A rebel without a clue.

Pretty tough day. Relentlessly straightforward and by the afternoon the sun is unbearable, but I managed two bunches of naturally dried bunches of tempranillo grapes that hadn't been taken to make Rioja and I brought plenty of food at the café by the church in Navarrete. It was important to spend an hour there before the long 17kms section. The bottom of the water container was warm by the last swig. A few of the other pilgrims are passing me looking bloody exhausted too, but the kitchen is closed... Nájera. So I wandered to the monastery, where the way passes tomorrow, and called in for tapas at Bar Talisman. It's all pretty uninspiring, but I am wearing fresh knickers! What is it about?

Getting to Logroño I thought great then after a couple of hours surrounded by people I just felt meh. That's the hope I put where I never find it. A huge river passes towards the Mediterranean from here - La Ebro - but today we're following the N12. Meh! The couple of French retirees I have seen since Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port are bakers!  They were very excited to reach the panaderia along the Camino as one of the bakers is from France. The croissant was good! And now I am walking the day I don't want to walk - truly I am insane! The two brightest stars, alongside the disappearing moon, are Venus and Jupiter. Jupiter is the star in the west. Second donativo since Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port last night, but they couldn't provide a sello as the priest had died. Luckily I got one on the bridge before crossing the Ebro

Two good Germans going the other way, Logroño to Pamplona, shared a slice of Domino's pizza. There were three slices left! That's the trinity in a pizza box? It was cold from last night - I prefer pizza the day after or cold so it was manna from heaven? Here in Logroño enjoying a glass of white Rioja in the capital of that DOC opposite the cathedral and reading the end of By An Unknown Disciple. A weariness is upon me. I must retreat to the albergue. Perhaps it's the heat of the afternoons since I left France? Maybe it's because I am without spirit and yearn to touch it as I once did?

Recreating is almost over. From tomorrow it's no longer following my feet from June 2013. From tomorrow it's Logroño to Burgos. Five days, if I don't return to Grañon for a second experience of that fantastic albergue above the iglesia (returning and recreating what never was nor could ever be). Last night, in the restaurant (which must've grown in size) I felt ill at ease with the group who seemed to be bragging about other walks. Bragging rights definitely come with being a twenty something and it makes for very bland dinner conversation. A German peregrino very tedious. I left as soon as I'd finished off the tart. The meal was fine. Coffee and croissant waiting for the day to show it's face. I am less inclined to walk in the predawn, but probably will. I appear to be walking with an Italian outfit since Puente la Reina and I am discovering their names slowly. They tend to spend their time together with another one from Brasil. This morning I listen to Swallow...

Out at 6 and nearly at Los Arcos. It's a pretty simple path, after the sun rose after 8. Before then I had a moon shadow to guide me along the white way. Just now came upon Russian Olive berries which are sugary and almost like a bonbon in sweetness. Quite a surprise and welcome relief from the straight street. I think I am confusing the stage between Estella and Torres del Rio and tomorrow Estella del Rio to Logroño. The most boring day is over. Tomorrow was a nice meander into Logroño where I caught the tail end of those stoned Yankee kids which made the Camino experience suddenly sour for me. But I left behind the cluster of kids and haven't seen their equivalent in this group who left SJPDP the day after me. It's in Torres del Rio where I had that fantastic supper with the Danish priest, living on a Norwegian island, and the father/daughter from Brittany. She drew portraits of the priest and I and then we laughed long into the night about my mispronunciation...

Once I thought 'it's always up over and then down into another river/stream/watering hole for bed' and that's all it is really, or like the New Zealander said the longest pub crawl on Earth. Today was short, and I was weary until I discovered Riesling, Semillon and Garnatxa Blanco. Now I ate prawns and mushrooms on a stick. Why did I do three days over two? I am stupid. It all feels surreal. Food, food then bed 

People are stiring and I feel mentally fatigued. I couldn't locate my teeth just now... but then I recall I left them where I always do! Then I cracked a joke, but in usual way I cleared the room! Toulouse? No to win! (perdre? non pour gagner!) As I am a day ahead of the pilgrims I set off with, from Saint Jean, I was forced to insinuate myself amongst the throng outside a bar, which I did, but I felt bad for leaving lose I left with behind. They will mostly be leaving Pamplona this morning? Enjoyed a pilgrim supper with Irish, New Zealanders, Deesider and Dutch. €23 for a vast amount of food - Bar Aloa. Puente is famous for its rojo pimento of which I ate a mountain of, on top of a bunch of garnaxa grapes... and I am strangely weepy. I apologised for snapping at the young lady who was concerned I may drink bad water ... I was being judgemental yesterday!