Monday, August 31, 2009

Mike and Carmen learn about completo

On the fourth day of San Fermin, it was time to start the camino. We had heard of this camino one night in Paris, while talking with our friend Laura, who had also traveled in Spain. She mentioned a friend of hers, who had gone on this trail, all set up for walkers, a trail that went all the way across Spain and had places to stay, just for these walkers. It sounded pretty cool, and that was it. We found online that it is officially The Camino de Santiago, or St. Jame's Way. There are trails all over Europe that connect to it, and while in Brittany, we had even been on a part of it already.

The most popular route starts in the mountains of Southern France, goes through Pamplona, and all the way to Santiago de Compostela. Mike got us a little blue guide book for pilgrims, which detailed the route and gave such useful information as which towns we would pass on our way, the distances between them, their population, places to stay, eat, and churches to see. We also had our Credencial del Pergrino, a little passport type thing whose main purpose was to identify us as official Peregrinos and therefore eligible to stay in the refugios, or albergues, along the route. Its secondary purpose is one of record. It folds out accordion-style, each page divided up into eight little boxes. It is for firmos and sellos, dates and stamps. All along the camino, in the sleeping places, the eating places, worship places and tourist info places... each one has its own little individual rubber stamp. As a pilgrim, you present this little credencial and get your little stamp, recording your daily progress towards St James in colorful little ink imprints. It makes a pretty neat little souvenir to take home with you, as well as a record of your walk.

The albergues are basically little guesthouses, traditionally run by friends of the camino, people wanting to give aide and support to those making the pilgrimage. They are run by the city, or the church, hotels, and by locals and come in all different styles at all different prices. Municipal albergues usually ran at three euros a night for basic, dormitory style accommodation, usually, but not always with a kitchen. Other places offered beds in rooms of various sizes from five euros up 10 or 12 euros. These places were as varied in comfort as the people who ran them varied in personality. If you wanted to fork out even more cash, private rooms could be had for 20 euros in small towns, and 30 or 40 in bigger ones. Of course, in even larger towns, like Burgos, Logrono and a few others, you could just stay in a hotel, unaffiliated with the camino altogether. We also had camping gear along as another option. And as we became more camino savvy, we would later learn which places were more popular with the walkers, and that these places really did fill up fast, often by early afternoon, which at the start of our journey, we didn't quite believe.
Our friend Richard, having a smoke high up in the window of his dorm room. Camino


That said, our journey began in Pamplona a little too late to make any kind of early deadline, so that first day we didn't even worry about it. We had already seen the first markers in the city center, and all that was left to do was shoulder up our packs, grab some food for the trail and start walking. By the time we had slept off the previous night, showered, packed, said goodbye to the others and gotten on the path and outside the main city (and away from the festival madness finally), it was probably about 3 in the afternoon.

The great walk begins! Camino

That first day, we would pass through Cizur Menor just 4.5k outside of Pamplona. That not being a very long distance, and the days being long, we had decided we would go on the additional 12k to Uterga before calling it a night. We would be crossing the foot of the Pyreenes Mountains that lay outside Pamplona, but after that it would be all downhill, and 12k isn't so far to walk.
Not round that mountain- over. Camino

So we walked, along the road at first, but it didn't take long for the trail to lead off across the fields, through little valleys and up through the hills. Ahead of us we watched the mountain ridge, its white wind turbine spine slowly getting bigger and bigger.
From Camino

We kept turning back to see Pamplona behind in the distance, already seeming a long way off after just a few hours of walking. The ascent to the mountain was steep, the footpath packed dirt and a little slippery. I remember the wind... it was ridiculously windy, and by now, being late afternoon, it was not hot at all. When we reached the summit the wind was strong enough to almost blow me over. There is a monument there, built for pilgrims. We took pictures and ducked back on the trail, out of the wind, Pamplona now out of sight.
From Camino

Away from the wind now, and walking into the sunset, the descent was even steeper and rockier than the climb up had been. We knew that many people chose to do the camino on bike, and that part of the path would have been murder on a bike. Rocks didn't keep it from being beautiful and the steepness just made it more so. After three days in close, festival-filthy Pamplona, all the fresh air and open space were amazing. We stopped for sandwiches at picnic areas along the way, filling up our water bottle at fountains in the tiny little townships we walked through. And by tiny I mean maybe there were 30 people living there. Maybe. Bitty townships were not listed in our guide, probably because places like this had no place for visitors to sleep, no restaurants to feed them, and no stores to buy food from. Quaint. We were stared at by the few people we passed, staring in turn at the farmers driving tractors down our trail, or plowing their fields in valleys far below.
From Camino

By the time we finally made Uterga, it must have been around 7:00 or so. Uterga is a tiny town, with a population of just 690 people. There isn't much there besides the albergue- not even a grocery store, or even an open restaurant that we could see. Outside, it was moving on to evening, the light becoming golden, the air cooler. Inside the albergue, it was warm with the heat of activity, people eating, drinking, laughing. The television was up and the barista was swamped with orders. We, with packs on our backs and faces sheened with the walk's sweat, were obviously looking for a room. Before we could even ask, we heard a word that got real familiar on the camino... "completo". Complete, as in, keep walking.

Led to believe that albergues were pretty much charity operations run by devout and friendly folk dedicated to the aid and assistance of walkers such as ourselves, we asked if we could just camp on the grounds, no worries. But apparently that was not going to fly either. She did take two seconds to give us our very first sello, but that was it. She was busy being devout to her paying pilgrims who had remembered to arrive there early.

We consulted our little blue book, and since the next town was just 1.5k further on, and yet another lay just 2k beyond that, we weren't too worried. It wasn't quite dark yet, and 3k was only about a 40 minute walk. If worse came to worse, Puente la Reina, an additional 2.5k beyond that, supposedly had over 200 beds, so there was always that. It was another 7k to a bed after that, so it was pretty much the end of the line unless we wanted to walk all night or just sleep in a field. I really wanted a shower, so we headed for the towns. But as it turned out, the next two towns were just as tiny, and probably had gone completo hours before we got there.

At around ten that night we rolled up in Puenta la Reina, and my hat was pretty much hung on finding something here. The first place we came to was of course full. It was dark, it was a small town too, only 683 people. I don't know where all the beds were hiding. The thing about our blue book was that it lacked town maps. Many of the little towns we would be in weren't even mentioned in our Lonely Planet, so no maps there either. Arriving mapless at ten at night in a place where even the main grocery store opens for maybe half an hour after lunch is not the best way to find your way around.

The lady at the full albergue, however, was very friendly, and said the municipal was just up the road, about a five minute walk, easy to find. And it was. But guess what. They also were out of beds! I had a second to despair before the guy told us we could pitch a tent out back, on the albergue's nice grassy grounds, and use the kitchen and the shower as well. We were saved, hooray! So that is what we did. Make camp, shower, and pasta dinners before collapsing nice and clean and fed in our cozy little tent in our cozy little sleeping bags. Day 1 on the camino started late and ended well, and we had logged 21.5 on our first day. That is almost like walking from Austin to Pflugerville, but you have to go over a mountain too. Don't forget the mountain.
Day 1 route.

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Friday, August 28, 2009

of bull running and mike's views on bullfighting

i wish there were some pictures to post of our bull run, but you don't really want to have cameras on you for it. andy, alistair, and i woke up around 6:30, got a spot in the crowd, which got more and more crowded over the next half before they closed the gates. then we just had to wait in thee for about another hour for the run to start. it is a pretty weird feeling being trapped in that little area for an hour, shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of sloppy drunks, all sides totally closed off by 7-8 foot fences.

i forget the exact timing, but sometime right before 8, they set off the first rocket, open the fence in front of the people and let us set up wherever we want. it totally depends on how ballsy/stupid you are. some people want to get as close to the bulls as possible, swatting them with newspapers and shit while they run as far as they can with them. the three of us ducked in one of the doorways (the run is right in the middle of the old town, if you didn't know) so we could not get gored, wait for the bulls, then try to run next to or right behind them.

next, i think they set off one rocket as a warning, followed by a third when the bulls are actually released. and damn, the bulls are really fast. it's pretty freaky being able to hear and feel them way ahead of time, then see them fly by. one of the bulls tripped and collapsed right in front of us and i was shitting myself, because that's when they get frightened and start going nuts, but luckily, people gave him a little room, he got up facing the right direction and just ran on ahead. nothing bad happened, like the next day with Cappuccino. (in that main video of the run, our friend Richard is RIGHT in front of the dude who gets gored).

not a lot to tell after that.. we got out of hiding, tried to run behind the bulls, but it's basically inpossible. everyone is in each other's way, tripping over each other, yelling scared because you don't know how many are in front or behind you, always looking back.. it's pretty much like a war zone. then we got to the end that leads into the bullring and a lot of people start to slow down and hesitate. that's because the section going into the ring is pretty dangerous.. just a tunnel full of people, with no doorways to duck into or fences to jump over. but everyone pushes through, andy and i get to the right side of the ring (haven't seen Alistair since the beginning), wait for the last bulls to get in, then they close the door to the ring.

this is the part i never knew about before doing the run. everyone who managed to get in the ring on time waits in there as they lead all the bulls out a different exit to their holding area. then a bunch of people all pile up on the ground in front of that entrance, they release one of the bulls, which comes tearing out of the tunnel and, for some reason, always just over the pile of humans. then for about 10 minutes the bulls runs around the ring wreaking havoc as spanish people try to mess with it as much as possible. this may sound really cruel, and it kind of is, but also, since a lot of these people have no idea what they're doing and many are drunk, it's really the bulls best chance at doing some damage. many people get thrown in the area or knocked down. i was mostly near the edge, sobbing whenever the bull came near.. only once did one of them actually hit the wall where i was standing, but by then i was over the wall and fell on a person on the other side (who, luckily, was very cool and just pushed me back over).

they repeat this 6 times for the 6 bulls that will fight that night (i think.. i was always a bit confused about when they were using the fighters and when they weren't). also, i forgot to mention, but they sell tickets just for this event of screwing with the bulls, so it's backed in the seating and the audience goes nuts whenever there is a close call or a bull knocks someone on their ass. after the 6 bulls have gone, they open up the tunnel, everyone leaves, and the three of us headed to our usual post-run meetup of Cafe Iruna, where each morning Alistair buys us some local liquor that is really terrible, but very strong. those drinks, plus coffee and orange juice (only freshly squeezed in spain, of course), pretty much makes up our breakfast, before we decide whether to ramp it up and start drinking for the day again or to go back to the apartment for the day's first nap.

notes on bullfighting:
i thought i would do a counterpoint to carmen's post. while i agree that it is a little cruel, i would tell anyone who thinks it is aweful to go visit a huge american slaughterhouse, where we get our burgers from. if i was a bull, i'm pretty sure i would rather go out in a blaze of glory, with a chance of taking someone out with me, living a pretty awesome life before always eating or out to stud, over the other option of being in cramped spaces, herded into the slaughter room, offed with an air gun to the head, hung upside down, throat slit to drain blood. i obviously don't take the bullfights nearly as serious as the spaniards, but hands down, it is a better way to go than mass slaughtered for hamburger.

now i do have one major qualm with the fights: how dramatic and played up they are. for one thing, the everyone is dressed up extreeeemely gaily and they are acting like they are huge badasses. then, the matador basically does nothing but act. all the people before him do all the work (very european fuedal), the bull is totally bloody and halfway beaten, head down so low it can't see very easily, before the matador even goes out there. then he just kind of plays with the bull in supposedly long and "graceful" moves, generally followed by him throwing his head back in a cockier manner than you will ever see anywhere else accept flamenco dancing. (interesting fact: flamenco and bullfighting, the two main spanish art forms, are both extremely dramatic, gay and over-rated.)
i only wish the matadors dressed a little more fancifully. From Random Crap

at one point in a fight that we watched, the matador got hit in the leg and his sword and cape were knocked out of his hands. immediately, the "rodeo clowns" came running out with capes, distracted the bull, picked up the sword and cape, and handed them to the matador before he started again. with this, my disillusionment was complete. if you want to go one on one with a bull, from beginning to end, and just see what happens, that's awesome. but if you need a bunch of people to wear it down, then when the bull has his one opportunity to win or do some damage, you take that from him, what is the damn point?!
if you go in the ring with a bull, that bull has the right to cornhole you.. period. From Random Crap

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Of San Fermín and Bull Fights

We arrived in Pamplona the day the festival started, literally minutes before the noon cannon sounded the kick off. Our Scotsman friend Alistair arranged to rent an apartment for the three days we would be staying, and it was right smack in the middle of everything. As in, we walked out the front door, down the street about 40 yards, and we were bang in the middle of town. It was madness.

None of us had a camera to record these first moments, unfortunately. The street was clogged with people dressed in wine-stained white and red, drinking wine and cokes, champagnes, beers, and as much booze was flying through the air as was being consumed by our fellow festival goers. We were at this square, and there really were this many people. Here is another great one...

We had smartly decided to all wear our sneakers rather than flips, which was a really good thing. The streets were covered in garbage- plastic cups and bottles, food wrappers, broken glass and wine bottles... ambulances were parked here and there to take care of those who had partied too hard, and we saw more than one person sitting by with bloody feet, slashed by broken glass. Every morning, after the bulls had run through the streets, the street cleaners would be out, cleaning away the night. Sweeping and rinsing away all the piss and booze and trash, just piles of it.

We spent a good deal of time on the grass there, watching all the other drunkies and saying no thank you over and over to the many many street vendors of sunglass/hats/bandana... Eventually we discovered we didn't even have to say no... just take their picture! Some went away immediately, but one dude loved it. He was our favorite.
From Pamplona

Since I was still reading The Sun Also Rises, it was pretty neat to be sitting in Hemingway's square, having coffee at Cafe Iruña and drinking from wine skins.
Sitting in the grass just outside Cafe Iruña. Pamplona

From Pamplona


I have been to New Orleans once. And I've been in New York on New Year's Eve. I can't say that I've been to many other big festivals or parties, but I am pretty positive that San Fermín rates in the top five as one of the wildest. I've never seen anything like it. In addition to the mayhem that ensued immediately with the festival kick-off, the party did not stop. From our apartment balcony, we could watch the street bands from above- marching bands that came through trumpeting and drumming almost on the hour, and all through the night... intent on keeping people up. And at 6AM, intent on waking up anyone who managed to doze off- for the running.

We managed to get a little sleep, especially right after the bulls had run, because aside from the street sweepers, most everyone else, exhausted from being up all night, had finally gone home for some sleep, before everything would start back up again, around lunchtime.

The morning the guys got up to run I went with our friend Catherine to watch, and to be awake in case someone ended up in an ambulance. Of course, I had no idea where on the track they might be, and Mike should be the one to blog about the actual running. From my vantage point, it was hard to see much, even standing on a table. You can just barely see the bulls... look up and to the right of the guy's video camera.
The view was for a second, the audio much better- first, the cannon, and then a minute later, the clatter of bull hooves on the cobbled streets mixed with the scuffling and scrambling of a hundred people all running at once... Pamplona


On the third day, we went to the bull fight. These were the bulls that Mike, Andy and Alistair had run with that morning, so I think it made it a little more interesting for them.
Our seats in the sombra were still plenty close enough to see the gore. Pamplona

I didn't realize they killed six each day of the festival. That's like 42 bulls just in Pamplona. There are three matadors, and each matador kills two each night. But it's not just the matador. Before he even comes out, the mounted horsemen and spear jabbing acrobats have already been at it, wearing the bull out, ruining his neck muscles and weakening him with blood loss. It is pretty brutal to watch, and I don't care if Spain does defend it by calling it an art form, or a sport, or tradition. It is truly a cruel thing no matter how you paint it.

What we found is that bulls are really, really, really stupid. Sure, they are big and aggressive, but here are animals that have grown up like animal kings their whole lives, and suddenly are plucked from their fields, deposited and isolated in a big ring, and then forced to defend themselves against fast little men with spears and lances. The men have barricades to hide behind, so sometimes the bull goes for the horses. They are the only target that can't run away. We watched a horse get lifted off his feet on the bull's horns and literally thrown to the ground. It took four men to even get the thing standing again. The horses wore some sort of armor and blinders, so they don't even know they're about to be gored by a bloody pissed off bull.

Once the bull has first been speared in the neck by the horseman, he then is subjected to the acrobat guys. These are three dude with little lances that come bounding like evil monkeys at the bull, and shove two lances each into the neck. The lances are designed to stick in the bull, so if all three do their job right, he ends up looking like this when El Matador comes out.
Check out all the gore. The matador hasn't even drawn his sword yet. Pamplona


Needless to say, the bull is in pretty bad shape by this time. He is already tired, sides heaving, bleeding all over himself. The matador comes out in his pink and lace and waves a little red flag in front of the bull. And the bull, this poor, stupid, frightened animal, just charges for that flag, over and over again. The matador sidesteps him each time, neat as a pin, and the bull just never catches on that if he just shifts his charge for the man, not the flag, he could nail the guy. Of course, killing the matador is still no good for the bull. He has to die either way. So, the matador toys with the bull, waving his little flag and tossing his head in a show of something only the Spanish would understand. His big moment comes when he is tired of toying, so he draws his sword and tries to make a single clean jab into the neck, behind the head, where all those biting little lances are clinging already. Sometimes, he has to jab two or three times, and then he is not so great a matador. One guy managed to puncture a lung, and it was a literal blood fount from the animal's mouth and nose. So much blood.

Once the sword was in though, if done right, it pierces the heart. The bull stops moving, and just stands there. Then, his knees buckle and he goes down, like he is about to take a nap, no big thing. But really, it is over for him. The matador struts around, deed done, while the finisher comes out with the stab-you-in-the brain thing they use to kill our burger cows... he stabs through the bull's skull, into the brain, and he finally is allowed to die. He is then hitched up to the horses and drug out of the ring, leaving behind a trail of blood and a sad reminder of what he was just moments before.
From Pamplona


I am glad we went. I'm glad I got to see firsthand what it's all about, and the Running of the Bulls would not be a complete experience without seeing the bullfight. I'll just never see the beauty in it. It's a rinse and repeat, the only excitement being that maybe just once, the matador will get it. The bull Cappuchino, who killed that poor kid the day after we left, didn't even know what was going on, I'm quite sure. The bull stumbled and fell at the beginning of the run, and was separated and lost from the herd. He had no idea where to go, or which way to run, so instead he did what any frightened animal would do. I saw the bull fight two days later on the television. They kept zooming in on the bull's horns, showing the kid's blood, and the matador had this look on his face like the bull was an evil enemy, and was about to have justice served to him. Ridiculous.

Here we are, at the fight... just before it all began. We're rooting for the bulls.
From Pamplona

From Pamplona

Monday, August 24, 2009

Spain!

Spain. We made it, no immigration incidents happily. The bus dropped us off about a half mile from the center, and we had made friends with a newly married Canadian couple on their honeymoon... Marcus and Patty. They were also on their way to Pamplona after a quick stop in the coastal tapas capital of Spain.

We headed for the tourist office, found out what bus to take to the city's campground, exchanged numbers with the Canadians and headed off. The campground was about a 20-15 minute ride up from the center... being from central Texas, I am still not sure what you call something that is bigger than a hill, but smaller than a mountain. Anyone know? Anyways, up we went up this hill to the campground, which was pretty much full to the brim with backpackers, vacationers and Australians. The guy at the counter spoke great English, no help for my limp-along Spanish, and he was super friendly.

We pitched camp and headed right back to the mounthill to the beach... and to the tapas.
We're camped somewhere up there, kind of right above my head. SanSebas


It wasn't exactly beach weather, but who really cares when there are delicious tapas and cheap wine to be had? We are talking dinner for about six euro... meaning glasses of wine for a euro sixty, and tapas plates for about the same. Besides, we were about to be getting plen-T of sun, more than anyone really needs, really.
Mike gets a head start on the sun overdose. SanSebas


Despite the stormy conditions, Mike was not about to be cheated out of a beach weekend.
From SanSebas


I didn't mind the overcast conditions quite so much.
No sun for me! SanSebas


We saw excellent rock formations...
From SanSebas

From SanSebas

Rock! SanSebas


Contemplated wave formations...
From SanSebas


Posed for scenic pictures,
From SanSebas


And Mike punched a bear in the stomach.
From SanSebas


That night, we caught an early bus back up to the campground, and weathered a storm in our now proven-very waterproof tent, as long as you set it up right. The next day, we headed back down to the town to meet the Giants... (Andy and Lindsay) and Alistair and Catherine.
Giant #1 SanSebas


And pictured here, Giants #2 and #3
From L-R. Alistair Fife (Giant #3), Catherine-who-now-lives-in-Dallas, Lindsay Bergland, aka Giant #1, Andy Scho (Giant #2), and Mike Scho. SanSebas


This was our last night on Spain's north beach, as the next morning we were hopping a bus and headed for one of the most world famous festivals- Running Of the Bulls in Pamplona Spain. The boys were already laying out their plans...

Friday, August 21, 2009

Summer Vacation Begins

We left Paris June 30th with about three changes of clothes each, enough camping gear to stay comfortable, lots of sunscreen and two pairs of shoes: flips and sneakers. Bordeaux being on the way was our first stop. It's also where Andy lived for awhile whilst studying French. I think the most memorable thing was the walk-up McDo window- a great idea that we both would like to see more of.
Walk up fast food- brilliant. BBB and the Dune

We spent a couple nights in Bordeaux, which had a great little tram service, but the campground was quite a hike and we never could seem to catch the city bus that supposedly went out there once an hour. Oh, and we also got to watch this crazy homeless man do a pee right in the middle of an asphalt parking lot, in plain site. He was a ways off at least, but not something you want to see really.

Arcachon, site of the Great Dune of Pyla, was just a short day trip from Bordeaux, so we boarded a train on day 2 and headed out to see what the fuss was about. You guys should see this thing- it was so freaking huge. It is the biggest dune in Europe, and if you check out the aerial pics, it looks even bigger. Mike kept telling me stories about sand duning in Michigan with his dad when they were kids, but I admit I am still skeptical.
Can you see me up there? BBB and the Dune


From there, we headed out to Biarritz and Bayonne, which were just a short train ride away, and a stop in Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, also known as Fiesta. I keep mentioning the book because it is about the bull festival in Pamplona, and a group of friends living in Paris, with not much to do and going out all the time. We went to all the same towns, including the festival, so it was interesting to be reading a book whilst doing all the same things.

Going back to the short train ride. What should have been about a 2 and half hour trip turned into an all day affair. And let me tell you how. At the Bordeaux train station, I purchased tickets for Biarritz. The tickets gave a train number and a departure time. ONE train number and departure time. What the ticket, and the seller of said ticket, failed to mention is that we needed to transfer trains along the way. A transfer would have been indicated by TWO train numbers, also showing departure and arrival times for both trains required to complete the journey.

We discovered this error on our own, once we began to realize the trip was taking longer than expected. So we get off at the next available station- it was about 5:00pm by then. We get lucky and find a train conductor who not only speakees the eengleesh, but also really knows his train schedules. He tells us that we have to get back on a train going the other way- back to Dax, which is where our transfer would have been- and from Dax catch another train to Biarritz. However, the next train wouldn't arrive in Dax until 10:30 that night. Leaving us with a 3 hour wait in Dax. We didn't get into Biarritz until 11:30 that night. Eleven. Thirty. I should expect this by now, at least once per trip.
This is me, cursing the unfriendly ticket lady who screwed us. BBB and the Dune


So, much later that night, we disembark in Biarritz, get our bearings and set off in the drizzle up the hill and around the corner to the campground. We're pretty fast at setting up the tent by now, so we get settled, cook a quick dinner and go to bed very late. But the next morning, after an hour spent figuring out the confusing bus system, we end up having a pretty good day.

We breakfasted on delicious crepes in Bayonne, enjoyed their lovely gardens,
From BBB and the Dune


and then headed back to Biarritz for beach,
From BBB and the Dune


delicious beers,
From BBB and the Dune


and books by sunset, with the Spanish Pyrenees way off in the distance.
From BBB and the Dune


It was our last night in France for awhile, for the next morning we would be on a bus, headed for San Sebastian and Spain.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Trains, Spain & Automobiles

After seven weeks of travel, we are back again in Paris. We left on the 30th of June and went south to Bordeaux, Biarritz, Bayonne and San Sebastian, before going on to meet up with Mike's brother, Lindsay and some friends in Pamplona. (And with the exception of Bordeaux, that is pretty much the entire setting of Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, which I was reading as we started out).

Starting with Bordeaux... I am pretty sure that everyone has heard of the wine that comes from this region. We went to the city of Bordeaux, which is a pretty cool place to visit. I'm sure any American kid doing a year exchange here would have the time of their teenage life.
After dark, all the kids come hang out on the steps around this fountain. There was a DJ, and much beer, wine and spirits. Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Biarritz, Bayonne, Arcachon are all beachy little towns in Southern France. We had to get in a little R&R before our big walk in Spain.
Mike gets some sun in Biarritz Trains, Spain & Automobiles

Mike says the dunes in Michigan are bigger, but I don't believe him. See those tiny little specks back there? Those are people. Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Next, we hop a bus and travel south to Spain, where we meet up in San Sebastian with Andy, Lindsay, Alistair and Catherine. More days on the beach, eating tapas and drinking cheap wine... especially compared to Paris prices! We went from paying about 6 euros a glass in the bar to paying about 1.60 euros a glass. And it got even cheaper from there...

After San Sebastian, we headed for Pamplona for the Festival of the Bulls, or San Fermin. I've never seen such party in my life. Truly a nonstop event. And I do mean nonstop. We even saw a bullfight, or six rather, since that is the number of bulls they slaughter each night of the festival. We missed the infamous Cappachino by a day. Lucky for us. The guys had gone running with the bulls the morning before.
Yes, that is a dead bull they are hauling out of the ring. Pamplona


And after San Fermin, it was on to the Camino... where we spent 3 weeks slogging with packs on our backs westward towards Santiago de Compostela. Traditionally a spiritual pilgrimage for most, we left the pursuit of St. James to others and focused on zombie apocalypse training instead. Things like heat endurance and sleep deprivation. We discussed the finer points of defending converted monasteries vs. mountain hideouts. You know, just passing the time.
Out of Pamplona, and yes, we're going over those mountain things. Trains, Spain & Automobiles


We crossed over deserts...
From Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Herded sheep....
From Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Walked with the fatted cattle...
From Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Made animal friends...
From Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Discovered jungle life...
From Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Made people friends...
From Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Feasted on Spanish cuisine...
From Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Climbed mountains...
From Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Explored castles on the way...
From Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Walked through blisters...
From Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Took time to rest with our fellows...
From Trains, Spain & Automobiles


Smelled the flowers...
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And finally, after walking 260 miles, we made it to Compostela.
From Trains, Spain & Automobiles


But that was just the Camino end. There's tons more to post about, including more on Pamplona and the Camino, as well as what we did after the camino- like Portugal, southern Spain, and England and Scotland. So, after seven weeks of dead blog, get ready friends. I haven't had a couch to sit on in weeks, and I am planning on taking advantage.

Preview of our Europe route...

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