Yesterday evening was convivial with other pilgrims, in fact, probably a bit too convivial. I realised it was time to go bed when I led the entire terrace in a rousing rendition of “Oh, Canada!”. Anyway, I went straight to sleep for eight and a half hours, and awoke feeling remarkably spry!

Nothing was open at seven on a Sunday morning, so I packed up and set off. It is still completely dark at that time, so the first fifteen minutes were powered by my phone torch. The path led out of town, up a hill and ran along behind the enormous Magnox plant, which mines and refines magnesium. Lit up like a Christmas tree, it cast some light in my path.

Gradually, day broke, and I carried on. The gradients were fairly gentle today, and the paths in good repair, so I made quite quick progress. We had now left behind the almost alpine architecture of the Pyrenees, and it was replaced by stone or plaster-clad buildings with tile roofs.

By about two hours in, I was starting to feel that I was in need of breakfast, but the path turned away at every point that it seemed we might head for a place big enough to have somewhere serving food. I knew I was hungry, because I was getting irritated by cheerful groups of young pilgrims chattering away among themselves, and becoming grumpy at having to constantly greet people I overtook or met.

Imagine then my joy when the path took us over the bridge into Zuriain, and I was met by this!

I ordered, tea, orange juice, water and this.

It was all more delicious than I can say. I took my time, and set off feeling restored.

I had already done nearly ten kms by 09.30, and by 11.30 I was approaching the last big hill before I hit the outskirts of Pamplona. At the summit I met this man – with his ice box packed full of chilled oranges, and his press on the table. It would have been rude not to, and four oranges produced a truly perfect pick me up for the last two kilometres.

The view from here was delightful as well.

I am learning, slowly, to listen to my body, and as I came down the slope I realised I was feeling tired and footsore. Not in a bad, plantar fasciitis playing up kind of way, but just tired. I have done eight days solid, with some quite big walks, so I decided that it was time for a rest day.

My hostel tonight is in Villava, four kilometres from Pamplona, and is a very nicely appointed municipal facility. I walked over the ancient bridge into the town.

I had an hour or so to kill before the hostel opened, so I sat with a coffee in a cafe outside the parish church, and worked out a revised programme for the rest of the trip. I have landed in Villava because there was no space in any hostel in Pamplona tonight, and I thought I had already used up a good bit of luck just turning up. In a way, it has been perfect – I didn’t really fancy four more ks, and then having to wander about in a city trying to find a spot to sleep.

What I was able to do, because it was still early in day, was book somewhere right in the city centre for tomorrow – so in the morning I will either walk in or get a bus and have a day enjoying Pamplona. Then I have planned four/five more walking days, which will get me to Logroño. If I manage that, I will be delighted.

I went to the Pilgrim Mass at Roncesvalles two days ago, and I would normally have gone to Mass somewhere, but the priest at the monastery galloped through it, and then made a point of reading out an instruction just before Communion, telling people who could and who couldn’t receive. He may just be doing what he is told, but it was very off-putting. It was something that I never encountered in France, and it felt very unecumenical. I left, and I’m feeling cautious about going back, though I do love the way many Spanish get dressed in their best for a Sunday morning Mass – very elegant. I’ve had enough of people in charge of churches telling me what I can’t do.

By the time I get to Logroño (all being well) it will be time to turn for home, and the best way to do that is to get a bus from Logroño to Bilbao, and from there trains to Bordeaux and thence home.

I got settled in to the hostel, and I know there are places in Villava where I can eat, that are open on a Sunday evening, so I shall go for a stroll and see what I can find. But no carousing!