Rudy and Nelvis arrived earlier through Paris. The rest of us arrived from Frankfurt at around 6 pm. It took us more than 45 minutes to get on an Uber. Everyone was looking forward to the beginning of the vacation. We were pleasantly surprised to have a 2 star hotel right on the corner of the Capitole Place.
Dinner was at the plaza. The regional specialties include canard (duck) and foie gras. Most of us tried the local delicacy. Wine flowed throughout dinner.
Lucho

0911. Day 3. Toulouse, France. 81° F.

Rue du Taur, Toulouse.

Rue Lafayette, Toulouse.

Carousel, Place Wilson, Toulouse

The second day, we had a full day in Toulouse. The team wandered around aimlessly and some ended spending one hour getting their mobile phones fitted to perform unnecessary calls in France. The rest went to a nice market where you could find a great selection of cheeses, meats and other things you find in markets.
For lunch, everyone had been aiming to try the world renowned Casoulette Toulousien. As is well known by those that know this group, Nelvis had already researched all the restaurants in the Pyrinees Atlantiques and had selected Chez Emile for our expedition into cuisine Toulousien. Tres magnifique! We spent the afternoon trying to recover from what Lucho called feijoada Toulousien by walking around every alley in the old city.
Lucho

Cassoulet Toulousian at Chez Emile ***

Place Roger Salengro

Armagnac

Le penseur?

Color matching.

UEFA

0912. Day 4. Toulouse to Navarrenx. 78° F.

Abbey Road has nothing on this one.

We had a great morning in Toulouse; we went to the market in search of goodies to make the passage train to Orthez more tolerable. The market was wonderful, full of cheeses and cooked meat that were perfect for the occasion. We packed, checked out of our two star Hotel du Taur, called two taxis and arrived at the Matabiau train station with plenty of time to spare. The train arrived on time and boarded with ease. No time was wasted to uncork our first bottle of rose wine, one that has gained popularity with our group.
Manuel

Even though the general perception was that spending an hour fitting our mobiles was a waste of time, my phone became essential later on.
Cecilia

At Matabiau station in Toulouse on our way to Orthez.

On the train to Orthez and beyond.

Picnic sur le train.

At Matabiau station in Toulouse on our way to Orthez.

Orthez train station.

Before our train trip from Toulouse to Orthez, where we would take a taxi to Navarrenx, we all went to buy supplies for a somewhat humble lunch. We only picked up 17 types of cheeses, a variety of hams and sausages, different types of bread, the local delicacy gateau basque and of course some liquid to imbibe. By now the tribe had been sold on the quality of vine rose. Those more traditional had vino rouge.
We went to the train station about three hours ahead of departure to make sure that we got good seats (second class fares). Some team members like to hurry up and wait. All the waiting paid off! We got a private room for the eight of us. It was tight and cozy.
Three and one half hours later, we were at Orthez expecting to get a cab at the train station to go the 14 miles to Navarrenx. Little did we know that taxi drivers take the afternoon off. With the help of the train station attendant, Cecilia called a taxi company who told her they would pick us up at 19:30. Cecilia translated 19:30 into 5:30 pm, so the group decided to kill a little time by walking around Orthez. When we came back close to 5:30, no one showed up. After several calls to many, a van with sufficient room for exactly 8 people showed up.
Lucho

This is when my mobile came in handy. The train station attendant was nice enough to dial the taxi driver but handed it to me to talk. That is when I realized that there was confusion with the time agreed upon. After begging him to come earlier, he agreed to 6:30, one more hour to kill at the lovely Orthez train station, while a big storm with roaring thunder and pouring rain entertained us. The taxi driver did not know where Domaine Lespoune was, so he called the owners on my phone for directions, actually this little hotel was not in Navarrenx proper but at Castetnau-Camblong.
Cecilia

Too much fun.

At our arrival at Orthez, we found that our transport to Navarrenx would arrive an hour later, giving us some time to walk into town to get coffee.
When we returned to the train station, we were met with the sad news that the promised transport, was not arriving as scheduled, according to us, but that it would arrive two hours later, due to our error in interpreting European time standards. A member of our group, that will remain unnamed, thought 19:30 hours meant 5:30 p.m. as apposed to 7:30 p.m. This meant an added experience at the train station at Orthez, coupled with torrential rains, hail and lighting. Lack of spirits made the wait a bit more unpleasant.
Manuel

Navarrenx

0912. Domaine Lespoune.

In 20 minutes we were at Domaine Lespoune. Wonderful B&B! The rooms were very spacious. The hosts were very nice. After an aperitif with other guests that included a couple of French Canadians, Pancho and Blanca, and two other French visitors, we had dinner. Dinner consisted of a tomato salad. There were close to 10 kinds of tomatoes, red, green, orange, purple, yellow, large, small. The second course was a wonderful veal picadillo with a lot of different ingredients, some appetizing and some not as much. dessert was a wonderful grape tart.
Lucho

Domaine Lespoune.

Veal Stew.

After our long interlude at the Orthez train station, we arrived (2 hours late) at the lovely welcoming of Ives and Nicole, owners of the quaint and expansive Domaine Lespoune in the outskirts of Navarrenx, France. The old country house reminded me of visiting my grandfather’s home back in the old country. Ample three storied, solidly built structure was much more of a pleasant surprise inside. The entry hall is simple and humble, the stair case and the bedrooms are so well appointed that I was not sure to envy everyone else’s room, or to think that I got the best room in the house.
Aperitifs were scheduled upon twenty minutes after our much delayed arrival. The call to merriment made us be prompt.
As we entered the living/dining area, we found Pancho and Blanca, two French Canadian persons we had just met at our arrival. We all sat around the living area for an aperitif before our dinner. After meeting all the evening guests, we were summoned to the dinner table. As we chose our seats, Ives brought a large round serving tray with what appeared an array of colorful flowers, reds, greens, purples, yellows and browns, at our dismay, these were varieties of tomatoes grown in their garden, alas, a tomato salad. A boat with the most exquisite vinaigrette that I have tasted in a long time, accompanied appropriately the salad.
Red and white wines were offered with the meal. After the salad, a large covered terrine was unveiled to purvey a homey veal stew, accompanied with what appeared to be sausages, but ended up being boiled potatoes with a variety of colored skins.
Dessert was a grape tart.
After our long day in Toulouse, we retired early to bed, knowing full well that the following day would be twice as challenging, since it would be our first walk, and also a long one, 25 kms. (18 miles) from Navarrenx to Saint Palais.
Manuel

Tomatoes salad. ****

The soon to be pilgrims.

Grape Tart.

0913. Day 5. Navarrenx to Saint Palais. 72° F. 5h 5min. 25 kms.

The day started well, after a restorative sleep in the quite and ample rooms provided at the Domaine Lespoune’s country guesthouse. As we had breakfast we discussed the last details about the daily pack contents and the arrangement with the luggage service to carry our luggage from the guest house to the hotel we were attempting to reach that day in Saint Palais.

Saddled up and ready for our first steps.

Early morning fog.

Hours later.

The morning was glorious, as we started our walk; the cool and crisp morning air accentuated by the lovely countryside and the smell of morning dew was almost intoxicating.
As we made our way through the country lanes, we felt invigorated and confident of our sure step that would carry us to that day’s destination.
As we climbed the weather remained cool and crisp, but our bodies were heating up from the exertion. The terrain was pure light colored rock resembling shale rock that run from side to side. It was not particularly difficult to traverse, but very, very long and steep.
As you may know by now, our group’s mean age is 62 years old. Some of us are in better condition for this type of endeavor than others. Physical complaints abound from time to time, even though acknowledgement of such is at best shared in the outmost secrecy, and at worst dismissed as trivial and easily overcome. Head to toe afflictions may plague pilgrims on their journey. Pre-conditions to note in our group were knee, back and migraine trouble.
The day before, while in Toulouse, we had made plans to have a light snack on our first trek, so we carried with us the provisions needed for such a task. I barely remember that resting moment, what I do remember, is that the walk was longer than I had envisioned, some on lovely trails, some on the shoulder of intercity roads.
On the way we met several fellow pilgrims, one of note was a fortyish man called Jose Manuel from a small town two hours east of Santander, Spain. He had started his walk at Puy, southern France, and was on his way home. Since our group was made up of Hispanic Americans, it seemed to me that he found conversing with us easier than speaking a foreign language.
He engaged almost every member of our troop on this, one of the longest treks we had.
As the hours passed, the miles under our feet, the midday heat, humidity and overall attrition, arrival at our destination became more challenging.

Lunch break.

On the long road again.

Very long day.

The nature with groups is that they tend to coalesces and separate depending on how individuals relate to each other. Leaders, followers and loners tend to make themselves noticed. Also mini groups form many alliances that supposedly engender confidences.
Cecilia, Eric, Silvia, Jose Manuel and myself were spearheading the trek as we reached a Camino sign from the main road we were on, and while distracted and with the absence of our pilot, took the small lane towards our destination. Two kilometers into that direction, doubts of the accuracy of our decision became apparent, our group was nowhere to be seen, and as we recalled, the last portion of that day was to be on the shoulder of the Route National D933. As doubt increased we decided to knock on someone’s door to assess our position.
Jose Manuel volunteered himself for the task. He knocked on the door of one of three houses around us. I had noticed that people had alighted from a car parked on the driveway, not seconds before. He knocked several times without response. Some people say that the French are very French, or maybe just distrustful.
Jose Manuel crossed the street to try a second house. He knocked twice, the door opened; a conversation that we could not hear ensued with a middle aged man with graying hair. Moments later, Jose Manuel and the man came down to talk to us. His name was Jean, he confirmed that we were indeed on the Camino, but that to reach our destination by it, we would have to traverse an additional 20 kms., something we remembered we did not intend on doing according to our recollections of instructions received from the pilot during that morning’s briefing.

A wider view.

It came clear to us that distraction; arrogance and the absence of the pilot had caused us a 4 kms. additional walk and that a correction was de rigor. Jean spoke in a fairly good Spanish and said, I can drive the 2 women to either the main road or to Saint Palais if they preferred. I was taken aback with his kind offer. We of course thanked him, and refused his offer. He insisted, saying that the balance of the walk to Saint Palais would still take another two to three hours.
Our exhausted faces must have prompted his most generous offer. We conferred, and encouraged both girls to accept it and avoid the pain of walking more. Cecilia accepted the ride to Saint Palais.
Silvia, showing her tenacious character stood fast with her man and declared that she would stay the course. This provided an opportunity for someone to take her place, the natural choice was I, and I have to admit was delighted.
We farewell our fellow travelers and walk to the house with Jean. He kindly invited us in, we refused on account of our muddy shoes and personal perfume acquired during the day.
He opened his lovely vehicle for us; Cecilia sat on the passenger seat, while I shared the back seat with one of Jean’s lovely daughters.
As we rode, I thought of his kindness, and was amazed by the extent of it, if I was a religious man, I would have thought that there is a God.
That first day of walking aided me in formulating my opinion of the possible reasons anyone may have to do something like this.
Cecilia and myself checked in at the Hotel Du Midi and moved quickly to our room for a well deserved shower and a bit of rest before the rest of the team arrival. About two and a half hours later the rest of our pilgrim team arrived. Later that afternoon we called a cab to take four of us to the famed St. Jean Pied de Port, only twenty minutes away. The lovely cobblestone walled town greeted with plenty of curiosities, souvenirs and a place to relax and have a snack and a drink before returning to our hotel.
Manuel

Saint Palais

Contemplations on the Camino.

During one of the earliest arduous sections of a day’s walk, I thought that it was mere madness for me to have accepted this invitation to join my friends on this journey. I wondered what kind of person would be inclined to do this. Contemplating my exertion, I pondered as to the original nature of the sojourn, it is called a pilgrimage. Pilgrimage…. According to my understanding, it is a journey made by the pious as penance or atonement for their sins, something similar to taking a vacation to purgatory. Why would any sane person choose to do this? Besides the obvious religious reasons, but why me, I believe there is no God? My reasons are more social, these are my crazy friends on a quest for something, and in the spirit of camaraderie, I am accompany them.
On further thought, something that entertained me on my moments of quiet reflection during the periods that I chose to walk alone, that aside from reasons to do the Camino, many other pre-requisites might apply. Excluding the desire for atonement and pious self punishment, other things come to mind.

Time.

The Camino walker, whether doing a portion, no matter how short, has to have the means and the time to travel on one of the slowest means of transportation, mere walking. In the time when no one has time to enjoy the journey, wanting to arrive and squeeze every bit from a destination location, who has time to slow down an smell the roses.

Means

About the means, it appears that devoting time to such arcane way of travel, may require some wealth independence. I know that when I was younger, I would have preferred to spend my time and money on fast paced and more self indulgent activities. As I learned by meeting a man an his dog walking the Camino for last for four years, is that means are what you make them. I heard some one retell a saying that, you carry with you the sum of you fears. If you mind getting rained on, carry an umbrella. Philippe, the man with his dog told me that he worked for food and lodging, as well as living of the generosity of others.
In my case, having means to purchase the pricey equipment suggested or needed, according to some, the contracting of luggage porting from hotel to hotel, and the inevitable decompressing vacation location after the Camino, meant that a family in the third world could have met their food needs for six months with what my wife and I spent.

Physique

Physique.

Even though that I had been told, and witnessed myself, age and physical preparedness does not seen, I say seen, a mayor requirement for this enterprise. A fellow traveler, had been encouraged, if not inspired by a handicapped member of his wife’s family that completed the Camino on a type of wheel chair. We saw many walkers of our age and even at least up to two decades older, or so they seemed. We had been training with walks of between seven and twelve miles, one day a week. We walked ten continuous days, with one day between the fourth and fifth day. Some were long, most were arduous walks.

What?

Je ne sais qua.

That thing that makes us do what we do. Call it drive, inspiration, devotion, competitiveness, narcissism, or call it madness, fill in yours. You should decide which would or is yours. For me it was an event, a party, albeit not a conventional one, that I like to attend to enjoy being with others. I have to say that I have been to some crazy parties, suffice to say, none crazier than this one. Going to an event or a party meant, selecting the right attire, check, making sure to be groomed appropriately, check, getting there, check, and enjoying myself, ehhh!
This meant months of training, way too many new clothes and equipment, crossing the Atlantic to get there, and then having almost a forced march for ten days, you tell me, it is utter madness.
Manuel

0914. Day 6. Saint Palais to Larceveau. 3h 15min. 15 kms. 67° F.

After a well deserved sleep and a breakfast at the restaurant of the Hotel Du Midi, we checked out of the hotel, placed our backpacks and on our way to Larceveau we where. This day, we knew it was not going to be as hard as the previous one. With this in mind, I felt relieved and encouraged to fulfill my day’s commitment.

Great morning.

Countryside.

Getting up higher.

Today’s goal was to reach the Hotel Espellet in Larceveau. As we made our way from the urban environment we enjoyed the quite brisk morning air and the countryside was gorgeous. I was hoping that this second day would be much better than the warm and humid previous one.
As we made our way through the country lanes, we felt invigorated and confident of our sure step that would carry us to that day’s destination.

The gang taking a well deserved rest.

Making our way to new heights.

A hard climb.

The walk was quite lovely, the weather was cool and I for one was hoping that it would remain that way. You know when things are going too well, something is going to ruin it, well an hour into our walk in the park, a sign of el camino, pointed upward onto a long and step rocky road. The pilot confirmed our greatest fears. Without much hesitation, the most committed members jumped to the challenge. This seemingly interminable rocky road that reached for the sky, felt more like a loop around one of Dante’s circles of hell.
As we climbed the weather remained cool and crisp, but our bodies were heating up from the exertion. The terrain was a light colored rock resembling shale rock that run from side to side. It was not particularly difficult to traverse, but very, very long and steep.

Country roads.

Accomplishment.

Touching the skies.

As you may know by now, our group’s mean age is 62 years old. Some of us are in better condition for this type of endeavor than others. Physical complaints abound from time to time, even though acknowledgement of such is at best shared in the outmost secrecy, and at worst dismissed as trivial and easily overcome. Head to toe afflictions may plague pilgrims on their journey. Pre-conditions to note in our group were knee, back and migraine trouble.
Atop the hill were encountered a spectacular view of the surrounding valley, our great effort was fully redeemed. The spot was devoid of pilgrims, with the exception of a middle aged man and a dog seated almost as part of the pastoral scene. This made me think that since we had seen sheep, that perhaps he was a shepherd accompanied by his shepherd dog, his looks and attire steered my analytic mind towards that conjecture.
We all dropped our packs to rest and to enjoy the moment. Eric, being Eric, could not restrain himself from striking some sort of conversation with the shepherd. After a while I joined in. Eric was speaking in tongues, he spoke Spanglish, as I heard the shepherd speak, he also spoke in Spanish and French. Feeling that I could also engage, I spoke in the bit of French that I have at my command. The shepherd, was not a shepherd, I found out. Eric retold to me what Philippe had told him. Philippe, had been walking for the last four years. He had left his wife and children after his son had become deathly ill, and had barely survived. He lived like a true pilgrim by accepting the generosity of others and working for food and lodging as needed.

Chapel

Philippe and his dog.

Nourishment.

Open skies.

The way down and the rest of the walk that day was uneventful in comparison with the hill experience. We made it to the hotel by mid afternoon. Some of us decided to call a cab to take us to St. Jean Pied de Port, the official point of departure for the Pyrenees crossing.

Wine love.

Cool weather.

Happy pilgrims.

We called for local transport, the cab showed up, a young lady driver with a very well appointed Volkswagen Passat picked us up. The cost for the 20 minute ride each way cost us 30 euros each way. We walked the lovely town and sat for a drink at a local bar. I thought that it was a worthwhile expenditure of time and money.
Manuel

On the bridge.

Larceveau

0915. Day 7. Larceveau to Hunto. 4h 35min. 20 kms. 70° F.

Hotel Espellet

After a light breakfast at the Hotel Espellet, we got on the road to Hunto via St. Jean Pied de Port. The countryside and weather was similar to the previous day, cool weather and moderate hills awaited us.
As we reached the walled city of St. Jean Pied de Port, we knew that the awaited Pyrenees crossing was close at hand. We entered and briefly visited it, since everyone in our group had been there before. We purchased some snacks for the next day’s major walk.

Vineyard on a hill.

On the road again.

Cappuccino sheep?

Walking out of St. Jean, you start noticing that the terrain becomes increasingly steeper. The weather also started changing, it became cooler and windier, this was pleasant for me, since the exertion of the climb generated body heat that the cool wind refreshed. The climb was long and arduous, not necessarily long in distance but nevertheless tiresome. We saw few pilgrims on the road.

Wardrobe malfunction?

Real lunch time.

Love in unexpected places.

Hours later we reached the Ferme Ithurburia, our last lodging spot before walking into Spain. The lodging looked humble from the outside, entering we found the front desk, immediately after the entrance door, a long table to the right in an all purpose large room. We engaged the service person across us on the front desk, a sixtyish lady that only spoke to us in French. We first enquired about the delivery of our luggage, since two days before they were delivered to the wrong location. The front desk lady told us that no delivery had been done that day, and that her lodging did not use the services of the luggage transport that we had engaged. I understood that she did not put too much faith in our choice of luggage transport service.

Nice sign.

Cloudy skies.

Field of dreams.

I bought a bottle of cider, it was a bit sweet but refreshing, Rudy bought another and while we waited for our luggage we enjoyed the sunset on the balcony.

Dinner at Ferme Ithurburia

Balcony view.

Sunset.

Hours later we found out that our bags had indeed been delivered, not to the front desk, but to an adjacent part of the lodging across the street. To this day, I cannot understand why the front desk lady did not told us to look across the street. Maybe she forgot that this portion of the lodging did not belong to the entire complex, or maybe she was having a bad day, and that we were going to incur her wrath.
After rescuing our bags, we proceeded to showering and preparing for dinner. At dinner time we sat together at the end of a long table accommodating all lodgers, about thirty people. The food was unremarkable.
I felt compelled to use my critic skills with Trip Advisor and have given the Ferme Ithurburia a review that can be read here: Ferme Ithurburia. Bottom line, stay here if you don’t mind unpleasant and discourteous service.

0916. Day 8. Hunto to Roncesvalles. 7h 3min. 26 kms. 64° F. Wind velocity: up to 60 miles per hour.

The important day had finally arrived. We had spent our last night in France and were poised to make the crossing of the Pyrenees on the French route towards Santiago de Compostela. After a light breakfast, settling our hotel bill and arranging for the pick up of our luggage to be carried to Roncesvalles, we were poised outside to gather our forces.
The pilot and his wife wanted to get a jump on the weather leaving one half hour earlier. Our first goal was to reach Orisson, a small refuge just before the barren mountains.

Ferme Ithurburia

Getting windy.

Stronger wnd.

At our arrival at Orisson, we noticed about a dozen of pilgrims prepared to make the crossing. Eric told me later that he met a pilgrim from Turkey that was actually walking back home from Santiago to Turkey. What a spirit. Although, if I had heard that story a year or two earlier, I would have gladly contributed to fund his mental institution’s expenses.

Orisson Refuge

I unburdened myself of my pack and remained outside smoking a cigarette. Across the picnic type table where I sat was an Asian young man. I said, where are you from? He said Korea, and that was the end of that. Moments later he packed up and continued walking towards the mountains. When we packed up, I noticed that a white box was under the area where the Korean man had been, I reached and picked it up, it was a battery charger for any USB electronics. I placed in a pocket of my backpack, hoping that I would find it’s owner somewhere on the route, I didn’t.

Braving the elements.

Some of the more engaging and talkative members of the team spoke to several pilgrims, later some of the conversations became known to me. Two were of note. One person had an accident further up and had returned to the refuge and requested a transport back to St. Jean Pied de Port. The other, was that some pilgrims had tried to make the crossing the day before and were attempting it again, even though the weather forecast for that day predicted even stronger winds than the day earlier, making these particular pilgrims remain on the French side another day. This bit of information was not disseminated among our team, or I was not informed. If I had been aware of the conditions that we were going to encounter, I would have been able to make a better informed decision to cross or not. I guess ignorance is bliss.

So windy, bikers couldn't ride.

The eye of the photographer.

Against all odds.

On our way we were. As we climbed, the winds increased, bringing down the temperature to a chill. Knowing myself, I was wearing a short sleeve moisture wicking tee shirt, long pants, a long sleeve tee shirt, and a white bandana around my neck. In my pack, just for safety, a thin hooded fleece jacket, thin fleece gloves, a hat and a hooded rain jacket. Not even a half an hour went by before we all had to dig into our packs for as much cover as we could muster. The weather was getting nasty. On the other hand we were somewhat encouraged, since there seem to be other pilgrims (fools) on the climb. An hour and a half, or so, into the trek, three motorcycles went passed us. I thought, that the trail was going to get rough for such street type vehicles. Not much later two of them passed on the way down, an hour later we found the third, two guys were walking down their bike, since the wind was so strong that they could not ride it.

Expansive view.

The wind was cutting across the Pyrenees and we where in the middle of it. There were moments when not even standing assured one of stability, getting low to the ground was the only means of not being blown away. Walking became even more difficult because the winds faced us most of the time; this compounded our effort to make the long climb. At times, as we raised one leg to make a stride the wind would unbalance one with a possibility of falling. Fortunately I was not very cold, the effort generated enough body heat.

Rainbow on the Pyrenees.

Hubris.

Local flora.

We decided to stop for nourishment and found a small quarry creating a dune shaped refuge from the wind. Took out our refreshments and proceeded to consume them quickly. Other pilgrims join us in our wind shelter. Two young men seemingly walking solo sat separately and watched us eat. I remembered the bit about the “charity of others” and decided to share my meager ration with them, my fellow team members followed.

Success.

We packed and went out into the elements again for a couple more hours of ascent. When we reached the top, relief was at hand, now we could descend, two options presented themselves. By now Cecilia and I had left the other team members behind, so we had to choose wisely, without the benefit of previous experience had by our team, they had reached this fork on the road before. There was another couple pondering what to do. If I recall well, one sign read, Roncesvalles, long and easy way, 4.5 kms. The other read, Roncesvalles, short and dangerous way, 1.5 kms. The former looked to be a paved open road that descended along the hills at a reasonable grade. The latter, looked almost like going down into some animal’s den. It was steep forest on a hill, enclosed by trees with their roots exposed making it more treacherous for our descent. I thought it appeared that the forest could threaten us by coming alive while the roots would ensnare us and drag us under, never to be seen again. Thanks Hollywood.

A welcome oasis after a long an terrifying crossing.

After some consideration, we decided on the short and hard way. This fits my way of life; I like the concept that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. The woman at the sign warned us not to go down that way. We thanked her, but chose to do it anyway. As we made our descent, our bodies pushed us down; we had to use our legs to slow us down. Cecilia had her poles in hand and seemed to help her. Our steps needed to be placed carefully not to trip or twist our ankles due to the irregularity of the terrain. It reminded me of when I was a child and was walking on a tiled floor trying to avoid stepping on the edges. Forty five minutes later we found a couple walking holding hands. This seemed so out of place that both Cecilia and I commented on it. As the terrain became less steep, it started to rain, took out our ponchos and continued walking. Very soon after the rain we saw edifices, it was Roncesvalles, finally. We had survived the Pyrenees.
Found our way to the Casa de Beneficiados*****, Roncesvalles, Navarra, Spain and loved it. The pilot and his wife were seated by the entrance, after a brief greeting, they divulged that our luggage service had not delivered on their commitment, and that they had been on the phone tracking their whereabouts.

Roncesvalles

I chose to make the best of the moment and went to drop my pack in my room, followed by a drink at the bar. I chose to try the local apple cider, I had two servings. I heard from the bar the voices of the rest of the team arriving together. Went to meet them and to the news that our luggage had been delivered to the wrong place again. The luggage was a block away at the Posada de Roncesvalles. Cecilia and I went to get our bags. Showered and with clean clothes went down to the bar, exchanged horror stories, had one of the best diners of the trip and went to bed.

The Pyrenees

The views, even though not much enjoyed due to the inclement weather are breathtaking and must be gorgeous with ideal conditions.
Manuel

0917. Day 9. Roncesvalles to Castro Urdiales. 68° F.

Hosteria Villa de Castro

This portion of the trip was done by travelling on a van, a day off from walking. We were picked up by Transport Claudine. Maya, our friendly driver gave us an education on the Basque culture that made our 3 hour trip very enjoyable. At our arrival al Castro Urdiales, we located our hotel, Hosteria Villa de Castro, a well located and comfortable small hotel. After a quick check in, we went out to get lunch by the Cantabrian Sea.
On our way to the port we located a small non descript shop were local spirits were sold. Later we revisited it and purchased Orujo, an herb digestive made locally.

A day on the road with wheels.

La iglesia de Santa María de la Asunción. Castro Urdiales.

The port at Castro Urdiales.

What a view!

After lunch we walked the small old part of the town and returned to the hotel to rest a bit before leaving again for dinner. As most people know choosing one restaurant between eight people may be a challenge to say the least. After much deliberation, one was chosen. We occupied most of the dining room, and we were the only ones at 8 p.m. Choosing what to eat can be a challenge to many, specially since some words are foreign to one. Wait the menu was in Spanish, our native tongue, nevertheless there are words for things we still do not know, so the usual questions started flowing. Our waitress was very accommodating, she explained every obscure term we did not know.

Ocean side views.

Ominous.

See Food!

The beach at Castro Urdiales.

It was only until someone asked her to say which of as many as ten appetizers she would order, that things hit the proverbial fan. She said that, she did not eat this because she did not like it, not that because she was allergic to it, or the third because she could not eat that. She abruptly left us.
At her return, she explained that she had been put in a compromising position by being asked such personal questions, specially in view that she suffered from a disabling stomach condition. I thought that the waitress was right, I would never ask anyone for their preferences in choosing food, knowing that we all have different taste, and that mine are very particular. I suppose you could ask what are the most popular or best selling dishes. As usual, not everyone agreed with me.

R.I.P.

All smiles, not walking today.

Awaiting much needed refreshments.

Castro Urdiales

0918. Day 10. Castro Urdiales to Laredo. 70° F.

Details to come.

Leaving Castro Urdiales.

Morning smiles.

Ready to roll.

Cerdigo y la ruta de la costa.

Cantabrian Sea.

Great backdrop.

Open skies.

Surfers dream.

Roadside.

Seaside walk.

Laredo beach.

Laredo

0919. Day 11. Laredo to Noja. 70° F.

Details to come.

Looking for some direction.

Leaving only our shadows.

Poised for another walk.

Morning emptiness.

Chiaro oscuro.

Boat from Laredo to Santoña

Santoña

Santoña.

El paseo maritimo de Santoña.

Beer poster.

Surf, turf and sky.

Another Cantabrian beach.

Great color.

Steep ascent.

Noja

0920. Day 12. Noja to Santander. 69° F.

Details to come.

Early morning bells.

Ready for a new day.

Lovely morning ocean air.

Pan-o-ramica.

Getting to Santander.

On the boat to Santander.

The great council.

Finally Santander!

Done!

Itinerary cancelled due to general attrition.

After just having enough walking, our ranks started to frail. Some members of the expedition had already broken the “sacred trust” of the group by riding on a car, and shortening one day’s walk by completing it by bus. The pilot, while traversing the bay on a ferry to Santander, pronounced words that neither I, nor anyone else would expect. “It seems that we have reached our full of walking, therefore, I propose a cease desist of all pedestrian actions, and plan to enjoy our stay in Spain with two additional days.
This statement was met with a variety of reactions. It would appear that the pilot had had a finger on the pulse of the bunch, and decided that this was as good a moment to utter his proposal. People were stunned, knowing that the pilot is a man of his word, and that breaking this divine contract, must have been difficult. Opinions varied from relief to a sense of mutiny or even treason. After a short discussion between the couples, we all agreed that we had a belly full, and that the pilot’s proposal was reasonable. One couple dissented and expressed their desire to continue with last two days of walking. I sensed a bit of remorse from some of the members by abandoning our team and our “commitment to the quest”. I personally, was relieved since my commitment is firstly to myself, then to the others, call me selfish.
We checked into the Abba Santander hotel and made plans to meet later to go to dinner for our last supper together. The pilot had been talking about having cochinillo (roasted suckling pig) since the early days of planning almost a year earlier. This was his chosen city for such delicacy, since it is not offered everywhere, it requires a restaurant with a “real” wood burning oven for its preparation.
The pilot had chosen a local restaurant not too far a walk from our hotel named Asador Lechazo de Aranda. It resembled other asador type restaurant we had visited. I had the suckling pig, it was delicious with various glasses of rose wine, followed by Orujo, a Galician liqueur made from herbs, and attributed with almost magical powers to ease digestion.
Manuel

Santander

0921. Day 13. Santander. 73° F.

Details to come.

On a train to Santillana del Mar.

Same train, same people.

On the way to Santillana del Mar.

Entering Santillana del Mar

Eating on tables again?

And a glass of white or two.

Parador Gil Blas, Santillana del Mar.

Two old men waiting for theirs wives.

La Colegiata, Santillana del Mar.

No caption needed.

0922. Day 14. Santander. 67° F.

Our group disbanded, two couples flew to Paris, we stayed in Santander, and the diehards continued on to Mogro by train.

Sardinero beach.

Gran Hotel Sardinero.

Sardinero Beach.

El Machi Restaurant****

Details to come.

0923. Day 15. Santander to Barcelona. 71° F.

Details to come.

0924. Day 16. Barcelona. 82° F.

Barcelona

Back to the lovely Catalonian capital of Barcelona. This city has grown to be one of our choice destinations. Personally, I put it only second to the city of light. The weather was great at our arrival and remained gorgeous during our 5-day visit.
Our plan was to take it easy, since this was our fifth or sixth visit. We wanted to visit some of those less visited places and revisit, some of our favorite places. The photos show that we were busy and that you cannot take it easy in that lively city, so much to see.
Ate very well at restaurants that we had visited before. That is my preference, I believe that if you find someone or thing that you like, stick with it, and maybe become a connoisseur. As soon as we checked in into our excellently located and previously visited Hotel Turin, we went out to the Rambla to taste once again the flavor of the city. We were returning after a four year absence. We decided to try to locate the Basque pintxos restaurant we had discovered on our last visit, not far from the hotel. I remembered that it was on one of the non pedestrian small streets of the Barrio Gotico. We crossed the Rambla and entered the maze of little alleyways. I knew that my piloting had a short limit. Cecilia’s hunger for food and impatience with my navigation abilities added unnecessary pressure to my effort to deliver us to the chosen restaurant.
Luckily, we stumble on the wide street were I recalled the restaurant was located. Of course Cecilia, by now, could not believe any word that came out of my mouth. I said, lets turn left, she wanted to go right. I told her to remain there, and I would go up the street, since I thought I might be getting warmer, and did not need her criticism every additional step we took.
Half a block up the street, I found it. With much pride and holding my head up, I came back to report my fortuitous finding.

Orio Restaurant***

As we approached the entrance of Orio, I was almost gloating. We entered, sat down and waited for our waiter to place our drink order. We ordered rose wine; we had been enjoying this wine throughout our trip. I went to the bar, picked up a small plate and collected three pintxos, walked back our communal table and sat down to taste these small portions.
This restaurant uses a novel way for how it works. You have to first find a seat on long and narrow tall communal tables that create rows where guests sit. As soon as you are seated and have placed your drink order, you can get up, pick up a plate and collect the bite size offerings of cold pintxos with toothpicks from the bar. After you finish eating and ask for the bill, they will count the toothpicks and charge you accordingly. Every pintxo must be the same price.
Cecilia did the same when we sampled the ones I had brought. She chose other pintxos and we continued tasting. We enquired about xistorras, our favorite Basque small fried sausages, they usually prepare them on demand, and they are offered to all guests.

Pintxos at Orio***

Xistorra*****

Serious enjoyment.

Gorgeous architecture.

7 Portes Restaurant*****

The following days we visited the sites shown on the photos below. Of note, the Palau de la Musica Catalana, Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia and Casa Batllo on the cultural side. On the gastronomic we returned to the Asador de Aranda for the cochinillo, Cal Pep for tapas and more, and my favorite 7 Portes, where we ate on consecutive days, enjoying the fideua (a vermicelli paella cooked in cuttlefish ink), steamed mussels and black rice (cooked in cuttlefish ink). Very much worth a detour. The old style ambiance and the great service was an added pleasure.

Manuel

Palau de la Musica***

Sagrada Familia.

Great skies.

Organic ceiling.

Geants.

Patiently awaiting...

Cochinillo asado****

Camp Nou. Barça vs. Universidad de Las Palmas.

Palau de la Musica.

Cal Pep Restaurant****

Catalonian hospitality!

Extraño el camino. Sep 13, 2013, at 1:21 PM.

Extraño levantarme temprano
Extraño el café con leche y tostadas
Extraño las croissants y los yogurts de Isa, Silvia y Nelvis
Extraño las subidas y las bajadas y los senderos también
Extraño el olor a mierda….de vaca, oveja, puercos, o una mescla de todos
Extraño el vigor al caminar en las mañanas
Eric

The Way, as our Way

Two years after some dear friends walked miles to reach Santiago de Compostela on one of the routes of “El Camino”, we have decided to join them on another excursion on the road to Compostela

Contents

Contemplations on the Camino.

0909. Day 1.

0910. Day 2.

0911. Day 3.

0912. Day 4.

0913. Day 5.

0914. Day 6.

0915. Day 7.

0916. Day 8.

0917. Day 9.

0918. Day 10.

0919. Day 11.

0920. Day 12.

0905. The before pix. Day minus 4. Rockville, MD. 92° F.

The cast of characters and contributing writers in this expedition are, Manuel, Eric, Lucho, Rudy, Cecilia, Silvia, Isa and Nelvis.

0909. 20:37h. Day 1. At Dulles Airport, Virginia. 90° F.

0910. Day 2. Toulouse, France. 75° F.

0911. Day 3. Toulouse, France. 81° F.

0912. Day 4. Toulouse to Navarrenx. 78° F.

0912. Domaine Lespoune.

0913. Day 5. Navarrenx to Saint Palais. 72° F. 5h 5min. 25 kms.

Contemplations on the Camino.

Time.

Physique.

Je ne sais qua.

0914. Day 6. Saint Palais to Larceveau. 3h 15min. 15 kms. 67° F.

0915. Day 7. Larceveau to Hunto. 4h 35min. 20 kms. 70° F.

0916. Day 8. Hunto to Roncesvalles. 7h 3min. 26 kms. 64° F. Wind velocity: up to 60 miles per hour.

The Pyrenees

0917. Day 9. Roncesvalles to Castro Urdiales. 68° F.

0918. Day 10. Castro Urdiales to Laredo. 70° F.

0919. Day 11. Laredo to Noja. 70° F.

0920. Day 12. Noja to Santander. 69° F.

Itinerary cancelled due to general attrition.

0921. Day 13. Santander. 73° F.

0922. Day 14. Santander. 67° F.

0923. Day 15. Santander to Barcelona. 71° F.

0924. Day 16. Barcelona. 82° F.

Extraño el camino. Sep 13, 2013, at 1:21 PM.

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