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A Change in Rhythm

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When morning comes, we all rise, rinse, pack and leave our little lime-green sanctuary. Rita has decided to go ahead and walk with Gaby, Ingeborg decides she would like to bus it short way to Logrono, the capital city of the Rioja region, and in the center of Spanish wine country. I agree to go with her, thinking if I walk a day or two, then maybe take the bus here and there, I can save my foot and all will be well. We have our usual cafe con leche in a little cafe across the plaza from the church and the pharmacy where we were last night. Everything looks different in the quiet morning, yet, since the town is so small, I know exactly where I am. No matter how short a time I spend in these little Spanish town, after even an hour of wandering around in them, I begin to have my bearings and actually feel at home. It's an odd feeling, but good--not so much connected to the people (who often are not present), but to the places themselvs. Perhaps the actual land of Spain has a partiular...
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Reluctance

Tomorrow (Labor Day) it will be one full year since I left here to go on my Camino journey. A day does not go by when I am not walking somewhere on that Way in Spain. A day does not go by when I do not think of the people I met there. So, why have I not finished writing about my "adventure"? I can't seem to answer that question to my own satisfaction. I could say it's lack of time, but I manage to post on my other blog at least a couple of times a week, so that's not a good excuse. I think, rather, that somewhere, down deep, I believe that if I don't finish writing about the journey, then the journey won't be over. When, in fact, I know that the journey is FAR from over. I know this. But it doesn't stop the reluctance. Another possibilty I've thought of is that am now at the point of documenting my trip where my foot pain started to interfere with my walking, and where I began to take more bus rides, and where I made the difficult decision...
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The Adventures of Miam-Miam, Do-Do

So, after probably 45 minutes or an hour, Rita, Ingeborg, and I get up, repack everything and get back on the trail to Linzoain. We emerged out of the woods, the trail took us up close to the highway, and then away again. We arrived at Linzoain at around 4 p.m., by this time, hot, sweaty in the afternoon sun, and ready to set the packs down for the night. The first thing we notice as we walk into the town is what looks like a 2-sided open air handball court. There is a stencil of 2 crossed raquets on the wall, but none of us can figure out exactly what kind of sport it is. Across the street is a small playground, so small, in fact, that at first I think it's just somebody's yard. We continue on into the town which seems shut up like a ghost town; however, there is the always-present construction crane, and many of the builings seem brand new, though uninhabited. Also, there are "Se Vende" (For Sale) signs everywhere. Shortly, we begin to go up a hill which loo...
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