Back in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, when we picked up our pilgrim passports, they also gave us a “map” showing the camino broken down into 32 stages. It has served as our unofficial guide ever since, setting the destination for each day and preparing us for how long the walk that day will be. It has also highlighted a fairly serious flaw in our plan – that we didn’t really plan enough time for this journey. Assuming, for sake of argument, that we could complete this walk without a single rest day (we can’t) and that we are willing to power right through cities like Burgos and León (we’re not), the best we could do is reach Santiago de Compostela late on our last day, long after we’d be able to check-in and receive our compostela (the certificate you get for completing the camino).

We do see a handful of shorter days that we can maybe squish together into a single, Pamplona-like march. Or, perhaps we can do a stage and a bit extra each day so that, over the course of the next few weeks, we squeeze a couple more days into the schedule. These are conversations for another day, however, as we are still only on row two of the map.

I feel like we’re finally getting the Spanish two breakfast thing down, grabbing a quick pastry and cafe con leche before hitting the road in the morning and then fueling up again in whatever town lies for or five miles down the road. That usually means we’re in reasonably good spirits when we set off, even though every single day of this “vacation” begins with alarm clocks going off.

It is another long one today and we’ll be splitting up again roughly halfway, at a town called Navarrete. On a positive note, the weather is overcast, making the temperature much more pilgrim-friendly. And we only have 576 km left to go!

As a stop on the camino, Nájera is pretty underwhelming. When Nick and I stroll in, everything is closed (of course) but, unlike many of the other towns we have passed through, the old city hasn’t really been restored at all and the streets on the way to our hotel feel like a mugging waiting to happen (the hotel is very nice though).

We do find a nice pintxos restaurant near the river, where we partake of some revueltos con hongos, one of the worst things I have eaten in a very, very long time (possibly going as far back as the Ukrainian jellied pig’s foot). It may be just this particular preparation, as scrambled eggs with mushrooms sounds pretty difficult to turn into an earth-flavored (not in a good way) raw oyster-textured delicacy but, hat’s off to them, they managed it here. Sorry, no pics but, if you have a dog that has eaten a lot of grass and then barfed on your hardwood (not naming any names here), you’ve already seen it. Most expensive thing on the menu, of course.

After finishing the day yesterday in some pretty oppressive heat, we put a little extra effort into hitting the trail early. Our next stop, Logroño, is about 18 miles ahead so the further we can get while the temperature is still manageable the better. The downside is that nothing is open at this hour, even the church, so no stamp for the passports.

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There is more wheat on the agenda (why mess with a good thing), including a tortuous stretch after which Efe Bomba and Arándano Joe hit the eject button and switch to the bus.

This marks a bit of a turning point as things start to pick up not too much further ahead. The terrain gets a bit more hilly, but much of it has some tree cover, and where it is does open up, vineyards start taking over. The temperature still shows the same on my phone when I check, but somehow it sure feels cooler.

By 3pm though, as Nick and I finally stroll into Logroño, we are both feeling the effects of the day. It is a fairly large city, which means that in addition to the heat, the last mile or two are on hard concrete – pilgrim kryptonite. Thankfully, our support crew has thoughtfully prepared for our arrival with some cold beers and snacks. I don’t think I’ve actually drank this much beer since Stanford which, if you knew me at Stanford, is saying a lot.

After so many days getting torched in the sun, we are also finally smart enough to learn what everyone who isn’t a tourist in a hot country already knows – cover up. With some help from the local outfitter, we’re changing it up from t-shirts and shorts, into long pants, long sleeves, hats, and buffs. We look a bit like Tusken Raiders but at least the lizard skin should stay under control.

It turns out that pilgriming is pretty hard and, when the bell sounds for round 5, only two of us make it out of our corner. Understanding our struggle, years ago, monks built a monastery not far from town and started making wine that they provided to weary travelers. It’s gone corporate now, but the owners still keep the fountains flowing where you can fill up a glass and refuel for the day ahead (or, in our case, simply numb the pain).

Filling up a few 1 liter jugs and stuffing them in your backpack is somewhat frowned upon but, fortunately, around the back of the building is a shop where you can buy bottles. We pick their award winner, a reserve selection, and a bottle honoring the Camino with a label showing our journey (it is named after the fountain but when we ask if it is the same as what we tasted there, they laugh and assure us it is much better). Total bill – $20.

With a bit more bounce in our step we push on to the small town of Luquin, where we post up next to the community swimming pool for lunch. The day is warming up quickly and with good food, cold beer, a dozens of lounge chairs free for the taking, the risk of getting stuck here is quite real. If we didn’t have a scheduled meet up a few towns ahead with our bus-based colleagues our story for the day may have ended here. But, digging deep, we get the packs back on and press forward.

For Spanish wine country there is still way too much wheat and I can tell you from experience that trudging through fields full of wheat on a hot day sucks. A lot. By the time we roll in to our destination, Los Arcos, we’re sweaty, tired, and really, really hungry. As we have learned though, in Spain, at the time we finish walking each day (usually between 2pm and 4pm), everything has closed down for the afternoon, making for pretty slim pickings.

Today was tough, and I can see now why some people might just opt for a little more time in purgatory instead. Always forward. Never back.

It is a bright, sunny day as the full 2022 Camino squad heads out together for the first time. It is a “short” 13 miles across mostly flat terrain to our next stop in Estella and optimism is in the air.

We’re still in farm country, mostly wheat, but it has gotten noticeably more dry and dusty. Not unbearably hot yet, thankfully, but where the trek to Finisterre scored a 9, and the Pyrenees clocked with a 7, this part of the trail maybe warrants a 5. Every so often though, we do come across a field of sunflowers which I don’t think I have ever actually seen before. It’s a small, but meaningful, win.

Not far ahead we discover the original Olive Gardzen. There have no breadsticks, sadly, but there is a helpful sign to provide encouragement that we are making slow, yet steady, progress – just 676 kilometers to go.

For her first day on the trail, 13 miles is a stellar effort for Efe Bomba, although it is probably 3 or 4 miles too much. Arándano Joe is also suffering a bit so we’ve taken advantage of stopping in a reasonable sized town and upgraded his footwear to something a little more rugged.

This is also our first experience using the service that shuttles luggage from stop to stop. There was a touch of anxiety leaving it in a locker this morning with 5 Euros tucked in an envelope but, lo and behold, it is patiently waiting for us when we check in to our hotel in Estella.

One more stage in the books.

On our death march into Pamplona a few days ago, we took a short rest at a small church in the middle of nowhere, mostly because they had a sign that said they had a nice sello (the stamp you get in your credencial). The priest was that lived there (at least I assume he was a priest) gave us a number of great tips about the Camino, including that, in his opinion, it was perfectly OK to take a local bus to the edge of Pamplona to bypass all of the walking down city streets. It’s tempting, as hard concrete is pretty much the worst surface to walk miles and miles on, but I’d hate to get more time in purgatory than I’m already signed up for on a technicality.

Looming in the distance is the Alto de Perdón, or Hill of Forgiveness. After crossing the Pyrenees, it isn’t really that scary, but 1,200 feet is still 1,200 feet. At the top, amongst the towering wind turbines, is a sculpture that has become one of the more iconic symbols of the camino. I read somewhere that the twelve figures represent the history of the route, from the first pilgrims to travel it, through it growth and decline over the years, and finally its “rediscovery” by modern-day travelers. I’m not sure how much of that is true, but it is a sight for sore eyes regardless as it means our day is about to get a whole lot easier.

The path down to Puente la Reina is steep but otherwise quite uneventful and we’re happy to see the church steeple appear in the distance letting us know that we’re getting close. Efe Bomba (we realized that we have been saying it incorrectly all along here in Spain, along with Arándano Joe) has posted up there for the evening already but will be making her 2022 debut tomorrow.

60 miles down, 420 to go! 👀

It will take quite a few years for the church to complete its research and make a final decision, but seeing it first hand, I can tell you it is no small miracle that all four of us were back on our feet and able to leave our apartment this morning. In addition to some very sore joints, muscles, bones, and other body parts I forgot I even had, Friday night in Pamplona is apparently time to party in the streets well into the early hours.

We spend the early afternoon wandering through the streets of old town, picking up a stamp for our pilgrim passports at the cathedral, hoping from bar to bar sampling pintxos with the locals, packing down two meals worth of churros and chocolate, and otherwise just enjoying a quiet day without a destination.

The find of the day, without a doubt, is this rare piece I envision gracing the mantle in Nick’s new apartment. Basketball Frog is a true classic and it is a tragedy to walk away knowing that it just couldn’t survive the journey.

The city is preparing for the festival of San Fermin, most famous for the running of the bulls, of course, but that is just part of the 8 solid days of celebration that will kick off here in just a few weeks. Leading up to the official start, there are all kinds of other events taking place, including a marathon just steps from our front door. When the loud cheering and sounds of the marching band become too much too resist, I head off with Nick to investigate, quickly getting swept up into the parade of people, most with drink in hand, many in dress attire (which I don’t understand at all), following the racers while signing, and waving flags. Not at all how I envisioned my day when I woke up this morning, but definitely memorable.

We’re back on the grind early tomorrow, with one more major climb to knock out before finishing up in the town of Puente la Reina.

The day starts a little later today as we have a much easier itinerary planned. Roughly 14, mostly downhill, miles ahead lies the small village of Urdaniz, where we have 3 beds booked in a 4 bed dorm (it isn’t the busy season here yet so I don’t think we’ll get assigned a rando for the last bad but, who knows?). The weather looks clear so it should be smooth sailing ahead.

Pilgrim’s are far more talkative when they aren’t fighting for breath while slogging up mountains and we meet some interesting people along the way. Far more Americans that I would have expected to be honest, given how much less vacation time we get compared most Europeans. Because it does take so much time, it seems folks on the trail are either quite young – students generally, taking advantage of the transition from to school for one last, grand adventure, or older, often well into their 60s and 70s. It is actually a bit humbling to see how quickly the gray haired stream by whenever we step off the trail for a snack.

The scenery is quite nice coming out of the mountains, with the trees slowly giving way to rolling hills checkered with farms. We are making good time and, at some point, the conversation turns to bypassing Urdaniz and powering straight through to Pamplona, an additional 14 miles ahead. The boys find having extra time there more appealing than bunking up for the night halfway and, for once, I can’t be blamed for what is probably a really bad decision.

By the time we finally stumble up the stairs to the apartment we have rented, 10 hours, 27.8 miles, and 60,000 steps have passed. The tank is completely empty. As upside, we have an entire day now to spend exploring Pamplona, although only time will tell if any of us are able to even get out of bed tomorrow.

The forecast shows thunderstorms rolling in around 2pm, so we’re out the door early with the hope we can make it to our destination before the rain arrives. It’s very quiet in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port this time of day with only a handful of fellow hikers on the streets. We backtrack just a little to the main gate of the city figuring that is the appropriate place to begin our journey.

As with all new adventures, the mood is light and anything seems possible. I try to freeze these images in my mind so that I can compare them to those 30 days, and almost 500 miles, from now.

The work begins almost immediately as before we reach the boundary of town we are already climbing. And climbing. And climbing. There are a few milder portions along the way but, for the most part, it is a pretty relentless grind up to the pass some 3,800 feet above where we started. The views are spectacular, but for reasons we can’t figure out, there are virtually no trees.

Not long after we leave France behind and cross into Spain. The descent down into Roncesvalles is as unenjoyable as the climb up. There’s cold beer, hot showers, and comfrtable beds waiting for us though, which is more than enough to keep tired legs churning. 16 miles and 37,000 steps down.

It has been unseasonably hot in this part of the world the past few weeks with temperatures regularly over 100 degrees in Pamplona, so we were happy to see the forecast showing things returning to normal in time for our arrival. Our celebration may have been a bit premature as a solid night of thunderstorms and torrential rain have reinforced that you have to be careful what you wish for. I’m no fan of hiking in brutal heat but, given the option, I think I’d take it over grinding out 15 miles in squishy shoes with a possibility of getting struck by lightening.

The next couple of days are showing more of the same so I’m hoping that means relatively benign days with the worst of it reserved for while we sleep. Either way, we’ve got a schedule to keep so it is what it is.

We don’t have many essential tasks on the agenda today, mostly just a visit to the Pilgrim’s Office to pick up our Credencials. It only opens for a few hours each day, which gives us some free time to explore inside the old city walls, testing our legs a little on the short hike up to the citadel that overlooks the valley.

When the office finally opens, with our Credencials we get a bit of disconcerting news regarding the section of the Camino we are about to embark on. As we West-coasties are all too familiar with, the heat has brought with it forest fires and there is talk of the trail being closed from Roncesvalles to Logroño, a meaty 133km chunk of our journey. The rain and cooling temperatures have people a bit more optimistic but we won’t know for sure until we get to Roncesvalles tomorrow afternoon.

Last on the agenda is stocking up on a few provisions for the path ahead. As F-Bomb will be going by bus with our larger bags, it is, thankfully, just these snacks, water, and some layers that we have to haul over the mountains. One intersting thing we spot is that, like the tar-coated lungs they put on the front of cigarettes, they seem to have a requirement here showing what can happen to your kids when you give them apple juice. I think it is called Sam’s Law.

We have arrived. It is a tired, disheveled bunch that finally spills out of the car and onto the sidewalk but the worst part of the journey is now over.

After a small hiccup getting into the apartment we have rented here for the next two nights (apparently the older owner of place sometimes forgets that he has rented it and his daughter gets to scramble to let people in). It is a huge place – 3 bedrooms – and just a short walk from the center of town so will be a good base of operations to adjust to the time zone, pick up our Credencials (the passport you have stamped along the trail to record the journey) and take care of any last minute gear changes.

These few days will be all time we spend in France. We are thankful for this as we have quickly realized that unless we meet someone here named Monsieur Thibault, four years of high school french was wasted on us. From here, it is straight up over the Pyrenees, so F-Bomb will be skipping that leg and heading to Pamplona with the luggage for a fews days of R&R.

And so it begins.