Letters To

Soon it is time to catch the bus. Having missed a train in France, I am now paranoid about getting on whatever form of transportation that I've chosen that's going in the right direction at the right time. We see a number of buses come and go, but the people who are waiting assure us that ours is yet to come. We go across the road where the buses come in and sit on a concrete bench around a flagpole, so we can see the buses come in. Shortly, we see ours arrive, and get in line. We have our little printed receipts that are our tickets. The bus is like a big tour bus, and the seats are pretty comfy, with high backs. They actually recline. I realize we are not going very far, less than 12 miles, but it's nice to have such a cushy ride! In no time it seems, but what would have been another days' walk for us, we are at our destination. It is still early afternoon, still warm. We depart our bus, get our packs and start to look for the alburgue. Ingeborg jokes that it might ...