Day 9.1

Azofra to Grañon: 25 Kilometres

We found it difficult to leave the warmth of the four bedrooms and three bathrooms at Pensión La Plaza. We were in the ideal pilgrim rest stop, a cosy atmosphere with the friendliest service. The cleanliness, freedom, and all-around enjoyable stay made it truly feel like home. I was transported from the life of a pilgrim to that of a vacationer. I sensed another reason anchoring me to Azofra. As an Arab, I experienced a deep personal connection to the place.

Ready, set, go! We walked down to the restaurant for breakfast at 6 a.m. We had the usual pan tostado and jam and two cups of coffee each. We both felt refreshed and ready to get on the road again. I thought we earned the monikers of the Road Runner, the infamous cartoon character, for our non-stop movement. Suddenly, I realized I forgot my sticks as soon as I left the Pensión. Poor Laurel and Hardy! I immediately returned to retrieve them. All the pilgrims from the Municipality Albergue asked us where we slept. We just smiled and replied, we were hibernating.

The morning weather looked promising. The path was the same distance as yesterday’s walk. I looked at Wilma, then said: “We can do it!” The minute we hit the road, we did not stop complaining: “Akh my feet, akh my legs, akh my ankles, akh my ass.” A few minutes later, “Akh my shoulders, Akh my back,” and it went on the whole day.

A bout of constipation intensified Wilma’s pain; I bought her food to soften her stomach but to no avail. I stopped at one stage to mention that I needed the toilet. She grew so jealous and frustrated. “How come you can go to make number 2, and I cannot?” she growled. The one morning, I told her to refrain, putting an evil eye on me. It became something to laugh about, kind of like our part of the Camino. If the nagging stopped, it was because we walked solo for a couple of hours. Both Wilma and I each complained to ourselves.

It was indeed a beautiful day for walking, time for my rosary and prayers. I continued along with Calle Mayor and then Avenida Virgen de Valvanera when leaving Azofra. The path was a steady ascent. Eventually, we found a comfortable rest area with the most comfortable concrete chaises longues and the cutest puppy at the top of the hill.

Life was filled with ups and downs, precisely like the Camino. I could see that our ascent would soon give way to a downhill. I just had to breathe deeply. We relaxed for a bit, ate our bananas, and chatted with a few pilgrims. A French cyclist sat next to us; he was as nosy as me. He kept asking why we wore the same jackets. He assumed we were sisters. “Do we look like sisters?” He was shocked when I mentioned that Ms Wilma was South African, and I was Lebanese. There was an ex-pilgrim selling a few items at this spot. We took advantage of the opportunity to buy two bananas and four packets of tissues. We enjoyed the picturesque view from this hill and forced me to think about the constant processes of ruination and development, both in terms of physical objects as well as in ourselves. A lot of memories and ideas within me needed to be knocked down and restored through a kind of rehab, especially for my mind and my soul. We bid the nosy pilgrim Buen Camino, then off we went.

The route appeared similar to that of the previous day. We primarily travelled along pathways through agricultural lands, while the distant mountains were still covered in snow—more cereal, sunflower fields, and again some breath-taking vineyards. The inability to find shade from the intense sun was the only difficulty of this day. It converted this stretch into any hikers’ worst nightmare. We encountered a water fountain seven and a half kilometres later, then the Rioja golf club after another 500 meters. The golf course reminded me of my husband and my boys, the Sayegh golfers.

We soon entered the small hilltop village of Cirueña. The click-clack sound of our walking sticks echoed throughout the streets as we walked past houses and offices. Nearly every house was newly constructed, and almost all of them had a “For Sale” sign in front. I felt disconnected from the warmth of the Camino at Cirueña. The village felt eerily deserted. There was no life, no energy, only a few people roaming from place to place. The posh character of the buildings made the emptiness seem even more apparent. Wilma and I again chatted about life, interesting people we met and discussed why and how we crossed paths with them. We both agreed that we would not trade all the days of our lives; the older we grew, the wiser we became. Yes, it was true, age was only a number, but I reckoned we learned so much every day until our last breath. Of course, reading was knowledge, but so was the experience of any destination. I explained my belief that one could achieve anything in life if one set their mind to it.

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