Pamplona to home

Today it will all be over again for another year. We said goodbye to Pamplona after another gentle stroll round the impressive ramparts. The city's defenses have been well tested in its long history.By taxi to Bilbao although the taxi driver displayed a disconcerting lack of confidence that he knew where we were going - in particular his intensive study of the map as he negotiated the trickier junctions of the motorway elicited some comments from the back-seat. We stopped for petrol: who would have thought that my mastery of 'necessito gasolina' would have proved so apposite. We will be flying home from Bilbao this evening after a very successful couple of weeks during which we walked another 150 miles. Despite the state of our feet we will spend an hour or two at the Guggenheim Museum.

Zubiri to Pamplona 20k

Spanish greetings all round for breakfast."Hola-Buenas-Dias-Buenas-Dias!" seems to be the form. We shopped for el pan y el queso for lunch in a little grocery shop adjoining the bar round the back of the hotel and took today's team photo on the Rabies Bridge. The route today ran parallel with the main road to Pamplona in the valley of the generous river Arga. As Des said, the essential feature of the day was water. We set off along a muddy path and were glad of our boots. The trees shaded us from the ugly dominance of the vast local Magnesite plant which rather intrudes into every aspect of local life. It seems to be a dull useful product and it must be difficult to get enthusiastic about devoting your life to its production but rather like Homer Simpson's nuclear power station the plant seems to be the only employer in town. Shortly afterwards there is a 'Springfield' equivalent, a bijou modern company town clean and cosy in the sunshine with toy cars running between it and the plant. We walked on and had our first water stop soon on a wall by a fountain at Llarratz, a restored hamlet. We reached the village of Larrasana which John Brierley in his somewhat idiosyncratic style seems to favour. Major drainage works were en traine but with little actual physical activity. Perhaps it was the morning tea break. We in turn couldn't get coffee as the tavern was shut "until later"

So we were back on the muddy/gravel paths by the river and after another hour we were in Zuriáin having a drink of water in the sunshine on the bridge by the fountain in the company of fellow walkers. Their numbers seem to be growing. More hamlets passed, - Zabaldica and Irotz. The route at this stage is simply constructed to give you a pleasant and popular walk as an end in itself. But in muddy conditions it is needlessly tricky underfoot. The churches are massive cruel buildings, seldom welcoming but closely locked. Many of the people you meet drop their eyes shyly.

Lunch was taken at the picnic tables shortly afterwards which serve as a stop on the main N135 road. Two fellow walkers were proudly carrying large flags, one being the Moor's head of Corsica (or so we were told) and the other the more familiar Gay Pride Rainbow. There was a brief burst of energy uphill on the far side of the road and after Arlete we passed through a dripping echoey tunnel back under the road. As we approached Pamplona we stopped in a rather harsh suburb called Trinidad de Arre with lots of aggressive graffiti on every wall, for a cold drink next to the Basilica and the huge pelote court and to watch our fellow walkers hobble by. All the shops had heavy protective shutters - perhaps to deal with disenchanted sports fans? The actual entry into the city of Pamplona was carefully orchestrated to take you through parks and boulevards rather than industrial suburbs. By the old walls of the city we again crossed the Arga, this time via the charming Puenta de los Peregrinos which took us to the ramparts and along the old moat to pass through an elaborate city gate.


The old city is very interesting with traditional tall town houses in good preservation, all hugger mugger. We found the Tourist Office without difficulty and our Hotel (Eslava) nearby in the Plaza d'O. This is a comfortable if somewhat anonymous place substantially reconstructed behind the external facade.

After viewing the impressive cathedral it was getting damp so we had drinks and tapas in a nearby bar. Supper - inevitably difficult to find early - was a cheerful mix 'n match affair in the pulsating Boca Serria Brasserie. We walked around the streets where the annual Running of the Bulls takes place on the feast of San Fermin, absorbing the atmosphere.

Roncesvalles (Orreaga) to Zubiri 24k

Breakfast at 8.30am, and not a minute before - the dining room door of the hotel locked to the last second like a branch bank, despite the champing throng. Bland ham and cheese to supplement the toast and jam - "not French!" On our way by 9 o'clock, with 734 k to go according to Alison, but the village sign more pessimistic. Initially we were in the company of five jolly Belgian men who could well have been auditioning for a francophone version of 'Auf Wiedersehen Pet'. The shaded path took us down to the village of Burguete, a perfectly valid alternative stopping place, more modern and airy than the somewhat gloomy and serious Roncesvalles. Throughout the day it has been noticeable how much money has been pumped into new building and substantial renovation. Is this part of the Spanish property boom? After farmland and unwashed cows we came to Espinall, again neat and tidy and well restored. A shop and a bar were hidden away and we stopped for coffee and to buy our lunchtime sandwiches.


There were some stiff uphills but the walking was pleasant and we put the kilometers behind us. We passed a number of fords over streams and they seemed to conform to all current Health and Safety requirements. The route turned into concrete crazy paving as we approached Viskarret in the company of a young Irishman who was walking solo and relatively unprepared - in trainers. He thinks he is heading for Pamplona today which sounds ambitious. The village houses were notable for their huge wooden balconies and house timbers, each house dated with engraved precision. At what point in its life do you add the date to your building? Immediately afterwards we got very wet in a cloud burst that followed a warning, but ignored, thunderclap.

We walked to the hamlet of Linzoáin where we had lunch at the roofed pelote court which according to Alison is technically a frontón - a variation of the Basque game that requires a side wall and a low back-wall, or so I am informed. We dried our outerwear in the sunshine while being visited by three village cats and a dog. We also chatted to the three Frenchmen last seen up a mountain. They too started in Puy four years ago and are enjoying seeing what you don't see from a car. As we left the village we walked under a high wooden walkway that joins the upper floor of a massive house to its walled garden the other side of the road. There has to be a reason.

Plenty more enjoyable walking thereafter, with lots of sightings of birds of prey as we took a steep climb to the Alto de Erro pass. There we caught up with the Irishman nursing his feet which were in fairly dramatic condition - he will not make Pamplona today. Mind you he had been fortunate enough to avoid the drenching rain earlier by pausing for a coffee in Viskarret. You can't win 'em all. The final 8k seemed a long stretch but we eventually reached our evening destination. Our Hosteria was easily found - on the main road and we will need the double glazing. The owner is most solicitous and amiable, providing plastic bags for our boots and paper slippers to go up the well polished little stairs, which is tricky with heavy bags.

Supper will be modified-Spanish-time (8.30pm) so we have plenty of time to wash and rest and see the sights - a little bar for a beer and the 'Rabies Bridge'. According to legend an animal could be cured by getting it to walk three times round the middle column, or indeed straight across - the surviving instructions are not as helpful as they might be. The adjoining building is a former leprosarium. Nice.We also found the five Belgians who were not at all impressed by the local price of supper - or of the beer. Supper at our hotel was quite ambitious. 13 guests in all.

St Jean-Pied-de-Port to Roncesvalles 26k-8k=18k

Another excellent but potentially complicated day. We woke to the sound of hissing kettles. Looking outside the door of our rooms we saw that the Belgian camp-followers (the two women who were apparently responsible for catering/refreshments, driving the van with the luggage etc. for the cycling party) busy boiling a series of kettles on the electricity sockets down the corridor of the hotel to enable them to prepare thermos flasks in bulk for hot drinks. Over breakfast we saw the rest of their preparations as they polished their bikes and loaded the van. The bikes, perhaps a couple of dozen in all, were stored overnight in the cellars of a range of building around the hotel which obviously caters for this market.

Our taxi arrived promptly at 7.30am to take us to the Refuge d'Orisson and it took no more than 20 minutes to drive us the precious eight kilometers we had enjoyed yesterday on foot. We had a coffee while we waited for our take-away baguettes to be prepared and set off again at 8.15. The climb was steady rather than onerous and interspersed with plenty of breathing spaces. There was the odd fleck of rain but mostly it was overcast, and eventually, after lunch, quite cold. The statue of the Virgin d'Orisson was further (4k) than we expected but the countryside was lovely and open with magnificent views in all directions.


There were a few horses grazing and a lot of sheep. There was much mutual encouragement and cheery exchanges with other walkers throughout the day. We again met the three Frenchmen who seem to be taking it all as a stroll, hands in pockets and with the mock seriousness of "Three Men in a Boat".

After 1240 metres of elevation you leave the road and head up grassy slopes carefully waymarked. In poorer weather conditions such precautions must be very necessary.


We saw many birds of prey circling and passed a nest up in an outcrop from where we could hear the chicks calling. There was a primitive hut near the top to provide emergency shelter in such conditions.








Just before the Spanish border the walking seems to be permanently muddy in the shadow of the ridge for about 4k and indeed on the Spanish side there is equal mud through a beautiful beech forest, the passage of boots turning it to mulch. We had an early lunch, including some refreshing oranges, at 11.30 in the ruins of an old cottage among the beech trees.





We then went above the tree line for some more exposed walking as we worked our way up to our highest point, the Col Lepoeder, from where you can finally see 'the other side' and the village of Roncesvalles surrounded by the trees in the valley far below. There is a direct-ish route down through the forest but we chose the longer route which is on tarmac. This was in deference to the state of our various knees, shins. hips and other bits and pieces that suffer just as much on the downs as the ups.It is also quite dangerous on such surfaces when you are tired. A lone woman walker was resting at the top and deriving much pleasure as each successive party debated the confusing alternatives.

After much zigzagging we passed a modern, and neglected, memorial chapel honouring Roland, at the point where the 'Route Napoleon' meets up again with the main road. The legendary tale of Charlemagne's nephew (son?) meeting a heroic (Christian) death at the hands of alien (Muslim) forces in 778AD had immense medieval popularity whatever the actual facts may have been.

A pleasant flat walk through more trees takes you into the village of Roncesvalles (or Orreaga in Basque), dominated by the immense monolithic Augustinian abbey and the associated buildings catering for the passing pilgrims. The main Refuge dormitory apparently sleeps 160 in close cacophonous comfort "in the bed to which you have been assigned". Our hotel, Hostel la Posada, was frankly more comfortable with big clean rooms. Our bags were waiting for us upstairs ina large sitting room. Their transportation from St-Jean-Pied-de-Port until we get to Leon is now in the helpful hands of the charming Caroline of Express Bourricot, although she does use a little van rather than the animal in question. Both hotels in the village provide meals at an earlier sitting for those staying in the Refuge. The rest of us had to wait for 'Spanish Time'.

The village exists purely to process pilgrims in a reliable, efficient and surprisingly patient way. The vast church with its heavy Spanish imagery is designed to impress. As we had supper, soup, fish and 'flan', Liz texted all and sundry to say we had walked over the Pyrenees. Ben replied to say he had scrubbed up today "to assist at a 'C. Section' and two Ventouse deliveries". So he had a good day too.

It was a full day and you find yourself reliving the various stages afterwards. The uphill was surprisingly manageable after all the fuss in anticipation. We have actually walked up steeper and less pleasant places albeit not so continuously. The bleak open spaces at the top where we had to consciously keep warm were memorable. The beech forests and the accompanying muddy mulch will be easy to remember. As ever there were beautiful flowers along the way but the fauna, particularly the raptors and the wild horses were as memorable as our cheerful fellow walkers.

St-Jean-Pied-de-Port to "Honto+" 8k

A remarkable day. As today is officially a 'rest day' we had a lie in and breakfast was not until 8.30. We looked optimistically at a range of clouds over breakfast but there was little blue sky and even less sunshine. By 9 o'clock we were walking! As we passed a nearby taxi office we arranged with a woman in an upstairs window - or so we hoped - to be collected when we telephoned later around midday from "Honto". We then left town through the Porte d'Espagne and started up a typical morning 'route out of town'.

Des - and all credit to him, it was the right choice - very much wanted to do the "Route Napoleon" option: there are two alternative routes to Roncesvalles, one along the main road and the other over the top "to see the eagles". So we duly followed the markings out of town for the Route Napoleon.

By now there was a steady drizzle. The books paint a fairly daunting picture of the demands of this uphill walk but frankly if you can cope with the demands of the Rocky Valley and the Long Hill up to Calary (as opposed to the uplands of Croghan) it is entirely feasible. It was steady but not excessive and we were on tarmac. The inclinations were of reasonable length and severity interspersed with decent flat bits and even the occasional downward slope. The scenery was increasingly breathtaking.




After a couple of hours we arrived at Honto, a large gite complex of chalets overlooking gardens and with a great view. Until fairly recently these would have been the last accommodation available in France before going over the mountains. We stopped for a quick coffee and decided to press on. The signposts said 5k to the Refuge d'Orisson so we set off for that to see how much we could do before calling our taxi. The girls led the way and we took plenty of breathers. After 10 days walking your recovery rate is much faster and you can be confident of being ready for more after a minute or two.By now the rain had stopped so I was even able to take a couple of pictures that did the potential view little credit. We stopped briefly at a Viewpoint complete with table top plan of the view, but as is so frequently the case with these things it was hard to know what you were supposed to be seeing. While there I rang our taxi. It was answered by the driver who was expecting our call, but not our numbers: when told we were four it was "pas possible" but with that nod to the specifics of his licence he almost immediately agreed to come. So on we walked to the Refuge. This is a new facility and provides food and accommodation in a large wooden chalet building.This is now a much more attractive point to break the journey for those wishing to spend a night between St Jean and Roncesvalles.

I went inside to get the creanciale stamps and to confirm the availability of provisions for the morrow. They would do exactly what we wanted: breakfast from 7.30 and filled baguettes to take away. It was only as we concluded our conversation that the young man behind the bar identified himself as English. C'est la vie.

By then the yellow taxi had arrived and the amiable driver brought us safely back downhill. It was agreed that he would again collect us from the hotel at 7.30 in the morning. In the sunshine the town was transformed and a lot more buzzy and cheerful. We were pleased with ourselves having successfully completed part one of what we had feared and we had a jolly lunch in the same place we had chocolate the previous day.

While the girls took off round the weekly market of Basque essentials Des and I again visited the Pilgrim Advice Centre to make use of their Internet facilities. We then climbed up to the top of the Citadel to enjoy the view before going back to the hotel to sit in the sunshine reading. For dinner tonight the hotel was filled with a large party of Belgian cyclists who are doing the Camino by bike. And very knobbly their knees look in their Lycra shorts.

Larceveau to St-Jean-Pied-de-Port 17k

And a short day's walking it was. We had a leisurely breakfast after plenty of rain overnight. It was dry as we started out walking on pleasant made up tracks parallel with the main road through the valley. It was very noticeable how well maintained the Basque farm houses were - often newly painted with immaculate gardens. The local sheep-farming and cheese production seems to be very profitable, directly or indirectly.

We passed the Croix de Galzetaburu after 5k. This too is a place recognised as a joining of the routes from various directions. Some of the inscriptions are in Basque. So with one loop to the right of the main road and three loops off to the left we arrived at St Jean le Vieux by 11.45. The village was 'en fete' (mothers day?) and the flowers were being transferred back from the Pelote court which forms the village centre to the church. This red sandstone church is considered to be "typically Basque" with two levels of ornate wooden galleries all round the nave. A similar rectangular box to the Vienna Musikverein - I wonder if the acoustics are the same!

As we had a coffee in the square another band of walkers set off refreshed with a rousing chorus of "Ultreia!" Exhibitionists. An hour later like so many before us we too arrived at the Porte St Jacques of st Jean Pied de Port, a suitably specific recognition of our walk so far: 735k to date.


A sense of occasion is generated by your arrival being down a suitably picturesque old street, past the Pilgrim Advice Centre and various hostelries. Someone was checking for advice about their donkey. Over 30,000 passing pilgrims registered there last year. We were chiefly concerned that the coincidence with Mothers day might make it difficult to get lunch so we stopped at the first available Basque place, Iratzc Ostatua, and it turned out to be good - specialising in cider. They were very welcoming, particularly as after 15 miles across country in high humidity we may not have been at our most fragrant. I had a memorable cèpes omelette. The Basque language seems to be a bit like Breton - difficult to get into or to relate to anything else.

The Hotel Camou was duly found on the outskirts of town. It has seen better days. After a scrub up we went for a stroll around but the light drizzle discouraged too much curiosity. the Pilgrim Advice Centre was struggling to cope with a party of 15 Koreans who needed simultaneous guidance. We broached our idea of doing some of the uphill walk tomorrow and then breaking off to complete it the following day and that found favour as being eminently sensible.

After hot chocolates we went back for supper at the hotel. Liz had another hot bath to get warm!

St Palais to Larceveau 22k

There is an exceptional artisinale bakery in St Palais selling a lovely chewy baguette (I shopped for lunch). Our taxi arrived promptly at 8.30am and we were ready to carry on walking from the Chapelle d'Olhaiby by 9am, in light rain. We passed through open countryside and were mostly on minor roads today and the rain brought out large earth worms, up to 18" long (smelly when squashed by passing cars).




The farms were gradually turning from beef/dairy to sheep as the land became more 'Alpine' in character. The sheep were noticeably clean - perhaps washed by all the rain? We pressed on, spurred by guide book promises of a café at Larribar but alas that was not to be and a water stop had to suffice.





A couple of kilometers uphill took us from the river Bidouze (very full) to Hiriburia where the Stèle de Gibralter monument was erected where the routes merge.Coincidentally as we stood there we were joined by a rangy Dutchman who had come via the Route de Vezelay (through Limoges) having started off 1700k ago in Holland, We have done some 700k of our route so far and felt duly humbled. From the monument you can see the direction in which you are pointed - a further stiff 500' rise up a flinty track - in fact quite enjoyable in the breeze. So we were glad to arrive at today's highest spot at the little Chapelle de Soyarza. There was water point which we enjoyed and a ring of plane trees had been severely trained in the French fashion to make a cordon, or halo, or crown of thorns around the chapel. Some comfortable seats encouraged a pause.

Then an equal distance downhill took us to the little village of Harambeltz. The small unused church with the Baroque interior is owned privately by the 4 families of the village, one of them allegedly since 950AD. We met up again with the large French party we last saw in Navarannx who rather took up the available picnic space, so having looked at the church interior through the grill door we moved on.

But that served us well. At the bottom of a grassy track we found a large hut that had been built for the use of a local hunting club for their social activities: two large and very sturdy tables and equally strong benches could cater for perhaps 50 people in relative comfort and gave the impression of many important gatherings having taken place here.

And then it was on to Ostabat which really was a meeting place of the Routes in the middle ages with overnight accommodation, it is said, for 5,000. The village is now a shadow of that but in course of serious renewal. It looks as though it could have lots of snow over winter and the buildings are fairly massive. We had coffee in an excellent bar where 'mine host' in his beret was straight out of central casting as he directed events and chatted with all. Des and I inspected the village while the girls walked on.The South African lady was in the rather ponderous 19c (?) church and is spending the night in the village. Her friend is 10 days ahead of her in Spain from where she reports 'rain'.

Our Hotel Espellet was easily found as we entered Larceveau - fairly spartan and like Ostabat with shades of simple skiing territory. Mine host welcomed us and quickly got the 'pressions' out. There was a washing machine available for guest use in the laundry room to add a sense of purpose to the rest of the afternoon, with elaborate clothes lines arranged under cover but with plenty of wind. I had a long chat there with a man from Lille who had been given two months leave of absence by his wife to walk as far from Le Puy as he could provided he kept his washing up to date. (His washing came out blue).

Supper was delayed while we watched Munster beat Toulouse in the Heineken Cup Final. We were the only Munster supporters but all was well and the staff then coped well with over 50 diners seeking to sit down simultaneously. There were at least two large tables of local families out for their Saturday night sociable gathering.

To bed late as tomorrow is a short day!