The Macz: Milestones and mud

Our experiences since the last blog post have been quite amazing …

The adventures started with our train ride from Huesca to Jaca. We had decided to do this in order to avoid being mid-way through an isolated, poorly serviced section of a national park track during a period of forecast rain several days hence. This was a really good idea, and we loved the luxury of wonderful views without expending any energy! The journey took us firstly through the same sort of agricultural areas that we’d walked through for two weeks. Then a climb up through a gorge in the foothills of the Pyrenees – a gorge we’d seen from afar in preceding days.

We see this sort of scenery every day on our walk and have stopped taking pics

After two hours of train extravagance, we arrived at Jaca, a town that is a few days’ walk in from France on yet another Camino route (the Aragones way). We arrived at noon, and made our way through the town and onwards to our night’s accommodation some 15 km away. This all worked out really well – high country agricultural vistas, complete with shepherd tending his sheep, some of which had bells, whose constant melodic ringing evoked memories of children’s stories from Switzerland.

The next few days merge into one.

Adventure 1:

This day put our fitness to the test. After a night’s rest at a town called Artieda, we first walked about ten km to Ruesta, an ancient village, now largely a ghost town. That was OK. We dawdled there over lunch, expecting ahead more of the same sort of paths, gradients etc we’d grown used to. Instead, after descending about 50 metres, we started regaining that altitude. That’s the easy part. We climbed that 50 metres, then 100 metres, 200 metres, on and up, ever onwards, ever upwards, eagerly seeking a glimpse around each bend in the winding road, so we could congratulate ourselves on winning the battle against muscular fatigue. But each new curve brought yet another distant crest into view, dread to our minds, and played havoc with our determination to win. Well, I think we lost. No, I think we won. After seven km and four gruelling hours (about 2:00 pm) we finally did in fact reach the crest of the mountain range and ‘collapsed’. We gratefully ate our 'bocodillos' , and slowly, slowly regained our determination, and in fact satisfaction, that we are indeed strong, successful adventurers yes?

The next day was equally adventurous – what an innocuous word. This time we were treated to a four hour slog up a hellish mud path – not just wet, dirty mud – but sticky clogging mud that stuck to our boots (maybe 500 gm per boot), coated our trouser legs with mud, built up as a thick second-level sole under our boots, making our foothold slippery when we managed to find a more stable base, threatened to up-end us or dislocate our backs if we were to slip. All the while, rain was threatening, a chill wind was blowing, we had no idea for how much longer this upwards torture would continue, and not another soul in sight to save us if something were to go wrong.

Having given up on reaching the crest of this interminable climb, we paused at 2:00 pm for lunch in a deserted cattle shed. Its smell was reminiscent of our childhood farms, so this revived our spirits a little - maybe.

A solitary Austrian hiker travelling in the opposite direction informed us that our next town was still six or seven km distant – cold comfort.

Incidentally, on our slog through the mud, we were following two other sets of footprints. These turned out to be those Frenchmen – aged just ten years older than us – and when we met up with them that night, of course they too were exhausted and had in fact slipped and fallen a couple of time. So we were grateful for our physical (and mental) strength and fitness, that only a little light rain fell and for our safety while slogging through that long, arduous and lonely quagmire.

Post script. We did survive to the summit of that climb. We arrived cold and weak at a village ten km short of our destination, where a phone call in my very best Spanish resulted in a taxi arriving half an hour later to take us to a hostel in Monreal. Hot showers, whiskey, soup, salad, red wine, roast meat and dessert worked their magic and we slept like babies.

Next morning was a fresh new day, sunny and bright, and fortunately we had revived. Not sure of the km distance to our next town (probably about 20 km), arriving in good time. Bob went to the local bar to enjoy his daily ration of whiskey, when an hour of Australiana appeared on the bar’s TV screen. The content included thirty minutes shot in SE Queensland, followed by a round of tourist attractions from all the states. It was a bit of nostalgia for the pilgrim who’d been away from his homeland for so long (four weeks …).

We have seen this sort of scenery every day and have stopped taking pics

Blissful rural scenes

Since then there have been no new adventures. Just continuing wonderful scenery, and congenial company among the numerous fellow-pilgrims who are trekking along the French Way section of the Camino. It has in fact been a small adventure to encounter the pilgrim throng that we are now part of. I shall explain. During the first three weeks of our journey, we travelled alone (with each other of course). Of the 23 nights, we shared the hostel accommodation with others on only three occasions, and basically met no others at all on the pilgrim path. Then abruptly, on day 24, after 350 km, our Catalan and Arogones Pilgrim Way converged with the more popular French Way at Puenta la Reina. What a change! Immediately there were dozens and dozens of men and women of all ages (twenties to eighties) clamouring to find a bed at a huge hostel of some 120 beds before it was all filled up. Aren’t we lucky that the Camino season starts only in June!

It was awful having to share the dorm with 15 women

Our most recent two days have been less eventful. Better paths, no chance of getting lost (lots of Camino arrows, emblems and fellow travellers. It’s been so good that we decided to have rest day (just ten km today). We are at a comfortable hostel where we are catching up on photo management, journal writing, and this blog.

The way the Camino ought to for the whole 1,000 km

A typical bar - café/bar/meeting place for the townsfolk, especially the men, who often play cards while drinking tiny cups of coffee. Or maybe spirituous liquor, at breakfast time ...