October 3 and 4, 2004
Puente la Reina
Climbing up the Alto de Perdon on the CF was hard and steep. Those hills pardon no one. The landscape was beige beneath gray clouds; the air chilly.
Suddenly my knees throbbed and my nose bled. Lying on the side of the trail with my eyes closed I felt a tap on my shoulder; “Are you all right?” asked a very British voice.
Opening my eyes I saw a young fellow with long hair, wearing a gray kimono, black obi sash and wooden clogs! While wondering if I were hallucinating I answered that I was ok. Nodding he went on and soon I did also.
Near the summit this huge, handsome contemporary sculpture in rusted steel silhouetted pilgrim figures and their packs against the dark grey sky.
Going down was pure hell on slippery stones; by the time I hobbled into Puente la Reina I could barely move.
Stopping for the night at the refuge of the Padres Reparadores I met again and queried the kimono-clad fellow. He wears it because he “likes it” and walks the trail continually because he “can’t go home”.
My knees ached so much that I decided to spend an extra day in Puente la Reina. Since pilgrims can generally only spend one night at each albergue, early morning I dragged myself across this famous Romanesque bridge after which the town is named, checked into a new private refuge and was back asleep by 9 am!
Late afternoon I practiced walking leaning heavily on my stick. Unwilling to be grounded after only one week and unable to imagine mounting up into a train to return to Paris, I gritted my teeth determined to persevere. ...