Wednesday, 4 October 2017
Estella to Torres del Rio
30 km today - 145 km on Camino Frances - 878 km to date - 635 to Santiago
Lights on at 06 hours. Good basic breakfast provided by hospitaleros. Hugs farewell and on the road by 07 hours. Wine fountain about 30 minutes later. And 500 m on decide to take the alternative route. A steady climb to xxx m above sea level and the better views are worth it. For some of the time the route is through 3 metres high scrub and gives good shade, even though the sun has just risen. Re-join ye main route: this has been slow – 13 km (route distance) in well over 3 hours. The wine fountain took 10 minutes, loo stop al la fresco about 20 minutes and a morning tea stop (really a rest, but I’m not admitting to this) at the highest point (also about 10 minutes) may account for the slowness.
Those who are squeamish or of a delicate constitution should skip the next paragraph.
In 2016 I had continual problems with bowel movements (you have been warned) in that they often seemed uncontrolled and uncontrollable and often very liquid like (but not of the Karitane yellow variety). This was not something I had encountered in my training. Looking back it seemed the route did not have many natural hides – often barbed wire fences on both sides of the track or no trees or just very busy. But there seemed more to it than that. Medical advice brought forward a diagnosis of a loose anal sphincter and a recommendation to try Kegels exercise, omitting only the test of proper application used by the females of the species. My diligence in applying this exercise was less than brilliant and I was in fear of severely embarrassing myself on route. Today, while walking through the scrub, it occurred I had natural cover and a short while later felt an urge. Finding a hide off track I carried on. And brought my yellow plastic spade into play as well. I tell this rather long winded story as a way of reinforcing my learning. Now read on.
I re-join the main route with 9 km to the next town, Los Arcos. Shortly after I take quite a long breather and demolish the second banana, the remainder of the mandarins and some cheese I had bought in Estella. At about 12h30 I reach the church plaza. The church is open: I go inside and say the morning office. There is a light meal shop in the plaza so have a lunch of paella and beer. I’m dreading carrying on as the heat is almost unbearable (22 in the shade with a “real feel” of 25).
The next town is 8 km on. At about 15h a group of three youngsters take off.
I decide to follow on after and catch them up after 3 km, but only because they, and quite a few others, have taken refuge in the shade of the only tree on the whole 8 km. I stop also. Several of them had started from Saint-Jean (just the other side of the Pyrenees, in France) a week ago and had covered about 20 km a day. This was, they said, the first time they were attempting more: they are walking because of word of mouth. They would get as far as they could in the next few days and then head home. Some of them have massive packs. I get a feeling some will return and do some more next year.
Sansol comes up surprisingly quickly and I carry on the 600 metres to Torres del Rio. The first albergue I encounter is a very recent large building. It is in fact a hotel with 9 bunks (18 beds in one large room). I wash nearly all my clothes, save only the longyi (a tube worn by both men and women in Myanmar): mine is made of a very light, almost diaphanous, cotton.
I’ve booked for dinner and go to the restaurant about 19h30. I am about to sit down by myself when the (so far) only male at an adjoining table asks if I am alone and would I care to join with him. The table sits 8 and soon two youngish men from Israel join us. Shortly after two women arrive and (having been properly educated) I stand, of course. The first man motion the other two to also stand and the women are quite amused. The table is complete with two more youngish Israelis.
The man is an Austrian medical man (radiography), the women are German from Mannheim and two of the Israelis work in a restaurant (as owners is the impression I have) in Tel Aviv. We find things to chat about and after 21h we move outside so some can smoke. I speak mainly with the Austrian and mainly about the EU. The Israelis say they walk because it is there and is a big change from day to day life in a city or town. I leave the party just before 23h.
It is clear to me the walking kilt thing I wear is a conversation starter. Some just want to discover they have identified “my” country (Scotland) correctly but for others it leads on.
And so to bed.
