Zubiri to Pamplona via Zabaldica

DAY FIVE – 20TH May – Zubiri to Pamplona via Zabaldica
21km, adjusted for climb 23km

We were greeted by a cheery sunny blue sky on Friday morning – again. We quickly left behind the industrial side of Zubiri and made our way along gorgeous rustic paths.


Daniel and I came across some horses in a field – Mares with their foals – and unsuccessfully tried to get the foal to come closer for a photo op. The countryside was full of May promise with wild flowers in profusion.

Our journey today took us along the banks of the river Arga which flows all the way into Pamplona. Just after Irotz we were asked to make a decision. This was the first, and last time we were asked to make a decision. It is usually a simple matter of following the ubiquitous arrows and scallop shells. But now – all of a sudden – we had a decision to make. There were two signs and both pointed to Pamplona – both in the official Santiago livery. Within minutes we were joined by many other equally confused pilgrims. The lower path was the favored choice of many whom we met at the junction with furrowed brows, including a Swiss lady who had walked the whole way from outside Geneva. Looking at the map I guessed correctly that the lower path would take us away from Zabaldica and so we took the narrow higher road and were rewarded by a warm welcome in Zabaldica ..

Anyway we decide to take the higher road that brought us to the little village of Zabaldica and its small but welcoming church. We were greeted by two smiling ladies – one a nun from a local convent and the other a lay person who helped for two hours every Friday. They offered advice on the church, water to drink, soap to wash, nuts to eat, the Credencial seal and a visit to the bell tower. The interior of the church was simple but charming, peaceful and prayerful.

Zubiri - an industrial town surrounded by rural heaven

DAY FOUR – May 19th – Zubiri – Gau Txori

Zubiri – a victory of convenience over rustic bliss


We arrived in Zubiri hot and thirsty. Our forward brigade – Fraser, Barry and Pat had arranged Pints of lager and Fanta for us in the main bar (only bar?) of the town. Once again we had diced with rain and had won. Shortly after arriving it began to spit rain. As it was approaching 5.00pm I decide to make my way to our accommodation for the night which was a spacious building which reminded us of a US motel with space for big artics and a perfect stopping place for business travelers.

We enjoyed a hearty meal and even more the fact that there was no curfew. We decided to change our plans that evening and to cancel our last night’s accommodation in Logrono. Instead we would travel to Bilboa and spend the last day in the Old Quarter. We learned the following day that such had been the numbers staying in Zubiri that all the accommodation filled up and that about 10 pilgrims ended up sleeping on the floor of a municipal gym. Included were a mother and daughter team from an organic farm in Cornwall, Nicole from Paris and Juanita from Oz of Spanish ancestry. There are pilgrims and then there are pilgrims…

The French Connection

DAY FOUR – May 19th – Lunch in Viskarret

Does this picture remind you of a famous ad for beer? (hint, think Guinness!)

As the journey continued we discovered Barry has an encyclopedic knowledge of wine and Pat has an equally impressive ability to enjoy wine without worrying too much about it..

We were joined for lunch by the charming Nicole from Paris. She was walking the whole way to Santiago with her rucksack on her back. She explained approx half the weight comprised of food. The rucksack got lighter as the Camino progressed. Nicole was one of many women we met on the way who destroyed for once and for all the notion that women were the weaker sex.

Nicole had walked from St Jean to Roncesvalles the previous day in one stage. She also had some interesting thoughts about Orisson which leaves me sorely outnumbered on that subject. We shared our salami and fish; she gave us chocolate and cheese. We had our own proper little common market. Nicole has a very handsome partner who miraculously looks like Fraser. Go figure.

You will notice Daniel’s rucksack in the foreground. Daniel decided after the first day to become a real pilgrim and to carry his own bag. Very impressive. Clearly becoming a ‘real’ pilgrim did not go as far as declining alcohol.

Day Four - Roncesvalles to Zubiri

Day Four – May 19th – Roncesvalles to Zubiri – 22.4km plus accrued ascent 1.3km


The Royal Collegial Church of St. Mary. Roncesvalles.

I was disappointed to find the Church closed before breakfast (7.30am) the following day. I had awoken at 4.20 am and could not get back to sleep. At 5.40am I looked out the window and espied a pilgrim leaving the village of Roncesvalles in the dark with a little red lamp attached to the back of his hood. While I grew to appreciate the value of leaving early, I thought this was simply insane.

I should not be too hard on Roncesvalles. It has a certain brooding beauty. And we did get to visit the Romanesque Chapel of the Holy Spirit and the Silo de Charlemagne. And the guide was very pretty with dark blue eye and dark hair and gave us the names of restaurants in Pamplona which we promptly forgot.

Its a long way to Santiago....

After breakfast, with the help of a German solo cyclist, we took photos of the road sign – 790 km to Santiago. Come to think of it we had already travelled 25km at this stage not allowing for climbing…

We made our way through the lovely forest to Burguete where Fraser and Pat took the decision to follow the camino on the main road. Taking their chances with articulated lorries they proceeded down the N 135. Dan Barry and I took refuge in the safety of the leafy lanes that took us to Espinal where we were rejoined by our dust covered companions.

Pilgrim Menu in Roncesvalles

DAY THREE 18th May - Roncesvalles

Pilgrims’ mealtime in Roncesvalles.

We made our way gingerly down, down, down, to Roncesvalles. On the way I met a pleasant lady Unitarian from Oklahoma who was on a year's Sabbatical. She and her companion had spent a week in Taize. A spell in Taize could be another item for my bucket list. I explained how a school friend now living in the States, a Unitarian, had helped me change my life by getting me to write down on a piece of paper exactly what I believed in. Being me, it took five pieces of paper, six months, four drafts but resulted in where I am now - deriving comfort and strength from a Quaker spirituality and from weekly meeting for worship.

Cool pints of lager awaited the thirsty pilgrims on our arrival into Roncesvalles – or in my case a café con leche – probably far more harmful. Fraser had not only kindly ordered cool pints of lager but had also left his sandwich, perhaps for sale, on the bar terrace with the filling gone, presumably eaten. We got no buyers for his sandwich. Within two hours of arriving in our Hotel/Hostel – Casa Sabina – we heard peals of thunder followed by showers of rain and hail. We sipped our pints and coffees and drew ourselves in a little tighter to the hotel wall beneath the awning that was struggling with the rain. Fraser felt it best to withdraw the sodden sandwich at this point.

We got an interesting guided tour of the cloisters and the Sala Capitular housing the mausoleum of Sancho VII. We visited the imposing Royal Collegial Church of St. Mary. We all agreed that Roncesvalles had a strange atmosphere to it. Perhaps it was the fact that it had only 100 'official' inhabitants (only 30 according to John Brierley, where have the others gone?), many of whom where clerics, or perhaps the fact that the Church owned all the land.

The 'Pilgrims Blessing' at 8.00pm in the Church was a big disappointment for many, myself included. Instead of being a simple blessing, it was a full Mass in Spanish with no concessions to non Spanish speakers or to non Catholics. It just seemed a spiritual and marketing damp squib.
To be fair, the presiding priest managed to give the blessing at the end of Mass in a number of languages including an impressive display of cupla focail in Korean and Japanese (which hugely impressed Pat who did a decent Oriental imitation when called upon, and even when not).

In the photo above we are joined by two Spanish pilgrims and an English pilgrim. He had completed the Appalachian Trail despite being aged around 80 and enjoying poor hearing. The Appalachian Trail can take up to 187 days. You can count me out…

Day Three - Over the Top

DAY THREE – 18th May – Over the top

Pat, dressed suitably in Marian Blue, stands beside the Vierge d’Orisson.

La Vierge d’Orisson stands at the Pic d’Orisson, at the impressive altitude of 1,100m. High enough - considering Ireland’s highest mountain, Carrantuohill is 50m lower at 1,050m or 3,414 feet.

Dan, Pat and I spent some time as this lovely peaceful venue and prayed for those who had asked for our prayers, and even for some who hadn’t. That’s Christianity for you...

We were tempted to have our lunch at Col de Lepoeder – 4km inside the Spanish border and the highest point on the camino at 1,450m. But we manfully pushed on for another 10 minutes. Once inside Spain we were very impressed. There were signs and way marks every hundred metres, or so it seemed. It reminded us of travelling from the 'Republic’ to the North in the good old/bad old days. We remembered the immediate improvement you felt in road surfaces when you left the South for the North. In the sixties the North was full of marvelous temptations including a far wider range of Cadbury’s chocolate and other luxuries denied us in the South.

Hunger eventually won out and we sat down to lunch in a forest clearing just ahead of the descent into Roncesvalles. People dealt with the sandwiches we had received in Orisson in very different ways - as were to subsequently learn.

Day THREE - May 18th – 17.1 km with a climb of 650m (say 2,000 feet) and a descent into Roncesvalles of 500m (say 1,600 feet).

Day Breaks at Orisson














I cannot blame Heinrich for waking me around 5.45. I think I was awake anyway. I threw on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt and wandered down the road we had come up the previous day. Below me lay little pools of clouds like ponds between the hills.

I tried to help a young Korean who was travelling on a bike with tiny wheels – no bigger than 12 inches in diameter. He had developed a puncture within a hundred yards of Orisson. Feeling I was more of a hindrance than a help I abandoned him and went for breakfast which was served sharply at 7.00am. Some of my colleagues who shall remain nameless took a more relaxed attitude to breakfast and clearly when room service did not arrive at 7.20 came down to get breakfast all by themselves. By 7.25 the table was being cleared by a French man with a wild eye. Forgetting that the French actually do understand English – they merely pretend not to – my colleagues had some choice Dublin comments to make about breakfast, French cuisine, French culture, Nicholas Sarcozy and the quarrel over Irish Corporation tax.

Accordingly some felt they were persona not grata. This impression was reinforced by the refusal to hand over the sandwiches we had ordered the night before until all the other pilgrims had long left the hostel.

For some of us, arriving last had become a life style accessory and something to be proud of and nothing at all to be ashamed of…..