Part 12: Logroño - Nájera (30 kilometres)

When I woke up this morning and turned on my mobile phone, I received a message from Günther telling me that he had to go to the doctor’s because of some painful tendonitis which wasn’t allowing him to walk. The doctor said that he should rest for at least a couple of days and so the Austrian, very reluctantly, decided to take the bus and get a few kilometres ahead to Santo Domingo de la Calzada. If he doesn’t he’s afraid he won’t be able to meet his wife on the date they had planned to do the last few routes of the Camino together. She booked him a room in the local Parador and told him to look after himself and get well soon. I may not know Günther’s wife but I already think she’s lovely. I replied to his message telling him that I was sorry to hear about his little setback but that I was happy at the same time because, despite the fact that my idea is to finish today’s route in Nájera, my friend Miguelo is coming to spend the weekend and do a few routes with me and so this means we can go to Santo Domingo de la Calzada to have dinner with him and keep him company.

I had breakfast in quite a chic café on the Gran Vía and as I was leaving I ran into a couple of kit men from the Castile and León under-13s football team. They caught my eye due to the pretty tracksuits they were wearing and the Cuban cigar one of them was smoking at this hour of the morning. Apparently the national championship of regional teams is taking place in Logroño this weekend so I asked them about their expectations for the tournament. They told me that their team isn’t bad but that they’re screwed as there’s not much they can do when faced with teams like Madrid or Catalonia, which are piped with the young players of the big teams. To make matters worse, they told me that there’s “no fucking way” a couple of Guineans in Atlético de Madrid, the Obama brothers, fit the age criteria so there’s not much their boys can physically do when up against them. "They’re as big as you. If military service still existed, they’d be bein’ drafted in now” – the one smoking the cigar remarked.

The exit from Logroño runs through the Grajera park, a pleasant walk that leads to a reservoir near which there is an area for school activities where there was a considerable racket being produced by several hundred kids who were spending the day outside the classroom. A bit further ahead I came across a couple of hippies who were travelling on the back of a couple of donkeys with their two small children. After walking for thirteen kilometres I stopped at a bar in Navarrete. It turned out that the owner was a guy from Turin of Puglian descent, married to a Basque woman from Elorrio. That’s love for you. I had a Russian salad which was alright and drank a glass of red wine to warm me up a bit as it was a somewhat unpleasant day even though it didn’t rain on this route, thank God.

The last seventeen kilometres to Nájera were a bit monotonous and we did the best part of the journey walking alongside the dual carriageway, which never stops being a pain in the ass. Not even the never-ending stretches of grapevines to my left managed to relieve that overly tedious feeling. I met on the way a Korean couple, well it wouldn’t be a normal day if I didn’t bump into someone of that nationality. The man asked me if the flat cap I’m wearing is Basque. I told him it is indeed and after asking how he knew, he told me that last year he visited Bilbao and tried to buy a txapela but his head was too small and in the end he had to give up as apparently he wanted it for practical usage and not just for decoration. I had to admit that my Korean friend was right because with heads the size of his, the Jivaros would have to make a redundancy plan for the tribe due to lack of work.

The journey to Nájera was never-ending. I’ve increased the number of kilometres I’m walking per day and I’m noticing it, besides the torment my back is causing me. Nothing that a good glass of cheap wine or whiskey can’t fix, which is what I usually down at the end of each route. As soon as Miguelo arrived, we headed for Santo Domingo de la Calzada to have dinner with Günther, the Austrian. It’s been a week since we last saw each other and I was really looking forward to seeing him, especially so as he could brighten up my day with his unmistakeable laugh.

The local fiestas are on in the town so we had to leave the car outside the centre as we couldn’t get in with it. When we saw each other again, Günther greeted me with the type of hug that nearly finished my back off but he looked so happy that I didn’t want to ruin the moment by telling him where to go. The Austrian told me that Kelly’s Heroes from Barcelona are in the area too and so we headed for a plaza where they were giving out free blood sausage baguettes, certain that they would be around here somewhere knowing how hungry they usually are. Luck wasn’t on our side and we didn’t run into them. I really wanted to say hello and for them to tell me all about their last week.

Günther’s dinner in the Parador was on us, a little treat with the excuse of supporting the patient who, in passing, announced that after two days of rest, tomorrow he would be back on his feet. Over dinner I joked around a bit with Günther who had been teasing me the whole week with messages such as “catch me if you can” or “you’re going to have to buy a scooter if we’re going to see each other again”, all because he was ahead of me.

He told us a few anecdotes from the last couple of days and asked me if I had visited the Church of Eunate, that little chapel where I, luckily for the last time, ran into those disgraces from Barcelona. I told him it was closed and he was sorry to hear that because, according to him, the energy inside was indescribable and he had gone in and out about half a dozen times when he was there. I asked him if he had confused the chapel with a sauna, which I don’t think he found very funny. It seems that the Austrian is very into this “energy” thing and I think I’ll have to be careful with the tone and intensity of my jokes on that topic so as not to offend him. To make amends, I told him that the only energy I experienced was of the negative sort, channelled my way by the aforementioned disgraces. After a short walk around the streets of Santo Domingo after dinner, we said goodbye to Günther knowing that sooner or later we would run into each other again, without the need for me to buy a scooter of course.

Eighteen years ago to the day my football team, Real Zaragoza, won the UEFA Cup Winners’ Cup, thanks to Nayim’s spectacular mid-field lob. I can’t end today’s article without reviewing it and paying due homage to the ‘Heroes of Paris’, as they’re known…