From a rocky mountain high to the depths of despair. Distance walked21.9 km (13.6mi) to go - 731.5

One of the frequent rants that is vocalized regarding hostels is people not respecting others in the room regarding light and noise tolerance when "checking out" in the morning. With approximately 120 people staying at the Hostel Roncevalles-Orreaga they have solved the problem. At 6 a.m. they turn all the lights on and all hopes of sleeping in disappear like the darkness.

I had elected to skip the large group breakfast at the hostel and instead hike to the next town and eat at a local eatery. They served a great ham and cheese on sweet croissant! I'm getting used to the food here!

It had rained in several waves over night, beginning at 3:45 a.m. I figured I was going to get wet today so I opted to recycle my muddy rain pants from yesterday, with my wallet in a different pocket.

The morning was cool and damp and the hiking was hampered only by sore muscles that did not want to respond to my brain's request to move. 

The next several towns were all about 3 km apart and I stopped a couple of times to deliberately slow myself down.

Getting used to Spanish food

I had run into Yogi (from the train station) at Roncevalles and we met again down the road at a restaurant for lunch. J.J., Pauline and Jeremy were just leaving as I arrived (they planned to try the entire 24 km into Pamplona to see if they could do it - I respectfully declined their offer to join them).

After our mid-morning repast it began to rain lightly (there goes my chance to time my Camino perfectly within a 50 day drought! Maybe next time).

More Spanish delicacies

Local art

The rain persisted, light and intermittent, the rest of the morning. Today's journey was primarily downhill, geographically speaking, which was met with favor by my lungs and muscles, but not so my hip and the corns on my little toes. Still, all went well until yet another rest stop, this one at the top of a steep descent into the town of Zubiri, a distance of 3 km (1.6 miles). I had been talking to Yogi when he decided it was time to head down. Unfortunately I did not watch his departure to determine his direction of travel. When it came my time to depart I spotted the now familiar blue sign with yellow shell along the side of the road heading into town, so I followed it. I was somewhat surprised that there was no path, only a very narrow shoulder on this steep, winding mountain road which, judging from the Porsches and motorcycles that flew past, seemed to be a playground for the local road racing enthusiasts.

At the bottom of the hill at last, I found the little village. What I didn't find:

1) Any mention of the name Zubiri
2) Any Camino signs
3) People
...except for the Basque rancher that drove his herd of sheep down the highway by yelling from the window of his '70s model auto.

 There were no businesses, no school children, no visible signs of humanity. I found a service station but, if I interpreted the sign correctly, it was open only on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. (Ah, it was Saturday, no school children!)

I walked all the way through town, to a large multi-story building on which was written: Bar and Hostel.

I went to the door and found it too was locked. Directly across the street, on the way out of town, was a large blue Camino de Santiago sign. But still, no people and nothing mentioning Zubiri.

The large church bell sounded, drawing my attention back to the center of town. I instinctively headed in the direction of suspected humanity. I found a large yellow cross on a sign that led me to believe that there was a hospital at the top of a rise. The buildings there were indistinct, nothing bearing a sign. I walked to the largest, most important looking door and twisted the door knob. A gaggle of dogs instantly broke out into a cacophony of anger as I instantaneously decided I would not enter.

A little bit further up the hill I found a young lady taking out the trash.

"Habla Ingles?" I asked.

"Un poquito" she replied.

Eventually we pieced together that I was not in Zubiri, but in Erro, Spanish for Wrong Town Pilgrim. I was not about to walk 3 km back up that mountain road. She said there was no taxi service in town, which didn't surprise me but, after making a few calls she found Pedro, a non-English speaking man who was willing to drive me back up the hill and down the other side to Zubiri (which I found out is pronounced Thubeeree). He dropped me at a place named Suseila, a wonderful albergue that is by far the finest I have found yet in both my days on the Camino. It cost only twenty Euro for the taxi service and was the best money I've spent thus far! Another day on the Camino, another story to tell!