In Estella, when I first met the Lebanese women, they told me that they’d spent a few days traveling with a man who had recently lost his son. “But tomorrow was the son’s birthday,” one of the women told me,
The 10K road from Vaina to Logroño has little to recommend it. It passes by some small farms in disrepair, and more than the usual pilgrim trash along the road. At all times you can see the industrial buildings and
Spain has some serious drags on its economy. The lack of English is one; I can’t think of another country in Europe where the people speak less of the lingua franca of business. Then there are the fueros, or dispensations,
It’s a crisp morning in Logrono. It’s going to be another beautiful day in Spain, if perhaps a bit hot, especially given our late start. The women have gone ahead, while Julio and I sit in a café-bar called Ibiza
Pamplona to Cizur Menor I didn’t walk from Pamplona, as I was feeling very shaky. I thought perhaps it was due to low blood sugar (the H’s hurt with each step) and I just couldn’t face even walking four miles.
El Notario was a very sober man. Small, neat, with a short-sleeved white shirt and a modest tie (so modest it bordered on immodesty), he exuded authority and self-assurance. Julio made sure to legitimate me right away. “El es un
Navarette The fiesta two nights ago in Navarette was a pleasant surprise. (I note that fiesta and siesta share the same root, iesta, which surely translates to “Let’s Stop Working Again”). I drank 1-Euro Rioja and ate two bowls of
Foot Massage – With or Without “Happy Ending?” In Santo Domingo I tried out for the first time one of the foot massagers that, along with Internet-ready computer terminals, are staples of the hostels on the Camino de Santiago. For 2
Belorado, Snore Journal. The German word, schnarcher, better captures the enthusiasm of last night’s symphony. Mom began it. I wrestled with myself. I felt badly that others were hearing her snoring, and that I might – might – have an
