This is my serialized story of walking the Camino de Santiago across Northern Spain with my sister-in-law. If you’d like to start at the beginning of our journey, click here.
Day 4. The realization has been slowly brewing for three days now and finally burst forth with the culmination of my third blister - this one on my right foot near my first blister - I hate my boots. Of course, two days of unrelenting pain from the blood blister on my left foot pad shooting up my leg every time I take a step is enough to keep me focused on my feet. But the blisters on my toes, in particular, are driving me crazy. I brought walking socks and heavier hiking socks to eliminate blisters and yet here they are: the new one now kissing against the other. How many more blisters can I take before both of my feet are big puss-balls? It must be either the road surfaces in Spain or the boots I am wearing.
Given Marlene, my sister-in-law, is wearing a pair of trail runners (Women’s Altra Lone Peak 6) and has had no blisters on either foot or any foot issues at all, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the roads in Spain aren’t the problem - it has to be the footwear.
I am in a state of shock - I loved my boots.
Over the summer Marlene and I met in July for a morning to strategize all things Camino and she pushed the idea of me buying a pair of trail runners, but I wouldn’t hear of it. For years I have owned Merrell Moab’s hiking boots and they were my signature boot, especially after taking the time to decide between them and Keens.
I have hiked in the Merrell Moabs on trails all over the area where I live in Durham, NC, including a 85-mile out-and-back section of the NC Mountains-to-Sea Trail and loved them. Before our departure, I even bought a new pair of Moabs and took the necessary time to work them in so they (and I) would be ready.
But, Marlene was right. Through the internet she had contacted others who had walked the Camino and they all said wear trail runners. The Camino is not about hiking trails, like the Appalachian Trail. Her sources said that with multi-road surfaces and large sections of off-road/rocky dirt road surfaces, boots, in fact, were not the right shoe at all. Like, with hiking poles, I should have listened to my wife and Marlene’s advice. Only, unlike the poles, now that I am here, I can do nothing about it.
Lesson Learned: The road never adjusts to meet the shoe, the shoe must always meet the demands of the road.
With my heavy reliance on ibuprofen and hiking poles, I hobble with blisters on both feet to keep up with Marlene. We walk to the Camino trail head we left behind yesterday (to find our hostel in Larrasoana) and begin our hike to the city of Pamplona. We have only ten miles to walk and expect to be at our new hostel by mid-day. I am anxious to get there and can use the break.
A ten-mile walk for me is perfect.
Four miles into our journey we realize that both of our guide books highlight an alternative route along the Way and, in spite of my aching feet, we decide to take it. This route leads us off the easy walk along a river and up a quarter-mile gravel path to an historic church overlooking the river valley. St. Stephen’s turns out to be a 13th Century, Romanesque country church and a wonderful reprieve from the hike.
A nun is waiting for us outside in the courtyard and introduces herself as Sister Carmen. She appears to be in her seventies or eighties, wears a stiff white frock and habit and has a kind smile and sparkling eyes that are delightfully welcoming, especially after so slowly climbing the steep hill.
We soon realize we are the only ones visiting her. She asks us remove our backpacks and shoes before entering the sanctuary and, though we are reluctant to leave everything we own outside along the wall of the ancient church, we follow her instructions and are pleasantly rewarded with a beautiful nave. With sheets greeting us at the door in thirty or so different languages describing the history of the church, we realize that we won’t be alone for long and take advantage of the moment (Marlene) to give pray near the 16th Century altar and (me) to take lots of pictures.
Sister Carmen asks if we want to go to the belfry and ring one of the two 13th Century bells and, though it is difficult climbing up the tight winding stairs cut from stone and smoothed from centuries of pilgrims, we are soon are looking out through arched windows made of smooth stone on the Navarra countryside and each of us ring one of the bells. We are here! We are here! Alive! Alive on the Camino!
Sister Carmen gives us each another paper as we prepare to leave. This sheet entitled the Beatitudes of the Pilgrim, we fold up and pocket as a wonderful gift. As we depart, a Korean and Brazilian couple arrive and soon thereafter Marlene takes their pictures for them. The Brazilian woman is so vivacious in her limited English, we can’t help but look forward on our pilgrimage to seeing her again.
The beatitudes turn out to be a perfect for Marlene and me and we both take turns reading from it as we continue our hike to Pamplona. The first blessing (Blessed are you, pilgrim, if you discover the road opens your eyes to the unseen.) marks what we have already realized on this our fourth day of our pilgrimage. We can’t help but wonder if the rest of the beatitudes will be equally meaningful.
Pamplona is a major city, one of four that we will encounter along the Way. We had flown into the airport on the outskirts of Pamplona, four days earlier and taken a taxi cab over the Pyrenees (for $100) precisely so we could walk back over the mountains to Pamplona and now here we are. Only Pamplona is much more modern than we realized. It takes a while of walking into the city following our route to reach the historic inner city protected behind a massive stone wall. The significance of this fortress-like wall we can only imagine, such as, perhaps, keeping Muslim invaders out, though that wasn’t all that successful. Still, in reaching the old city, we feel like we are in a new town altogether, one that has no relationship to the bustling modern city outside the surrounding wall.
In fact, it turns out we have entered the inner city just in time to witness a parade with amazing larger-than-life, papier mache characters celebrating “the running of the bulls.” We are told this is not the same “running” as the internationally famous one for which Pamplona is known, but a similar celebration nonetheless. This one, though, is for just the townspeople and the locals in the surrounding area. As we struggle to get through the crowds, we realize it is a popular festival with all the bars filled and spilling out into the streets. Many of the stores are closed, but fortunately we visit a farmacia before it closes for additional gauze, bandages, and medical tape for my feet. We also take time to tour Pamplona’s historic cathedral, Cathedral Maria y Jesus, which, we realize, symbolized the city’s wealth in its devotion to Catholicism. Many pictures later, I leave impressed but with little of the warmth or spiritual intimacy as the country church we visited earlier in the day.
Outside our hostel we enjoy lunch at an outdoor cafe. Out of the blue, Marlene spots our Rhode Island friends, whom we met in France outside the Camino Office shortly after our arrival. Karen and Rich, on their eighth walk into the old city, are making their way to their hostel. Marlene runs over and greets them and entices them to join us for a glass of wine. Later, they, in turn, suggest we accompany them to dinner with another couple whom they met at their hostel on top of the Pyrenees. We realize from the conversation we know this couple - they were with us that first morning walking back to St.Jean from Valcarlos. We are thrilled (and amazed) Leah and Jim have made it alive to Old Pamplona.
That night we all walk to a excellent restaurant in a vibrant section of the old city and have a wonderful meal. I can’t help but feel this impromptu celebration with the two couples we have met on this first stage of our journey is the Universe showing us what was always meant to be. Though the road opened our eyes and though I have learned countless lessons, we also have been introduced serendipitously to a wonderful cluster of individuals - from nuns to innkeepers to amazing pilgrims - who have helped us to memorialize this first week of our journey.
Sleeping in our hostel’s bunk room with twelve other pilgrims, our packs and (horrible) boots underneath our beds, we are now set for the next stage of our pilgrimage.
The second pilgrim’s beatitude states, Blessed are you, pilgrim, if what concerns you most is not getting there, but getting there with others. After such a welcoming start to our journey across Spain, perhaps this is another lesson to be learned.
What a beautiful blog story! I love the pictures of the countryside and the church, seems like an amazing journey!! Thanks for taking us there. :)
Oh, the aching feet! Nothing's worse. Wonderful photos. Thanks for directing me to your blog.