Dancin’ Al’s Last Waltz
12 09 2007
I thought Olaf was king of Norway. Not so today, but more of that later – as we left the town – the tinto from last night added to the heat in the Albergue had left me feeling somewhat bedraggled. The eating lesson from Simon teaching me how to chew my food left my jaw pretty sore as all night I had been practising in my sleep.
Today’s way of the camino – which as ever – was all around us – was walking styles. Not the fast slow that I specialise in, but more the rhythm and the tools used.
For example the brits adopt an arm action – especially the male ones as anal as me that have studied the bio-mechanics and motion of Michael Johnson – there’s almost a piston action to it reminiscent of the time Stevenson walked the camino and came back to Scotland to invent the famous rocket.
There’s a marker on the wall at Trinidad de Arre where allegedly the light was switched on his proverbial head. I say that because we know Edison came after so obviously the light bulb couldn’t have been turned on as such – more set alight, which of course nobody would’ve done to Stevenson as he wasn’t a witch – or at least to my knowledge anyway. Funnily enough we were going up that hill with the same vigour as Des Barnes had just visited the begging for CHAS site, www.justgiving.com/deadbeat.
It wasn’t much of a hill really only about the same as Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh but when you’ve already done a few like it a few times that day the vim and vigour kinda passes you by.
So back to the walking styles – you get to study them all day as you tend to walk with the same mob day in day out.
You overtake them 5 minutes out of the refuge from the night before and smile and say “hola, beunos dias, beuno camino” as you demonstrate your vast mastery of the language and confidence at the day ahead, then they overtake you 2 hours later when your lying puggled in a heap at the side of the road with just enough breath to say “o……le” the last breath before the smile swallows some more dirt or the head drops into the water trough.
There’s loads of these troughs in this part of Spain. The water pours of the hills and we are told its ok to drink in a language we don’t understand so we drink it – any other answer when you are parched just doesn’t work for me, although today when Si saw some steps down to a stagnant part of the river and went to fill his bottle I suggested he was perhaps in one of his “not thinking” moments, that or I’m back to being alan sorry anal again.
Talking of which Simon gave me an eating lesson yesterday. I’ve decided I have no teeth and need to order smoothies for my main course. The fish soup at the Pilgrims 11 euro three course meal last night – check out Si’s blog – he’s bound to have said should’ve gone to the 10 euro plus wine option – where was I – yes fish soup was superb. A big terrine with enough for 4 bowls but I thought – “no – patience, leave room for the stew.”
As I munched my way through the stew, well I’m sure Si’ll cover it, but I ran out of room in my dinky little hamster pouches.
So I had to eat one piece at a time chew, swallow, then repeat. By midnight I’d finished the main course but its my mission over the next 5 weeks to learn how to eat.
He’s also teaching me how to walk. As we studied these walking styles, for example the two girls ahead didn’t use their arms. They carry their arms in front of them. We think their French, so we concluded French girls pray while they walk, probably that the smelly fat olafs don’t overtake them.
Their prayers were answered – we couldn’t catch them the closest we got was 5m which we maintained for 22km – no wonder I’m tired.
Tonight Scotland are in Paris and we’re in Pamploma – it doesn’t get better – unless of course we get a result!
We had a bit of shopping to do once we got here. I learnt the Spanish for safety pin – i-mmediately consigned it to the memory delete bank as I’m not likely to need it again am I.
I also bought Sueroral Hiposodico – its the Spanish diarolyte – basically I’m a fragile wee soul that sweats when I get out of bed in this heat so doing anything as energetic as putting my boots on has me losing those natural salts like a good’un. Si offers me cookies as they’re the answer to everything, oh and pringles.
That why he’s never joined a golf club, more a Pringle scoffer than wearer of the fine garb Nick Faldo used to promote.
But back to the shops – we bought compeed – you can’t have enough – even though we’ve not used any yet! Simon also bought scissors. ‘Great’ I thought ‘I can finally do something about your snoring’.
He bought string as well – I hope that’s him hoping I’ll be light enough by Santiago that it’ll hang me with.
Actually I’ve got to stop now I’m getting a blister on my pinkie – its this blackberry thing – in the heat y’know – its not a good idea!
Cheers
Al
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