Javier and I stop in a bar and eat a traditional Spanish breakfast, a tostada. I have an idea what this should be, having enjoyed a lot of Mexican for, and so am surprised when the bartender sets a small bottle of olive oil, some salt, and a half of a toasted baguette in front of me. Javier returns from next door with two tomatoes. He cuts one in half and smears it all over my toast. Then he pours oil and sprinkles salt on my tomato toast. He looks at me and smiles, his satisfaction glowing. I take a bite. Not bad.

Javier and I meet and greet more pilgrims. Here are people from the US, Holland, Spain, Korea, and the Philippines.

We see marvelous historic churches. This area was once Muslim and the church was probably built by Muslim workers due to it’s Muslim details. This one is in the Romantic style.

Another view.

Before he was a saint he was a hand model.

Glad she’s not my mom. Really, somebody should dust her off.

A donkey doing his thing. Griboulli approves.

Huh? How did Lisa get that yellow arrow pilgrim’s pin? (The yellow arrows on roads and buildings direct pilgrims) Turns out that she and Javier are friends. She also had her picture taken a couple of times today, and the story told of how she was found by the road.

Zavier. We are about to descend into this village.

What fun to wind through the hills and come across a village.

This was a hospital and a church that spanned the pilgrims path in the 14th century.

Zavier descending into another village.

I took a picture then it toppled. Sorry.

Zavier and I in front of Iglesia de San Martin dating from the 11th century that was done in the romantic style. Much simpler and more proportional.

San Martin interior. Plain simple, clean. So many churches intimidate you with the scale and majesty, this one is warm and welcoming.

San Martin details. There are over 300 of these individuals. They are believed to have been familiar to people of the time, and referred to commonly known stories or myths.

We are checked into a church hostel in a very small rural town. We walk around town at night and come across the hot spot: A group of old men playing dominoes. Other than this there is no-one on the streets, no cars, hardly any lights. What a unique experience these days have been!

Thanks for riding with me,

Shawn

Michael and I standing outside the church ready to go. Michael is going to start me on the pilgrims trail, and then cycle home to San Sebastion.

Just because it has an old town doesn’t mean there is no industry. Pamplona is bustling.

I love the old with the new. So Don Quixoteish, knights and windmills. Incidentally, Don Quixote was the first novel ever published. It is Spanish- not Mexican as I once thought.

This is a church with a cactus garden in Puente La Reina. I can’t find anyone here to stamp my pilgrims passport. It is Sunday and quiet. I ride a kilometer down the road but feel frustrated. The church bells begin to ring. It’s a sign! I ride back and ask the first old man I meet “Donde va para estampe” See, my spanish is getting a little better. (It means “Where am I going to stamp”.) He smiles and leads me into his office and stamps my passport with a flourish, then signs and dates it by hand.

Well, that was cool.

The pilgrims enjoy creating mementos.

The trail leading into a typical small town.

I decide to spend the night in Estella. The book Micheal has lent me tells me there is a church albergue here. The Albergue is open and rents me a bunk, complete with a hot shower and a kitchen and lounge and laundry facilities for 5 euros. Wow. I meet people from Spain, Germany and Australia. The aubergue’s feel different than hostels, the people are not students.

The bridge over the river Estella, or, Three ducks and a bridge.

Estella scene.

It’s not tourist season. I was told that people run to get a bunk here in the summer.

This pics for you Eric. The bar in which I have dinner has the Davis? match on, and fans are watching every swing.

My dinner. Lots of carbs, but I need to learn my spanish foods better!

Later back at the auburgue I am offered a shot of a local Anise liquor which I enjoy sipping while writing.

Michael and I get ready to cycle to Pamplona.

We cycle along a bicycle trail which runs through the forest. This was the original place in Europe where iron ore was first mined. From these forest hills came iron for swords and cannonballs. We cycled along a river path the first part.

Michael and the river.

The area is rich with the remains of earlier uses, like this narrow stone bridge long abandoned.

The builders of the trail followed the old train tracks. We rode through numerous reappropriated train tunnels. It was scary sometimes. The tunnels could be quite long, wet, cold, and dripping water. This tunnel was over three kilometers long and the water had created this flowstone.

We are now in a church founded in 1783 that is now being used to house pilgrims. It costs 5.50 Euros for a very clean bunk, sheets, hot showers and a place to prepare food. I am very pleased and looking forward to the journey. Michael will ride with me tomorrow and get me on the path.

We went out to sightsee and for a nice meal. This is a street scene from the old town area of Pamplona.

Today I spend walking San Sebastian and talking with Jose. Despite his 10 words of English and my 10 words of Spanish, we communicate well. Jose is a very sweet and gentle man and I enjoy his company. San Sebastian had me wowed. Here are some pics:

Jose in the condos in which I stayed.

A sculpture, “Combing the Wind”.

Another part of the sculpture with a different view.

Looking back into San Sebastian

Playground on the beach.

Man walking his dog on the beach.

Part of the promenade.

Harbor front homes.

Down the promenade.

The old fishing harbor.

Beautiful color in the sunlight.

More beautiful fishing boats.

A walk through Old Town.

There is only one problem with that plan. There is no sign or border that I can see. I realize I am in Spain because I pop into a supermarket to find a new and interesting treat and realize that people are speaking Spanish and the food is labeled in Spanish. Oh boy, I can understand more!

I waste no time trying out my rusty espanol. “Buenas dias senior, que ciudad es esta?” (What city is this?)

Huh?

I repeat my self. He just shakes his head. Ok, maybe he is French. Se habla espanol? I thought that meant, “Do you speak spanish?” It actually means “Spanish is spoken.”

He looks at me and waggles his head and then totally ignores me. OK, maybe I need a little brushing up. But I am in Spain- Yay!

My host for the evening Michael lives on the third floor in his condo. He has left me here to have dinner with his parents. I have the house to myself.

In the evening he returns and we use Google translate when we get stuck. Michael is energetic and a quick thinker. He works in the winter as a boiler repairman and in the summer he has a truck from which he sells hamburgers at fairs. His goal is to sell his condo, make a little money, and quit his boiler job. Then he will be free to travel half the year and not work so much. He says the payments aren’t worth it, he would rather have more time than more house. We talk about the cultural differences between living to work and working to live. We certainly have a meeting of the minds.

He sells me on the idea of the El Camino de Santiago religious pilgrimage, also called the way of Saint James. This pilgrimage runs along a high level plain about 70Km south of here west to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. The length from Pamplona is about 700Km, or an easy 10 days ride. In 2010 over 270,000 people made this pilgrimage. There are lots of dormitory type places to stay for 5 -10 euros along the way.

I will have a Credencial or pilgrim’s passport. It will be stamped by dorms, resteraunts, cathedrals. In the end I will receive a certificate.

It moves me to undertake this 1000 year old Christian pilgrimage. Though I cannot follow it in belief I can follow it in form and honor this tradition.

Later Jose and his wife Olga drop by. Olga speaks English. She works with Moroccan immigrants. Jose is 34 and unemployed due to the economic crisis in Spain. He used to work as a Machinist. They encourage me to stay an extra night and have a traditional Basque dinner. Michael then offers to cycle with me to Pamplona on Saturday. I was planning on staying just one night but how could I refuse such kind hospitable friends?

The terrain has changed again. Ahhh, this is more like what Spain looked like in my imagination.

Sitting in a park taking in the view.

My room at Michaels. I’m studying a map of Spain and Portugal.

I was in France 18 days. Statistics:

Accommodations cost: $78.00 (In US dollars)

Food Costs $12.26 a day average

Miles cycled: 686

Days rested: 3

Average mileage on days cycled: 45.7

Total of all costs in France including postage, sim card, admissions, etc: $315.57

Daily average: $17.53