The Heights

We continue to be confounded by technological problems. Lack of wifi is not allowing me to upload the several hundred photos I´ve taken.

I´m blogging from the Albergue Municipal in Estella at the end of day 4, but what I´d like to do is tell you a little bit about yesterday.

Truly, I haven´t yet processed it all, so I´ll transcribe my journal. Editorial comments will be set off //like this//.

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Puente la Reina, 7pm //04 April//

Arrived. Exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

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9pm

Showered. Clothes washed. In a bar looking forward to food and wine. I´m utterly wiped out. My feet are numb and my shoulders ache. This is the day that my pilgrimage actually began.

We began the day in magnificent Pamplona. We started late, as we wished to attend the 9:30am Mass at the Cathedral. This proved a good choice.

The interior of the building defies description – I could easily have spent the day there. Photos and postcards might give an idea, but the sheer scale and the profusion of art is designed to overwhelm, and it succeeds better than any place I´ve been outside of Rome.

The Mass was chanted by the canons in Spanish and Latin. Again, I had some trouble working out when the Mass actually began, since they chanted the proper antiphons with the psalms.

I caught up at the Gloria and was able to follow after that.

It was an incredible experience, with the weight of history pressing but brought alive in the moment by the chant.

We finally left the Cathedral, after Mass and some photos, at 10:30, putting us about two hours off the pace.

I stopped in a shop to pick up some souvenirs, and left walking in the wrong direction. I soon turned myself around, but proceeded in getting lost twice more before I made it out of Pamplona.

The edge of the city was quite something; you´re just walking through a quiet urban neighbourhood, you cross the last street, and suddenly you´re in the Spanish version of Tuscany – all gentle rolling hills swathed in shades of emerald, with each hill topped by a shining, whitewashed hill town, terra cotta roofs and an ancient stone church crowning all.

//No, really. I have photos!//

We walked a long way through this, until the long climb began. The ridge – really a single steep spine cutting through the countryside, is called the Sierra de Erreniega, and it´s topped by a long line of modern windmills.

We began the ascent, finally reaching the village of Zariquiegoi, where we stopped for a much needed refill of our water bottles. And then, the great ascent began in fully.

The path was steep, and it consisted of stones the size of a fist, irregularly spaced through a morass of mud. //Navarre is built on clay, and there have been heavy rains the past few weeks.//

Up and up we climbed, in constant danger of slipping and falling. Parts of the path were entirely wiped out by landslides or subsidence, but still we climbed.

At one point, I lost my balance and caught myself by grabbing hold of some thorny nettles with my free hand.

Although I did not tumble, my hand was covered in bloody pinpricks. They were tiny enough that they sealed up in moments.

Finally, we made it to the top of the ridge, an ascent of 280 meters over a distance of perhaps 9km. In addition to the windmills, there is a great series of pilgrim statues – a long line of them, both walking and horseback – realized in flat steel. As we posed for our obligatory photos, a cold rain began to fall. Ponchos out!

We then began the descent into the valley beyond, some 260m down to the town of Uterga, where we stopped for a late lunch about 4pm.

The climb of the Sierra de Erreniega was probably the most physically demanding thing I´ve ever done.

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//And then I ate. Continuing…//

But the day was not over. Some 2km past Uterga, at the village of Muruzabal, we took a little 5km detour to visit the old Templar church of Our Lady of Eunate.

A greater contrast with the Cathedral could not be imagined. Where the Pamplona Cathedral was enormous and ornate, the little octagonal church of Eunate, with it´s surrounding cloister, was the very model of Romanesque simplicity. The tall, narrow windows were not stained glass, but appeared to be a white, milky mica.

The rough pews faced a plain altar and a charmingly primitive carving of Our Lady enthroned as a Queen, with the infant Jesus on her lap. Both wore crowns. Mary´s head was much too large for her body.

As I prayed there, I wept. This is a holy place. None of our party was unmoved, even the non-Catholics among us.

I remarked a little later that “this had been worth the entire trip to Spain”.

When we left Eunate at about 6pm, I was just shattered. I had a profound experience there, and at the same time my body was giving out. My feet had gone numb, and I staggered a little as I walked. By the time we got to Obanos, I was walking on auto-pilot. Allie, meanwhile, was having a bad allergic reaction to her nylon sock lining, and Cliff´s blisters were starting to get the better of him.

Charlie form the UK //who turned 70 today// was using one of Petra´s poles.

We were quite the ragged band as we staggered into Puenta la Reina. We took the second albergue we found, and we all sort of collapsed after our 26km day.

Once we finally got our pilgrim´s dinner, however (at 9pm), we revived: mussels in a spicy tomato sauce, followed by a lamb shank, followed by pears poached in red wine. After this and about a half bottle of vino tinto, I finally feel like I can collapse into sleep.

Good night!

EDIT: Photos added after the fact.