Man Was Not Meant to Be Alone…But Sometimes He Is

Feeling the pain of solitude on the Camino de Santiago

Photo by Geetanjal Khanna on Unsplash

40 Days to Santiago: Day 5 — Pamplona to Uterga

This morning, I wake up to a series of messages from fellow pilgrims who reached Pamplona yesterday. They had heard of the possibility of river-rafting from Pamplona to the next destination — Puente la Reina — and want to know if I’m up for an adventure. As I prepare my pack, scrounge for a snack in its side pockets, and slather my feet in vaseline to prevent blisters, we message back and forth, entertaining this crazy idea. By the time I am ready to leave the albergue, though, it is clear this unconventional idea will not become a reality. However, I decide to take a bus to close the gap between Arre and Pamplona before beginning my walk for the day.

Arriving in Pamplona, I stop for some WiFi and a side of breakfast at a popular bakery, Ogi Berri. As an American, this name makes me chuckle, but it translates to “new bread,” more or less. I am hoping to connect with the pilgrims who went ahead yesterday, but am unsuccessful.

Overwhelmed by the sudden intrusions of a large, populated city, I set off on my own towards the next destination, Puente La Reina. As I reach the edges of Pamplona, an overwhelming sense of loneliness gut-punches me. A long straightaway stretches ahead into what might best be called the suburbs, and in the unexpected quiet, there’s hardly anyone else on the road. The residential streets seem completely deserted.

Photo by Kylie Paz on Unsplash

Perhaps most pilgrims left early or stayed in Pamplona. I reach a small, empty park on the other side of Cizur Menor, and single-handedly devour the Kinder eggs I had brought to share with anyone I happened to walk with that day. It’s hot. They would have melted anyway.

On the edge of town, the path turns toward the humming wind turbines, mutated descendants of Quixote’s giants. As I stroll through vast, glowing fields of sunflowers, a pilgrim passes me, walking the opposite direction. Though he only utters a brief, “Buen Camino,” what I hear is, “I understand” and “you’re not alone.”

As he continues on towards Pamplona, tears streak down my flushed, dry cheeks, because once again, I am alone.

Field of Light ©2015 Katy Zweifel

By early afternoon, I arrive in Zariquiegui, which sits just before the final ascent to Alto del Perdon. I step into the bar at the albergue San Andres, order a sandwich, and wave away flies at a vinyl-covered table in the back corner while waiting for my meal. Lethargic and overheated, I force myself to eat and take a siesta on the grass beneath the bell tower of the church next door. I should just stop here for the day.

After a long nap on the church lawn, I continue towards Alto del Perdon, accompanied only by the eerie murmurs of turbines rising up on the ridge ahead. Finally reaching the iconic sculpture at the top of the steep hill, a man and his young daughter offer me ice water and take my photo by the towering, wind-blown pilgrims.

Dreading another descent, I turn down the loose, rocky path on the other side of the ridge. The wind turbines cede their role as companions in my loneliness, replaced by the butterflies that dance along this this stretch. With every turn, endless fields and hills appear ahead of me. Around one of the curves in the path, I find a statue of the Virgin Mary. Pummeled by fatigue and a cramping stomach, I realize that I am suffering heat exhaustion.

Alto de Perdon

Shuffling into Uterga, I decide it is unwise to finish the last few kilometers to Puente La Reina. Finally giving up for the day, I wander through the deserted town until I find an albergue just off the road, Camino del Perdon.

I reach the front patio, and my heart leaps with joyous surprise when I see Stine, a pilgrim from Denmark, resting on one of the patio chairs. She greets me with a smile and a hug, and says the sweetest words I have heard so far on the pilgrimage: “the rest are inside.”

I hurry into the bar to find the Danes and the Americans with cold beers and playing games around one of the wooden tables, and my exhausted body floods with relief and joy. I’m home!

Once we settle in for the afternoon, the group gathers in the back dining room for a Fourth of July feast. The celebration appropriately concludes with a boisterous sing-along to the national anthem, belted out by Americans and non-Americans alike.

After dinner, some of us carry our sleeping bags outside to the chairs under the awning on the front patio. I drift to sleep just as I hear a light rain beginning to fall. We spend several minutes listening to its soothing rhythm and the breathing in the delightful coolness, before gathering our bedding and returning to our bunks for the night.