Day 6.2

Estella to Torres del Río: 31 Kilometres

There was a thirteenth-century gothic medieval fountain of the Moors just before Villamayor de Monjardin. I chatted with another pilgrim when we stopped at the fountain. She explained some steps lead down to the water level, and that the fountain was restored in 1991. These bits of information sparked my curiosity in the town, the fountain, and my surroundings. I thought Gus would be proud of my inquisitiveness.

Both Wilma and I were desperate for a coffee shop. She needed to air her poor feet. Pilgrims passed us, and we asked a few how much longer until Los Arcos? Some said twelve kilometres, whereas others suggested it was seventeen kilometres. In any case, it was a long hike across empty fields from Azquata up to Los Arcos. We stopped to buy something to snack on from one of the small shops in Villamayor de Monjardin. The way struck me farmers dried red peppers, garlic, and mealies. The Iglesia de San Andrés stood prominently in the village.

After some time on the path, there were no villages, so no food or water to be found. It was a long stretch through the open countryside without shade. I felt lonely walking by myself with my mate in front of me, and only a few pilgrims. I had a packet of liquorice. I ate the whole packet singing to myself. I stood in front of a board with the sign “Los Arcos” almost three hours later — the pathway was quicker than expected! Wilma’s body language was more powerful than the whole dictionary words put together. She was in severe pain. I wasn’t sure which was worse, the pain locked inside her soul or the pain of her blisters.

I always believed positive energy and positive thinking helped me overcome most challenges, which was another example. Los Arcos was a small rural town with pleasant views of surrounding areas. Pilgrims strolled along the Mayor street in this charming village. I enjoyed watching families en route to church. Children walked around freely. Los Arcos had all the amenities pilgrims needed to relax and prepare for the next stretch of the Camino. There were also several sites to visit within and in the outlying areas of the village. We enjoyed lunch in a small bar next to the Church of Santa María.

Wilma had an egg bocadillo, and I had pizza. Poor Ms Wilma, her feet ached, she removed her hiking shoes and put her feet up. The inclement weather and long stretch of the path made her blisters much worse. I left her at the table, distracting herself on Wi-Fi, then went for a single visit to the church.

The Church of Santa María was the most notable building in Los Arcos. The church exhibited a mixture of architectural styles, such as Romanesque, gothic, plateresque, and baroque, dating between the twelfth and eighteenth centuries. The renaissance-era bell tower was completed in 1590. It was interesting to note differences in height between the lower and upper levels. Each of the four stories grew smaller; the higher one looked.

I cried inside the church. I was not sure why, but it was an upwelling. I think it was a combination of tears of pain, sadness, joy, disappointment, or tiredness. I felt much better afterwards. My spirits were instantly lifted. I said a prayer, stamped my credential, and left the church. I advised Wilma to visit the historical church. I found it bizarre the way people stared at us inside the churches. I was on a pilgrimage! How do you expect me to enter the house of God? I had no formal items of clothing and thought it was irrelevant whether I dressed well or stopped in with muddy clothes due to the extreme rainy conditions. Fellow human beings slaughtered us with their condescending looks, despite the fact we were all fellow travellers in the house of God. Do you call yourselves Christians? What a pity! My heart was sore. The omnipresent judgmental gaze hurt me.