Wednesday, August 7th
6:55am
Pamplona Refugio
Philippe's final
words:
"Yesterday you were on the Camino
Today you are in the Camino"
No, I don't get it either. Yet.
But the sound of 200 people trying to be quiet, as they get dressed, zip what
must be zipped, velcrose what must be velcrosed, flash torches
on and off to
see what might have disappeared under the bed, is actually quite
loud. There's only a handful left. Me, the lame and the crippled, those
others
pondering wether to give it away or not, and the terminally lazy.
Feel like just staying in bed just a little longer, but the cleaning ladies
are moving in, and I'm in the way.
But I'm kind of here for a second day in Pamplona, although it'll be a different refugio tonight.
8:58am
Been wanders. Most things are still closed, apart from bookshops and some of
the bar/cafes. Found the Cafe Bruno. It's pleasant.
Walking into town
from the refugio takes about 15 minutes, Down the street and through the
park, and into the old area. There's new backpackers already moving into
town. I
have no idea how they manage it, to get here so early. Magic legs, I guess.
Passed the Cafe Iruna, where Hemingway either lived, or wrote, or did himself
in. Briefly looked in, but it seemed like the Windsor. The well-heeled, in
suits, paying three or four times what I've paid for this coffee and pastry,
and not knowing or caring. Maybe I should've had a coffee there, but I know
I would've felt out of place, and a tad pretentious, and felt awkward.
At the moment it feels good to be truly on my own again
9:40am
Cathedral
The singing has stopped. Although it was more a long, slow chant.
A service. In Spanish, and understood even less than the French ones. The cathedral
is beautiful. Gothic, it seems. The priests wear white with green robes.
10:15am Utterly transfixed. |
12:01pm
I think this Cafe is called the Gallipot, at least that's what the bar attendant
has on her t-shirt.
From the Cathedral, down to the end of Call d San Anton, the Internet Cafe.
Rory wants 'the bull trampling a guy' t-shirt something bad. Okay, then.
Passing sweets shops, lots of them; a butcherie with a window decorated
with red and white wrapped salamis. CD shops, only really tempted by the
new Cruachan CD, but refrain, as I'd only have to carry it, or mail it
home.
A backpacker just walked in. A beginner. His boots are clean, still hanging from his backpack, never worn. He's still wearing his sandals, and bejaysus, they're new too, the soles are still shiny.
2:51pm
Cizur Menor
Already at the next gite, only 4kms from Pamplona. Have a bed. It's nice, I think it may be a private refugio, as the one mentioned in the guide was cômplet, apparently. Cômplet? How can a refugio be cômplet? It was cômplet with young Spanish types. I think they may intend to Fiesta all night anyway. |
There's a French
guy here, Patrice, and the soles of his feet are blistered to glory, and
the skin is literally hanging off. Apparently, his feet got wet when he was
crossing the Pyrenees into Roncevalles. Must've rained the day after I crossed,
and
his shoes were soaked. Anyway, talked for quite a while, into the evening.
Talking about work, mostly. And his feet.