It amazes me what a day can do, how time can stretch. Travel can swirl you along through places and circumstances all within 24 or even 12 hours. A prime example is flying across the Atlantic to another continent and a change of time zones. Best not to even try and work out what hour your body thinks it should be. But I had one of those days when I did not even leave the country, in fact, I stayed in the same northern corner of Spain, just a train and a bus. But it kinda did me an Alice down the rabbit hole!
I was booked on the 7:35am train out of Madrid to Pamplona. The large station was near the hotel and I had scouted it out and now knew where my platform was and I had seen the long line-up for baggage security. So you can be sure I set out from the hotel in the dark in plenty of time. With my backpack, I zipped along with the early morning workers.
On intercity Spanish trains, seats are assigned. Guess what, lucky me, there was a mother with an infant in residence in my seat. It is so gracious to start the journey by pointing out that a sleeping infant is in your place. I helped the mother move her stuff while she held the baby; we had adjoining seats. The carriage never filled up and later I found another seat. Did their reservation system have to cram the three of us into two seats?
Next stop Pamplona, yes the running of the bulls place, no, not on my visit thank you. I was here 17 years ago, I spent most of a day here as this is where my friend Krysia and I lost each other. But they have changed it all. They have even moved the cathedral and turned it around the other way. Just don’t trust your memory, tricks can be played. (Could the little people have done this? Moved a cathedral just to trick me?)
The bus station was pointed out to me, indeed, a lovely local woman who spoke French offered to come with me to sort out my bus trip to the town of Sangüesa. “Oh I am fine, but merci beaucoup.” Oh, Julia, I thought your lesson this time around was to ask and accept help! Well, I was still an apprentice apparently. I managed to wait for my bus at street level instead of the underground lower level. There seems to be a sisterhood of bus and train information people who tell you the minimum with a dismissive wave of the hand and a scowl. I could swear this one was on the same training course as one in Berlin. I think they came from previous regimes – Franco, Communist – and are pissed off that things have changed in their world of bureaucracy!
Luckily there was a later afternoon bus and I arrived with no problem in Sangüesa, my proposed starting point on my Camino Aragonés adventure. After the bustle of Madrid and Pamplona, Sangüesa felt deserted. I was heading for the hostel, the albergue, proudly written up in my Camino guide. I found the building but it was all locked up, with no sign of life. Just a notice saying if you had questions to put them in the letterbox on the side of the building. Really!
But as I stood there, a swirl of little ones was streaming past me with a variety of parents and grandparents in tow, I followed the trail. They disappeared into an official building and I could hear sounds, music lesson sounds, the collective cacophony of an infant symphony. It was charming. The community was obviously investing in the future of their town band. I asked the now freed-up parents about the hostel, no, they knew nothing about why it was closed. But there was a pensiôn.
“One room left, but you understand, a shared bathroom. The house just beyond the bull-ring.” More bulls, and a bull ring in this rather small town! But it was a great landmark and there standing next to it was my landlady waving at me.
Backpack discarded, I took off to explore more of the town. I also needed to pick up some breakfast and walking snacks. In the mini-supermarket, the proprietress escorted me around the store. There was no question of me handling the goods, no, she would be doing that! I am a rather tactile shopper and was not even sure what I actually wanted to buy, so this hovering and supervision was not productive. Then I realized the old ‘if you can’t beat em, join em!’ I explained my situation with gestures: that all shopping had to be carried and I was a pilgrim. She got on board and we became a team. She had some good ideas, like the yogurt that only came in six packs; she looked at me sadly, there was no way she was going to split up a pack for me. Then she hit on the idea of one of those bottles of runny yogurt. The apples she chose were fine and the chocolate delicious, loaded with whole almonds (well they do grow in Spain).
First essentials done, I went to check out the church, and lovely surprise, it was unlocked. The reason being it was Thursday evening, and as you know in the whole of Christendom, Thursday evening is choir practice. The choir was up in their loft chatting away and I gently walked around looking at everything. Then they started singing and it was lovely. What a musical community this is.
By this time I needed to find supper. There was no restaurant open, but there was a bar. Spanish bars nearly always have a good selection of tapas on the go. Now it was getting dark, a lone female, and a bar with the guys watching football/soccer. But I was hungry. Toss back your head Julia and head in. All was well, mine host was gracious and I had the most delicious slice of Spanish potatoes tortilla and a beer and a basket of bread which was soooo good and crispy. A yummiest carb yeasty potato supper. And the local guys watching soccer, well I could see they were going to be a lovely bunch: they were watching women’s soccer!