Leaving the monastery was fun. Rain threatened, though only shortly. One of two last people to leave, we headed onto the Camino. One of yesterday’s triad left directly from breakfast, and two others headed to alternate fast breaking which put them on the Camino later…

Rumors the second day was easy seemed exaggerated, but are probably valid. Hills seemed challenging, but that was muscles backtalking from day one I think. The hills are beautiful, the trail rises and falls – expected after all, this is the same Camino!

My way to walk hills is to keep a pace, best I can, and avoid pauses. The relief of pausing pales against the discomfort overcoming inertia. Only when the angle is steeper than breathing allows did I stop. (And I easily fooled myself by admiring a view, or flower, or livestock.) That put me ahead of today’s mates on the walk.

Coffee and sandwich mid morning at a well positioned cafe had many lingering. I arrived into a large group, and waited for the few I had left on the steep parts. There is a natural clustering of walkers, bound by relative start dates, sort of “social fibrinogen” that feels ancient. We stick together naturally. Tribal. But I was thinking of Javier, a Pilgrim from Spain I met on the first day, who said (translated from Spanish) that he was waking to meet himself on the Camino. I continued ahead, kind of on my own.

That afforded me a day to be in touch. Touched a foal’s soft nose. Pet a dog or two. Clung to the rails of a dairy pen, staring down recently milked cows – they win perpetually. Gently pressed fingertip to barbed wire while watching sheep. Lifted my left hand to meet the tickling water drops of a rain squall. Felt springtime in soft new leaves, budding branches, and fresh green needles.  Farm machinery, properly fouled and aromatic.  The saddle of the pack belt on my hips, settled well enough.

Thought of Dad, with all the animals to smell and admire. Felt and prayed for healing power in hips, sternum against the pack straps and shoulders and spine. Listened with curiosity to my left middle toenail bruising the nail bed in my boot; it threatens to turn black and quit the walk.

Line drills, a bit of staff figure eights, and sets of push ups with pack (that is harder than I expected). These kept me going by using alternate muscles during the rhythm of the day’s walk.

Entered Zubiri by 2 pm, found lodging and shower. Then rejoined the companion cluster as they stepped into the village. An evening of sharing lightly.

One woman who works with refugee boys between 14 and 19 years was profound. I will carry her words for some time in my heart. Not ready yet for keyboard mimicking.