Thursday 20 November 2014

The Crucified Life

"The worth of any journey can always be measured by the difficulties encountered along the way. The more difficult the journey, the more satisfying the destination. If we are on the journey of a crucified life, this world is not our home. That is why we should never get too comfortable in this life"
                     A.W. Tozer: The Crucified Life
  

Wednesday 19 November 2014

Sanctuary of the Soul

I have been reading Richard Foster's book Sanctuary of the Soul and was captivated by the following quote which I thought summed up well my recent experience on the Camino:

"The heights are full of wonder, but in between those heights we may well travel together through shadow and valley and desert for months and even years. That is all part of what it means to walk with God".



Friday 14 November 2014

El Easy Camino

I was recently amused to be given a newspaper cutting from the Sunday Times by one of my patients who found it a hilarious read. It was an advert for a package tour called "El Easy Camino".
The advert describes a "more convenient way of enjoying the Pilgrim Road". This apparently involves paying €1,239pp to stay in "carefully selected hotels" and my favourite bit - "opportunities for some light hiking(without luggage) so that we can blend in with some 'real' pilgrims"!!
And to think I have been "slumming it" in randomly selected albergues and even carrying my own pack, when I could have been doing it by bus! Personally at that price I think I will stick with El Cheapo Camino - a bit more authentic perhaps?

Monday 10 November 2014

The Spanish Armada

Over the Halloween bank holiday a couple of weeks ago, I was pleased to again visit the Ulster Museum in Belfast, where I spent a lot of time enjoyably running around as a kid in the 1970's and which gave me my first taste for history. My granny lived just up the road in Stranmillis and my brother and I would go down to the museum and stare at the modern art and Takabuti the Egyptian mummy, after we got bored of riding up and down in the lifts.

In particular, I used to like looking at the treasure which had been recovered from the wreck of the Spanish Armada Galleass, the Girona, which sank off Lecada Point, Co. Antrim, Northern Ireland, in July 1588, with the loss of 1300 lives. I was interested this time, upon seeing the treasure again, that there is in fact a link to the Camino de Santiago; one of the items recovered from the seabed is cross of a Knight of Santiago de Compostela. This order of chivalry was a very important one in 16th Century Spain and was given to very few people. The cross almost certainly belonged to Don Alonso Martinez de Leiva and is a red enamelled cross with arms ending in fleur-de-lys and set in an oval gold border and it's discovery is confirmation that he perished on the Girona.

De Leiva, who had been Captain-General of the Cavalry in Milan and was secretly charged with taking over command of the Armada should the Commander of the Fleet, Medina Sedonia be killed, was a favourite of King Philip of Spain and when he did not return the King was said to be devastated and Spain went into national mourning.

Sunday 9 November 2014

Estella - Dublin (15/09/14)

The albergue had to be vacated by 7am, so it was still dark as we departed and said goodbye to our friendly Breton hosts. I was amazed and rather disturbed to see our American friend standing outside the door with his girlfriend, preparing to leave with his large rucksack on his back. "Surely you are not walking to day are you?" I asked him and was told "Don't worry Doc - my foot still feels sore, but its a lot better since you treated it and we only plan to walk as far as Irache". I told him that the pilgrim side of me admired his fortitude, but that the podiatrist in me thought he was mad. I wished him a buen camino as he set off limping. From what I had seen of his foot the night before, I doubted he would get very far and felt he would have been better having it examined at the hospital, but he and his girlfriend had seemed very upset the night before at the thought of having to give up walking and I could understand their desire to carry on, though I thought it very unwise. I hope he didnt end up with a serious foot and leg infection!

We had arranged with Caroline Aphessetche from Expressbourricot.com to pick us up in her taxi minibus at 11.30 in the car park at the end of calle Rua, so that gave us plenty of time to look around Estella beforehand. We made our down to Plaza Fueros and had breakfast in a cafe under one of the colonnades: a gargantuan plate of tostada; delicious thick slices of crusty bread toasted on a hotplate and smothered in butter and marmalade, accompanied by cafe con leche. Suitably bloated we were ready to investigate Estella.



Plaza San Martin
According to John Brierley's guidebook, Estella has a population of about 15,000 and is at an altitude of 425m. The original settlement developed north of the river and was called Lizarra (ash tree) in Basque. However, in 1090, King Sancho Ramirez, capitalising on the flow of pilgrims along the Camino, established the new burgo franco of San Martin south of the river and called it L'Izzara (Basque for star). This in turn later became Estella (Spanish for star) as the Camino is often traditionally associated with the Milky Way. The town has a long history of conflict; in a similar way to how Pamplona developed, artisans and craftsmen were encouraged to settle in the new borough which had special privileges, but this of course led to envy and disharmony with locals even after the two boroughs were unified in 1266. The town once also had a large Jewish community, but this was expelled in the 14th Century and even as late as the 19th Century, the town was a stronghold of the Carlists in the civil war which supported the succession of Don Carlos and his descendants to the Spanish throne - a long lasting movement which was the cause of several wars throughout the 19th Century and a factor in the Spanish Civil War in the 1930's.
Another glass of red wine for Matt in Plaza San Martin!
We made our way to Plaza San Martin which is the old administrative centre of the town. The plaza has an interesting assemblage of buildings; a delightful fountain at it's centre, the old Juzgado (Courts of Justice) which are now the Town Hall, and the 12th Century Palace of the Kings of Navarre which is now a museum and art gallery. The palace was never a residence of the kings of Navarre, but the place where his governor lived (usually a royal prince) and as far as I know was also the site of a royal mint. Unfortunately, the Palace was closed,like all public buildings on a Monday,but the exterior of the building was still interesting to look at as it is a unique example of Romanesque secular architecture in Navarre and features a wonderfully carved pillar capital of the legend of Roland fighting the Muslim giant Ferragut. I explained back in my post about Roncesvalles, how the semi-historical events surrounding Charlemagne and his nephew Roland fighting the Muslims in Northern Spain became written down in an epic called the Chanson de Roland, which became wildly popular in Medieval times. All sorts of additional myths and legends accreted themselves around the epic and the story of Roland fighting the Muslim giant Ferragut in a story reminiscent of David and Goliath at Roldan's Hill near the town of Najera is one of them.
The Juzgado
Roland and Ferragut

Opposite the Palacio, up a steep flight of steps is the church of San Pedro de la Rua. The church was the site chosen by the Kings of Navarre to swear special oaths and privileges. The steps lead up to another wonderful multilobed Mozarab-influenced entrance portal similar to those we saw at Puente La Reina and Cirauqui, but this portal was also decorated with interesting mythical beasts such a cockatrices, a two tailed mermaid and a Centaur archer. These motifs give us an interesting insight into the medieval world of arcane symbols. I was reminded of a doorway surrounded by carvings of centaur archers I had seen a few years ago at Visoki Decani Serbian Orthodox monastery in Kosovo. In the ancient pagan world the centaur archer represented Chiron, who was raised by Apollo, God of the sun and was symbolic of animal and spiritual natures combined. The Christians adapted this symbol to represent Christ; God and Man combined and Heaven's sun. The two tailed mermaid is probably the freshwater changeling or fairy sprite Mesuline. Romances about her were very popular in Medieval times; how she was half fish or serpent and half human; how she was a daughter of the King of Albany (Scotland) and a fairy mother; and how her husband, Raymond of Poitiers had discovered her two tails when he secretly viewed her bathing, even though forbidden not to as a condition of their marriage. Pagan and medieval Christian symbolism combined on one wonderfully carved portal. Or was I looking too deeply and the the mermaid was just an early representation of the Starbucks logo? ;-)
San Pedro de la Rua




We spent a long time here in the peaceful interior; praying and reflecting on our amazing trip. As we sat reflecting, we saw the Hungarian guy we had shared a bunk cubicle at Roncesvalles doing the same. Afterwards we wandered around the marvellous 12th Century cloister. Two sides of it were destroyed when a tower of the town wall fell on it, but what remains is stunningly beautiful with ornate pillars and capitals and a rose garden in the centre. We were surprised to find outside the cloister entrance, a glass lift that took us down the side of the hill to the town's historic Main Street Rua de las Tiendas.







Ben in San Pedro Cloisters
From here we crossed over the restored medieval bridge of Puente de la Carcel or Puente de la San Miguel and made our up the hill to the site of the now ruined castle from which we had impressive views across the town, spoilt only by the noise of the busy N111 running below us. It was on Castle Hill that Estella's important Medieval Jewish community had their synagogue, but a church of Santa Maria Jus del Castillo was built on the site in 1145.
Puente de la Carcel








Castle Hill
View of Estella from Castle Hill
Below the hill was the 12th Century church of the Holy Sepulchre which I had passed when I entered the town the day before and which was being restored with scaffolding and cranes. Nonetheless the entrance portal could be seen with its detailed tympanum over the doorway showing the crucifixion, the empty tomb, the jaws of hell and the last supper. The statues of the disciples line either side of the doorway, including St James, dressed as a pilgrim. It all must have struck awe and reverence into the hearts of medieval pilgrims who walked past and stared up at it and we did the same, before sitting on a bench opposite by the rio Ega and reading some psalms and praying together. Whilst we did this I was astounded to see the same disabled young guy I had seen the day before as I descended from Cirauqui, resolutely struggling into Estella! I was immensely impressed! 
The tympanum above the main door of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre
St James the pilgrim third from right
Finally, there was just time to nip back to calle Rua and have a tortilla potata and a drink before our taxi arrived.

I found the drive back to Biarritz a culture shock; I had spent a week living life at a walking pace and suddenly we were flying along a the dual carriageway at what seemed like a ludicrous and obscene speed! Several day's walking were rewound unceremoniously in a few minutes; Estella to Puente La Reina took only 10 minutes and in an other 15 we had raced through the tunnel below Alto del Perdon and we passing Cizur Menor! I felt I could hardly take in how quick we could pass places that had taken hours to reach and it gave me much cause to consider the breakneck speed we live at in the modern world and whether it can be good for us; emotionally, physically or spiritually?

In an hour and a half we had reached the airport. En route the journey had been pleasant through the beautiful scenery of the Pyrenees and Caroline had explained to me with some regret, that although she was Basque, she only spoke French, as her parents for some reason had not felt the need to teach her the language, while the rest of her family, her cousins and aunts and uncles all spoke Basque. This seemed a shame.


Matt and I said goodbye to Ben at the airport, as his flight back to Stansted was before ours. I had to take Ben's walking pole as Ryanair would not allow him to take it on as hand luggage. On the plane as I looked down on a very clear view of Bordeaux and the river estuary of the Garonne, I reflected on how walking the Camino had been one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I had been challenged physically, emotionally and spiritually in ways I had never imagined. I felt God was saying things to me about my life that I didn't as yet fully understand, except that he was calling me to take more time out to draw aside and seek him as I had done on this walk. I knew it would take me weeks or even months to fully process all I had experienced, but mentally I was already planning my next leg of the Camino from Estella onwards - March next year maybe?.....To be continued!

Saturday 8 November 2014

Camino Day 6: Puente La Reina - Estella (14/09/14)

Movement started in the albergue dormitory just before 5 am! Although I had my ear plugs in, people kept going in and out of the room to the bathroom and as the light was on in the hallway I was soon wide awake. Others were rustling through the plastic bags in their rucksacks so I decided to get up at 5.15am and join them. Anyway, the discomfort in my right shin was atrocious and the muscles were throbbing slightly, so I wanted an early start to give myself plenty of time to get to Estella and have periods of rest on the way if needed.

It was still dark & chilly when I stepped out of the albergue as the bell in the tower of Iglesia del Crucifijo was striking 6 O'clock and I made my way down the deserted Calle Mayor through the town, enjoying the sounds of early risers in some of the houses waking up. One cafe, to my surprise, was open so I had an espresso to wake me up and get me going! As I walked over the bridge the reeds in the rio Arga were whispering atmospherically and I turned and took a last look back at Puente La Reina through the town wall gate; I liked this town and had enjoyed staying there.


The Camino crossed a modern road and then set off down a farm track through fields and past watery ditches interspersed with the intermittent exclamations of bleeping frogs. Once away from the lights of town it was very dark as the sun had not yet risen and I once again inwardly thanked my friends, the nuns in Mallow, for their LED torch, especially where there were forks in the road and the Camino arrows were hard to see in the dark and undergrowth.


My right shin was killing me although I had taken some Ibuprofen which hadn't kicked in yet and I was staggering along wondering how on earth I would make it Estella, when two American women in their 20's came along and asked "are you ok?". I explained my leg was very sore. "Oh" they replied - "we wondered if you were drunk!". My leg did improve when I was going uphill as the shin muscles had less work to do dorsiflexing the foot, but when I was walking on the flat and particularly when I was going downhill, it was very painful!


The track now started a fairly steep ascent up the hill to the village of Maneru (at 470m) and consequently my shin got some relief. As I climbed there was a glorious sunrise over the distant hills and I kept stopping to take it in and enjoy the moment. The American girls were labouring up the hill and it gave me some satisfaction to stagger past them to shouts of "hey look at you - way to go!". Was it the rejuvenation of the sunrise or was the Ibuprofen finally taking effect?
The village of Maneru was either largely deserted or still in bed as I walked past the escutcheoned 16th Century Houses and back out into the countryside and on towards Cirauqui - already visible and impressive on a distant hill and looking like a location from a chapter of Don Quixote. At this point Matt and Ben texted me to say they had just left Puente La Reina.


It was another beautiful sunny morning as I walked into the outskirts of Cirauqui (whose name in Basque means Viper's Nest!) and noted to my surprise, as it was a Sunday morning, that the Council bin lorries and workmen were just pulling out of their depot. As I climbed up into the narrow medieval streets of the town centre on top of the hill, I wondered whether my senses were deceiving me; was there a very strong smell of beer? Could I hear a loud commotion going on ahead of me? Rounding a corner I was surprised to find young men and women standing and sitting around, singing and shouting with plastic cups of beer in their hands. I passed by them (and a very interesting medieval inscribed pilgrim cross) and made my way into the plaza where the scaffolding from a stage was being dismantled. The cobble stones were literally awash with beer and a sea of plastic cups; the stench of beer (and other things!) was incredible and large numbers of slightly initimidating youths, male and female, were knocking back more beer and shouting and chanting loudly. Some of them tried to accost me (probably to do no more than offer me beer) but I got out of the plaza as quick as possible and made my way up to the solitude of the 13th Century Church of San Roman.
Cirauqui
Pilgrim cross in Cirauqui
The church itself is chiefly interesting because of it's gothic portal which like the one at Iglesia de Santiago in Puente La Reina and one we would see later at San  Pedro in Estella, has a well preserved Mozarab multi-lobed arch. At the church I met a young woman who spoke English and explained that the village was celebrating the festival of the Holy Cross and after mass at 12 noon, the relic of Santa Cruz would be paraded around the local villages. Down a nearby street I found the village's young priest and a group of older people walking around the village stopping at different locations and singing hymns about the Holy Cross. I was struck by the dissonance between the older people singing hymns and playing thier guitars and the scenes of unbridled drunkenness I had just witnessed in the plaza; traditional ritualistic religion can produce some strange contradictions I mused!



San Roman
The path out of Cirauqui was extremely steep, rocky and uneven and I found progress very painful and slow as I "ow! -ed and ouch!-ed" my way downhill at a snail's pace. Any self pity I had was challenged however, when I saw a young man in his 20's who was severely disabled with paralysis of his right leg and arm also descending the hill at a painfully slow pace - his right leg trembling almost uncontrollably as he leaned against a staff! I wondered how he could walk the Camino at all given the uneveness of the terrain, whether he was doing the whole pilgrimage and I thought again about all the different reasons people walk the Camino and wondered what his story was? I was so impressed by his courage and perserverance, but didnt want to seem patronising so left him to it and walked on.
View leaving Cirauqui
The path on which I was now struggling over was the remains of a Roman road and much of the Roman road surface could still be seen and I crossed over a Roman single arched bridge. The busy A12 was over to my left and eventually I walked underneath it through a concrete underpass, then over the rio Saldo and up to another hilltop village called Lorca. Here I was delighted to find a cafe open. Normally on Sundays a lot of the shops and cafes are closed, so I had bought a tin of sardines, some bread, fruit and chocolate in Puente La Reina the night before. I took the opportunity of the open cafe to have another coffee and a snack and rest my weary shin. I was pleased to be making such progress.

12th C Church of San Salvador, Lorca
Beyond Lorca the path passed back under the A12 and the view opened up and I could see the town of Estella and it's suburbs in the valley of the rio Ega below. Descending I reached Villatuerta, which although it clearly had ancient roots with a medieval bridge and 14th Century Parish church of the Assumption, with a 13th Century bell tower, seemed to mainly consist of modern suburban housing developments - clean and tidy and pleasant, but somehow rather soul-less after places like Puente La Reina and Cirauqui. I dipped into the cool of the parish church briefly and admired the Baroque and Renaissance high altar and side chapels and received a sello from a pleasant lady manning the information table.
High altar, Church of the Assumption, Villatuerte
Between Villatuerta and Estella on a hill amidst olive groves and set a little way back from the Camino path in aloof isolation was the little 10th Century hermitage of St Michael which is all that remains of the monastery of San Miguel donated by King Sancho of Penalen to the Leyre Monastery around 1061 - 1065. The hermitage is apparently of great historical significance because it is one of the first pre-Romanesque churches in the Western Pyrenees and dates to about A.D. 970. It had a set of a reliefs high up in the Southern wall below the cornice which include what are probably the earliest sculptures of the crucifixion and St Michael in Spanish art. The reliefs are now in the Museum of Navarre.


Entering the church I was struck by the vast amount of items covering the altar in the otherwise bare interior; letters, stones, multi-coloured ribbons, crosses made out of olive twigs, soft toys and holy medals. I walked over to the altar and read some of the letters; there was a pathos in their contents; stories of dead parents, much missed, terminally ill friends and children; people with broken lives, trying to piece them together as they walked the Camino. One letter was written by someone from Cahersiveen in Co. Kerry who obviously had experienced some unidentified hurt or tragedy in thier lives and had left a stone on the altar from the fort at Caherdaniel, hoping symbolically to leave their hurts behind. I was also struck by how many of the letters were addressed to no-one in particular and seemed to be appeals to an unkown God or spiritual being; one they were unsure existed but hoped did. I was oppressed by the sadness of the items which seemed like the flotsam and jetson of a tide of human suffering which had washed up to the place and left the detritus of prayers and hopes on the altar. Having a personal relationship with Jesus Christ myself and knowing the hope, joy and peace  that this brings, I prayed that the people that these items represented would come to know God for themselves personally and experience his love and healing. Then I stepped back into the sunshine and birdsong of the olive grove.


Outside, sitting on the grass amidst wildflowers, I ate my tin of sardines using my penknife and soaked the olive oil in the lovely crusty bread I had brought. Munching my dessert of fruit I kept a close eye on the Camino path in the distance as I expected Matt and Ben to come along at any moment as I had been walking so slowly with my leg, but there was no sign of them.


A final walk of about half an hour brought me into outskirts of Estella and I turned right on a small pedestrian bridge over the river opposite the 12th Century church of the Holy Sepulchre. My leg was killing me and it was very hot and I was desperate to finish. I made my way up to the Parish Albergue of St Miguel. It was 12.50 and it had taken me 6 hours and 50 minutes to walk from Estella. The albergue didnt open until 13.00 and already quite a few pilgrims were waiting outside but as there were 32 beds and only 10 people waiting so I relaxed and knew my bed was secure and got into conversation with an Italian in his 30's called Fred. At 13.00 the door opened and the Hospitalero and his wife appeared and announced in French that there was no space as only pilgrims who had pre-booked could stay at the albergue. There was a general exclamation of disbelief and disappointment and then the Hospitalero said "only joking - everyone is welcome" and smiled, whilst his wife cuffed him around the ear!! This set the tone for my time at the albergue - although probably the smallest one I stayed in, it had a very friendly, homely, family atmosphere. The Hospitalero and his wife whose names I have unfortunately forgotten were Breton and very kind and helpful. When my credencial was stamped the Hospitalero beamed and said in broken English "Ah - Ireland! The Bretons and Irish - the same!". An honesty box was place in the dining area for pilgrims to make a donation as no charge was levied for staying in the Albergue.


Two hours and 20 minutes later Matt and Ben arrived and it was nice to see them after over 20 hours! Our hosts wife provided free foot and leg massages (with another donation box) so after a shower and doing my laundry, I availed of one and found that it really helped relieve my shin splints so much that I nearly nodded off on the couch!


Later in the afternoon, Matt, Ben and myself made our into town passing the late Romanesque church of San Miguel where examining the carvings on the portal, I particularly enjoyed the one of the angels pointing at the empty tomb whilst Mary Magdalene looked on bewildered. I will discuss Estella more in the next post but we liked the town a lot and making our way down the steep steps below San Miguel, we celebrated completing our planned walk from St Jean Pied De Port with a beer in the Plaza Fueros and later had an excellent pilgrim meal in a cafe there.

Empty tomb on the portal of San Miguel
Matt and Ben made their way back to the albergue whilst I sat in on a sung mass in the church of San Bautista. I was struck how the congragation nearly entirely consisted of older people and I was reminded of a statistic I had read that attendance at mass in this once highly religious country has dropped to 20%. Outside by contrast, young families and people of all ages were enjoying a Sunday evening stroll or a coffee with friends and children were playing in the plaza.
Steps below San Miguel, Estella
Returning to the albergue tea and coffee was available and a young American guy in his 20's was showing the Hospitalero his left foot and saying that he was in agony. The metatarsal area of his foot was extremely inflamed and quite swollen and he appeared to have a pressure related sub-cutaneous breakdown due to excessive pressure because he was a little overweight and his pack looked very overweight. I explained that I was a Podiatrist and offered to examine his foot and when he agreed I debrided the area of the lesion with a sterile scalpel and applied an iodine dressing. I advised him to go to the hospital or a GP the next morning and advised him to take a rest from walking for a few 
days.
Celebratory beer in Plaza Fueros
I was also surprised to meet a family from New Zealand who were walking with their 14 year old daughter. I asked them what their secret was as I couldn't imagine my 17 year old daughter walking the Camino with me! Another Italian family were walking with their 8 year old son which also amazed me!

I climbed into my bunk at 9:30 just as an impressive thunderstorm started lighting up the room like a gothic horror movie. I mused as I dosed off that the life message from the Camino for me that day had been to press on despite my troubles (in this case my leg) and I would succeed.

Sunday 2 November 2014

Camino Day 5: Cizur Menor - Puente La Reina (13/09/14)

During the second day walking from Roncesvalles to Larrasoana, I had increasingly come to enjoy the rhythm of walking and the opportunity that the solitude of the Camino afforded for reflection and listening to God. I had enjoyed the sights and sounds of Pamplona and the good food and wine, but I was eager now to leave the city behind and get back to walking. I had noticed though, towards the end of the previous day walking around Pamplona, that my right tibia had started to become sore. Clearly I was starting to suffer from shin splints or medial tibial stress syndrome caused by overwork of the extensor  muscles in the area due to the fact that I have quite flat feet and over-pronate when walking, increasing the work that these muscles have to do. Rather stupidly I had decided not to bring my orthotics as I had felt that I did not need them in my walking boots.

Meanwhile Ben, in addition to his purchase of boots the previous day, had bought a hiking pole and a sun hat and now at last looked like a proper pilgrim! The journey for the day ahead involved a 21.5 km hike over Alto del Perdon hill (790m) and then a long descent back in the valley of the rio Arga to Puente La Reina. 

We arose just before 6.00am and packed under torchlight. Our sleep during the night had been disturbed by a sudden display of fireworks close by at 12.30, which I had gone into the garden to watch. We didn't find out the reason for them, but they were very loud! Some local nuns who come to my clinic for treatment had presented me with a very nice LED torch before my journey had begun and I was glad of it as I packed.

We had breakfast of bread jam and coffee in a cafe just down the village, which opens early especially for pilgrims and then set off in earnest. Very quickly, after walking through a small housing estate we found ourselves leaving the last vestiges of Pamplona's suburbs behind and walking out into a landscape of wide fields of stubble and desiccated sunflowers, which had gone to seed and were very gently rustling in a light breeze. There was a pre-dawn mist hanging over the fields and it was chilly, but it was so good to be walking in the countryside again after two days in the city!

Ben and Matt were talking to an Italian woman and gradually I found myself walking on ahead. In fact as it turned out I wouldn't see them again for twelve hours, but I didn't mind; I welcomed the seclusion and found myself praying and thinking a lot about my Dad. In the distance was the Alto del Perdon forming a ridge across the skyline and I began thinking of the time I had spent sitting by my Dad's bedside a few weeks earlier, as he was dying of cancer. He had asked me to read Psalm 121; a favourite of his, and also one of the Songs of Ascents - one of the Psalms the ancient Jews would use when going up to Jerusalem on pilgrimage for one of the great festivals prescribed in the Torah. It seemed so appropriate now as I walked and I began reciting it and meditating on it:

"I lift my eyes to the hills-
where does my help come?
My help comes from The Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip-
he who watches over you will not slumber:
indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord watches over you-
The Lord is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all harm-
he will watch over your life; 
The Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and for evermore.

I was surprised to find myself weeping as I thought of my Dad and all that had transpired over the previous few weeks and I must have looked quite a sight; limping along with my sore leg, the tears flowing, but luckily I was alone with no-one but the Lord to keep me company and they weren't bitter tears; but tears of healing and thankfulness for all that my Dad had meant to me and all that God was doing in my life. Grief strangely mixed with a deep sense of peace and release.
Walking towards Alto del Perdon


The area I was walking across was the scene of Charlemagne's defeat of a Muslim army led by Aigolando in the 8th Century. I soon reached the village of Zariquiegui; the sun had risen well into the sky by now and was kissing the golden stonework of St Andrew's church and setting it on fire in the crisp morning light.
St Andrew's church
Camino scallop & stars on St Andrew's
The climb up Alto del Perdon increased in intensity and down below in the valley I could see the A12 as it dipped into a tunnel below the hill. The unusual name - which means Hill of Forgiveness relates to an old legend that a thirsty pilgrim was once tempted by the Devil to renounce God if he showed him the site of a spring. The pilgrim refused and St James supposedly appeared and quenched his thirst with water in a scallop shell. Near the top there is a spring, but this is now dry. I took a last look back before I reached the summit, at Pamplona; now hazy and distant behind Zariquiegui. Even further away I could see the Pyrenees from whence we had come and was amazed how far I had walked already.

The summit itself has become recently famous as it is the site of a wrought iron monument representing medieval pilgrims being guided by the stars of the Milky Way. The monument featured in the Hollywood film "The Way" with Martin Sheen and portrayed  a grieving father who had lost his adult son and walked the Camino to find experience healing.
Looking back: the Pyrenees and Pamplona behind Zariquiegui
Wind farm on Alto del Perdon

At the summit I asked an Australian woman to take a photograph of me by the monument. There was a steep stony descent down the other side of the hill and she accompanied me chatting as I negotiated the path with my sore shin. I find walking poles very useful for climbing steep hills; they very efficiently allow you to use your upper body strength to assist in the climb. However I do not like using them when going downhill as I find they get in the way and become a nuisance, so I was walking downhill holding my walking stick and the Australian lady took a great interest in it and asked to borrow it for a while as she didn't have one. Our conversation ranged over a wide variety of subjects; her Irish ancestors; how her priest had intensely disliked Margaret Thatcher so much that he had emigrated from Glasgow to Australia; the problem of keeping Cockatoos off her fruit bushes. This continued for some distance and it gradually became clear to me that she liked my stick a lot and wasn't in a hurry to return it, even though we were now on flatter terrain and I was obviously limping! Finally she announced that she needed the toilet and would need to go behind a bush, but that she would hold on to my stick if I didn't mind? I explained firmly that I did mind and finally managed to extricate it from her and walk on as quickly as possible!


Preparing pimentos at Uterga

At the village of Uterga the local men were roasting harvested peppers in a large mesh cylinder over an open flame whilst their lady folk prepared them in olive oil and bottled them. Here in the village I managed to say goodbye to the Australian lady, who had caught up with me again and wanted me to dress her foot as she had a small blister; she was heading straight on along the main Camino route, whereas I was taking a 2.5km detour to the left to visit the Romanesque 12th Century church of Santa Maria de Eunate. The detour took me across another landscape of expansive empty fields and I had to ask directions from a Spanish woman in her 20's at a crossroads, where unusually, I could not find a Camino direction sign. I was surprised to see this young woman; clearly out walking for exercise in what I considered to be the middle of nowhere and wearing shorts and a bikini top, in the increasingly hot sun whilst I walked along with my sunhat, indian cotton scarf and plastered in suncream! I noted a few times on the Camino that local women were out walking in secluded and remote locations and obviously felt quite safe. I was glad about this and wondered if women in the UK or Ireland would feel so safe walking in such remote locations alone?


Santa Maria de Eunate

After about 40 minutes or so, having passed a small hermitage, I reached the church at Eunate. It was well worth the detour! Probably built by the Knights Templar who once defended pilgrims from 1142 until they were suppressed by the Papacy in 1307, the church is an unusual irregular octagonal shape (probably based on the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem) with a wonderful freestanding colonnade around the outside made up of twin pillars decorated with grotesque beasts and floral motifs. The church may have been a burial place for pilgrims.
Grotesque pillar capitals on Eunate portico
The name of Eunate comes from the Basque language; Onate or Unate probably meant something like 'the good door" or possibly "the hundred doors" referring to the portico around the outside. Eunate was also the point at which the Camino Aragones from Somport joined the Camino Frances. Hopefully some day I can walk that section too!


I left my backpack at the doorway and stepped into the tranquil interior, which was largely unadorned apart from the Romanesque stonework. A man aged in his thirties was sitting silently meditating with his hands placed palms down on his thighs. Above me I studied the irregularly placed eight ribs of the vault which showed a Muslim influence and reminded me of the domed roof of Turkish Baths I once visited in Budapest. I sat for quite some time enjoying the peace and then walked around the outside of the building enjoying the carved details on the pillar capitals. The caretaker of the church who lived in the adjoining house came to sweep the floor and I obtained a sello before setting out again towards Obanos to rejoin the main Camino route.
The apse at Eunate



Arab influenced vaulting


Last look at Eunate
At Obanos I gratefully stepped out of the heat of the sun into a bar and had a beer and a dish of pimentos and olives. The church in Obanos only dated from 1912, but it preserved an earlier Romanesque portal arch. Descending the hill from the town, it was only a short walk to Puente La Reina where I booked into the Albergue run by the Padres Reparadores. Due to the heat and my sore leg I was feeling pretty exhausted and relieved to see the albergue. It had taken me 6 hours and 35 minutes and another French pilgrim smiled at me as I limped up to the albergue door and said "...and this is only the beginning!"


Camino approaching Obanos

I showered and washed my clothes and soon revived. Whilst I was performing these chores, Ben and Matt texted me and informed me that they had walked on to albergue Santiago Apostol and were staying there as there was a swimming pool!! I left them to their swim and decided to investigate Puente La Reina. The town according to John Brierley, has a population of about 2,000 and still largely adheres to the grid of streets laid out in medieval times. The name which in English means Queen's Bridge refers to the magnificent arched bridge over the rio Arga which is named after Dona Mayor, wife of Sancho III (1000 - 1035) who sponsored its construction to help pilgrims as they travelled from Pamplona to Estella. 


I visited the Iglesia del Crucifijo - just across the street from the albergue.   Although it had a Baroque tower (with weeds hanging from it picturesquely) the church is actually much older; it was built by the Knights Templar but after they were suppressed the Knights of St John took it over and constructed a second aisle and apse. The church is named after a magnificent and unusual "Y" shaped wooden carving of the crucifixion which was donated by German pilgrims in the 14th Century. Although I am not a fan of religious statues in general, I found this one extremely powerful and full of pathos and spent some time examining it and sitting in the church. Despite being a pre-renaissance carving I found the exquisite detail and humanity of the carving compelling and I could not but fail to be drawn into meditating on the Christ's sacrifice on the cross for myself and mankind.


Iglesia del Crucifijo

Unusual 'Y' shaped 14th Century German Crucifixion
Further down the Calle Mayor was the Iglesia de Santiago which had a multi-lobed main portal showing Mozarab (Christians who lived under Muslim rule in Medieval Spain) architectural influence. Inside the large church was an elaborate gilded 18th Century retable and a gilded 14th Century statue of St James - Santiago Peregrino Beltaxa.
Santiago Peregrino Beltaxa
No one came into the church the whole time I was there, so I spent a considerable time sitting and praying and enjoying the cool interior and all prevading silence, save for the occasional creak of expanding ancient wood work. I was also fascinated by the positioning of two large Chinese vases on shelves on either side of the altar and wondered about their history and how they came to be there?
Iglesia de Santiago
Beautiful fan vaulting in Iglesia de Santiago
The high altar
Leaving the church I wandered over the bridge, but my leg was so sore that I decided to rest and have a beer whilst sitting outside a bar on Calle Mayor and sketch the Baroque tower of Iglesia de Santiago.
A quiet backstreet in Puente la Reina
At 8pm Matt and Ben joined me and we had a pilgrim menu and chatted to a Swedish woman who was walking the Camino to celebrate her 60th birthday. I had an excellent chicken paella and then made my way home to the albergue ready for sleep and hoping my right shin would feel better in the morning.
Chicken Paella!