Pause and Wander

Date: September 3–6, 2025

Place: Lintzoain, Larrasoaña, Pamplona & Uterga, Spain

The last few days on the Camino have been a mix of short, shaded walks and longer stretches that threw a few obstacles our way—but that’s half the fun. On September 3 and 4, we covered about 13 km each day, mostly downhill. Much of the route wound beneath oak and beech trees, the canopy filtering sunlight as the views shifted—open fields gave way to rocky ridgelines, then to gravel paths through grass taller than Arya. Just when we thought we knew what was coming next, the Camino surprised us with something different: another forest, another ridge, another village tucked into the hills.

Entertainment on the trail took a new turn when the girls insisted on listening to How to Defeat a Daemon King in 10 Easy Steps. Since Max’s phone speaker couldn’t compete with crunching boots and birdsong, we improvised: one AirPod in his ear, narration slowed to 0.8x, and Max repeating the story out loud as we walked. It required a strange kind of multitasking—don’t trip, keep the plot straight, deliver the lines—but somehow it worked. The girls loved it, and even Shaina admitted it added fun to the miles.

We reached Larrasoaña by midafternoon and fell quickly into pilgrim routines. Packs dropped, beds set, laundry sorted, quick naps squeezed in. Later we wandered over to the bar-slash-grocery where we reconnected with Mark and June, an Australian couple we first met in Orrison. Sitting in the courtyard beneath international flags, sipping cheap beer, felt like pure Camino camaraderie. Dinner was the much-anticipated albóndigas, and afterwards we joined the town’s tortilla contest, sharing slices in the square with our Colombian-Australian friends Hilda and Ben.

September 6 brought us 16.3 km from Larrasoaña to Pamplona. About 3 km in, we stopped at a riverside café for a classic breakfast of fried eggs, Basque chorizo, tortilla Española, coffee, and hot chocolate. Sharing the table with Ben, Hilda, and June made it even better. Australians, it turns out, are everywhere on the Camino.

That stage was harder on Max—descending technical terrain lit up his right kneecap with every step, though uphill remained painless. Still, we pressed on, narrating the Daemon King story yet again, which has become a kind of trail tradition. After about 5 hours we reached Pamplona, arriving so early that the convent where we were staying hadn’t opened. Max held our spot in line while Shaina and the girls went for ice cream. With only 18 beds available, it was worth the wait.

The Albergue Betania is a converted Carmelite convent, simple and welcoming, with a not-so-small private chapel where we joined the resident priest for evening prayer. We liked the peace and calm of the place, a quiet counterpoint to the city’s energy. Pamplona itself buzzed with life, preparing for a medieval festival, and we stumbled into our favorite menú del día yet. We would have stayed longer, but the Camino always tugs us forward.

The next morning we left early, chasing cool air through Pamplona’s wheat fields as the sun rose. The trail climbed steadily into wide plains, the Pyrenees fading behind us. The highlight came at the ridge of wind turbines, their blades thundering overhead. Arya scrambled up a slope to touch one of the towers, locking in a memory she won’t forget.

From there, the descent into Uterga was steep and hot. The town is what we’ve heard called a “one-minute town”—small and quickly passed—but the restaurant across from our albergue offered shade, lasagna for the girls, a burger and beers for us, and a round of cards. Our albergue had only a massive 24-bed dorm left, bunks side by side at 13€ each. As night fell, the chorus of snores began: one deep and droning, another staccato and sharp. With earplugs in, we settled into the noise of Camino life—tender knees by day, thunderous snores by night.