The early morning hours of Pamplona were blissfully quiet as we started our journey to Puenta la Reina. The streets were completely empty, save for the street sweepers washing away the remnants of last night’s revelry. I took a long, slow breath, filling myself up with the cool morning air and the promise of a fresh start.

The previous day had been challenging, both emotionally and physically. So the night before, mom and I agreed on new ground rules to improve our teamwork and mutual happiness.

First, we needed to find and carry more food. We ran dangerously low on calories the previous day, and it left us both hangry and  exhausted as we managed the crowded Pamplona streets at the end of walk. A quick raid of a connivence store offered a bounty of high-calorie loot; bagels, peanut butter, oranges and Oreos. I tossed in a couple cans of beans for emergencies.

Second, we needed a more consistent walking pace that worked for both of us. Mom was a trooper, but I had pushed us too hard too fast on our march to Pamplona. In my hurry to get to  there, I had missed numerous opportunities to pause and rest at the small tiendas and cafes we passed along the Way. We agreed to take turns leading, and to always find a spot for a morning cafe con leche and an afternoon bocadillo, if the opportunity presented itself.

Third, we needed to carry less. The physical and emotional baggage from yesterday’s hike was weighing us both down, and we needed to leave some things behind to move forward. Sundays meant the post offices were closed, but we promised to pack a box of everything we didn’t need and send it home first chance we got. I recalled the advice of a former therapist: if it doesn’t serve you, let it go. I wondered how big a box I’d need to ship my pride back to Seattle.

The morning was clear and cool as we navigated Pamplona’s labyrinthian corridors, joined by other bleary-eyed pilgrims as they emerged from the doorways of their alburgues and hotels. A small coffee bar greeted us about a mile in, and we stopped to employ New Rule #1, loading up on cafe and placing a lunch order so we’d have sandwiches to sustain us on the day’s trek up to Alto de Perdón – the Mount of Forgiveness. 

The views were a decided improvement from Zubiri’s industrial aesthetic. The vibrant reds and yellows of wild poppies and canola ushered us into our first climb, the morning’s breeze rippling in waves through never-ending fields of sweetgrass as we ascended. Every few moments I’d hear a soft ‘Wow!,’ from Mom as we walked together into another living postcard. The tension of the previous day seemed far away, left somewhere on the road behind us.

Who knew the path to penance could be so beautiful?

Windmills towered over us, hungrily churning the late morning air as we reached the summit. I could almost forgive Quixote’s deranged preoccupation with such machines; with their propellers scraping the clouds above them, they felt large enough to move the very Earth itself. Seeing them as giants didn’t feel that far fetched.

My own forgiveness obtained, we began our rocky, ankle-rolling descent towards Puenta la Reina. The tendons in my right knee winced with each step, frustrated with a lack of time to heal between stages. 

“Smile pilgrim.” But it came out as grimace as the blisters on my toes made painful contact with the rocks. Tomorrow might be a sandal day. The Merrell’s were long enough, but the width was clearly too narrow for my toes.

At long last our descent evened out into Puenta la Reina. We stopped under the shade of a tree to eat our bocadillos, reflecting on the day. We both felt buoyant, happier than before. The new rules were working.

More to come.

-Hicks