Above Villamayor de Monjardin, on the peak of a conical hill, there is a ruined castle. I climbed it to eat dinner and watch the sun go down.
I didn’t realized how famished I was from eating only baguettes and espresso all day until I got to the top, and I sat on the castle wall to scarf down my bag of pasta without cutlery. I was so hungry, I almost wanted to eat the olive pits as well.
And then, I looked over to my left. In that direction were Pamplona and Estella. I looked to the horizon: I had walked on my feet from beyond that horizon.
I looked to my right, where the sun was descending over more jagged hills, over ridges and valleys. I looked to the horizon: I would walk beyond that horizon.
It was empowering and humbling and happy. I saw that since I was walking so far, I didn’t need to bother with things like impressive mileage or perfect Spanish or seeing everything along the way. Just doing it mattered. I smiled the whole walk down the mountain, which, for one evening was right in the middle.