until 12:00 we were able to get going at a reasonable hour. Papa Bear was suffering from yesterday’s effort and had decided to get his backpack transported, I didn’t want his backpack to be lonely so sent mine along for the ride!

There was the obligatory hill out of town, I stopped to admire this amazing cactus

And soon we were walking through beautiful flat fields, hopeful the 11km walk would not be as hard as yesterday.

Of course there were poppies.

At this stage the only thing I could have complained about was the Camino smell. On other walks it has accompanied us most of the Way, the pungent odour of cow shit. I smelt it again for the first time, it was almost comfortable and welcoming, like walking into your Mum’s kitchen and smelling your favourite meal……but not quite!

I recognised this tunnel from a couple of years ago

More poppies,

Morning tea stop in a large village, we were making good time.

And then, as she often does, the Camino said that’s enough of that, now try this! The pictures never show how steep it is, how slippery the stones are, and how it just keeps going down and down …..

and sometimes you just gotta do whatever gets you down the hill. 

Thank goodness for some flat ground

A stop for a chat

Even the bridges were hard work

The walk into Estella was long, but at least the ground was easy to walk. There were lots of locals out jogging or just strolling and chatting with their mate. These guys were very animated, there was a lot of stopping and pointed fingers, obviously talking politics.

Another long walk through town, our albergue was on the way out,

but we were lucky to get a two bunk room with it’s own toilet and bathroom.

I loved this painting, to me it represents pilgrims walking through the poppy-studded green fields.

There was some excitement involving lots of motorbike police with sirens wailing whizzing past, and the traffic was stopped for about 15 mins, literally going around the roundabout. Spanish are very patient people, there was no blasting of horns, no-0ne standing with hands on hips looking down the road, no middle fingers, they all just sat in their cars and waited! Eventually a big horde of cyclists zoomed past, maybe the local version of the Tour de France.

The pilgrims’ meal was substantial as always, three courses plus wine for €11. The beans were delicious.

After tea we chased the sun on the vine-covered patio, a lovely end to the day.

We’d had a lovely few days in Bordeaux and Pamplona but it was time to hit the road again. Papa Bear’s lungs took one look at the elevation between Pamplona and Alto de Perdon, the Hill of Forgiveness, and threatened to go on strike.

We decided to get up early, take the bus to Puente la Reine

and walk to either Lorca or Villatuerta, depending on how we felt.

Here is the elevation of the day’s route from the Camino de Santiago Michelin guide. Please note the little green man in the top right hand corner. What do you think that means? It means the route is easy. Also note the elevation between Puente la Reine and Mañeru is a little bit up, but not too threatening. The lungs were ok with this

I know this just looks like a lumpy hill, but from the bus D2 and I could make out the top of  Alto de Perdon which is the site of one of the most famous Camino statues, depicting pilgrims old and modern making their way to Santiago.  Both times we have been here previously it has been bitterly cold and blowing a gale so we have snapped the obligatory photo and headed on our way.

We had breakfast in Puente la Reine

and headed off full of excitement and anticipation. It is a pretty town with one of the most photographed bridges on the Camino.

The walk through the poppy-lined fields was lovely

and here and there were Camino signs topped with little shrines of rocks.

About 3 km into the walk I had an awful flash of déjà vu as we struggled up the first hill. The cyclists were still riding,

but the memory travelled from my brain to settle like a stone in the pit of my stomach, the relentless upwardness of the stony track. In my mind’s eye I could see the cyclists off their bikes pushing them up the hill,

I could feel the hope that this curve would be the last, only to have it dashed as the track curved up, and up and up!

There were some points of joy, the glorious scent of these yellow bushes

And the feathery aniseed plants

Papa’s Bear’s lungs would have gone on strike then and there, but somehow they had to get him to the top of the hill. There was no other choice. (Well you could what I did once which was sit by the side of the road and cry, but you still have to keep going!)

Slowly, step by step, with quite a few rests along the way, he made it to the top. Other pilgrims, those that could actually speak,  called out encouragement as they passed. One woman stopped to give him instructions on how to breathe properly. D2 was walking with him at the time so I didn’t see it, but I can imagine it wasn’t well received!

We finally got to Mañeru, dying for a coffee, but the bar there was not only  up a hill but had stairs to the entrance, so we munched carrot sticks and ate boiled eggs in the flat town plaza.

The track to the next village wasn’t so bad,

we could see the church spire from quite a long way out and were hopeful it was a sign that coffee was nigh.

Another flash of déjà vu as climbed up the hill into the middle of town, and sure enough the bakery with vending machine coffee we had passed as we walked into town, was the only place that sold sustenance. We perched on some rocks on the outskirts and ate the ham and cheese baguettes we bought in Pamplona.

The wind was biting so we headed off to Lorca. What can I say? Stony knee jarring tracks down and more tracks up!

And then one of those miracles that happen on Camino! We had passed the sign that told us we still had a ways to go

and came upon the Gar-zen, a lovely little haven in the bush, created and run by volunteers. We sat gratefully in a state of Zen and ate slices of watermelon

I went a dead into Lorca while D2 walked up the long and winding final hill with Papa Bear, and in a lovely little albergue managed to secure a 3 bunk room all to ourselves.

In most albergues there is a room for boots, can you imagine the smell of all these in a dormitory. 

A cold beer, a hot meal and an even hotter shower and we retired thankfully to bed. Papa Bear’s lungs were glad today was over.

I’m writing  this lying in the dark in an albergue in the tiny village of Lorca, listening to another pilgrim snore (Papa Bear!)  But before I fill you in on today I need to finish Pamplona, just random photos in no particular timeline although I do like to categorise!

The ham shop

Pilgrim stuff

The cathedral

Doors

Random peeps

Last but not least, food and wine

Au revoir Pamplona, like Papa we’ll be back!

Ernest Miller Hemingway. Papa Hemingway, a  legendary  carouser and drinker, a far-flung traveller, a lover and a fighter. Author of iconic 20th Century novels such as A Farewell  to Arms, For Whom the Bell Tolls and The Old Man and the Sea.

Hemingway journeyed to Pamplona on nine occasions, the most prolific burst between 1923 and 1927, when he visited every year. Each time he came for San Fermín, the city’s blood-soaked fiesta of bullfighting and brutality, drink and song, where the reckless run with angry bulls who are doomed to die with honour in the bullring at the end of each day. I wonder how the bulls feel.

Papa never ran with the bulls because of shrapnel in his legs,  received during World War I when he was working as an ambulance driver in the Italian trenches.

50 years after his death, Hemingway’s grandson John did what his grandfather never accomplished.

He was 11 months old when on the week of San Fermín in 1961, his grandfather stood on the porch of his home, put a rifle in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Pamplona, it’s cafes and bars and personalities feature widely in Hemingway’s novels, particularly The Sun Also Rises, his first novel.  The characters are based loosely on the bohemian set that he spent his time with, often in Café Iruña and Bar Gaucho.

Café Iruña has barely changed, vast polished mirrors affixed to its walls reflect the ornate ceilings,  Arabesque pillars and glittering chandeliers.

The black-and-white tiled floor is scuffed by decades of scraping chair-legs, high -heeled shoes of local matrons sipping their morning coffee and more recently the boots of Pilgrims eager to see what the fuss is about.

Cafe Iruña looks out on the heart of the city, Plaza del Castillo

Next door is a bar which used to be the smoking area of the cafe, the 21st Century has caught up with Pamplona and no smoking is allowed in cafes and restaurants. There is apparently a statue of Papa in here, but I never found it open.

On one corner  is the Grand Old Lady of the plaza, Hotel Gran Perla. Hemingway always stayed there in the same suite that now bears his name, and is almost impossible to book.

We had some drinks and pintxos in the Gaucho Bar,  on of the many bars Hemingway frequented.

The pintxos are arranged in a tempting line along the bar and you choose whatever you fancy. These were pork cheeks on the right and something with mushrooms and eggs on the left.

I’m sure Hemingway can be found in many more nooks and crannies , looking for Papa was one of the things I loved most about Pamplona.