It’s still early and, being Sunday, eerily quiet as I reach the outskirts of Logrono. I cross the Puente de Piedra over the wide Rio Ebro and turn right, skirting the centre to the south. The streets, having just been cleaned, glisten and I find my way through a quiet city, stopping for a coffee and a tortilla.
A stretch of eight miles leads me into Navarrete for lunch. I buy fruit at a small shop just before it closes and sit by the fountain, filling my water bottle. It’s busier now, many families are at church and children play around the centre. I continue through the heat and dust from Navarrete, climbing until the top of the Alto de San Anton where the views drop away once more until the next hills, at least a day’s walk away. Vines sweep away either side in parallel lines.
Najera, my destination for the day, is a sweet little town. A swathe of grass cups the clear river and a few bars line the sides. The Albergue Puerta de Najera only has one bed left and it’s the top bunk. I hate the top bunk; I can never sleep at that altitude so I decline and take my chances at the newer hostel. It proves a good move – eager to impress, they have beds rather than bunks, it is spacious, quieter and half empty. I secure a bed next to a window, sure of a cool breeze through the night.
Park City Hiking Trail Map Photo Gallery
I’m starting to understand the siesta. The Spanish escape the heat of the afternoon and become recluses for a few hours. With a few exceptions, catering for pilgrims, bars and shops close from just after lunch to late afternoon. The clatter of shutters rolling over windows heralds Spain taking a nap.
One such example is the quiet village of AzofTa. Like a post-apocalyptic scene, it seems abandoned. As I pass through the streets, the heat bounces off buildings, turning the little hamlet into a corridor of furnaces. A door creaks open to my right and an old lady appears, shielding her eyes with a hand, and looks at me. Spanish women’s expressions offer few clues. They eye you up curiously, showing little emotion, and may offer a slight nod of the head, a weak smile and a Buenos Dias’. It’s a ghost town. Nothing moves except the odd dog appearing from nowhere and passing with a tentative, wide berth. I always wonder if anyone lives in such places.
