Roncevalles to Zubiri-Up and Down Again?

Lights on at 6 am and the readying for the day ahead begins. We muttered to our bunk mates about the night and sleep or lack thereof.  Loaded up once again and joined our fellow pilgrims in getting our boots from the botas locker. I'm learning that these places like to separate you from your boots and with good reason. They are usually dirty and STINK!

Headed out into the dark morning in the pilgrim throng. The monestary  holds over 300 souls so the exodus was quite large needless to say.  We ambled down the nicely wooded path and on to a country lane where we said "hola, buenas Dias" to a friendly round and weathered rancher with a crinkly smile, who must see thousands upon thousands of pilgrims pass this way, and who walked over to us and asked what nationality we were.  My Rosetta Stone is certainly coming in handy now. He grabbed my hand and gave me the European two cheek kiss only it was more like on the lips. A hearty handshake for John and buen caminos all around and we are on our way once again. John and I were both really touched by this small kind gesture. I am struck by the friendliness here.

The routine is to find the next town before you stop for a cafe con leche and pastry of some sort.
We ended up in a tiny town at a bar/cafe for a delicious cafe con leche and another baguette with the cured jamon. Getting quite tired of that but we will learn what is what, I am sure. Our female friends from New Zealand, Vicky and Anna who we met on the train to St. Jean,  joined us and we ended up walking with them a while. They are both chefs on sailboats and were currently immensely interested in the Americas cup and the fact that New Zealand had won a leg.

We walked on and came upon a young Spanish man who we had seen earlier hauling his guitar on his back. He was sitting on a log playing the most beautiful Spanish music so that of course we had to stop and take a break.  When being thanked for bringing his guitar, he said that he didn't have a choice, in that it would have been impossible for him to be without it for the time it will take for this walk.

I stopped on the trail at a pretty fence for John to take a picture of me and as I put my hand on the moss covered fence post, surprisingly there was a small cross attached that had been fashioned out of sticks. Seems this day is full of what we have come to name "Camino moments".  The significance of such occurrences is not lost on us and seems to be extremely personal.  It gives us food for thought as we amble forward.

Made it into a small industrial town called Zubiri where after enjoying what is becoming the typical reward cervesa (beer), me waiting in the bar, John found a beautiful pension where we spent the best night of sleep so far.  I never knew how much I would appreciate sheets and blankets instead of my sleeping bag.  Maybe this gratitude will translate into more of the same.

We had the pilgrims menu that evening with people we had met at Orisson stretched down a long wooden table.  We chose a bland kind of garlic soup followed by a lovely cod in pea sauce.  The best was having our Swedish friend translate an entire conversation with a Frenchman named Allen, who told us the French did not think too kindly of Americans.  By the end of the dinner we were all fast friends, smiling and laughing,  having put our imagined differences aside.   Another Camino moment for sure.