Peep, Peep, Peep, and Moving On

The next morning, we wake in darkness and begin to get ready for the day's journey. We know we have a walk ahead of us, over a "hill" called the Alto de Perdon. Our goal is Uterga on the other side. As you can see from the map, it will be quite a climb both up and down. Ingeborg, Rita, Doro, and I have had a good night at la Casa Paderborn, with the exception of Rita taking a tumble in the middle of the night when she got off the top bunk to go to the bathroom. I am feeling very guilty about that because she gave me the bottom bunk yesterday, and I was going to go into another room so we could all be on the bottom and they INSISTED that I stay there with them and Rita would take the top. She said he rides her horse in Germany every day, so is used to climbing, and she had put a chair by the bed to help her get down, and in the night, her footing slipped. I feel so awful that a 71 year old woman had to give ME the bottom bunk because I fear that I'll pull the whole bed over getting up and down. I feel that I cannot apologize enough, but she is completely good-natured about it.

After we get about 90% ready, we go into the office where we checked in, where our hosts have set it up for breakfast with various tables. Rita bought eggs yesterday and boiled them, and we share out our various items, cheese, eggs, chocolate, yogurt, as well as the bread, marmalade, coffee and tea provided. As we all sit at the 4-top, suddenly the German women take hands, mine included and begin to sing a little song that starts with "Peep, peep, peep!" then a German verse, then "Peep, peep, peep" and "Guten appetite!" There are lots of other German hikers there, and they all break into this Peeppeeppeep song, too. I am lost, but they explain to me that it's kind of a blessing, that you're happy to be with everyone at the table and wish them a good meal. I spend the rest of my trip thinking of things to go along with "Peep, peep, peep!" (i.e. "Peep, peep, peep, I love my feet!").

After we finish eating and packing, I go outside to stretch and get ready to walk. I still marvel about how dark it is in the mornings here in Spain. It's nearly 8am, and still barely dawnlike. No wonder the Spanish stay up so late if it's this dark every morning!! My understanding of today's plan is that we will walk to the bus station and take a city bus to the edge of town to avoid walking through the city at rush hour. Truthfully, it is a lot easier to get lost off the Camino in a city, where you may not see the guiding yellow arrows, than it is in the country, where usually you are on the only path you can see for miles, and the arrows are right there with you at comforting intervals. So, when the other ladies come out, I am ready to find the bus station but Ingeborg says that now she thinks she would like to take a taxi to the edge of town, and would I be interested in sharing? I agree, and she calls for a taxi which appears very shortly. Soon, we are whizzing through Pamplona and much traffic. We look closely, and from time to time, see yellow arrows, but not that often. I really am glad not to be walking through all this. I realize that, for this trip, I much prefer the open road, and the little villages that we have encountered over the big, more touristy places. While it's nice to have pharmacies and grocery stores, the noise, traffic, and general confusion is gladly left behind.

Soon, we are at the edge of town, in a more susburban-like neighborhood. We can see the Road heading away from Pamplona, first through a park-like area, then winding through fields, and away towards our destination of Uterga via Alto de Perdon, a high "hill" that we must climb over. We pay the taxi, get our packs loaded, and we are off. It's gotten lighter, but it's chilly, there's a little wind blowing, and looking out over the fields ahead, the terrain is uniformly brown, tan, sienna, dry and sere. All of these fields have obviously been recently harvested, and all that is left is stubble. The year is coming to a close here, and the grey sky meets the dry, barren landscape with a definite premonition of the coming winter. As is usual during the day, soon the three of us are yards apart, walking in our own worlds. I think that this day is really the first day that this whole journey has dawned on me. Maybe it's the weather, maybe it's the fact that I am now REALLY into Spain, but as I work into the rhythm of my walking, my mind begins to wander to home, to my daughter, my grandsons, to my love waiting at home for me, to everyone who helped me and stood by me while I was planning this crazy trip, and suddenly, as I am walking up a small hill, I realize that tears are dripping off my face, and I have to stop and move to the side of trail and simply sob for about 10 minutes. I am not homesick, per se, I have no aches or pains, I am not sorry I'm here, I am simply overcome with a flood of emotions that I am hard put to even name. Love, sadness, elation, regret, hope, and despair are all there at once, beating on my heart and soul so quickly and so profoundly that I cannot begin to sort them out. All I can do is lean on my hiking pole and cry like I don't think I've ever cried in my whole life. Rita quietly passes me, and in the middle of all of it, I'm glad she doesn't say anything to me; I get the feeling that she understands what's going on. At last, almost as quickly as they came on, the tears stop. I take a deep breath, wipe my face on my scarf, blow my nose, and walk on. Nothing seems to have changed, but I realize I now feel about 20 pounds lighter, and I feel so happy to be walking on this dry, rocky, hilly path, in a country where I barely speak the language, carrying everything I own at the moment along with me. I feel like an onion, having just left about 10 layers of myself behind.

As we walk, the way begins to go uphill a bit more, and the clouds get lower, and the breeze picks up. We take a short break at the edge of a highway, where there is a clump of convenient trees--you know the rest! Then we cross the road and walk through more wide open country. I am reminded of the farmland around Pueblo, and look back towards Pamplona, enjoying the view from a slightly higher altitude.

We continue on, and upwards, and the wind picks up. I stop once to check my toes because I feel like I'm definitely rubbing a blister, but it turns out that I'm not, luckily, and after applying more foot cream, everything feels better. The road climbs steeper, and it's getting colder. After an hour or so, we get to an area that levels off a bit, and there is some kind of walled-off cemetery, with a tree or two and a bench. We decide to rest for a little, nibble a bit, and I pull out my vest to put on. This is the first time I've needed any kind of a jacket while walking, but the wind is really cutting through my 2 shirts. I run for a quick break behind the wall before we move on, and when I get back and put on my pack, something has changed. It feels very different on my shoulders. I comment and kind of say "What the heck?" and Ingeborg looks guilty and confesses that the adjusted my straps so that it would not be so hard for me walking up the hill. She and Rita say they had noticed this for a while, and didn't want to tell me because they were afraid of being rude, so when I left the pack, they just did it for me! I assure them that ANY hiking advice would be more than welcome and to please tell me if there's something I could do to make this pack feel better. And, believe it or not, the way they have adjusted the straps really does make the pack feel lighter and more closely snugged to my body. I am VERY grateful, as we have a big hill coming up. Again, I look back the way we have come, and see Pamplona fading in the distance. Then, fortified with chocolate, a warm vest, and a better fitting load, I am ready to move on.