On the Medicinal Properties of Coca-Cola

Sometimes all you want is a drink.  In this case it was a Coca Cola.  I don't know what's different about the formula for Coke in Spain, but they just taste better over here.  Now that I've go you hooked, let me back up and fill you in the gory details of our adventure since I posted yesterday.

Most of the restaurants in the towns along the Camino have a "Pilgrim's Menu."  For around 9 Euros you get a three course meal, wine and water.  A pretty good deal, so we signed up for the  7pm seating.

At 6pm, we went to the Pilgrim's Mass in the church, which is almost as old as God; 13th century I think.  I will admit, I only minimally get Catholic mass under the best of circumstances, but throw in mass conducted in Spanish with a heavy basque accent, and I'm done.  Actually, the mass kind of reminded me of a musical because the priest would read a few verses from the Bible and then randomly break out in song.  After an appropriate time, the congregation would join in, and then the priest would go back to reading, again for no apparent  reason.  Nonetheless, I was very encouraged to worship God with folks from many other countries and religions, all engaged in a common endeavor.  The priests conducting the service offered a blessing for all the travelers, which was much appreciated.

Dinner proved to be leek soup followed by trout and yogurt for dessert.  As I feared, the trout was brought to us whole.  You may recall, my rule of thumb is that if the food still looks like what it did when it was in its natural environment I'm going to have issues.  Fortunately, we shared a table with a lovely Irish lady named Imelda from County Kerry.  She shared my qualms about the fish, so together we summarily cut off the heads of ours and proceeded as bet we could.  the fish was excellent, and I'm pretty sure it had been caught that day in the river we crossed as we came in to town.

After dessert and a cup of coffee, we crashed for the night.  I woke up about midnight to a text message from my boss.  Paul, I love you and all, but please, please remember the 9 hour time different  when you text me.  and the fact that each text costs me 50 cents over here.  :)  It was then rather difficult to get back to sleep, not from my parents which I somewhat expected, but from the people in the room below.  That man's wife must really love him to be able to put up with that.

This morning the hotel didn't start serving breakfast until 7:30 so we had a bit of a lie-in as the British say it.  We hit the Camino out of Roncesvalles about 8:30 and begn our days walk through forest, and farmland filled with cows, horses and sheep.  I couldn't imagine a more idyllic path.  We passed through several towns today, all of which had houses built in the 1700's (in rural Spain, the year a house was built is often  carved over he entrance) that were still occupied.  I wish we built stuff like that.

Unforutnately, we also had our first mishap.  We were fording a stream just outside the 12th century Basque town of Espinal.  The streambed had been cemented in to facilitate crossing but a small dam with spillways had also been built so you could cross without getting wet.  Dad and I opted to walk across the dam, while Mom attempted to ford the stream.  The streambed turned out to be covered in algae and moss and was thus very slick.  About 3/4 of the way across, Mom slipped and fell. This was not too bad in and of itself, but when she fell, she hit her mouth/face on the dam.  She cut the inside and outside of her mouth pretty badly, but we were able to get her fixed up.  I think she will be pretty bruised tomorrow, but her lip is no longer three times it's normal size at least.

Of course, Dad and I felt terrible, but I think Dad was more shook up than Mom.  When we got to Espinal, Dad asked a local for help and ended up calling the Spanish  equivalent of 911.  The doctor they connected him to assured us that we had done all the right things and told us where we could get Mom looked at if necessary.  By this time, Mom was over it and ready to move on, so when she found out what Dad had been up to, she was rather put out.  We quickly bought some sandwiches to eat for lunch as we walked and moved on.  This is where I wished for the Coke.  

The next section of Camino was very mountainous, as we've come down out of the Pyrenees into thee foothills.  I have never seen more beautiful country with beech trees giving way to pine and little tiny whitewashed villages with red tile roofs nestled here and there.  It ended up being a hard seven miles or so, and we got to the last town before our scheduled stop at about 2:30.  with five km to go, we had to be at our hostel by 4pm, or we lost our reservation.  At this point, Dad wanted me to go on ahead.  I was not real keen on hiking alone, and we had our first argument of the hike.  I have a feeling it won't be our last.  I was so angry, I took off walking and we made our reservation, and I got  over being  yelled at by Dad.

We are not staying  in the pilgrim hostal, we are staying  in a private "pension" which  is basically a house where the owner rents out rooms.  Again, the price (25 euros) seems a reasonable one to pay for a private room and or no having to worry about our belongings.  Dad and I sorted out our differences, and we were rated to a four-course meal with three other houseguests.  I had one of the best steaks of my life, the conversation was excellent, and our gracious host (who turns out to be the mayor of the own) gave us a nightcap of his equally excellent homemade "pacharan", a local liqeur.

Tomorrow is breakfast at 6:30 and a slightly shorter day.  14 miles and a trek through the large and famous city of Pamplona, where the Running of the Bulls takes place.  We will also stock up on supplies and food.  And hopefully find an ATM.  I am running sort on cash, and most of the places we visit are not credit card friendly.