I am sleeping Where?

I awoke in the morning in a frilly bed surrounded by the most feminine apartment, yet the following night found me sleeping on a table in a catechism classroom... Ah, the Camino.

 My day began as I put in my contacts in a bathroom surrounded by more makeup and perfume than in a pharmacy and I sat to have a quiet coffee with Maru before starting my walk. Bright eyed with moss green eyeliner, purple nails and styled blonde tinted hair, Maru teased that I must be a little crazy to make the pilgrimage. But she sent me on my way with a full belly and her well wishes. 

The San Fernin festival begins in Pamplona on July 7th of each year and commences each day for a week with the running of the bulls, finishing at the ring where the bulls are then put before the matador. Many have raised voice to the cruelty of the practice and the region of Catalonia has even banned bullfighting. However the Basque consider the battle between the matador and the bull to be a testament of grace and respect. And many would agree that the respect and care with which the Basque raise their animals is far more humane than the typical American factory farm. Hemingway wrote quite romantically about the dance of bullfighting. However, as he liked to hunt lions.. I won't put much stock in his idea of romance. And honestly, I can't help but lack sympathy for gored runners and matadors; they chose the game, the bulls didn't.  

My walk began with a flat track running directly along the coast with a slightly hazy sky. Sailboats dotted the horizon and people walked from town to town, beach to beach. Six km brought me to the lovely seaport town of Geteria, home to Magellan's protege, Juan Sebastián Elcano, who completed the first circumnavigation of the globe after Magellan was killed.  

Narrow pretty streets led downhill towards the church and as my walking stick clicked against the cobblestones, I heard the chanting and excited squeals of children. I rounded the corner to catch a progression of little ones all in white, except for telltale red bandanas tied around their necks. As they shrieked, restauranteurs and residents from the surrounding balconies tossed buckets of water on the happy children in an innocently sweet reenactment of the running of the bulls.  

Leaving Geteria, the route turns steeply uphill, so steep, in fact, that the engines of scooters choked and sputtered while trying to ascend. Enjoying a hilly walk with a horizon made out of ocean, I was happy to see Ole wander up the hill in my direction. We ambled into the town of Zumaia while he told me that somehow he had magically found a room the night before. As we sat at a tiny cafe, drinking Fanta and cerveza con limon, old men played cards and unleashed dogs weaved through the bar patrons. 

We walked on, talking of our homes and differences, our partners and ex-partners and all the other details that pilgrims share. Upon reaching the next town, we said goodbye as I was feeling a growing nagging pain in my hip. I intended to stay in Itziar to soak in a hotel tub while Ole, continued on to Deba. However, minutes later I was told by towns people at a cafe that there is no hotel, the alburgue is full and I must continue on. So with growing aches and pains I continued through a lovely, relatively easy walk into Deba. Much to my horror, I discovered that in the pretty whaling town of Deba, all three alburgues were full, as were all the hotels and pensions. I stumbled around in shell shock, beginning to contemplate a night sleeping on the beach when I noticed another group of dazed tired pilgrims. I started following them figuring they knew more than me and sure enough, a priest was letting them into the classrooms next to the church. And after considerable wine and food (and no access to showers)  that is how our stinky group of two Spaniards, a Canadian, an Italian and an American came to be sleeping on the floor and tables in a church catechism classroom... There was monumental snoring... And laughter. 

As a side note, I saw Ole at dinner and he said he found a hotel..How the F@$K!! I am beginning to think that he is actually Finnish royalty..