Day 8.1

Navarrete to Azofra: 25 Kilometres

I decided to refrain from talking about the loss of my diary. If it were meant to come back to me, it would in time. I woke up drained — I barely slept. I asked Saint Charbel to give me the strength to face the day. Wilma and I were ready to hit the road, despite her punishing blisters. Wilma’s big toe-nail started turning blue. I could tell that she struggled; I wished that I could take away her pain. I hugged my backpack tight; we skipped breakfast and set out on the trail with no excitement.

The amenities, both in the hostel and the whole town, were appropriate for a relaxing day. The rooms were quite comfortable, and it offered separate bathrooms for men and women, a living-dining room, lockers, central heating, and a cloakroom for bicycles. Navarette felt like a comfortable place to enjoy a day, but we wanted to move. We were the only pilgrims on the road that morning. It was misty and cold upon leaving Navarette at 5:30 a.m. Before long, we passed the Iglesia de la Ascunción and proceeded down Calle Mayor Alta to the main road of the town. The path was another gravel trail meandering through vineyards. Once again, Laurel and Hardy proved invaluable, and the repetitive movement made them feel like I had wing extensions on my arms.

I reflected on how quickly the first week passed. Rioja and the vineyards stayed behind, and pilgrims passed through vineyards en route to Castille and the infinite cereal plains of the Meseta, the plateau. The spring landscape enveloped us in lush green landscapes, and the new summer sunflower fields were one of the most beautiful sights on the Camino, but unfortunately were not in full bloom yet. However, trees and shade were scarce.

I was extremely debilitated that day. I intended to walk a bit slower in response, I thought. The previous day taught me a valuable lesson: believe in miracles. Listen to everything while you are walking. Open your eyes wider and inhale the surrounding beauty. Watch the birds, listen to their squeaking, and lift your eyes to the open skies. I prayed my rosary with tears streaming down my cheeks. Under one of the bridges, I wrote Elie Sayegh R.I.P you are missed and Fathi Kadid R.I.P. I love you.

Soon we reached Ventosa after eight kilometres. There were another sixteen kilometres to Azofra, a village that once had a hospital and a church used as a tomb for pilgrims. We were ravenous; we stopped in a supermarket for snacks. We bought the usual ingredients for an à la carte lunch: baguette, cheese, ham, olives, pickles, and tomatoes. We also picked up bananas and an apple for Wilma — these were essentials in our bags — and a few yummy goodies, such as chocolate, madeira cakes, Chupa Chups, and liquorice.

We looked for an outdoor bench to enjoy our lunch. We found a bench with a front-row seat to entertaining children. They chased each other around a school playground, then placed blue sand buckets on their heads.

It was an adorable scene. We stopped for a nice cup of coffee and a Wi-Fi break after another 300 meters. We spent an hour or so relaxing and catching up with friends and family. I felt particularly uninspired and out of balance. Some parts of the trail were not well-maintained, and some parts were next to the highway. Wilma and I changed into our flip flops; it was the best thing we could have ever done. The air on our feet gave us a quick kick of energy, although the path from Ventosa to Nájera was long and arduous. After a few kilometres, we stopped along the road to share some cakes and sweets. We were the only pilgrims left on the path.

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