A Hard Day's Walk

I described a little bit of this day in this previous post, but now I'll write a more detailed version of my day after leaving Puente la Reina.

We wake up in our large dorm to our host flip-flopping across the floor and flipping on the bright, overhead, fluorescent lights. Okay, no sleeping late here! Almost immediately, the usual rustle and bustle begins. We are up and packing, heading to the bathrooms to brush teeth, wash faces, etc. Checking to make sure we have all our clothes that we washed last night and that they are, with luck, dry enough to pack. I overhear some American voices, and ask a woman if she knows if there's an ATM nearby in the town. She gives me some rather vague directions, but I think I'll be able to find it when I get across the bridge. Once we've got ourselves all together, we go to the dining area for a coffee. People are coming and going, heading out and down the hill, even though at the moment it is not yet light. We linger a bit over the coffee, then decide it's time to go.

As is her habit, Rita stops at the edge of the pasture for her morning prayer. I know that she reads this every day, usually when she is away from any city or town, and usually in a quiet place with a beautiful view. We look west, where the sun set last night, and see that the sheep are being led out to pasture for the day. The soft sounds of the bells carries to us on the morning air. It's still fairly dark, but up here on this mesa, we can see the promise of the new day ahead. This time, Rita asks Ingeborg to translate the prayer for me as she reads it. It is incredibly powerful and humble at the same time; it asks for strength, and to give strength to all those that we might meet. It gives thanks and asks nothing in return. It is a true pilgrim's prayer. After, I thank both of them and we head down the hill towards our journey.

At the base of the hill, we can see where the arrows lead us, and it's away from the town. However, I must find that ATM, so Rita agrees to wait by the bridge with our packs, so Ingeborg and I can move more quickly. We practically run across the bridge and into Puente La Reina. It's Sunday morning, so it's doubly quiet. There is a woman walking towards us and I try to ask her if she knows where the ATM is, but she will not make eye contact, and we move on. Shortly, we see the "TeleBanco" awning, and feel triumph. Thus fortified with cash, we head back to Rita and our packs. We are off.

Crossing the highway, we quickly travel down a slight "dip" and then along a wooded path. Fennel grows in great feathery clumps along the way, filling the morning air with the scent of anise. I see these dark patches in the pathway, that at first I think are cat droppings, but then realize are large, black slugs. As I try not to step on them and squash them, I get a little closer to the fennel plants and see that they are COVERED with small, white snails! It's an amazing morning--we pass by a big field of tomatoes, and later one that I think is also fennel, but then realize is asparagus--probably the white variety that is so prevalent here, on tables and in stores, in Spain.

The sun is getting higher, and it's getting hotter. We seem to be deeper into farmland and way from towns, etc. Now the bicyclists are catching up to us, and we try to keep to the right so as not to be run over. Soon, the path turns toward the right and into what looks like a ravine. We can see where rain and runoff have cut deeply into the incline, making ruts and dips that could be treacherous if you don't keep your eyes on the path. Now, we begin to climb. Oh, joy, my favorite thing. As usual, the ladies soon pull ahead of me. While I'm in the shade of the ravine, it's not so bad, but soon, we pull of of that dip, and then are just climbing. As I go on, I realize that we are coming up on a highway, and walking on the left side, we are in deep gravel, which slips constantly under my feet. At one point, near the summit, the incline steepens dramatically, and once again, I am reduced to walking backwards to get up the unsteady gravel slope. The only advantage today is that I can actually see the top, and I know I'm not going to be walking on this incline all day.

It's getting really hot, and I am feeling very discouraged. I thought this was going to get easier. I thought the terrain was going to level out. I thought, I thought, I thought. I am hot, sweaty, and already tired. I don't really want to go home, but right now, walking is not something I want to do. But, there IS nothing else to do. I walk on. We pass through a little town, Maneru, and keep going. Walkers pass us, wearing only skimpy little tank tops, and carrying only minimal water. I wonder if they are local folk just out for a stroll, or if they are like our Irish friends, and having their packs transported from place to place. It's getting hotter, and the rocks seem to be out to get me. I try to keep my eyes up, to notice the beauty around me, and even in my funk, I see it, but I just keep trudging along. After Maneru, we pass again through farm land and vinyards, grapes, many, many grapes, and the terrain is still very up and down, though not quite as hilly as the morning, thankfully! As we walk along, the vistas are breathtaking. Then, coming of a small hill with more vineyards, there is, in the distance, quite possibly the most perfect looking Spanish town I have seen yet. It is like a dream--something that should be on a postcard or in a travel magazine to beckon people to get up, leave their homes and come adventuring. It is Cirauqui:

This view alone is worth the price of my entire trip. For a moment, I'm stunned. I suppose I had not really realized that such places actually existed. Keeping my feet in the road, one step after the other, the town comes closer, bit by bit.

At last, I walk into the outskirts, to find Rita and Ingeborg stopping for a bit of lunch at an alimentacion. Unfortunately, Ingeborg has bought the last of the lemon yogurt, but I find something cold and wet, and sit on the bench with them to rest and try to regroup. I can see the cobbled street leading away from the store, and of course, it's going UP! They rest for a bit longer, but since they arrived before me, are ready to leave sooner. We agree to meet up in Lorca for the night, about 5 and half KM away. It doesn't sound that far, and I am encouraged. I wave them on, finish my snack, and get myself ready for the next haul.

I head up the paved hill, wondering why, if this city is built on the TOP of a hill, all the streets IN the city wend upward. It's a mystery that I will never solve while I am in Spain! Now, I am having another problem--the ever-threatening need to pee! So, as I slog up the hill, looking for my guiding yellow arrows, I am also keeping an eye out for a handy cafe/bar with servicios. But, since it is Sunday, I doubt that I will find any. But, suddenly, I round a corner to find myself in a small plaza in front of a hotel. There are actually a few people bustling about. It looks like they might be setting up for a fiesta or something, and lo! and behold, I see two, count them TWO, port-a-potties!! Wow! Someone really must be looking after me. That need taken care of, I feel a bit more optimistic, and now am ready to find a fountain where I can refill my water bottle. I do have my extra bottle in my pack, but I am consistently paranoid about running out of water and always make a point to have both bottles full before leaving a town.

But. I don't know this town, and now that I'm in it, it has become quite a maze. I do not want to get lost, nor lose sight of my yellow arrows. So, I continue following and hope, that if I don't find the fountain, I will have enough water to get me to Lorca in good fashion. As I am standing at one point, looking for my arrow, a woman approaches me. I ask her if this is the Camino, and she says yes, and points in the right direction. Then I ask her if there is a fountain about. She says yes, but it is back in town, in the opposite direction. I thank her, and she can see that I really don't want to walk back, away from my destination, and then, she says, "I just live down here, come with me, and I'll fill your bottle." What joy! So, I walk with her, and sure enough, she really is just down the street. I wait outside while she goes in. I hear her speaking to someone inside, and then she comes out and hands my my full bottle. I thank her profusely, and she wishes me a good journey. Despite my fatigue, my sore feet, my cranky mood, I feel better. I am hoping the next 5 K will not be so bad.

Leaving Cirauqui (downhill!), I cross over an old Roman bridge, then, jarringly, walk beside a highway, and cross over it and find the Way again. The terrain is not so bad, just kind of a rutted dirt road, but again, it's hot, and I'm so tired. I'm not sure why, but this day seems to weigh very heavily on me. I think about the nice woman I just met, and feel a little bit better, but still it seems that I am walking so slowly, everyone on the Path is passing me, and I feel like I will always be at the end of the line, being left behind. It is just discouraging. Perhaps I have a more "competitive" spirit than I realize!

However, one keeps walking. At one point, I find a bit of shade in an area that is not TOO littered with bits of toilet paper, and trying to keep from getting snagged on the blackberry bushes, I manage to sit, take off my boots for a bit, and rest my feet. This always makes me feel better, and thus fortified, I head on. Shortly, I come to an area that looks like a washed out bridge. There's a small stream of water, but in a much bigger river bed, so perhaps at some point during the year, this area floods. Across this wash, I THINK I see the path leading steeply uphill (what else?!) and to the left, but the track I am on carries on to the right. I don't see a yellow arrow anywhere, and I am stumped.

Suddenly, I hear a shout from up above. Squinting in the sun, I look up to the very top of the hill where the track seems to disappear into a tunnel. There is a small figure up there, waving at me. Is it Ingeborg? It's too far away to tell, but I raise my walking stick in response and take the track over the partial concrete bridge and up the hill. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I make a note that if I ever feel like I'm lost again, and the choice is between uphill, downhill, or straight on, I know the uphill choice will be right!

Slowly, I manage my way up. I don't expect anyone to be there, but when I finally arrive, there is a TINY Oriental man sitting by the entrance to a tunnel, waiting for me. He is maybe 5' tall, and his pack, an external frame backpack, extends at least 8" over his head. He appears to be extremely happy to see me. "Hello! Hello!" he says enthusiastically in accented English. I ask him if he was the one who waved to me. Yes, it was him. I thank him profusely as I stop for a bit in the shade of the tunnel:

My small, enthusiastic friend assures me that Lorca is not far ahead, and then he blithely treks on, his huge backpack certainly more visible than its carrier. I will probably never see him again, but am very grateful that he could sense my confusion, even from a distance, and guide me in the right direction.

The last push to Lorca is very steep. At last, I can see the tops of the buildings, but it looks like I am going to be going nearly vertical, if only for a short while. Finally, I step off the trail and onto a street, apparently about the only one IN Lorca. (Note: This Lorca is so small that it does not even register on Google Earth; if you put in Lorca, Spain, you are taken to another town on the eastern coast!). The first thing I pass is the church, and I would like to go in and give my thanks, but it is closed. A few yards on, there is a small plaza/playground, and blessedly, a fountain. Also, there is Rita, resting on a bench, apparently waiting for me! I am so happy to see her, and she says a room as been arranged. I fill my bottles, throw some water over my head, and then we go to the alburgue, which, we discover later, is owned and run alone by a young, rather confused-looking young man named Ramon.

Seeing me come in, hot, discouraged, and exhausted, he lets me just go up to the room that the ladies have secured, and says I can pay later. Bless him! Of course, the room is up 4 flights of stairs! No matter, this is the end of the road for the day, and I heave myself upwards, then down a narrow corridor to the end, where there is a small, beautiful room with 2 bunk beds. The ladies can see I am about done in, and show me that they have saved me a bottom bunk. I am simply undone by their kindness and burst into sobs, leaning against the bed frame. Instantly, they are both around me, offering comfort, hugs, reassuring pats. I weep for a moment, then it passes. When I look up, blinking the tears from my eyes, I realize that Ingeborg is standing next to me, very motherly, except she is stark naked, save for her knee-high compression stockings, and her slip-on "comfort shoes". The contrast is so startling, I burst out laughing, and then all of us do! We have a good, cleansing belly laugh, and suddenly, despite still being exhausted, I feel better, back to "normal". Everything is all right. We will walk tomorrow, and I may be behind once again, but I will keep going, and that is what matters.

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Below is a little map of the terrain between Puente la Reina and Lorca, showing the "ups and downs":