Day 9 - 1 May - Logroño to Ventosa

As The Beautiful South famously sung:

This could be Rotterdam or Amsterdam              

On any day or week                                             

Or Paris, Rome or Ventosa                                  

It’s English they all speak.

The city of Logroño knows how to party. Up to around 6.00 a.m. as it happens but notwithstanding all that we both caught our best night’s kip of the adventure so far and awoke ready for action. Having said that, we didn’t fancy a second consecutive day of eighteen miles so we had already booked today’s accommodation at a rather more civilised distance of twelve miles. We breakfasted at Bar Calenda in the centre of the old town and then hit the road at around half past eight. It can take a while to exit the big cities but the path out of Logroño was routed through a park which then morphed into a walking/ cycling/ running route all the way to the Parque de la Grajera complete with woodland paths, lake and separate waterway full of mutant sea bass. Okay, that last bit comes from an Austin Powers film but these fish, whatever species, were certainly huge and ugly.

Beyond the park, the path and scenery became a little more scrubby and from time to time we found ourselves walking on pathways adjacent to busy roads. After around eight miles we arrived at the town of Navarette and, like so many seemingly unassuming little Spanish towns, the old town was a gem. We fed and watered then sat in the sunshine for a while before setting off towards our ultimate destination of Ventosa. 

We saw our first stork, minding its own business sat on a huge nest on the top of an industrial chimney and we expect the storks to become a regular sight over the next few days.

The road out of Navarrete was just that, a road. We had a couple of miles of boring before taking an off-road path which led us through fields of neatly laid out vines and olive trees. Ventosa was now only around two miles away and the scenery was improving and worthy of a few snaps on the i-phone. When you arrive at Ventosa, the first thing you see is a bar. And it would be rude not to wouldn’t it?

There’s not too much to Ventosa which suited us fine. One bar, one hotel and a church was just about the sum total of the place. We spent the afternoon relaxing, allowing the Spanish sun to work its magic on legs and feet, before our “fellowship meal” at the hotel with the other guests, they being Harriet from London, Rob and Jessie from Holland and Isabelle and Jean-Francois from France. I know it’s getting boring my saying this but everyone was really nice. When it comes to our European cousins generally I especially like the Dutch and Rob guffawed at all of my jokes so I really liked him.  I have decided to refer to Jean-Francois as JF because typing JF is much easier than Jean-Francois. Anyway, JF is very, very French - think of a cross between Charles Aznavour and David Ginola. Tall and charming, he is a wine producer in Saint Emilion, probably owns a vineyard and I bet he wears his jumpers over the shoulders rather than putting them on properly.

Everybody speaks bloody English. No wonder I can’t find anyone to practice my Spanish on. When I went to the bar earlier to order a couple of beers, the bloke behind the bar looked at me quizzically and uttered those immortal words. “Que?” Perhaps I should have ordered in English. Or asked JF to order them for me. He could charm the habit off a nun.

Day 8 - 30 April - Los Arcos to Logroño

As Elvis Presley famously sang:

Wub me tender, wub me sweet                      

Never wet me go                                                 

For my darwing, I wish yoo                                    

A buen caminio

It’s been a long one today. Eighteen miles from Los Arcos to the city of Logroño, the capital of the province of La Rioja. Despite the promise of relatively easy walking conditions, both terrain and weather, the distance was intimidating so we set off early with a view to taking it as easy as one can take eighteen miles. We left our accommodation at 07.01 and made our first stop at 07.03 for breakfast and coffee which we duly consumed sat on a rickety wooden bench opposite. We got going properly at 07.18. 

Out of Los Arcos, the surroundings were pleasant improving to very pleasant over the next thirteen miles until we arrived in the town of Viana which old town was bloody lovely. We stopped for a beer and some delicious pintxos there, sat in the town square with Manoelle and Gaelle, two Belgian ladies whom we had seen regularly over the last few days, albeit not having previously properly introduced ourselves. 

From Viana it was all a bit downhill both literally and metaphorically as we trudged the final five miles towards Logroño. The countryside gave way to industry, urbanisation and concrete and our feet generally just gave way. However, the recuperative effects of thirst and hunger soon saw us out on the streets of, as it transpires, Logroño the party town. This place is jam packed with hen parties and stag do’s, and not to mention peregrinos (pilgrims). Within ten minutes, we were sat drinking beer with Kelsey and Katie from the USA together with Charlie and Lisa who we met at the albergue in Urdaniz four days ago. 

Unfortunately I didn't have a stick with me with which to beat off unwanted attention from attractive young ladies on a hen night so I reluctantly had to dance with the brunette after she practically begged me. To be fair, I think I was a bet. See if you can get that old, bald geezer up dancing type of thing. Either way it was a win win.

Later on, it was nice to bump into Michael from Switzerland of whom keen readers of this blog (is there such a thing?) will be pleased to know that I am so very over.

But I have to tell you about Henry. Second only to the Americans, in terms of numbers on the Camino, are the Koreans. And they are unfailingly nice and polite and some of them quite bonkers. Henry takes friendly to new levels. He embraces the bar owners, shakes hands with the waiters and buys beers for anyone who comes within two metres of him. But you can be too friendly. He was sat next to Mrs C in the bar when she was suddenly afflicted with a thigh cramp. She leapt from her chair and pogo’d around the bar shout-whispering “Ooh. Ouch. Cramp. Cramp in my thigh. Ouch”. 

I have some advice for Henry. In such circumstances, when husband of the afflicted is present, you do not leap out of your own chair shouting “you want I wub your leg? I wub your leg. Let me wub it”.

It’s just not cricket old boy. 

And talking of cricket, arrival in Logroño marks the one hundred mile point of our Camino adventure. One hundred not out, having survived Henry’s leg before appeal.

Day 7 - 29 April - Estella to Los Arcos

As UB40 famously sang:

Red, red wine, goes to my head                  

Makes me forget it’s usually five quid a glass.    

But here at the fountain it’s free. Free my arse. 

There ain’t any here                                              

I’ll stick to the beer

Back to Casa Carmen for breakfast this morning and thereafter we hit the road at just after eight o’clock. A forecast clear, crisp blue sky greeted us which meant shorts on, raincoat packed tightly away in the rucksack and a liberal sprinkling of factor fifty slapped all over the bonce. We strode out of Estella in the knowledge that one of the Camino’s iconic experiences awaited us; the wine fountain at the vineyards belonging to Bodegas Irache. Yes, can you believe it, adjacent to one of the plentiful drinking water fountains along The Way, there is a wine fountain, dispensing free red wine to thirsty travellers. Okay, they lock up access to the fountain at night but from 08.00 a.m. in the morning - free red wine. Wine. Free. Red wine. Good red wine. Mrs C likes her red wine. Tempranillo especially. Bodegas Irache make a good Tempranillo. Oh the anticipation. Mrs C approaches the tap, tentatively turns the tap and ……….. nothing. Bloody nothing. It’s quarter to nine in the morning and bloody nothing. Nada. Zilch. Some bugger’s had the bloody lot. Not a good start to the day.

Disappointed just doesn’t cut it. But we had no option other than to take it on the chin. On the bright side, at least it wasn’t beer.  

We had a thirteen mile walk ahead of us today with Los Arcos our destination and we opted for the scenic route option along the fringes of the Montejurra mountain. What a good decision. Wow! And a bit more wow. The scenery was spectacular. The most spectacular of the adventure so far. We ascended three hundred metres via gentle forest paths and mountain trails for two miles or so before descending gradually, over the next seven or eight miles, towards Los Arcos. We took provisions with which to sustain us before we reached our first re-fuelling stop in the tiny village of Luquin and thereafter to allow three rest stops en route, chosen mainly with spectacular outlooks in mind.

The final three miles or so into Los Arcos was via a wide, comfortable path through fields of vines, wheat and canola (rapeseed). All this oneness with nature could possibly turn me into a hippy. If only I had long hair. If only I had hair! I have however treated myself to a necklace which probably also counts?

We arrived in Los Arcos at around two o’clock. To make up for the wine fountain disappointment, we found a bar in a small square outside a church and sat in the sunshine drinking beer. After a brief lapse during which we departed said bar, we quickly rectified this mistake and returned for more beer and then food. Thereafter, we retired to our accommodation at a ridiculously early hour and my calculations suggest that we are hitting the sack approximately half an hour earlier each night. At this rate, we will be going to bed before we wake up by the time we get to Santiago.

Day 6 - 28 April - Puente la Reina to Estella

As Dionne Warwick famously sang: 

If you see me walking down the street               

And I start to cry, it’s probably my feet             

Walk on by....

We set off from Puente la Reina at around half past seven in the morning, exiting the town over the stone bridge from which the town derives its name. As was forecast, we had a light drizzle to contend with but not sufficient to warrant a fashion disaster poncho. Just as well because Mrs C’s poncho is already beginning to disintegrate. In any event the rain gave up mid morning and whilst the sun never did quite burst through, it made for nice walking weather.

An early coffee stop in the village of Mañeru provided a suitable fillip for the fourteen mile day ahead of us. Aside from a lung busting, steep but mercifully short ascent two miles in, today’s walk has been a nice long stroll alongside farmland and rolling countryside providing a patchwork of spring colours.

I have to admit though that Dionne is not the only one whose feet are hurting a bit. Fortunately, I have my Crocs with me. A fashion crime they may be but, once on, they transform my feet into sophisticated tracking devices which deliver me, pain free, to a suitable drinking establishment. Tonight, in the town of Estella, they delivered us to Casa Carmen and who should be holding court there but our New York ex-fire fighter buddies Albert and Joe. Albert seemed particularly keen to brush up on his rude-words-in-an-english-accent repertoire so I was pleased to help him out in that respect. Joe? I have to confess I don’t understand a word he says, with the exception of “cawffee”, such is his NY drawl. He was pointing to his foot at one stage and I think he might have been saying it was a bit hurty but I don’t think even Dionne Warwick could have been certain. Either way, great guys and never a dull moment and all that.

Six days in already. Irrespective of hurty feet, we’re loving it. Tomorrow, we get to visit a wine fountain. Rest assured, we will not walk on by.

Day 5 - 27 April - Pamplona to Puente la Reina

As Lynn Anderson famously sang:

Alto del perdon                                                        

I never promised you a snog in the garden

Up and at it this morning at half past seven, breakfasting at a cafe in the heart of Pamplona before hitting the road at just after eight. Still feeling a little bit sore about that kiss last night but what can a bloke do?

The early morning light rain worked its way up to heavier rain throughout the morning and we weren’t much out of the city before the ponchos were called for. 

Today we were to pass one of the Camino’s most iconic landmarks, the Alto del Perdon - the hill/ height of forgiveness. Located at an altitude of 770 metres and providing fantastic panoramic views, it is best known for a sheet metal monument representing pilgrims from various eras. This of course meant a long, uphill trek which took the whole morning, in the rain, and with but one refreshment stop from which I was ejected! Or at least I thought I had been. There I was, stood in the queue for takeaway coffees and donuts, when the guy running the place started gesticulating at me. Remember, it was raining heavily outside and there I was with my poncho dripping wet in his establishment. Michael (from Australia, not Michael from Switzerland of whom I have my man crush) said “I think he wants you to get out mate” so I sheepishly backed out of the door wondering why he had picked on me and not any of the other similarly poncho’d-up punters. Turned out my poncho-covered rucksack, as I backed up against the wall, kept turning the shop light switch off and on. The guy was simply trying to get me to move away from the switch. The coffee and donuts were very nice by the way.

The hill of forgiveness. Yes, I need to put last night behind me so Mrs C has promised not to snog Ernest Hemingway again and I will knock this would-be Michael bromance on the head (that's Michael from Switzerland not Michael from Australia who I still haven’t forgiven for ejecting me from the takeaway).

What goes up must come down and after the Alto del Perdon it was largely downhill on the walking front and uphill on the weather front as the rain stopped and we even saw a bit of sunshine late afternoon. We enjoyed a very nice refreshment break in the small town of Uterga and later took a detour off the main route to go see a church which, it transpired, only opens on Saturdays. Fortunately, the bar in Obanos had more appealing opening hours and that’s where we had the first beer of the day a while later.

Then it was down into Puente la Reina, a beautiful little town, where we had booked a room for the night in a private albergue. Our subsequent bar crawl ended up being just the one bar; it was so nice we stayed for more drinks and then our meal of forgiveness. The Alto del Perdon had worked its magic. Sorry Michael.

Day 4 - 26 April - Urdaniz to Pamplona

As Herman’s Hermits famously sang:

Woke up this morning feelin’ fine                        

Got the Camino on my mind                              

Last night I took my girl down Pamplona way   

Next thing I know she’s snogging Ernest Hemingway

After a communal breakfast with the lovely crew at Urdaniz, we were the last to leave the hostal following a serious bout of fannying around by yours truly. Sometimes you just have to take time with your rucksack strap adjustments. We hit the road at just after half past eight. It was cold but not for too long. Once again, my knees were on display and looking extremely attractive. 

Today’s walk into Pamplona was always going to be the least painful day thus far. Eleven miles of relatively gentle descent, pretty much following the River Arga into Pamplona through woodland paths and trails. Mrs C and I have been to Pamplona before and we were looking forward to re-acquainting ourselves with the numerous pintxos (tapas) bars in and around the city centre.

We deserved a treat so we had a hotel room booked right in the city centre. Having checked in at 2.00 p.m. we caught up with the necessary washing of grundies etc and then hit (okay, meekly brushed?) the town at around 4.30 p.m. First to Bar Goucho for a couple of beers and pintxos then on to a second bar where we sat on stools at a high table, looking out onto the street, when who should see and join us but Michael, our Swiss doctor friend who we met last night. I think I’m beginning to develop a man crush on Michael so it was no surprise when I invited him to join us on a quick reccy of the Cathedral before we located another bar where we were joined by Gwendolyn and Danny who we had been bumping into regularly since Orisson. However, before too long respective needs must and Michael needed a proper dinner, I needed a beer and Gwendolyn and Danny probably needed to escape so Mrs C and I headed back in the general direction of our hotel. And then it nearly all went horribly wrong.

Our next venue saw us bump into Swiss couple Charles and Trudi who were at Orisson with us, not that we had opportunity to properly meet at the time. Anyway, they were very excited having earlier visited Cafe Iruna where writer and serial womaniser Ernest Hemingway hangs out so, after we finished our beers and another modest round of pintxos, they took us to said cafe. Being the ever considerate bloke that I am, I’m busy getting the beers in whilst Mrs C is powdering her nose. So, halfway through my beer and I’m thinking “that girl of mine’s been a long time” so off I go to try find her. Imagine my surprise when I happen upon this;

It was a relief when Mrs C subsequently explained that, minus her reading glasses she had inadvertently mistaken Mr Hemingway for me. Oh how we laughed at my paranoid jumping to ridiculous assumptions.

Day 3 - 25 April - Burguete to Urdaniz

As the infamous Black Lace song goes: 

Arga doo doo doo                                             

Drop your rucksack in the stream                     

Arga doo doo doo                                               

But only if you’re Martin Sheen

So, if yesterday was our first day proper on the Camino, then today was our first proper day. And by that I mean the sun was shining, there were plenty of rest stop opportunities and I had my shorts on. Scenery was seen, regular refreshment was taken and my knobbly knees were unleashed. Lovely.

We awoke to an early morning mist which was already losing out to the sunshine. After brekky at the hotel, we hit the road at half past eight and it was all rather lovely, passing through countryside more rolling than mountainous. We walked for a couple of hours with Albert and Joe, two wise-cracking retired fire fighters from New York. Great company and as New York as a Brit would hope New Yorkers would be. After our first re-fuelling stop, the two of us bade adios to Albert and Joe and set off once more. We hope we will see them again.

The next stage of the day involved more up and down than we had been expecting, through forest and woodland paths, although nothing to rival yesterday’s experience. However the combination of rocky and muddy equalled slippy so it warranted due respect. And another beer once completed. 

The third stage of today’s near fourteen miles was a long descent into Zubiri with the rocky, muddy path getting rockier and muddier and consequently slippier. A stone bridge over the River Arga marks the entrance to Zubiri, recognisable to those who have seen the film The Way as the bridge over which the actor Martin Sheen accidentally drops his rucksack into the fast flowing waters below. It could have been my Stars in Their Eyes moment. “Tonight Matthew, I’m going to be……(walks into the dry ice mist, then seconds later re-emerges as)…Martin Sheen”. But honestly, you’d have to be an idiot to accidentally drop your rucksack over the side of this bridge. Now, whilst I accept that I do have form in terms of being an idiot, this level of idiocy was beyond me. Thus, my moment of fame was denied me so we made do with two large beers and a couple of large bocadillos (big baguete sandwiches).

Thereafter we proceded the final couple of miles to Urdaniz where we had booked a private hostal for the night. Delightful. We sat in the late afternoon sunshine in the hostal garden drinking beer and chatting with some of the other guests. There were ten of us in total and Mrs C and I shared a small dorm with Michael from Switzerland, the type of bloke who makes you wish you were more European. Michael is a doctor with his own practice, speaks five languages fluently (including Spanish which he learnt three years ago for “something to do”) and was knowledgable and interesting on just about any topic you could throw at him. A real gentleman. I couldn’t stand him. Only joking.

The ten of us enjoyed our three course pilgrim menu evening meal together, drinking red wine and generally talking rubbish. It was a lovely evening, made all the more interesting as one of our number was the erstwhile DJ Simon Mayo who must now have time on his hands having been relieved of his Radio 2 drive time slot a couple of years back. Presumably, the Radio 2 bigwigs must have got fed up with his cheesy music choices. All together now, agar doo doo doo….