A Camino Birthday

Note: Per the previous post, all the following posts took place last year; however, I am writing in the present time to keep the "flow".

After our lovely stay in our tranquil Navarette B&B (it certainly wasn't a hostel!), Ingeborg and I are eager to go forward to Najera, about a 16K walk. I feel very ready. Rita, who was also in Navarette, has gone on, and I expect we will meet up again in Najera. I feel a little regret at leaving Navarette--it had such a good feeling to it, the beautiful church, the library, the lovely tapas bar with the shaded terrace outside, even the outdoor market we encountered on our arrival. As with many of these tiny towns in Spain, I wish I could stay longer, soak up more of the "juice" of each place. The Camino is eternal, yet the road waits for no one these days because we all have to "get back" to somewhere. As we walk this morning, I almost wish there was no "back" to get to, that I could just keep on, with my little pack, my few possessions, my stick, my hat. Such a simple life, a dream, really.

A few kilometers on the way, we stop in Ventosa, in a rather modern cafe, to have a coffee. Inside, there are a couple of pilgrims eating, at least 1 from Ireland by her accent. She comments on my hat. We sit at the bar and order coffee, and Ingeborg decides she wants hers with whiskey. We communicate that to the barkeeper, who also turns out to be the owner. He tells her the proper term to use when ordering that (which of course, I have forgotten), and then says, "Here, I'll make one for myself, to show you!" Which he does, and enjoys it with us. Ingeborg makes some comment about a book written by a popular German commedian who apparently went on the Camino and then told his story, which is why the Road is now brimming with Germans. The barkeep shakes is head, "Oh, that book!" he says. During the conversation, we find out that he used to be a truck driver, but quit that, and bought this place. He is the owner, chief cook and bottle washer. While we are talking, the Irish girl tries to ask for some butter for her tortilla. In Spain, a "tortilla" is basically an open-faced omelette with thinly-sliced layered potatoes. The barkeep and other Spanish folk seem confused by the request for butter (mantequilla). What would you put on it, asks the Irish girl? Why, mayonnaise, of course! We all laugh at our national oddities.

It's a nice interlude, but soon we are back on our way, passing a number of vineyards and wineries. The wine here in Spain is really quite good, and doesn't give me the awful headache and chest tightness that wine in the U.S. seems to. The sun is getting hotter, and I'm feeling tired again. During our walk, Ingeborg says that I walk too fast in the mornings and that's why I get so tired. I need to keep a steady pace throughout, and I know she is right. I have seen how Rita walks, always the same pace from start to finish, and yet, at 71, she consistently outwalks me. The Germans know a lot about walking!

Eventually, we begin to see the outskirts of Najera. We are coming up via the "industrial" side. There is construction, road work, etc. It is not pretty, and we are always on the lookout for our yellow guiding arrows. As we approach the town, we come upon 2 rather dilapidated lounge chairs that have been arranged seemingly randomly for tired wayfarers. Ingeborg takes advantage, after all, pilgrims must rest while they can!

The sun is hot as we hit the town proper. There are shops and offices, and for the first time in while, real traffic. I think it has been since Pamplona that there was real traffic to be aware of. Even walking beside the highway as above, there was plenty of room to stay away from the cars. Now, we are navigating city streets, and still following the arrows, not really sure where we are going. Of course, we are thinking of the alburque, and Ingeborg's guide book has done us well so far, but we also want to find Rita. Earlier she called to say that we should meet her by the bridge that goes over a river. Hmmm, kind of vague if you ask me.

After a trek through winding streets, stopping at an alimentacion for a Coke, we come upon what appears to be the center of town. Najera apparently is bisected by a river (see first photo above). We reach a grassy park with benches, near a bridge that we hope is the right one, and put our packs down. Ingeborg is going to try to reach Rita on their cell phones (in German, the word for cell phone is "handy", no joke!). She's a bit peeved because she thinks that Rita has now turned off her phone to ignore her. She leaves a message, and while we are waiting for her to call back, we notice a group of men, probably working guys, who are chatting together in the park. One of them comes over to us and offers us apples. We gratefully accept and have a little snack, and Rita calls. Bless her, she says she has arranged a room for us in another private hostal, and all is ready. We tell her where we are, and she tells us which way to walk. We head away from the river, and see the bus station, along with rows of shops, restaurants, etc. Then we cross into a large sandy plaza with large shade trees, and tables set up, being served from a cafe/bar across the street. As we make our way through this plaza, we see Rita coming around the corner from behind the restauant. We all greet each other enthusiastically, and she guides us to our lodging. Again, it's such a surprise--a hotel, really. We are on the 2nd or 3rd floor, I don't know, but as always, there are stairs, but this is even better than the room in Viana--there is a real, honest-to-God BATHROOM, with a TUB and even a bidet! A full, American-sized room. I'm stunned. I don't even know how to react other than to lie back on my twin bed and kick my feet to the ceiling!

After getting our showers, doing the regular washing out of clothes, and hanging things out to dry, we head back out to the plaza to have a coke. As we chat, we see Gaby, the German lady that we met in Viana, and then we decide to walk over to the alburgue to get our stamps. The alburque is across the bridge and it is apparent once over that this is the "older" section of town. The streets are much narrower, twisty and wind-y, and there's just that "medieval" feel to it. Cobblestones replace asphalt, and the cars don't come down every street. The alburque, however, is new, and there is a computer, so after we get our stamps, Ingeborg heads there to catch up on e-mail, etc. I hit the ladies locker room, and am not surprised to find, that even in this new building with a real shower/dressing room, that I can barely close the stall door because it literally hits my knees when I sit down. I guess they are just not used to tall women in Spain!

Rita decided to stay with Gaby when Ingeborg and I went to the alburque, so I am now exploring on my own. I wander back into the old town, and find the church. I want to make my thanks offering. The church here could not be more different from the one in Navarette. This place is stark and cold. There is absolutely NO ornamentation whatsoever. All I can think of is Oliver Cromwell and Puritans, even though there is a rather gruesome crucifix. It is not a peaceful place at all, and after a rather brief turn through the building, I am happy to leave. Afterwards, I wander the randomly winding streets, sort of looking for a grocery store, but not really. I see a couple of men (pilgrims) with shopping bags from what looks like a food store and ask where they got their goods. They give me directions and I find a TEENY cubbyhole of a store and buy some lemon yogurt.

Then I meet up with Ingeborg and we decide to have some tapas. We choose a place pretty much at random, and make our selections. They have an outdoor patio, so we go out to sit and who should we see but Claudette from Quebec! The Camino is a small world, especially for those who walk at the same pace!

While we are eating, we see Rita coming across the plaza. She's trying to find something she can eat, but it is difficult for her, since she can't really eat flour. After we're done, we say good-bye to Claudette and go back into the older section of town. Ingeborg is looking for something, and Rita pulls me aside to tell me that tomorrow is Ingeborg's birthday, and we need to do something for her. Candles, she says, we must have candles! I am wracking my brains trying to remember the Spanish word for candles, but for the life of me cannot. Birthday, I know, so I start looking for a likely store. I see what looks like a hardware store, paint, tools, etc. Surely, I think, they will have candles.

I go in. A friendly-looking gentleman behind the counter asks if he can help me. I begin by telling him that tomorrow is the birthday of my friend and I need.....still drawing a blank on the word for candles, I mime striking a match, and then blowing out a candle. "Ahhh!" he says, "Velos de cumpleanos!" Velos! That's the word. Does he have any? Alas, no, but sometimes bakeries have them. Is there one near? He points down the way, and I thank him profusely. Rita and I walk out, on a mission. Ingeborg, I think, is trying to buy more time on her cell phone, so she is distracted, thankfully. I go into the bakery which is very busy, now that it is after 5 pm and siesta is done. At last, it's my turn and I ask if she has "velos de cumpleanos". She does, but the candles are numbers, not just little candles. Ingeborg is going to be 61--does she have a 6 and a 1? She does! Mission accomplished. I pay and she wraps them up for me. I give a high-five to Rita on the way out, and go back to the hardware store to thank the man for putting me in the right direction.

We then head back to our room, thinking we might want to eat in an actual restaurant tonight, but on the way, Rita shows me that has bought a couple of carrots to use for the birthday "cake" the candles are the kind that have small spikes on the end for putting into cakes, etc. A carrot will work just fine!

We never do get to a restaurant, because in Spain, nothing like that opens before 9 pm, but thanks to my earlier wanderings, I did find a place that offered a pilgrims' menu, so I lead us all back there, and we have dinner before retiring. While Ingeborg is in the shower, Rita shows me how she has fixed the candles to the carrots, and hides them in the dresser drawer. All is ready.

At dawn the next day, Rita is up before either of us, and wants to light the candles. I am having a hard time containing my laughter, and finally Ingeborg wakes up, just a little bit baffled. "Happy Birthday!" I holler, and Rita says the same in German. We light the candles and Ingeborg gets to blow them out, celebrating her birthday on the Camino:

I don't remember if she actually ate the carrots!