It was cold when we started out the next morning.  After I devoured a carb-loaded breakfast, the hotel van took me and a Spanish family to a place where we picked up the Camino going out of town.  I had not been walking long before we came abruptly to another Camino icon, the Monasterio de Irache, which includes a winery, the Bodegas Irache.  The community of monks is long gone now, a victim of the failure of its community to attract novices, but the wine remains.  It is dispensed from a spigot like water.

The monks at Irache are gone but the wine continues to flow, and…

It was early in the day for me, but I poured some into my Camino shell and drank it nonetheless.  While doing so, I chatted with an English-speaking couple, he from England, she from Germany.  Still no Americans in sight.

…the only way to drink this wine is using your Camino shell.

I bypassed a more remote, alternative to the traditional route that takes you higher up the mountain on the way to Montjardin.  I was feeling much stronger and more confident, but no sense pushing it.  Even on the main route, the climb to Montjardin is still fairly steep although it lasts just a few kilometers.   The rest of the walk to Los Arcos was a slow and delightful descent.

By this day, my seventh on the Camino, I really felt myself slowing done, being in the moment, alone with my thoughts – what the Camino promises – and very much enjoying it.  I was so successful that, at one point, I came to the conclusion that I had taken a wrong turn, or failed to take a right turn. My evidence?  I was blissfully walking along a dirt and gravel trail by a field when I noticed a slew of pilgrims walking on a parallel trail across the field.  Well, we were still going in the same general direction.  But not being sure that I could get over there at an upcoming intersection, I climbed a fence and walked across the field to right myself.

Camino directional signage is pretty good…

…but can be primitive at times.

Musicians on the Camino

Going around the bend at one point on the trail near Luquin was a sight that perfectly fitted the Camino and my mood:  an older man and woman playing a violin and accordion respectively along the side of the road.  Music that was plaintive, sorrowful, but strangely soothing.   For small donations, they entertained passing pilgrims.  This reminded me of an entrepreneurial young Spaniard, a high school student I had guessed, whom I encountered on the way to Pamplona.  His family’s house sat just off the Camino, but with some handmade signs, he had managed to steer me and others to a small detour so that we would pass directly in front of his family’s house — where he sold refreshing drinks.  This kid had the world’s best location for a lemonade stand!

Although this day covered 23 km, I was feeling very good.   On the first couple of days, everyone passed me.  On this day, my seventh, I found myself passing others.  Some were half my age.  One of these, a 40-something Spaniard, was walking alone and clearly exhausted.  He asked me in Spanish how many kilometers were left before we got to Los Arcos, our destination for the night.  “Dos?” he asked hopefully.  I checked my Fitbit and gave him the bad news, “hmm, cuatro.”

I was anxious to get to Los Arcos for another reason.  That night, I would be able to confer with my wife about the results of her cardiac diagnostic procedure.  By 6:00 p.m. Spain time, noon DC time, I did get her on the phone, along with my daughter and a surgeon.  The doctors had recommended more than just stents, but a bypass surgery.  It didn’t need to be done immediately, but she should not delay too long.  We were prepared for that possibility, although we had thought it remote at the time.  She and I didn’t hesitate to make a decision.  She would stay at the hospital and do the surgery as soon as possible, in her case Thursday, two days hence.   I would immediately “suspend” my Camino and get home as soon as possible.

After Mass at Iglesia de Santa Maria

Altar Servers at Los Arcos

My last Pilgrim Blessing (for this trip)

After making my travel arrangements, I went to the Pilgrim Mass at the Iglesia de Santa Maria de los Arcos.  It was a Tuesday evening and this 12th century church was packed, a sign that it is not just pilgrims who are filling up the churches.  I wondered if the decline of Catholicism in Europe is overstated.  The local participants included not just older Spanish ladies with their veils and prayer books, but young families with children.  The Mass concluded in the usual fashion:  a blessing for the pilgrims, a memorial card, and a stamp in my credencial. After Mass, with others, I walked around the town square.  It was a glorious summer evening here in Northern Spain.  I felt incredibly peaceful and now looking forward to getting home.

And so, good reader, I must suspend this blog as well.   The great thing about the Camino is that “it is always there.”  In one week’s time, I had walked, by my reckoning, about 90 miles, nearly 20 percent of the way to Compostela.   Not yet a great chunk of the journey, but enough for the Camino to get its hooks in me.   I will return to finish what I had started.  I can hardly do otherwise.

Postscript:

I have been home now for several months.  My wife’s surgery was successful and she is now fully recovered.  I managed to get to Washington from Los Arcos in record time.  I arranged a four-hour taxi ride from Los Arcos to Madrid airport, starting at 6:00 the next morning.  One flight from Madrid to Paris led to another from Paris to Washington Dulles.  An Uber ride took me directly from the airport at Dulles right to my wife’s bed at Washington Hospital Center, arriving at 7:30 that evening, about 20 hours door to door.   All in time for surgery the next morning.

The cold weather has since come to the Camino and I don’t expect to get back to finish what I started until the spring.  I hope to see you then.   Buen Camino!

Bob