The Big Walk

Fountain of Life – Day 36

 We decide to have a really short day today, to ensure we don’t arrive at Pamplona before the start of the fiesta. Happily, our Dutch hosts serve a big, leisurely buffet breakfast. Afterwards they hand out tiny sewing kits to each pilgrim – is there no end to their kindness? Our penance is having to accept a copy of the gospel according to St. John as a parting gift.

Opposite a monastery at Irache, attached to a winery, we discover a remarkable public fountain. It has two taps for the refreshment of passing walkers. One reads agua, the other, I read with disbelief, is vino tinto. Like children let loose in a sweet factory we fill our mugs and begin drinking – even though it’s nine in the morning. Spanish pilgrims going past aren’t even bothering to stop, and it seems we’re displaying the typically rash British attitude to alcohol. I try to imagine the scene if a free wine fountain was set up in a village at home – there’d be a huge crowd, much worse for wear, thronging the area. I’ve noticed the same thing in bars –the Spaniards (and the pilgrims from France) often leave without drinking half their bottle of wine or a good part of their beer, being there for the company more than the drink. Possibly it’s just that alcohol is so cheap here – limitless wine is available free with food in most bars, but how often do you see anyone in a British pub leave half their pint? Even if your mates are leaving immediately, most of us try to down whatever we’ve got left.

We stagger on into Estella, a sizeable town, and join a queue of about a hundred pilgrims waiting for the hostel to open its doors at noon. When the doors do open, there’s a mad crush to get in and bag the bunks – with not much Christian spirit on display. Our bunks seem fine until we notice that the guy next to us is, for some reason, walking the camino wearing two large cowbells round his neck. He even wears them to sleep.

Estella has many beautiful old houses and unusual churches – but also it’s fair share of busy roads and drab concrete blocks. For us the main attraction is the outdoor swimming pool, where we recover from our morning’s indiscretions. I would be relaxed, but I’m trying to summon up courage to do something I’ve been dreading – go to a barbers for a haircut. To be honest, I hate having my hair cut even at home, and being asked hundreds of incomprehensible questions in Spanish about razors, blades, shavers and scissors doesn’t improve the experience. Still, that’ll be fine for another eight weeks.