The long narrow streets lit with lamps showed us out of this medieval village, narrow balconies seeming to peer down on us, but no human folk could be seen. Once the street lights faded away, the half moon shined its light ahead of us, and if we had any concerns about the direction we should take, the ‘north star’ kept loyally to our left. We walked with other pilgrims through the poppy-lined lanes separating the wheat fields and grape vines, over creeks through slightly undulating land. As with previous days we met pilgrims we knew, in one instance swapping blister stories with a Dutchwoman, from my ‘easy to walk with ones’ to her ‘laid up for two days ones’. Our interactions which were initially quite rich have plummeted to survival stories, despite promising ourselves we would stay with the rich stuff.

At the entrance to Navarrette our new village (as with most) high-up on a hill was a small curious house with a large curious woman who has followed her mother since 1982 in stamping curious pilgrim’s passports just to follow tradition. She stands at her doorway all day beckoning us in. The passport is something all pilgrims must take with them and have stamped at their lodgings as proof they travelled the distance. The house is below, a bit of trivia.

The donkeys were just walking up the road, first I’ve seen unenclosed

This intricate gilding in the local cathedral is typical of what I have seen in northern Spain

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