Day 2 June 17 Castro Urdalies to Liendo 16.22 miles walked

Exploring Castro Urdales 

Lots of sheep fighting over a sliver of  shade

Night life in Castro Urdiales

Alone

There are no pilgrims

The cats sunning themselves

 In front of the castle

where the arrows split offer

unintelligible advice

Bonito: “Are you going to Bilbao?”

“No”

“Come with me I am walking to meet a friend at the cafe 

I will show you”

Spanish Italian world traveler retired here daily walking

The first hour passes quickly

Big hug cheeks kissed

Alone 

There are no pilgrims

Passing the albergue 

Overflow tents in the yard

Everyone vacated hours ago

At the top of the first slope

Hiacinto 

Shepherd leaving his flock

Insists “take my staff”

“I have poles” (how do you say “polls”) 

Gesturing to my pack 

Heavy sturdy implement 

This is meant to be today’s walking stick.

Alone 

Where are the pilgrims?

“Peregrina loca” the old ladies returning from the beach 

respond to my greeting

They have no idea!

Highway turns to trail to road to trail

Alone 

Where are the pilgrims?

Along the cliffs below a single speck

A fishing boat

The Billy Joel lyric starts to play

A song unremembered 

“Goodnight my Angel” …

“Like a boat out on the ocean I’m rocking you to sleep the waters dark and deep

Inside this sacred heart I know you’ll always be a part of me”

It will take time and repetition before the message is revealed 

Alone

Where are the pilgrims?

Another speck 

Where the cliffs touch the sea

It  is a big horned sheep grazing 

Navigating unaccompanied

Through a far more treacherous space

Alone

Donde están los peregrinos?

The signs the graffiti

This isolation is the mirage

Tortilla in the village square

“A large group just left”

It is a siesta-ghost town

Unseen, is it them or is it me?

Highway cyclist 

Tourist traffic

Ocean to the right

Mountains to the left

Check the maps the GPS

The road is never-ending

At the roadside bar

Luke from Bareclona

Susie from San Fransisco

On the highway the frazzled New Yorker

 They are stopping here

I have energy its early afternoon 

The guide book even describes a shortcut

Dangerous tempting 

A lesson yet to be learned

There are no shortcuts

Don’t be fooled

The narrow shoulders and asphalt back of steep highway

Trucks and tour busses 

The swoosh of speed as they sped past

Hour upon hour 

Up and up and up

Counting steps 

The stick is heavy but I’m attached

The sun now in head on assault 

Navigating rural routes through neighborhoods

Two kilometers a marathon

The vine covered plaza the steeple of the church

Mari-lyn

Frieda

The Germans

Deanna from Poland

David the Yogi

The hot head posse of 

noisy middle aged Italian cyclist