Before I left for the Camino I read that a woman in the sacristy at Le Puy walked from there to Santiago three times; Le Puy to Santiago is 1000 miles. The third time she walked it was after a serious hip operation at the age of 74. Alexandra David-Néel, whose photo I have on my camera for a quick pick-me-up when I’m flagging, walked at least 3000 miles into and through Tibet and the Himalayas over a number of years. The French government refused to renew her passport at the age of 87, or was it 94, because by then she was a National Treasure and they didn’t want her disappearing behind a snow drift somewhere beyond Zhongba. She died in 1969 aged 101, on my 13th birthday, as it happened.
Peace Pilgrim, between the ages of 59 to 86, clocked up 25,000 miles wearing out numberless pairs of plimsolls as she criss-crossed America. The young Slovenian angel yesterday had walked from Trinidad des Arres to Cirauqui in one go. Twenty five plus miles. Exhausted, she still took time to massage my knee ...
I walked as
far as Villatuerta, taking the advice of the two women hospitaleros who
were so kind yesterday and who said firmly do not walk more than 10
kilometres tomorrow. Villatuerta was about ten kilometres, not a
hilly walk and across the bridge I saw the sign for an albergue and as
the town was so pretty, the river so clear and gurgling as it wound its way
through glades, I stopped right there. As soon as I entered the huge door
of the unpromising exterior I was entranced: the renovation of this old warren
of rooms under many layered roof heights supported by massive round beams was a
delight to see. Cobbled courtyard, tiled stairs, whitewashed dormitories
with real beds not bunks, little individual alcoves - I chose one by a balcony
with French doors, the fragrance of the jasmine polyanthum tumbling down
the old wall outside filled the room.
La Casa
Magica was ... magic. I washed my 1000mile socks and yellow towel, adding
a touch of zest to the old warm walls behind the washing lines. Everyone
I met here was special: the Lovelies from Castlemaine in Victoria; Canadian
Lovelies; all manner of Lovelies. I named all the couples I had more than
passing conversations with ‘Lovelies’ as that’s what they were. Hullo
Lovelies! I would call when we were to meet along the Way – and guess what,
they all knew who I was calling which just proves that really lovely
people know they are just that – lovely! Better than names any day.
The owners
of la Casa Magica met while walking the Camino; later they created this haven
for pilgrims. Dinner and breakfast, all organic, prepared and cooked
lovingly, were beyond delicious. I overheard a young man at the other end
of the table say, nodding in my direction, that he wished he had a video so he
could show his wife he had met Judi Dench’s sister. Poor JD ... it’s been
said before, but walking the Camino is not doing my appearance any
favours.
Cherries in
abundance by the river and a glamorous wedding in the old church left warm
memories of a relaxing day and a reluctance to walk on ... but I woke refreshed
– no one in my dorm except a Frenchman in the other alcove. He didn’t
snore. And he thoroughly approved of my use of NOK in the morning, saying
also that a midday sprinkle of l’Occitane Roses des Quatre Reines talcum
powder on the feet was the perfect protection against blisters for longer
walks. One can always rely on a Frenchman to be so specific in his
preferences.
A beautiful
walk over small bridges took me through Estella, another town that appeared too
large to explore for an albergue. I passed the thousand steps up to the
church, my legs said firmly, No! at the thought of climbing them. I
walked on two blocks, happened to glance left and to my amazement saw a lift
shaft ascending straight to heaven with no apparent reason for its being there
at the end of an alley. An adventure, I thought, and veered off to
explore it. I pressed the button, opened the door, pressed the button for
the top floor and whoosh! I was on top of the world.
Stepping
out revealed a splendid panorama of the town with the mountains beyond – and a
long wooden walkway directing me into the back of the church. An
invitation. It just so happened Mass was on. Still wearing my mochila
I joined the queue and to my surprise the priest offering the Host said Body
of Christ in English.
I replied, as one does, and he hesitated. In a nanosecond I knew why: I am Catholic, I smiled, and he was comforted! Later he said, heavily, there are very few Catholics in England and I replied I know, I’m one of the few! I added: and could I possibly use your loo? He invited me into the Sacristy where I had a brainwave. ‘I’ve not been able to access my emails,’ I said, ‘and no one knows where I am, could I ask you an enormous favour? Please would you look up Our Lady of Glastonbury and send an email telling my parish that Zoé made it to Estella?’ Many weeks later I learned that he did.
I replied, as one does, and he hesitated. In a nanosecond I knew why: I am Catholic, I smiled, and he was comforted! Later he said, heavily, there are very few Catholics in England and I replied I know, I’m one of the few! I added: and could I possibly use your loo? He invited me into the Sacristy where I had a brainwave. ‘I’ve not been able to access my emails,’ I said, ‘and no one knows where I am, could I ask you an enormous favour? Please would you look up Our Lady of Glastonbury and send an email telling my parish that Zoé made it to Estella?’ Many weeks later I learned that he did.
On I walked
through light forests, pausing at the Monasterio de Irache for the obligatory
wine from the fountain. I topped up my water bottle with it, a wise move;
it gave me wings to ascend the next vertical mountain to Villamayor de
Montjardin.
That
vertical did it for me. I sank into a heap at the hospitalero's
table and asked for a bed in this attractive restored Dutch albergue.
Well, he didn't think there were any left, but to wait a moment as he
disappeared. Quite a while later he returned to say a young person had
given up the last bed and would sleep on a mattress in the foyer... and it
really was a bed, not a bunk, with gay red sheets and pillowcase. I gave
profuse thanks to all and later watched with compassion as so many other tired peregrinos
were being turned away.
Again, a super albergue with good food, lots of grace, a touch evangelical, but that was their charism. A ditzy Australian wearing 4 inch high heeled boots shared my room. Her rucksack weighed 20 kgs, she thought, and she carried the entire range of Lancôme serums and creams, make up and perfume! Time, I thought, to break out my eyeliner ... but, oh bummer! I couldn't find it. The last time I used it was in Bilbao the day before I became a peregrina ... ah well, it'll have to go on my must buy list for Burgos.
Again, a super albergue with good food, lots of grace, a touch evangelical, but that was their charism. A ditzy Australian wearing 4 inch high heeled boots shared my room. Her rucksack weighed 20 kgs, she thought, and she carried the entire range of Lancôme serums and creams, make up and perfume! Time, I thought, to break out my eyeliner ... but, oh bummer! I couldn't find it. The last time I used it was in Bilbao the day before I became a peregrina ... ah well, it'll have to go on my must buy list for Burgos.
to be
continued...
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