Limping with the bulls

The group awoke to a COLD morning in Roncesvalles. A lot of peregrinos get up before dawn and head out into the freezing cold while it´s still dark out. Jeremy and I are not like those people. We like to lie in our warm sleeping bags as long as possible until the sun rises or the owners of the albergue start dropping hints that we need to leave. We´re usually the last ones out. We figure the camino isn´t a race, so what´s the rush?

Day two´s hike consisted of walking down the mountain we climbed the day before. Nothing big to note other than what seemed to be a pleasant dense wooded forest for a 3 mile stretch at the beginning of the day. In a clearing outside the trees, Jeremy and I saw an official historical marker declaring the forest we just walked through to be haunted by persecuted witches from the Spanish Inquisition. Suddenly didn´t seem so pleasant.

As we continued down the steep trails my right knee began giving me some problems. At first it just ached on downhills but as we approached Larasonia I was limping significantly on a level surface. Larasonia is tiny but apparently has a bus come through each morning so I planned to take it the next day and give my knee some rest.

The next morning myself, Jeremy, and the Maine guys Adam and Chris went to the only cafe in town for some breakfast before they hit the trail for Pamplona and I´d wait an hour for the bus. They left and I stayed busy trying and only semi failing to read a Spanish newspaper. Five minutes later the woman who ran the shop approached me and asked what was wrong. Again, through a conversation of Spanglish and gestures I was able to convey that my knee was hurt. She thought for a moment and directed me to stand so that she could study my posture. She then knelt and held her hands about six inches from either side of my knee as she mumbled something to herself. She continued by moving her hands up and down my body at a safe but uncomfortable distance of six inches as if she were trying to measure a sway in my balance to diagnose my problem. Theis process lasted over a minute all the while as she mumbled something to herself. We were the only people in the cafe. She was harmless, but it was a little weird.

The mystic healer then stood and told me, ¨30 minutes, you be fine.¨ Uh, come again? She walked back behind the bar and began to do dishes as if everything that just took place was normal. Fifteen minutes before the bus was scheduled to arrive I paid my tab, said my thanks and goodbyes, and walked the quarter mile to the bus stop. I noticed my knee had begun to loosen just a bit and didn´t hurt quite as much as it had an hour ago...which was a good thing because that damn bus never came.

I waited another half hour before I came to the sad realization that the bus was just not coming. I weighed my options. I could either take a taxi to Pamplona (about 25 euro) or I could suck it up and walk the 20km to town. I walked around in an effort to loosen my knee up and to my surprise it started working. So I started walking. I couldn´t believe it, I could barely walk the previous day and here I was hiking through the hills to Pamplona. That day I was a believer in small miracles. Now I know there are several logical explanations for this: my knee had several additional hours to rest, I simply willed myself to the next town, etc. However it was hard to shake the idea from my head that the shaman bartender had somehow affected my knee. One of my goals for this trip was to deepen my relationship with God and I´d like to believe that somehow He helped me walk with less pain that day. Whatever it was it only lasted to the suburbs on Pamplona as once again I limped into town and joined the guys in Plaza Mayor for a much needed beer.

Jeremy and I went to the ER that night to get my knee checked out. The doc told me I´d strained some ligaments in my knee, presumably on the first day´s hike through the mountains, and I was not to hike for a week. It seems I´m destined to never finish a long term endurance event, my body won´t allow it. To add insult to injury the doc said I needed a shot for pain/inflamation. She smacked my ass (which I´m told tenses the muscle to aid the affectiveness of the shot? I have my doubts..) before sticking me with the needle. I deemed this whole process completely unnecessary but Jeremy thought it was funny as hell. I´ve since been given the trail nickname Slapshot.

So I´m off the trail for a week. Don´t feel bad because I sure didn´t. Instead I got to explore a really cool city for a few days as the guys continued on. First Ichecked into a new albergue run by two sweet old German ladies. I stayed three nights there and had a great time getting to know them and the other peregrinos who came through each night. During the day I´d explore the city and take frequent breaks in cafes. As a result I´ve become addicted to cafe con leche. Also I´ve noticed that Spanish cafes play terrible American music. I heard this song three times in one day alone.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUKq7DLo6Ko

People of my generation, remember that one? Yeah, I was a little surprised to hear it too. At night I´d go out for some dinner and drinks with people I met at the albergue. I´ve met some really cool people from all over: Germany, Korea, Italy, Australia, Venezuela and more. I have become good friends with two Slovenian brothers who are cycling the camino but took two days in Pamplona to see the city.

During this time I´ve experimented with not shaving. The results? It accomplishes little more than making me look homeless. It comes in as a goatee with sad little sideburns. On St. Pattys Day I went out with a big group and this sweet talking German girl said my ¨goatee¨ made me look like Robert Downey Jr. I laughed because let´s be honest folks, I don´t look like Ironman, even a homeless version. She either a) had no idea who RDJ is b) was trying too hard or c) a combination of the two. You decide.

My extended stay in Pamplona was a blast. This is the city where they do running of the bulls every July. I found the half mile route and walked in to the Plaza de Torros. I´d love to come back during the weeklong festival sometime, I´ve heard it´s one huge party. There are also a ton of cultural sites to see and when I needed to give my knee a rest I´d lay out in the park and read a book. There´s a very limited selection of English books in Spanish bookstores but I got lucky and have been working my way through Stieg Larsson´s Millennium series. After three days I bused ahead to Logrono, spent a day there and then bused again to Burgos to meet the guys and resume hiking. It´s a little disappointing to not have hiked every kilometer but experiencing a city like Pamplona was a nice change of plans.