From Roncesvalles to Pamplona

The hotel in Roncesvalles was lovely.  An old monastery with thick stone walls it was quiet and a great place to spend our first night.  The difficulty was our bikes hadn't arrived.  They'd been arranged and rented through the company providing our arrangements.  The company is in Ireland of all places.  Thick stone walls make for poor cell phone reception and Sandy suffered on the Patio with beer while she waited for word on the bikes.  The did arrive at 8 pm; two hardtail mountain bikes that appeared at first glance to be in great shape.  We attached our wheels and Garmins; adjusted the seats and we were ready for our first day of riding.

Following a solid nights sleep we awoke, ate breakfast and set off along the trail guided by GPS tracks I'd adapted.  The tracks were, for the most part, accurate.  The GPS on the bike can be a little delayed (this isn't a new experience) and we'd occasionally be told we were "off course."  The Camino itself is relatively well marked, although spotting the scallop shell symbols or yellow arrows pointing the way can sometimes be a challenge.  Inevitably, finding ones way depends on the assistance of others along the route becoming a group effort involving pantomime and other forms of communication when no one shares a common language. 

We've encountered Japanese, Chinese, German, Irish, Italian, French, Spanish, Polish, and a few other languages we couldn't identify.  We occasionally encountered those with a resistance to go with the crowd.  I'm not certain where the Dutch woman we spoke to near St. Jean Port de Pied would have ended up when she couldn't accept the map, the symbols and the others walking up the trail as it left the road.  She followed the road north...haven't seen her since.  But, then we're moving more quickly that most.  On bicycles we're averaging about 50 kilometers a day leaving most of the walkers well behind.

We've also made a decision to leave the trail.  Ultimately we found that with the number of hikers, and with a trail which is made more for walking than cycling, we decided to follow a road instead of the Camino path.   Some of the trails were single track trails that are more suited to a full suspension mountain bike.  Some of the trails include stairs, gates, stream crossings over narrow cement bridges or other nefarious obstacles.  Ultimately, the road appealed more. 

At the top of Erros Pass

We left the trail and immediately discovered why Spain is one of the more popular countries for professional cyclists to train.  After a lovely glide downhill, though the road began to climb.  We'd found the pass at Erros.  It's hard to be on a bike, fighting your way up an 8 or 9 percent grade, to have other cyclists seemingly glide past you on their way to the top.   I worried we might be headed to Madrid or Portugal - perhaps back to France - but as we reached the top of the pass there was the Camino crossing the road.  Another, lovely, downhill took us towards Pamplona the signs reassuring us we were headed in the right direction.

Awhile down the road we stopped for lunch at a delightful bridge and river crossing where the Camino trail and road intersected again.  We watched local fishermen wind their way down to the river to fish and wondered for how many thousands of years people would have been doing that.  We're seeing plenty of medieval churches and other buildings along the route.  Many like the one in Estella were built in the 1100's.  Bridges built by the Romans seem to be everywhere. 

Puenta la Reine

After our lunch, we decided to leave the road and follow the trail...quickly realizing our mistake.  The trail was a single track along a cliffside above the river.  Rocks bounced our tires towards the edge of the cliff.  It was narrow and plenty of other pilgrims alongside.  Two men on full suspension mountain bikes caught up with us, passed us, and bounced down the trail making it look easy.  Neither Sandy nor I found it to be that.  When the opportunity to return to the road came along we grabbed it.

Being away from the trail as we came to Pamplona presented a bit of a challenge.  Winding our way along the river we did find our way to the Camino pathway and arrived at our hotel.  

Saturday in Pamplona was quite the experience.  It's a beautiful city which mixed old and new.  The inner city has remnants of the historic walls still standing.  In the old city where we were staying the streets are narrow and clean.  There were a number of festivals going on.  The cities marathon had taken place that morning and runners were recovering in the bars - or rather in the entrances to the bars.  Fireworks were happening somewhere in the city - we could hear then from our room.  There was a wedding celebration in the hotel.  The streets were full of locals, and LOUD.  People were partying.  Clearly no rules about alcohol in the streets - people were carrying glasses of beer as they walked. And this was at 1 in the afternoon. The party carried on until the wee hours of the morning.

We tried to find dinner at 6 pm...it didn't seem possible.  We knew that most restaurants did not begin dinner service until 7 or 8 or 9.  Tripadvisor and the internet seemed to suggest a few were, in fact, open.  We went hoping to eat.  No chance.  We could get a drink.  Perhaps some tapas in a crowded bar where the noise for Sandy's hearing aids would be overwhelming.  We went back to the hotel.  Had a drink.

You'd think ordering a drink would be easy.  Perhaps - wine, beer - seem to be universal in every language.  It's not the case with cocktails.  Because of my gluten intolerance beer isn't often an option.  A rum and coke (otherwise known as a Cuba Libre), a mojito, are usually easy to request.  Yet those requests can lead to trouble.  In Mexico, a few years ago, I ordered a "Brown Cow" with dinner one evening.  The waiter gave me a strange look and went away to fill the orders around the table.  Everyone's drink, save mine, arrived.  A few minutes - it was a long few minutes - later the waiter proudly returned and presented me with a glass of chocolate milk.  He had no idea that for some a "Brown Cow" is Kahlua and Milk.  I didn't have the heart to explain his error to him and happily accepted a second chocolate milk when someone requested another round.  In Pamplona I received a look reminiscent of that Mexican waiter when I ordered a Rum and Coke - not once, but twice, in two different bars.  Cuba Libre didn't really work either.  Baccardi and Coke opened the gates of understanding.

Sandy researched places to eat and found one nearby.  It was 7:30.  We arrived and discovered another bar where the kitchen would open at 8, maybe 8:30 - again, translation presented challenges.  The menu arrived after a couple more drinks and we tried to decipher the code on the page in front of us.  The Basque people in Northern Spain have a dialect all of their own.  We figured out "Salad" and "Hamburgers" but some of the ingredients would be a surprise.  The food was delicious.  The salad with couscous and guacamole tasted as if it had just come from the garden.  The hamburgers were simple but filling.  It turned out to be a great end to the day.

Here are a few photos along the way;

                 Buerguet-Arritz, Spain                                                       Pamplona                                      

                Pamplona's city square