The vegetation took on more bristle as we left Puenta la Reina and moved deeper into the parched Mediterranean region of Spain, the leafy evergreens and lush mountain meadows receding to the deep-rooted, hardy plants that thrive in the hot Spanish sun with limited access to water. The Path itself looked chapped and ruddy, the undulating cracks and crevices in the road like dry, cracked lips longing for water. 

The cumulus clouds above us were a welcome reprieve from the heat, their cotton texture softening the otherwise severe landscape. Churches and ruins blinked on and off the horizon as we followed the rolling hills of The Way to Estella, our stop for the evening. 

Our guidebook, an indispensable tool for daily route planning and sightseeing, had whetted our appetite for the upcoming Romanesque town. The author highlighted Estella as a gem of the Navarre region, with Gothic churches and imposing stone palaces rising above the winding streets. We were eager to get there. But first we had to make it through this heat.

Our Walk had taken us to the edge of the wine region, the vines just starting to leaf out above the tilled brown soil. I felt the condensation pooling on my back and wished I could extend my own roots deep into the ground, drinking from the cool subterranean stores of water below my feet. For now, my warming canteen of aqua would have to do.

I took a slow sip of warm water, sloshing it across my cheeks and tongue before imbibing. When a few ounces of water is all that separates you from dehydration and heat exhaustion, you learn to savor every sip. Potable water fountains were unpredictable, and I wanted to conserve what water we could carry in case of emergencies. I recalled the NOLS first aid class Mom and I took before heading to St. Jean and decided on a morning pop quiz.

“What are the symptoms of heat stroke?” I prompted, mildly aware of how ridiculous it was for me to test the medical knowledge of a woman who had worked in a university neonatal intensive care unit for 42 years.

“Disorientation, elevated temperature, elevated heart and respiratory rate, possible chills or clammy skin,” Mom shot back. “Headache and nausea too.”

I enjoyed this game. I was proud of our wilderness first aid certification, and although I hoped to never need it, it was fun to practice.

“And what are the primary methods by which heat leaves the body?”

Mom was ready. “Conduction, like lying on a cool surface. Convection, like cool air moving across your skin. Evaporation, through sweat. There’s one more…”

“Radiation,” I finished. “Your body heat rising in waves out into the universe. Or the rays of the sun causing you to sweat.” I took another sip of water. 

A pilgrim’s oasis appeared a few miles down the road, and we stopped to refresh our canteens. I poured water in my hat and felt the sweet relief of conduction cascade down my neck and back. I pondered the stone inscription next to the fountain.

“Buen pan, excellente agua, y vino, carne, y pescado llena de toda felicidad,” it said. “Good bread, excellent water, and wine, meat, and fish fills all with happiness.”

Right now, I’d settle for excellent water. The rest was waiting for me in Estella, just a few minutes away. Soon enough, our destination del dia loomed in the distance, nestled in the hills of Navarre.

Our guidebook didn’t disappoint. The entrance to Estella was adorned with a breathtaking Gothic church, the arched entryway evoking a sublime, almost fictional aesthetic. The door could have led to Tolkein’s mines of Moria, but alas – locked. 

A few minutes’ walk brought us to an awe-inducing Romanesque palace. I don’t have words to describe the sense of wonder imbued in such architecture, so a picture will have to suffice.

Each street birthed new optical delights. Doors and alleyways took on an intense sense of mystery. You could feel the millennia-old fabric of stories and stone that wove through the town. 

“This town is beautiful,” Mom remarked and I quietly nodded. There was nothing else needed to be said.

More to come.

-Hicks