Day 7 Kicking back in Lorca
Day 7
Puente la Reina to Lorca--8.06 miles; 19,665 steps; 670 km. to go
I´m cutting today short. For the last week, the energizer French pilgrim, Marie-Agnes, Marie-with-all-the-stuff has been on my exact schedule--ever since St. Jean Pied de Port. Her incessant twittering is finally driving me nuts. I feel like a s--t for doing this, but I´ve got to shake her off. After a 2-hour plod this morning, I arrive at Cirauqui, a beautiful little hilltown with a great panaderia. Marie-Agnes is right behind me. It occurs to me that Americans have one unique motor skill not to be matched anywhere in the world: the ability to walk and eat at the same time. With a gooey apple pastry and banana in hand, I keep on going; mouths look at me agape. This gives me a 45-minute lead.
Cirauqui
Over an ancient Roman bridge I go and along a just-as-ancient Roman road, not too much up/down up/down.
The ancient Roman bridge
I arrive at the next little town of Lorca that advertises a private albergue with free Internet. That´s for me, and it´s only 10am. I can sit all day and read Ivanhoe (and watch Marie-Agnes pass by :-)
Lorca
As it turns out in this pequeño pueblo there are two albergues directly across a narrow street from each other. There must be an interesting competition going on between the two. Mine is run by a young, high-strung Spanish guy who blasts Vivaldi all day long; sometimes it´s Sor´s "Variations on a Theme of Mozart" Segovia´s version. Across the way they blast either salsa or ranchera music. This goes on all day long, and it must go on every day.
On the news they mention a slew of people were killed on the metro in Valencia. Poor people. Sometimes your own two legs are the most reliable way to go.
I have to mention how many people have parts of their feet taped and bandaged. Maybe they´re trying to do too much too soon. Next week, the walking wounded should be even more intense. As for me, the only thing that hurts is a muscle on my right knee from pounding straight down nearly a kilometer of loose slag yesterday.
Back to Ivanhoe. I think a tournament is about to begin.
Puente la Reina to Lorca--8.06 miles; 19,665 steps; 670 km. to go
I´m cutting today short. For the last week, the energizer French pilgrim, Marie-Agnes, Marie-with-all-the-stuff has been on my exact schedule--ever since St. Jean Pied de Port. Her incessant twittering is finally driving me nuts. I feel like a s--t for doing this, but I´ve got to shake her off. After a 2-hour plod this morning, I arrive at Cirauqui, a beautiful little hilltown with a great panaderia. Marie-Agnes is right behind me. It occurs to me that Americans have one unique motor skill not to be matched anywhere in the world: the ability to walk and eat at the same time. With a gooey apple pastry and banana in hand, I keep on going; mouths look at me agape. This gives me a 45-minute lead.
Cirauqui
Over an ancient Roman bridge I go and along a just-as-ancient Roman road, not too much up/down up/down.
The ancient Roman bridge
I arrive at the next little town of Lorca that advertises a private albergue with free Internet. That´s for me, and it´s only 10am. I can sit all day and read Ivanhoe (and watch Marie-Agnes pass by :-)
Lorca
As it turns out in this pequeño pueblo there are two albergues directly across a narrow street from each other. There must be an interesting competition going on between the two. Mine is run by a young, high-strung Spanish guy who blasts Vivaldi all day long; sometimes it´s Sor´s "Variations on a Theme of Mozart" Segovia´s version. Across the way they blast either salsa or ranchera music. This goes on all day long, and it must go on every day.
On the news they mention a slew of people were killed on the metro in Valencia. Poor people. Sometimes your own two legs are the most reliable way to go.
I have to mention how many people have parts of their feet taped and bandaged. Maybe they´re trying to do too much too soon. Next week, the walking wounded should be even more intense. As for me, the only thing that hurts is a muscle on my right knee from pounding straight down nearly a kilometer of loose slag yesterday.
Back to Ivanhoe. I think a tournament is about to begin.
posted by Pam on the road at 8:31 AM
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