Pilgrimage Pt.22.

In Pamplona we're in four rows, 2 deep on either side of what was once a church, couple of doors down from the main Cathedral. You are assigned a bed in order and once there are no more beds? Keep walking. There are 28 beds in 14 bunks on this right wing and the same is repeated above me and on the left hand side; roughly 120 beds. Plenty of space in a cloistered space to dry clothes. Jesus Y Maria. The people I've briefly spoken to are a variety of ethnicities, and the age group stretches further too. My wind is not really in my sails today so I've planned what I'm wearing tomorrow, but I don't feel alive or vital yet. I listened to the Bayern master pianist without really caring what he was playing, or how well. I thought he'd said he was from Bolivia not Bavaria. I am off. Switched off. My stomach sighing is concerning me as this is a community dorm and I can't go letting off steam without a few sour looks. It seems perfectly reasonable for me to go the John to let her rip? Finished the day with The Smiths/Meat Is Murder - remastered. The Japanese gentleman in the bed next to me looks to be struggling to come to terms with what he has discovered in Pamplona so plays on his hand console. Cheers Morrissey for reminding me why I shouldn't be eating all this Jamon!

...

Hola¡ it was perfect. Set off at 6:30am to reach the way. After a few challenging miles I realised my other mind had been uncovered again. There is always the road to help you to be relieved. Leaving the hostel with Liz from Minesota we started the day before any sign that the city had set up to way-lay pilgrims. We motored as they had opened their left eye and yawned returning to a magic slumber. We each have our manner of celebrating arrival; mine to compose. I hear the sweet flute/pipe music composed to give joy to us. Coming from an Irish heart so true. I left my soliloquy as Coleridge did his. But my ventricle was being tugged by another fugue. Oh the laugh of coming down a mountain, blown by mother nature's zephyr and the diet I am on returning more of the sulfur urgently back over the Pyranees to blow preemptive collapsing the other me in a mustard yellowed death. House of the Rising Sun at hotel rural Bidean where two euros gets you an eatery worth any amount of early morning break free. Tortilla and cervesa. I am back in the passion. I was tempted and quested a while. I was not broken. Here in Puente la Reina I hear canaries to absolve my doubts. Playing us a sequined dance beyond its very size. Again I connected with my Huckleberry from on the top of Sierra de Erreneiga. To have his free love unrestricted and unrestrained is a foe never to challenge nor question. Have patience gentle soul; though I be far away ... I still think of you every day. Spain is closed for all of this afternoon and Sunday. Ready for another day on this road from 6am ;-).