As Terry and I began our ascent of the windmill-accented ridge several miles west of Pamplona, the cool morning air, strong sun, gentle breeze, waving fields, ubiquitous wildflowers, singing birds, and grand vast-skied vistas were almost tear-inspiringly transcendent. It was one of those moments when one's cognitive belief that it's good to be alive becomes a visceral "it's SO good to be alive at this very moment, in this place."

A few minutes later Terry came upon a young man sitting cross-legged next to his pack just off the path. He said in heavily accented English: "I cannot walk. It is too beautiful".

That pretty much summed up the whole day for us. The views, the sun, the breeze, the light, the deep blues, greens and ochers, everything was perfect. We walked 12 or so miles from Cizur Mayor to Puente la Reine along all sorts of paths with varying proportions of dirt and stone, a few stretches with steep ups and downs, through several villages. We're now showered and relaxing in our room on the upper floor of our nicely renovated simple and clean hotel situated in the middle of town, looking out at very old lichen-encrusted rooftops.

Of course it’s not all joy. We came across some folks whose motto for the day might have been "I cannot walk, my blisters are too bad". Though Terry and I have some minor foot issues, so far we've avoided anything serious.

One of the great things about the Camino is the sense of camaraderie among the walkers. Friendships are made and intimacies shared almost instantaneously. This afternoon I walked for a short while with a Canadian woman and within five minutes she was telling me about an experience she had two days ago. She said she's not religious, but when she came across a shrine that consisted of a bunch of quickly crafted crosses left by pilgrims, she decided to leave one in memory of her father who had passed away 15 years ago. She said she unexpectedly burst into tears, and she said she was holding back tears telling me about it.