After I woke up in San Adrián with the very first sunlight, I headed into town in search for the café of the early-birds and found one of the best in whole Spain. Several Spaniards sitting outside smoking cigarettes and the Senorita inside was very gentle and intersted in my journey.
After a coffee, a cigarette and my inthronation ceremony I got nearly two and a half liters of cold fresh water in response of my request for “un poco agua”.
Following the Rio Egra to Estella, I approached Lerín and realized that I was heading into my last fair share of pyrenees.
Leaving Allo behind me, I didn’t had to go up the whole 1044 meters of “Vértice de Montejurra”, but one hundred meters up to the rim of the f***ing big pile of rock lying between me and Estella.
Enough to make the next five kilometers a torturing road to hell. Especially with the trailer tucked to the bike, slowing me down and the bright sun up in the sky, frying me in my own sweat like a Kentucky Chicken.
When I finally reached Estella all my pain was exchanged by pure Euphoria, which brought me half way up the other hillside of the “Vértice de Montejurra” to the “Fuente de Vino”.
I remembered the path quite different – less steep - and at the point the road went down very steep just to go up again, the swearing started as the pain took over again.
The only thing that kept me going on, was the thought of free wine.
Miraciously I started my “Orgy at the Fuente de Vino” with water and lemon instead of red wine. But after five minutes I took my cup and commenced the vicious circle of filling and emptying.
First I drank alone. Then there was another bicigrino from Spain, who stopped just for a short sip. After he left I got to know Gino, Ivan and Renato from Italy. Together we celebrated the fountain of wine a little bit more. I’m not quite sure if I remember the order of the other pilgrims arriving right because of the growing amount of wine that went through my cup. Definitely there were two Spaniards in a car just taking photos, a corean couple, a french bic-E-grino with trailer (Laurent) and of course Sebastian from Austria.
He was exactly the one I was expecting here, though he does not drink wine.
A few steps up the hill we found a nice pick-nick area with really green lawn and agreed that this would be a perfect spot to put up our tents for the night. I tried to fix the front-wheel of Rosinante for good,finally after over thousand kilometers, which was really tricky with the huge amount of red wine inside.
When I was a more sober again, I took him for a ride back into town to check if I had succeeded and to buy some beer for Sebastian – I don’t like to drink alone and I was looking forward to get at least a little bit pissed tonight.
In the middle of the night the sprinklers for the lawn started to work, what woke me up in an instant.
I moved Rosinante and all my bags to the middle of the road and took my sleeping-bag to the lawn on the opposite side.
I left the tent in the artificial rain with the thought in my mind that I ought to wash it somehow these days anyway.
When I drifted back into sleep it was replaced by the memory of how nice and green the lawn was over here, too. Fuck!!!
So I stayed alarmed for the sound of the sprinklers starting on this side of the lawn.
Adios good night sleep.
Luckily they started after the ones of the other side stopped and I moved back again.
The rest of the night, I rested in this state of drifting in and out of sleep and when Sebastian woke, I was happy to start into the day.
I followed the camino for about two kilometers before I gave a shit and went back to the carretera to Los Arcos.
I had lots of writing to do and waiting for Sebastian at the next café along the camino would provide me with enough time to fill up the diary at least to one or two weeks behind the actual date, I thought.
As you might have realized by now Sebastian walked nearly in the same pace as I rode the bike.
After I was done with one and a half day he stood in the door of the café and so I quit my writing to join him on a beer in a nearby bar.
Then we split up again to head forward to Torres del Rio. I suggested to scout for some nice camp-sites and wait for Sebastian in the village. Bad mistake!!! The area around Torres del Rio contains, as its name implicates, a river and pretty steep hills to both sides. I entered the village exhausted and sweaty, but with the knowledge about at least two good spots.
Next time we’ll meet first, so I could unpack Rosinante and go scouting light-weighted while Sebastian watches my stuff.
We chose a quiet spot behind a huge pile of straw-bales on a harvested cornfield and had a short discussion about the best way to take a dump in nature.
“To hide or not to hide” your shit, that was the question.
On my way to Logrono the next day, I stopped for a revival sip of water in Viana (in 2015 Eoghan and I arrived here thirsty as if we just crossed the Sahara) and continued to follow the road. I had enough Camino for one day after I had to walk out of the fields in the hills this morning.
I arrived first - of course - and used the time to take a swim in the Ebro, which – I have to admit – was very much colder at the end of September 2018 than it was in the beginning of August 2015, very much!!!
Here I also met Erik for the first time. A very amusing Pilgrim from this nice island we lost in the Brexit, due to the ruthless capitalistic politics of our great European Union.
He had to wait for Theo and his wife, with whom he had teamed-up, so I went on, sure that we’ll meet again further down the way.
In the albergue I got to know Isaac from Australia and a swedish Pilgrim, whose name I can’t recall right now (I’m getting old).
The next morning I had to stall some time to wait for the supermercados to open, so I could buy some beers and potato-chips for my birthday-party. A girl from Germany had to do so, too – not because of the supermarkets but to wait for some friends, who slept a little bit longer in a private albergue and we agreed to play a game in the backyard… until we got thrown out during the first round.
On the way to Navarrete I caught up with Isaac and tried to help him sorting out his troubles about “why to walk the camino”.
He started to please his parents, or something like that and by now figured out, that this is one of the worst reasons.
I told him the reason why you started walking becomes very unimportant if you can find a better one to keep going.
When we arrived at Navarrete, we met Johann?, the swede, again. He had some trouble with the service or the servicios in the first bar, I forgot that, too. But what won’t ever forget was our discussion about “how to take a shit in nature”.
They both had been climbing on this huge pile of straw-bales at Torres del Rio and when they dismounted on of them stepped into a well hidden piece of shit. I just had to ask for a few details before I burst out in laughter. (I’m pretty sure everybody gets the point!?)
[if some austrians or swedes of you wonder, it’s the reason why I took the liberty to change some names or gladly forgot them]
I continued alone because I was pretty sure Sebastian would already be waiting for me at Najera and I didn’t want him to do so for too long. Nevertheless the swedish giant with his long legs caught up with me as soon as I left the village. And I can tell how lucky I was to have him with me on the final ascend on the hills before Najera. I wouldn’t have made it up there alone.
As soon as I started descending that hill, my phone began to ring – the sign that Sebastian arrived Najera city-center.
I hurried into town and found him in the park waving at ME not the very-good-looking Rebecca passing the bridge at the same time as I did.
We settled on the lawn across the bridge where we had a good look on every pilgrim passing by and commenced to celebrate my birthday by drinking beer and playing games.
After a while we had invited Erik, Theo and his wife, Johann and Marie-Claire? and three guys from Cologne whose names are really gone. That’s my kind of party.
When my beers went low Erik and Theo went to get some more and returned also with lots of cake, so in the end Sebastian and I were left with six bottles of Estrella Galicia and nearly the same amount of small spanish cakes – like a smaller version of the “feeding of the five-thousand”.
We teamed-up with the guys from cologne and camped on a small meadow out of town. Some shepperds and also the police passed by but nobody complained about our present.
The way to Granon was quiet and easy.
In the fields I found a granny-trolley packed to the top with trash and took it with me to clean up the camino a little bit and because I could imagine that it might become handy on my way.
At Cirinuela I met Peter, another outdoor-pilgrim, and a weird couple on bikes, who asked me for the way to the Golf-Club. IDIOTS – LOL
To Santo Domingo de la Calzada I took the road. It looked easier and I was eager to check the trolley’s high-speed skills.
At Granon I left my colognian companions sleeping and with some nuts I had picked earlier on the way. In the albergue I met Dave, a well trained colossus from Australia, Shep from the tribe of the british celts and the belgian disgrace of everybody riding a bike on the camino (forgot his name and don’t want to remember it at all).
As I recall Sebastian was already here, fast as he walks.
I managed to persuade one or two pilgrims to play some games with me into the sunset, while listening to Shep’s enchanting guitar-tunes, before we had the great communitary dinner followed by the nicest ceremony on the whole camino frances.
Hasta la proxima
tu amigo
Miguel