Day 3: Zuberi to Pamplona, I Get Cranky

In many ways I had a wonderful day. For starters, the sun was shining to the point that I eventually got down to shorts and a t-shirt. The Spaniards, at least in these parts, were all wearing coats. Someone I talked to in Pamplona this afternoon said, "Oh, you must be from the North if the heat bothers you." Yeah, aside from the constant rain, I love the temperatures in Luxembourg. If that means I'm intolerant of heat … well, okay.

I was worried about my little pension last night as I realized on the way there that my room was with "shared bathroom." Turns out I was the only guest, so I could have run naked up and down the stairs aside from the fact I was just too tired. The owners spent the night at their other house. I learned that the pension was originally "his" house, and now, after both losing their jobs, they live in "her" house and turned this into a business.

They were very sweet and let me eat breakfast in peace (toast with jam, coffee, orange juice) before chatting me up. He spoke a tiny bit of English (my deteriorated Spanish was better), but we got by, discussing the demise of the middle class in both Spain and the US. I can't say for certain that she didn't lay some blame on "los Judios," but in the interest of maintaining positive US/Iberian relations, I'm gonna assume I misunderstood something there.

And that's sort of how it's been going. Other than the overly-cheerful Korean guy I saw my first two nights, the only ONLY other pilgrims I've encountered (and today I ran across six) have been Spaniards. They are all in pairs (some friends, i.e. the pair who keep running away from me, and some couples). While I can understand them. If. They. Talk. Like. This. it is mentally exhausting for me to be immersed. I can see them revert to rapid-fire Spanish the moment I am no longer able to carry the ball. Don't get me wrong: I love Spanish. It is my favorite foreign language. But when I'm physically exhausted, I'd like to limit my participation to

1. Ordering my dinner and
2. Watching the local news on the ever-present TV in the restaurant.

Now veteran Camino-types will tell you that these people are your Camino family. But you know, if the DH and I were hiking together and some nice third hiker appeared, we'd be all, "Oh, hello there. Okay, bye." Just like these people are.

It is accepted Camino protocol that you are not expected to walk WITH every pilgrim you meet. Everyone walks at the pace that suits them. So you ebb and flow and cross paths, sometimes in the same day, sometimes over the course of the entire walk.

I came across the Spaniards again sitting in the sun right at the point I had promised myself I'd stop, eat, and maybe make a video. I didn't feel like recording anything when they were there, and later I was in a foul mood. I didn't want to grump and then have it preserved for posterity.

(What I DO wish I had was a video of me speaking Spanish because I want to

1. See my mistakes (yes, I really do) and
2. See how often I use French without realizing. Because I'm pretty sure I've been doing that a lot. )

So I'm sitting amongst them, basically in someone's driveway. Not that much farther along was a nice park full of picnic table. I knew it was coming. Don't these people look at maps? Okay, they invited me to join them, and I wanted to play along. So I sit down on the sloping driveway and take out my package of cheese and my apple. Only then I realize that I'm sitting on my phone. My phone is in my back pocket and now being crushed into the cement driveway. I reach to pull it out, and my apple escapes and rolls down the driveway, under the chain that's blocking the driveway, all the way to the feet of a very large and very surprised dog who is chained up at the other end of the driveway. But I couldn't see him from where I was sitting. I couldn't catch the apple precisely because I was sitting. And stiffening. I finally got to my feet and realized that my apple was gonna stay. Right where it was.

Don't feel too bad for me. As the Camino always provides, I came across another apple further on. It came from a guy who was kinda lurking on the path. Heading more or less west as we are, often the sun creates a bit of glare, making it hard to see things immediately. So he kinda pops out of the bushes, holding a ham and cheese sandwich, smelling slightly of drink, and starts talking to me about the "ratones." When I express confusion, he say, "Don't you speak Spanish?" I assure him that I do, but he's gotta slow down. So he tells me he's feeding bits of his sandwich to the little mice here on the side of the trail, and, oh, would I like some fruit or a juice because he's selling them because he's lost his job. I do buy an apple from him and reassure him that six others are not that far behind me and he shouldn't pack it in for the day just yet. But now that's three people today who have lost their jobs.

Speaking of the sun in my eyes, shortly before my unfortunate lunch break I had another such episode. The path at that point was rather narrow and mucky in places, so I was paying close attention because it wound along the side of a steep slope. Suddenly I see the corpse of a mountain bike, just lying there in the path. I've seen other bikers during the morning -- those sleek gazelles on road bikes on the proper roads (we ARE just down the road from Sr. Indurain), as well as dudes on mountain bikes riding around on the trail I'm on. "What the …" I'm thinking, when I realize that Mountain Bike Dude is RIGHT THERE, having what the pros would call a "Comfort Break." Now who among us hasn't peed in the woods lately? "Oh!" I say, averting my eyes. "Pardon! La, la, lala." And just kept on walking. As you do.

(I know one shouts "Allez! Allez!" in French. But what do you say to cyclists in Spanish.)

But the cranky? That came from second guessing myself between km 2 and 4 and adding to my day. Also, my pension is on the far side of town. Meaning, by the time I got through Pamplona, my feet hurt, my ankles hurt, my hips hurt where the backpack sits, my arms hurt where the backpack rests, and what was supposed to be my shortest day so far was actually the longest distance in the shortest amount of time. I had NO interest in looking at what I am SURE is a really cool town. I know what streets the bulls run down, but today? Don't care. I know where the bullring is. But I don't care. Hemingway? Who gives a shit? Not me. Not today, anyhow. The idea of walking ANYWHERE other than to dinner? Nope.

In the end, I went downstairs to a small restaurant that the owner pointed out. They have a cheap menu, but they don't serve until 8:30 pm. "A las nueve," the guy said upon reflection. So it was Dominos for me, and I'm damn grateful to have it.

Tomorrow's stage has a nasty climb. And another scary scree downhill. Oh, and it's gonna rain. So I called Jacotrans. They're gonna pick up my backpack in the morning and take it to my next stop. I can put my electronics in a little bag I have and wear them under my raincoat, so I won't fret about the only valuable things I have here wandering off. After tomorrow things flatten out considerably, and I'll be willing to hoist the backpack on again I'm sure.

P.S. I've now seen a memorial to a fallen pilgrim every day. Three for three. Without explanation. So it does happen. Rest assured I am very aware of the elements, how hard I'm working at any given time, and my intake of food and water. And I'm wearing my Road ID bracelet in case I can't talk. As you do. I intend to finish this walk.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Pamplona