Day by Day: The Camino Aragones

Preface
This walk was overshadowed by the death of my brother in law, Marcio in Brasil and I nearly abandoned the walk in favour of going to the Funeral in Brasilia. After a long deliberation at home I decided at the last minute that I would go on the Camino with my friend Alan as planned but that it would be dedicated to my sister, Connie. and her late husband.

Day 1 Belfast to Oleron

4.30am start from Belfast - it was cold hanging around for the bus in the city centre bus station in Belfast - I met a young woman from Derry that we were chatting to. The airport was busy, we had some breakfast & onto the plane, another siesta and woke to see the sparkling Atlantic underneath the wing. 

Then things got complicated in a Camino sort of way- we missed a bus then took the wrong bus to Bayonne but figured we’d get a train from there, but it detoured via Dax where we had an hour wait then onto another train for Pau! Once there the local trains for Oloron-Ste-Marie were suspended and we figured out there was a replacement bus, another hour’s wait! The bus gave some tantalising glimpses of the Pyrenees , impossibly high peaks straining for the sky. 
Arriving in, we had a 25 min walk to our motel and ordered a pizza delivery as there was nothing else available to us. What a day, perfect start for adjusting to a new rhythm and having to adjust plans. 

Day 2 Oloron-Ste-Marie to Calfranc
A 6am start saw us walking into town to get the early bus to Somport Pass in the Pyrenees, though we did manage a lovely café au lait in a quirky French cafe. The drive into the mountains was mesmerising as we crawled up snaking roads dominated by impossibly high peaks. The sign for Spain marked the village of Somport with a handful of buildings and fortunately a cafe which stamped our pilgrim passports marking the beginning of the Camino Aragones route. We paused at a shrine to Our Lady to say a prayer and we were walking in alpine meadows and stunning vistas. 
Conscious of previous falls. I concentrated on my steps, just walking, staying upright and going slowly to start. Everything was downhill and the trail was mercifully shaded from the sun by the crags. By 11am we had reached Canfranc rail station, abandoned but eerily frozen in time. Some raciones in a local bar and a glass of iced lemonade was heaven. Uncharacteristically wise and mindful of overdoing it we got a room in Calfranc and called it a day. Great start, lovely place, good to be alive, trying to do the Camino in a much more unhurried, bloodless way!;-)
Evening: I am thinking of those suffering tonight, trapped in prisons within or without. 

Day 3- Jaca to Arres (25km)

The joys and sorrows of Camino life: up at dawn to walk as far as we can before the sun gets up, the stillness and half light of dawn is stirring. On and on through trails, paths and road verges, alone but not lonely. Hearing the sounds of the country coming alive, birds singing and the butterflies! Lunch was in a little village with a bar where the smelly hikers had to sit outside. We met other Camino walkers for the first time. 
We had to walk over the side of a mountain in the heat, no crack, to arrive at a little hilltop village with a charming hostel. The hospitaleros were Jesús and Martha, and gave us a great welcome as well as preparing an evening meal for the whole community of hikers. Fortunately we were able to celebrate mass for them and give them the pilgrim blessing. On leaving, Jesús have us the classic Irish blessing in Spanish.  

Day 4 Arres to Ruesta (29 km)

Between the heat and the noises of other pilgrims it was hard to sleep. 6am came too soon and bleary eyes pilgrims stuffed their gear into backpacks. Jesús, the manager, was bright and upbeat as ever as we munched on bread and cake, washed down with coffee. We had ‘May the Road Rise to Meet You’ as our blessing outside in the morning half light. The group of 7 of us on the Camino split up at once as different paces and priorities were evident - one Italian, Vicenzo, with bad knees was pulling his bag on a trailer and had to take the main road. 
The morning sun flared behind the Pyrenees, a reminder of the heat that would soon overtake us. It was a day of fields of wheat and barley, shorn stubble and big bales stranded on the soil. The path followed farm tracks and an old road into a broad valley that eventually glittered blue-green, a reservoir that looked out of place in such aridity. Skirting the lake we were mercifully in an oak forest shade that stretched on for miles until the impressive castle of Ruesta and varied ruins (dating back to 10th century) reared it’s head. I was never so happy as to see the hostel emerge from the ruins, get fed, showered and watered- simple stuff!

Day 5 Ruesta to Sangüesa (21 km)
One of the Camino tricks I’ve learned is to pack everything the night before as first thing in the morning the brain ‘fog’ is strong and it takes forever to do simple things, losing precious time. Out on the trail we had a killer of an ascent for the first 4km, though thanks God it was mostly in shade. In my desire to get it over with early I overtook everyone and showed a clean pair of heels (we’re made of tough stuff in Fermanagh!;-)). 
Then we were up on a ridge walking through fields and hedges, views all around of the Yesa reservoir and a massive ridge along the Navarre-Aragón border. 

Our mid morning break was in a hilltop town (I really wish they didn’t build them on such high spots), Undués de Lerda, where cafe con leche and neapolitano was the order of the day. 
On the last stretch into Sangüesa, our destination, I fell in with an Italian guy and we had a serious chat about every single thing! The real blessing is that talking takes your mind off your feet and the heat. Lots of wheat, tractors and bales, but what really stood out was the shepherd and his sheep - he told me he was from Ecuador.

Day 6 Sangüesa to Monreal (27 km)

This was a long day and dictated by the heat which got up to 30 C around noon. The sensation was one of being cooked, trying to stay hydrated and seeking out shade whenever it arose. Fortunately the last two km was through a leafy forest that saved our bacon. 
The morning was strikingly beautiful, a path through dewy grasses and sunken hedgerows, that peculiar morning light that promises so much. We had over 10km done before the rest of the group caught up with us, concrete lanes and livestock dominated the landscape. 

There was to be no early morning coffee stop this day as the first town was at the 17km mark. As I was walking up to this village, Izco, the church bell began to ring - a real bell- it chimed out around the fields and houses,  bringing me back to the Angelus bell of my youth and the hope that I remember from Taize. Our little group reformed at the local bar at 10.30am and the good natured ribbing was testament to our closeness. 
The hardest 10 km was yet to come however, exposed farm tracks with no wind and just the baking sun. We had to dig deep and fell in with each other for solidarity, some chat or just a physical presence enough to lessen the road. Monreal was a welcome sight and the Albergue was refuge of cool, showers and rest. 

Having burnt up a lot of my reserves the day before overtaking people, I really had nothing left in the tank. Around 10am I commented to my friend as he passed me that I was out of energy and would follow on as best I could. Not that I had many options, either lie down and give up or struggle on for the 10+ kilometres that were left.  I found a low gear within me, one that I hadn’t used for a while, that could carry me in the troughs of energy, that wasn’t pretty but it worked, that would bring me home eventually. I struggled in that day completely spent, exhausted but also surprised what I had within me how far I could go on empty. I gave it everything I had, held nothing back, was completely committed to making it and it stays with me, that day of the low, digging deep, finding some hidden reserve and making it through- what a blessing of a memory! What day do you think I remember most - this day where I had to give everything...

Day 7 Monreal to Puente la Reina (32 km)

This was to be our last day walking so there was a certain nostalgia and appreciation about it. Leaving the hostel at 6.30am the first section hugged the foothills so we were afforded great views of the Elorz river valley and endless acres of cereal. The tiny path eventually became a track and we passed through many villages with no open cafes of bars. Breakfast seemed a long time ago!

I fell in with Diego, a Spanish guy, and we had a great chat in English as he had studied in london. It took our mind off the increasing heat and the endless search for food. Eventually we came across a  vending machine in a village that provided some much needed calories. Any notion of a healthy diet was long gone out the window (can I recommend the Camino as a weight loss programme; eat whatever and burn it off!). We were wolfing down the chocolate croissants and power bars, washed down with bad coffee- it felt great!


It was after 12 noon and we still had 5 km of this, our longest walk. The temperature was upwards of 30 C. Fortunately we had a respite from the heat in the chuch Santa Maria de Eunate, the epic Camino church that is Romanic design and octagonal in shape- a thing of beauty. The last 4 km was gritting your teeth, grinding out the kilometres and hanging out for the hotel. Our dismay at finding out it was on top of a hill outside town was tempered by the fact that it had a swimming pool. We had joined the main French Camino route at this point and the place was awash with pilgrims from all over. It meant the end for our little group also as some went home or continued on from here. 

Day 8 waiting for the bus; Puente la Reina (end of Camino Aragones)

Woke up to an empty hostel today and this sunrise; 7am and the pilgrims had already left for the hills. I could understand that. There was the emptiness of being left behind, of not being on the trail, of going back to everyday life. Who would miss the blood, sweat and tears of slogging it out on the Camino? Who would miss giving it your all, just about getting there, the tremendous camaraderie, living simply on a wing and a prayer, the dust and the dirt of things? All I am left with is heat rash, multiple mosquito bites, sore muscles... but these wonderful memories and these images imprinted in my brain of sunrise meadows, simple bridges, real smiles, flowing water, dusty tracks and sweated prayers. 

The overwhelming sense is one of gratitude for these days, this time out of time, this retreat and renovation, drinking from the well of life, some small participation in the great pilgrimage. 
This was written on feast day of St Ignatius Loyola, 31 July  (the original pilgrim)!

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