It all seemed so easy today.
A quick picture of the church at 10am to explain why I never saw Cesar Borgia's grave.
Then I was on my way for a 3 hour journey with several physio breaks. Mostly stretches Paul's given me and it's a great excuse to put the pack down. My back is superb.
Water stops are brilliant now. More of that later. First stop was really early as it was so hot. I had walked out of town and got to the wee church after the stroll through the vineyards. I filled my water and wrote a few things down and by 11an got on my way. This is a proper slow Camino.
I'm looking back at the town from the wee forest before crossing the road. A bit more physio on the steps. A quick snack juggle of the water supplies. Then holding onto my hat as the vertigo grabbed my legs I crossed the bridge.
It's absolutely amazing how much this roadside forest has developed. In 2007 we went a different way through the nature reserve. Now there are so many trees growing from the acorns that have fallen.
I took this picture last year and it's not obvious how dense it's got. Another 10 years and you won't hear the cars.
I never tire of being reminded about 1936. It's just as real today. It's 11:40 time for more physio.
It's only 10mins and you're resting so doing more physio is a great excuse. It's brilliant how it's become a habit.
It 12:05 and I'm at the new water fountain.
Last year I took a picture in June of it's construction. These wonderful incremental changes to the Camino are game changers for those who carry too much water.
I've always said carry water out of town and carry another shirt into town. A lot of the smelliest pilgrims could've done with packing another pair of jeans and a tee shirt instead of an 1kg of water. I've got my usual 5 shirts etc and it means I need a washing machine every 4-5 days.
Learn to fill your bottle then you could carry more clothes.
As I had the rant to myself I couldn't help chuckling at the preparation Simon and I did for the Camino. If Rich had been asked in 2007 whether we were well prepared it would've been funny. We had bought boots, rucsacs, socks, trousers with detachable legs, an amazingly lightweight towel. We were so clever I bought two pairs carried 2 pairs of the detachable parts and fought hard not to bin them as they were too big within 5 days of leaving. My waist went from 43" to 34" and I think I bought 42"..... Mine were the heaviest in the world and we were also packing 4 litres all day every day. I think I left a pair. The other pair are in the garage. Enough about me though.
I walked past the stamp stall on the way into Logroño having said I would stop. I smiled said Buenos Dias and thought but I don't want anything. How tight fisted can I be. Yes it's all about me.
25 yards down the slope I stopped. I paused.
I stopped again, reversed up the hill to get a stamp in my Dad's Compostela 23 years since he wandered down that hill and ran on into town. The apple has not fallen far from the tree and it means nothing and yet so much that I had the outrageous courage to stop and get the stamp.
What the fuck was I thinking. There's no traffic on the Camino and she sits there smiling all day long. Give her €1.50 for a juice ya fanny. This ability to manufacture a made up story is embarrassing in the extreme. I talk about the kindness of people here all the time and somehow I'd said this volunteer was out to fleece me.
He never got a chance to take a picture even in his head. After you come down the hill you pass the allotments and then the crematorium and walk along the river to a bridge and over you go.
I was at the bridge by 1pm and I smiled saying. This section took him an hour and me 3 this morning. Different strokes and all that. Smug as you like after doing a u turn with daughter of scratch n sniff. I need to get out more.
I got some lunch at last Palmeras then walked around onto Avenida de Burgos and caught the bus to Navarette. I was feeling tired.
I got off the bus, got a beer, toilet, then checked in. Showered, changed, then walked towards the cooperative wine place but it was still 10 mins away when my bladder had other ideas.
Listen to your body is a popular Camino expression. I duly turned and came back to the bar for respite and a €2 beer.
I really enjoy the beer here. The outside seats are in the shade which in late October is rarely a plus, however I like it.
I'm often wistful about if only I'd gone to 2 days a week and bought a place on the Camino. I look at these apartments opening everywhere and it really is such an easy way to make money. I'm actively against the concept even though I can see how lucrative it is. The Camino is the economic miracle for capitalism. People are only staying one night. Cleaners exist and so does online booking services. A €100,000 apartment will generate €50-70 per night during the peak season. A minimum of €9000 a year. For 6 months of the year it can be a holiday home or rarely rented.
If it's a good apartment the price can rise accordingly. Double that figure is not unlikely especially with win tourism on the rise.
It takes me back to my grandparents.
Both would lose their husband's at a young age. My Mum's mum lost her Dad and husband within a couple of years. My Dad's mum, like mum and dad had lost her dad as a child. Both grandmothers would go into the guest house business. Both is strathern road, numbers 6 & 12.
Both would also subdivide their properties in the 60's. Here the difference is quite acute. Having gone down such similar paths one chose to give a child one of the properties, selling the other and the other chose to sell both.
It's very Aesop's fable or a bible story. Needless to say there was a sting in every tale. My mum's mum had given Frank a home as a wedding present which then got blown in the divorce and on drink. My dad's mum bought a fur coat. She liked a gamble and would never be short of a bob or two. She was fur coat and plenty knickers. Iain would drive her to the bookies. She'd get out and put her bet on or collect her winnings. Having a driver was all part of her image. She liked her image. It gave me a real flavour for her Dad, John G McFadden. John G McFadden, had famously worked in Scottish football as the first Irishman to get involved in the Scottish League and football association. He managed Hibs to their first Scottish Cup victory and paraded the greenshirts around the grounds of Scotland raising money for the poor in their community and a bit for the armed struggle back home. He famously told the Glasgow faithful that they should follow Hibs success and set up a team in the west. This rallying call came with the biscuit tin he had kept close to his chest for many of his years at St Pat's young Catholic mens wociety and Hibernian football club. No evidence exists to.say.he used the money to help the formation of Glasgow Celtic only the evidence that he is formally adopted as an auditor only 3 years after Celtic began. I think as descendants go I've got a good idea what went on. He knew the pulling power of the population in the west would get even more cash. He couldn't resist getting involved. While both teams supporters will create some kind of fiction over the events, most of my thinking is done from family genetics, newspapers and board room papers. There is enough evidence to suggest that he liked to be, like my dad's mum, like my dad, oh did I mention me, yes it's all about me. While he rarely gets mentioned, the lack of mention is all about me..that's what has me chuckling. I left that stick of dynamite. I don't need anyone to say anything about who left it. I just want them to ask, who left it?
Josephine loved her fur coat. It really was expensive. Probably the price of a flat in strathearn.
Did I tell you I'm on my 5th beer.
