Bus To Los Arcos

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 be better if we weren't seen getting off the bus and going right to the alburgue, but not to worry because it is off the main road, back up one of the streets, on the other side of the church that dominates the town's sillhouette:

With little trouble, we find the alburgue, Casa de Austria, which seems to be run by 2 or 3 young German (or Austrian) women. We have called ahead and they have our names, so we quickly go through the routine of signing in and getting our credencials stamped. Then, the trek to the sleeping room. This place is a maze of rambling corridors and step-ups and step-downs, stairways and hallways, and low-ceilinged places where I have to watch my head. We are led down a corridor, around a corner, passing the bathrooms (where I note an actual ROOM with showers, stalls, etc.) and into a very crowded room where there are, alas, only 3 top bunks. We can feel our spirits sink about this, and ask if there are, possibly, other beds? Our young host says there is a "private" (4-bed) room for 1 Euro more apiece, and we can have that if we wish. We do!

We are then led up a staircase, with a turning landing, a short (maybe 3-step) straight-away, and then up 2 more stairs (again ducking head) through a kitchen/dining area and through a door into a small room with 2 empty bunk beds. This is fine. There is a window between the beds, with a sturdy chair, and I offer to take top this time, but again, the ladies say no, no, and no. (I think maybe they just do not want to be under me in case the bed does break!!!!), and I accept a bottom bed gratefully.

We get our selves unpacked and organized for the afternoon. In the kitchen, we had spied a washer, so Ingeborg quickly lines up to get our clothes washed while there is still sunshine to dry them in, and we all go to get our showers out of the way. Over and over again, I am amazed at how a few minutes in warm water will completely rejuvenate a tired, beaten up old body. Each day, I walk, each day I sweat and sweat and sweat till I think I just can't sweat anymore, and arrive where ever I end up, dusty, hot, tired, sweaty, and sometimes very discouraged about going on the next day. But just a few minutes later, after having some wonderful water run over me, and a little bit of soap, I emerge feeling ready to tackle the world again. I don't take long showers, and sometimes the water isn't all that hot. And of course, there is the problematic juggling of soap, shower head, etc. and trying to dry off and get dressed afterwards, but it never fails to make me feel completely better and ready for the rest of the day/evening. Even now, months later, I can remember that completely clean and wonderful feeling of stepping out of the shower and leaving the entire day behind me.

After getting dressed and getting back to the room, I go out into the kitchen/eating area to look around. Groups of people are gathered, chatting, looking at the kitchen, seeing what equipment is there, etc. It's pretty well stocked for cooking, with some condiments and various dishes. And then, walking back to our room, I see the little oriental man who hollered at me on my way to Lorca 2 days earlier! I am so happy to see him, and he recognizes me. I wave to him and take his warm hand and we exchange little bows. He is just incredibly cheerful, and puts me in mind of the Dalai Lama. I find out that he is from Jakarta. It is always so wonderful to re-encounter those folks that I've seen along the Way. Of course, HE has walked every step, but none of that matters--we are both here now, and we are still going, that's the big thing!

We get our clothes out of the washer, hang them up to dry, and head out to explore a bit, and to see if there is an alimentacion open for restocking some victuals. Only one small place, and there is an immense line. Ingeborg gets impatient quickly and says she is going somewhere else, but I have found some nuts and dried apricots that I really want, so I'm willing to hang out in the line. Where else have I got to go, anyway?

That done, I take my purchases back, put them in my food bag, and go back out. Somewhere in this midst, I run into Claudette, the French-Canadian woman I first met in Orisson. Another "old friend"! It is soo good to see her! I let her know that I am still with Rita and Ingeborg, and tell her that I've been at the store, which is about to close. She asks if she should get something, too. I say I guess so, thinking she means for herself. It turns out shortly that she meant to get something for dinner for all of us. She catches up with me and Ingeborg in a plaza outside the church (which isn't open yet), and we see that another store has opened at last. It's bigger than the other one, but even more crowded. I realize my mistake with Claudette when we start talking about where to go for dinner. She has bought salad makings, tuna, marinated pimientas, and 2 bottles of wine. We cannot waste that, of course! Suddenly, Ingeborg decides that she MUST have potatoes fixed German style (peeled and boiled whole), so she and Rita buy those and some butter, and we had back to the Alburgue to fix our feast.

It becomes quite an adventure when the pop-off top of the tuna can breaks and we have to search around trying to find some way to open the can without slicing our fingers off. Finally we manage, and end up putting the tuna into the salad with the peppers, tomatoes, onions, etc. There's no vinegar to cut the oil on the tuna, but I find a lemon and squeeze it out, which should do the trick. With the potatoes finally done, we carry everything to a table in the common room on the first floor (some people have already gone to bed on the floor where the kitchen is):

Although we seem to have some form of potato at nearly every meal, I have to say that salad and those warm, boiled 'taters with salt and butter will go down in my personal history as one of the best meals I ever had. Accompanied by 2 lovely bottles of La Rioja red wine, and the company of 3 fine women, there's not much else I could have wished for that night. In the course of our dinner, we discover that Claudette is a winemaker. She and her partner of over 30 years (she won't marry him on principle) make approximately 250 bottles of wine each year! It's always a treat to find the "hidden talents" of the folks that you walk with. After a couple of hourse, and fully satisfied with food, wine, and wonderful company, we clean up and head back to our rooms to settle in and summon sleep to prepare for what ever the Road may bring us tomorrow. This has been a really good day!