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Gemilas en Burgos - Part I

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After Doro and I split up from Ingeborg, we walked across a busy road towards the cathedral, whose spires we could see not far away. In fact, just about anywhere in Burgos you can see the spires of the cathedral, even though it is a fairly large city. We walked through a long, tree-lined paseo, where the trees were so dense and dark overhead that the street lights were on underneath even though it was early afternoon. As we reached the end, we rounded a corner which would take us into the man plaza and we saw what was probably a mid-range hotel, so we decided to duck in and try our luck. As soon as we entered the small lobby and the man behind the desk took a look at our obvious pilgrim attire, I knew what the answer would be--no rooms available. No trouble. I was certainly not going to push to stay were pilgrims were obviously not wanted, so we headed out and back towards the plaza. Doro had a map, and so we eventually got to a church-run alberque that would open around 1 p.m. ...
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Taking The Wrong Train

Today is Monday, Sept. 10, and I am writing from Roncesvalles, Spain. I´m on a timed computer, and I don´t think I have access to another internet screen, so I don´t think I´ll have any links here, but if you´re interested you can Google any of the places and see pictures and find out more. Anyway, on to the adventure. Friday, I found my bus to Stansted after a ¨dry run¨ and got to the airport in good time. I´d never been there before, but it´s small, and easy to get around in. The only thing is, the gates are like the train platforms in London. They don´t really tell you what gate the plane is going to be at till almost before it arrives. So there are these screens that you keep watching to see your flight has been assigned a gate, THEN you run down to the gate to wait. Also, I flew on Ryanair, which has ¨free seating¨in that it´s first come first serve. Some people had ¨prioritý¨I didn´t, but again managed a asile seat with no one inbetween. Everything was on time and fine....
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Walking Backwards Up the Pyrenees

Sunday morning dawns, cloudy, cool, damp. The guy above me snored loudly all night, and once made some kind of odd noise, and jumped down off the bed and stomped around for a few minutes. He was very strange. But, at any rate, he is the first one up and gone. I don´t see him again. Next goes the gentleman from Quebec, again quietly up, dressed and gone. It´s about 7am, and the young American couple get up to go downstairs to have breakfast--that they have bought themselves the day before, and put in the fridge, with the landlady´s permission. Suddenly, there is a huge commotion downstairs and the landlady comes flying into the room screaming French in a stage whisper. She tears the couple´s things off the beds, and starts pushing them out of the room. Everyone else is still half asleep and can´t figure out what´s going on. To the best of my ability, all I can figure out is that she´s saying they are up too early (not before 7am), in the kitchen too early, and making too much ...
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