We walked twenty kilometres today and it wasn’t easy. Three days of rain have turned the track to a muddy rock slide. And it’s taking a toll. This morning we met two walkers with injured knees, and another hit the deck right in front of us. Thankfully, she was okay and fortunately we, ourselves, are injury free so far.
The first ten kilometres required every bit of our old tramping skills: from straddling puddles, to avoiding tree roots and slippery rocks, to sloshing right on through.
At Zuriain, 4 kilometres along the way we were feeling bullish and decided to push on to the next town rather than stop for coffee.
At the next town the cafe was closed. It was another two hours and we were on the outskirts of Pamplona before we got food. “Hangry” may have been a thing by then.
I scoffed a tortilla and a filled roll. After that the the sun came out, the going got easier, and before we knew it we were in the heart of the old city of Pamplona.
As we wandered along the cobbled streets I could hear the thundering hooves, and the cries of the crowds, and smell the tomatoes – in my imagination anyway.
The remainder of our walk to Cizur Menor was along paved road. It was a relief to not have to watch every single step.
Suddenly, the line of walkers disappeared. Most people overnight in Pamplona. It was just us and the road. John said: “I’m impressed with how the way is marked out for walkers.” And you guessed it – the way markers immediately vanished. We’d missed a turn. Our guide book, previously judged as likely unnecessary and a little OTT, saved the day. It has maps. And maps – well, they’re good, eh.
Within a few minutes we’d found the way markers again.
Cizur Menor is only five kilometres past Pamplona. It’s an easy walk – even if my shoulders don’t agree – they think they are dying.
They’ll be better by morning. Of course they will.