Zubiri

Settling down in the shelter at Zubiri, I thought that after such a difficult day, surely I would sleep like a log. No way! My legs ached so much that I couldn't get comfortable in the small metal bunk bed. And my left hand cramped so badly that my index finger was hyper extended. I had to spend the night gripping my small flashlight tightly so that when the hand did cramp it would close in a normal position.

The evening had started out badly. When I started to take out my computer to write some notes, my roommates, a Dutch couple, immediately told me, in no uncertain words that the custom in albergues was that lights are out at 10:00 p.m. I guess I'll have to wait outside for my 11:00 call from home, I said. We were all glad when the call came early at 9:45.

At 6:00 a.m. my Dutch roommates jumped up and switched on the lights. Fortunately, it didn't take long before they were gone. At least they put out the lights before they left. I didn't get up until 7:30. The sun rises later in Spain than at home (and it stays lighter in the evening). At eight in the morning it's light outside but the street lights haven't turned off yet. It was 8:00 when the cleaning lady came to fold up the blankets and clean the room. Before I left, I copied down a profile of the topography posted in the shelter of the trail that I had just traversed. (Look for it on the web site.) If I had seen it before I started, I would have turned tail and taken the bus back to Pamplona. I guess God protects babies and fools.

9:00 am. It's only 5 K (3 miles) to Larrasoaña, but mis piernas estan como plomo (my legs are like lead), so I move not so fast. Other pilgrims constantly overtake me; I'm a little embarrassed but, hey, I'm still moving and my pack is heavy. I pass by an old man with a long thin, walking stick. He comments about the thickness of mine. I tell him that it's much better for un viejo (an old man) to lean on. He scoffs at me and said that I am chico (young).