I am writing this from the main square in the middle of the smallish town of Pamplona (pop. 200,000), where 29 years ago my friend Julia and I "ran with the bulls" (ha -- they were actually two miles behind us, with half the population of Europe in between us and any hint of danger). Ernest Hemingway's writings made Pamplona famous, and I'm sitting just outside the beautiful Cafe Iruna, which I'm guessing looks about the same as it did when Hemingway hung out here almost 100 years ago.
I never thought I'd be in this quaint little town again.
I decided to start my Camino in Roncesvalles, just over the Spanish side of the Pyrenees, rather than St. Jean Pied-de-Port in France. St. Jean, just north of the border, is the traditional starting point for the Camino Frances route I'll be following. On the bus I met a few seasoned Camino walkers who said it's been a very long, wet winter in the Pyrenees, and although crossing them only takes a day, and hikers even older & less able-bodied than me have done it, it is notoriously the most challenging day of the whole Camino. There's a 4500' altitude gain over 5 miles -- tough even without the snow possibly obliterating the trail markers.
I'm not out to prove anything on this trip, just doing it to "clear the lint trap" as my wise offspring put it, so I decided to just skip the Pyrenees. Tomorrow (Fri 3/31) I will begin the actual Camino in Roncesvalles -- though some say the real Camino begins an once you commit to going for it.
My first night in an albergue (pilgrim hostel) in Pamplona, the Albergue Jesus y Maria (formerly an 18th century Gothic church), was an eye-opener in terms of total lack of privacy. This wasn't news, and I fully expected it -- but still, it was a bit of an adjustment after living alone for so many years. The sleeping quarters were tight and very public -- a series of 15'x15' cubicles in the huge, open former sanctuary, with three small metal 2-person bunkbeds per cubicle. Definitely not everyone's cup of tea (I can feel some of you cringing out there, and you know who you are). But I am consciously choosing to give up a lot of creature comforts on what I am viewing as a walking retreat -- so it was a very pleasant surprise to discover the narrow mattress was actually super-comfortable.
My new down bag was a dream -- feather-light yet warm & cozy without suffocating Miss I Can't Stand The Heat. And the industrial-strength earplugs I brought are magnificent; the snoring of other peregrinos (pilgrims) was but the lightest, faintest far-off buzzing. I was on the upper bunk. Surprisingly, very peaceful -- as long as I didn't think too much about the five other humans sleeping just a few feet to my left, my right, and below me. (However, the price was right -- just 5 euro. That's the tradeoff pilgrims make.) Every movement made by either me or the person below reverberated along the slender lines of the bunkbed. I woke up several times to the slight tremor of the person below turning over, reminiscent of the gentle shake of a faroff earthquake. Whenever I needed to change position, I tried to move very slowly and deliberately in a sort of tai chi maneuver.
I awoke to see the graceful lines of the huge vaulted ceiling of the former sanctuary arching overhead. Some pilgrims were already gone, the whole sanctuary was alive with rustling bags, whispers, low voices, footsteps. I wanted simple -- I definitely got it!
