Holy mother of cacahuate my feet are sore. After meeting up with Amber we kicked it into gear for two days, knocking them out fast and without breaks. By the end of each day my feet are so sore I limp into each town. It is all I can do to go to a mercado and get food for dinner and the next day. My ankles and tendons are protesting wildly. When we arrived in Pamplona I was on the verge of a toddler-esque tantrum. I could not be made to stand. We met up with Nate, Paul, Cecelia, and Paul’s dad Mike, and almost cried with joy at having company. That night I was able to cook rice and vegetables, which we ate together with bread. A hot meal with friends, 400 mg of ibuprofen, and some locally made dark chocolate took my mind off of the pain. Nate insisted I should learn how to walk slowly, and I guess I did it right, because the next day even he blew past me into Puente la Reina.

The beautiful scenery is almost enough to distract me fro, the constant soreness in every step, but not quite. Rolling hills covered in flowers, sunny skies, and old fashioned castles cover my field of vision. There is a grass that grows everywhere along the rouse and we are all wondering what it is. As nobody can figure it out, we have a running bet. Nate says barely. If anyone knows you may win a few euros.

Feeding my body is always a concern. I want to thank it for eight hours of hiking daily, but all I have to give it is about 1500-1800 calories of nuts, fruit, and bread. The math freaks me out; I could be losing a pound every two days like this. Not sustainable. But the determination becomes a new and interesting facet of pilgrimage; I watch my friends eating pizza and tortilla de patata while I eat a few handfuls of raisins and I think back to what it means to be a pilgrim. Simplicity. Self denial. Walking when you could drive, carrying your food when you could order in restaurants. Maybe it will bring me a deeper appreciation for the experience. One can only hope.

Tomorrow is Los Arcos, and many of the friends I have found are surging ahead. Walking alone again has brought me more peace and contemplation, but I find that I do prefer familiar faces at the end of the day. Traveling alone has helped me to realize that I don’t need company to find my way, but I do enjoy it. I am sad to see my friends go but maybe it’s for the best. I find that I tend to cling when they are around, and maybe I need self denial in places other than my diet. Maybe it is time to be alone again.

Some photos of Navarra should communicate the scenery…