Walk: Navarette -> Nájera 11.1 miles
A cool, breezy start to the day and I kept my fleece on for walking. A little rain in the air. Chatted with another peregrina with mashed up feet and who was under instruction to rest up.
Missed the optional route into Ventosa and so had to walk the long way round into the village as I knew P and J would be waiting for me there at a bar! Rehydrated with coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice and water.
Felt like a long slog into Nájera – my broken rucksack is taking it’s toll on my back. Did enjoy walking through the vineyards though and the contrast of the green vines and the deep red soil. Thought about dad – he would love these vineyards, his own grapes, in England, are not ready for picking yet.
Treated ourselves to a private room as it was only 15 euros each, although poor P still got lumbered with the top bunk – I did offer though! 🙂
Restored myself and my feet, sitting at a bar by the river, lovely drink of coffee. White Stork over and Cetti’s Warbler calling from the reeds and a little later 14 Griffon Vultures over – everyone else there seemed totally oblivious to all these. Blister on little toe 🙁
Hoped to have a meal out with P and J in the evening but the choices in the bar they chose were paella/risotto, pizza or pasta, none of which i’m able to eat. Could have gone to a shop and bought something but getting a bit sick of a constant diet of paté, cheese and ham. Went beyond hunger so didn’t bother – survived on cigarettes and coffee.
I believe the rough translation of this graffiti poem is:-
Dust and mud, sun and rain,
Such is the way to Santiago.
Thousands of pilgrims
And more than a thousand of years.
Pilgrim: who calls you?
What hidden power attracts you?
It’s not the field of stars
Nor the great cathedrals.
It is not the beauty of Navarra
Nor the wine of Rioja
Nor the seafood of Galicia
Nor the fields of Castilla
Pilgrim, who is it who calls you?
What unseen power attracts you?
Not the people of the camino
Nor their rural customs.
It is not the history nor the culture
Not the rooster of the Calzada
Nor the palace of Gaudi
Nor the castle of Ponferrada.
All that is seen in passing,
And it is a joy to see it all,
Is still less than the voice that calls
The feeling that is yet so much deeper.
The power that pushes me
The force that attracts me
I know not how to explain it.
Only He who is above understands it.