Trip-ups Along the Trail

When I decided not to walk on the third day of our trip, I envisioned a morning grading papers followed by a drive to Pamplona and an afternoon of enjoying the city.

This is the first Spanish city I've really felt drawn to. But I couldn't have predicted how complicated things would get.
The hotel where we had reservations was overbooked so they sent us to apartments in the old city. That in itself was fine as our car bumped along the cobblestones of what looked like a pedestrian walkway. We guilty shrugged as walkers moved out of our way. A man with a cane for the blind clung to a nearby apartment. Another guy with two crutches hobbles to the side. Yikes. Were we actually allowed to drive here?
We passed a Burger King and Linda knew where we were. Apparently, all of her directions throughout Pamplona were based on the location of the Burger King, but it worked.

Near the Burger King was this mural with the Running of the Bulls. Maybe that's what Linda remembered

Even as we drove seemingly aimless circles, we knew we were better off than our husbands who were wet and cold somewhere out on the trail. We found the apartments, unloaded our bags and set off to find the parking garage that was prepaid. We drove and drove, around Plaza del Castillo, the main square in the old town, around the outside of the city and back in, always keeping the cathedral in mind since that was near our apartment. 

What a charming street leading to the cathedral

As we went for another pass toward the parking garage, we got a call to pick up Maurice who had blazed his own trail and taken a loop, ending up far from Pamplona.

Like a James Bond movie, we could hear the clock ticking in our heads as we raced toward the pin he dropped us, knowing his phone was dying and if it did, then we couldn't contact him or find him.
Meanwhile, Earl had arrived in Pamplona, wet, muddy boots tracking along the cobblestones, and he found our apartment but didn't have the codes to get in the building. We'd sent the codes but they arrived in an unreadable email since his phone had gotten damp on the trail.
Both of our hikers texted and called as we tracked them down.
We finally returned to Pamplona, searching for the parking garage, and after a couple of hours we parked and walked across the old city.
We decided to do laundry, and luckily, a bar just outside the laundromat gave us the entertainment we needed. Sangria and clean clothes.

Rain clouds still threatened as we did laundry

But no clouds behind me and my sangria

My attempt at an artsy photo after Linda showed me how. 

After laundry, and a walk across town to complain at the hotel, we returned to a tapas bar. I have never been to a "real" tapas bar, which this apparently was. People crowded around the bar and scrunched into tables. The tapas choices were under glass all around the bar. But being on the short side, I couldn't see most of the offerings. Plus, I had no idea what any of them were. One was a sausage in a very puffy blanket of pastry. Another looked like a cup of au gratin potatoes but was actually crab and shrimp.
I asked for one and the bartender put it in the microwave, as he did all of the tapas when someone asked for it.
It just felt wrong to microwave tapas and carry it to the table. The entire place felt frenetic. People eating quickly, ordering quickly. I pictured a Spanish meal being laid back. I'd choose several tapas dishes and someone would bring it to my table. But that didn't happen.
Everyone else at our table was pleased with their choices. I didn't like the crab and shrimp dish because it tasted fishy, but Earl ate it and gave me something that looked like cornbread with potatoes and onions in it. I also ate a garlic mushroom that Linda ordered.
Overall, I was underwhelmed. And I didn't expect that the Frenchman in our group would consider that an adequate meal, but he did.
Afterward, Earl and I stopped for dessert, hot chocolate and churros. The chocolate is super thick - easier to eat with a spoon than drink. But it had a taste that reminded me of Atkins protein shakes back in the 80s, so I didn't finish the hot chocolate either.

Thick, thick hot chocolate

After a good night's sleep for me, I read about the upcoming trail today and decided not to hike it. It has a very steep, rocky descent that a number of hikers get hurt on. I would pass. Earl did not have a good night's sleep. He had a lot of tossing, turning and moaning and decided he needed to go to a clinic. He had a blister appear and pop on our very first long day of hiking. He's been treating it ever since.

Don't worry -- it's covered

He also took a hard blow to the shin yesterday. Apparently the trees were all hanging low, loaded down with the rain. A hiker in front of him shoved a branch out of the way with his pole and let it slam back into Earl's shin, which is now red and swollen.
So after breakfast at a Belle Epoque-style restaurant, 

Cafe Irina -- Linda posted a picture from inside

we went in search of a clinic. We stopped at a pharmacy first and they directed us. We asked two more people before we found it.

We stood in line while two women helped everyone waiting in line. Finally it was our turn. We speak no Spanish, remember, other than gracias. She filled out Earl's information then explained, on a phone translator, that we had to pay 36,58 euros for our appointment. No big deal. I pulled out our credit card while Earl dug out the cash. We were prepared.
No, we had to walk to a bank to pay then come back with the receipt from the bank.
I was baffled.
Since Earl was in pain, he sat in the waiting room and I would do the walking to the bank. When I came back, I would need to get in line again with the receipt.
And apparently, it didn't need to be any particular bank. Any bank would do. She drew a map for me that sent me in totally the wrong direction, but I eventually made my way to Plaza del Castillo again. She had said there were banks at either end of the plaza so I went to a big building with a name like Salamander that had lots of signs, but none of them looked like banco or banko. When I saw an ATM, I went inside anyway.
The security guard was also the keeper of the appointments. He gave me a number and I sat down on a couch, staring at a huge television screen and waiting for my number to be called. After about 15 minutes, my number appeared on the screen and I was allowed to pay cash for my doctor visit.
Like most doctor visits, it was delayed. To make a long story probably longer, Earl ended up with a 2nd degree friction burn on his foot where the blister was. She didn't xray his shin, but we're still keeping an eye on it. He's asleep beside me as I write this with his foot elevated.
Meanwhile, Linda and I went to get the car from the parking garage and again seemed to break many driving rules as we careened through the pedestrian streets. We parked in front of the apartment building and when we got inside, the codes for the apartments didn't work anymore. Check out time was 11 and it was after 11. Of course, we didn't know because there was no information in the apartments.
Anyway, our things were in the apartment and we were not.
Spanish, English, Spanish, English, phone calls, wrong turns.
Finally, we left Pamplona and drove to our next stop. Puente la Reina where the weather is beautiful and I'd better get some work done.

The 12th century church has real bells

The doorway is very elaborate

Another Day Walking

Tuesday was another day of walking, although mostly down rather than up. The village of Roncevaux (or Roncesvalles as the Spanish call it) was barely a city, just a few hotels for "pilgrims" walking the trail.

A church in Roncevaux where they hold daily masses for the pilgrims

We had a 14-mile walk on Tuesday, following the 15-mile walk on Monday. My feet were not happy.
I plodded alone for most of the day, taking in the beautiful scenery, trying to figure out whether I should say bonjour or buenos dias when I passed people or people passed me.

This is in kilometers, but I'm still glad I'm not going all the way to Santiago

The trees made a tunnel at the beginning

This cross was to ward off the witches in the "Oakwood of witches" the main route in the 16th century

I met a lot of interesting people on the trail. Some of them I'd seen several times, others were new. Everyone is convivial, sharing life stories and reasons for the trail.
This trail passed along several villages and people were eager to stop for refreshments, even within the first hour of hiking.

A welcome for everyone

The cows outside the fence always make me a little nervous, but these didn't plan to get up

The scenery continued to be beautiful

I continued plodding, only stopping to use the bathroom at one bar, putting me feet in the cold water at a stream that ran over the trail and warning people not to walk on the moss covered concrete. Some bloody footprints nearby showed where an earlier hiker had tried to walk across and fallen, slicing her foot.

Don't let the painted toenails fool you, there's a blister on one foot and something called hikers' rash on both feet.

Finally, an hour from our destination, I sat for some limonada at a trailer that served drinks.  The limonada was super sour, but I drank it and moved on.
The last hour was very difficult as it headed down and was all rocks.

I tried to walk in ruts to avoid the tumbling rocks

I had to choose each placement of my foot. Also, although I didn't get a picture, the rock striations ran vertical or diagonal to the trail, so that made it even harder to walk.

Wildflowers and mountains

This looks more like a witches wood. I love the sunlight in the trees

I was so happy to reach Zubiri.

Linda reached here first and said the bridge is called rabies bridge. People were said to walk their animals under the bridge to heal or prevent rabies. Hopefully, they have updated methods now. 

 I sat and had a glass of sangria while waiting for Maurice and Earl to arrive -- they stopped several times for beers or coffee.

I know that I need to get through the walk and off my feet. Every time I stop, the odds of me getting up again diminish.
The Hosteria de Zubiri is lovely and we ate dinner and breakfast here as well, which limits the amount we have to walk. We walk like very old people, slowly, creakily, holding onto walls and rails.
My knee is shot from the downhill yesterday. Sometimes it feels like it is out of place, catching on something. It's better this morning so hopefully will continue to heal as I take a day off hiking.
Rain is predicted all day, so I am grading papers and then driving with Linda to Pampelona for our next stop.

Across the Pyrenees

On Monday, I walked from France to Spain across the Pyrenees. No big deal.
41,638 steps.
15 miles.
24 kilometers
I walked up the equivalent of 441 staircases according to my Fitbit. We climbed from 450 feet (137 meters) above sea level to 4600 feet (1402 meters).

We left St. Jean Pied de Port a little before nine. We carried water, an orange and a ham and cheese sandwich hastily made by the lady behind the bar. 

Maurice, Earl and me - optimistic and fresh

Cloud cover as we started kept the temperatures cool.

We walked through one of the city gates on our way out of town

The town really runs on tourism for the hikers of El Camino.

The ubiquitous camino sign -- along with hiking boots and a walking stick

As soon as we got out of town, we faced a very steep climb up.

It's hard to capture the steepness of a climb

A woman walking in front of us with two walking sticks had stopped twice on the incline before we passed her. I told her I didn't think it was all like this, but I might have given her false hope. It was a very tough day of hiking.
Of course, I run. And I had run 7.5 miles a couple of days the week before. I thought I could probably do 15 miles hiking. I did, but it was not easy.
A young man who hiked with us for awhile said in his British accent, "It's just walking, innit?" Just walking but in extreme conditions.

A sideways hay field

Even as we climbed higher, the farmers continued to plow fields on slopes, planting and harvesting despite the mountains.

Sheep on the move

I loved watching a farmer move a flock of sheep down the road from one pasture to another. He drove his truck ahead of them (a little white van) and the sheep dog came behind, keeping all the sheep in line. Then we had to be careful where we stepped because of little black sheep pellets all over the road.
So apparently, I'm doing this again today, so I'll just leave you with some pictures.

Yikes. I got sweaty

Foxglove

In need of a trim

The edge of the world

El Camino

Yesterday we drove about four hours from our region in France to St Jean Pied de Port, one of the most frequent places for hikers or pilgrims to begin El Camino de Santiago. This is a pilgrimage to the church in Santiago along the Atlantic. But there are many paths across France and other places in Europe that lead here. 

Last year we hiked part of the Way in France. 

If you’re unfamiliar with it, there’s a great movie starring Martin Sheen called The Way. As a matter of fact, it starts right in this town. 

The entire hike from here is about 500 miles or 800 km. We’re only hiking for a week, about 100 miles. 

It was great to meet up with Linda and Maurice so we can hike and enjoy each other’s friendship. 

Maurice does all the planning of hotels and hiking paths. It’s like being on a tour. We just show up. So nice. 

Last night we walked around town a bit. This is a medieval village, but only because the nearby town of the same name was razed by Richard the Lionhearted in 1177 and they had to rebuild in the Middle Ages. So strange to think I’m in a place with that history.

Earl and Maurice ready for their hike

Clock tower and city wall

This T-shirt made me laugh. Obviously a take off of the Beatles Abbey Road, but as pilgrims on the trail 

Wish us luck. Or as they say here Bonne Camino. 

French Forms

The morning was punctuated by rain on one side and high wind on the other,
but the bridge, the river and the mountains persuaded me to go for a run anyway. 

Just when you think you're out of the French form business for another year, with both a driver's license and a carte de sejour tucked in my wallet, a minor accident and a car purchase send us back up to our necks in forms in French.
Truthfully, the forms aren't so bad, it's trying to figure out what to do with them. Can I take a picture and email them? Do I need to fax them (are there still fax machines)? Should they be mailed?
During the past month, since our departure from the apartment we thought we would be in all year,  we lived on a narrow street where cars insist on driving quickly. I was sitting at my computer by the window on the road, preparing for my class to start at noon when a car zoomed past and I heard a crunch. I just had a feeling.
I walked out of the house and saw something strange hanging off the front of the car. The headlight. Pretty sure it's not supposed to look like that.
A car was parking in front of our car, so I waited until the woman got out.
She was nice about it. She had cut too close as she tried to park.

I told her I had to get inside to teach so she gave me her name and number and said she would be back home, just down the street from me, at 6.
In between classes, I contacted a few French friends. I barely know what to do in an American accident, much less a French one.
One friend sent me a form to be filled out. It's an "amiable" form, which means both drivers agree on what happened.
But the woman didn't get home at 6 or 7 or... well, I quit watching for her and texted. We agreed to meet the next day at 4 at her place.
So she cordially offered me coffee, but I declined and we filled out the necessary forms. It was Friday afternoon. I had no idea what to do with the forms. She suggested I call our insurance company, which is also our bank. I tried but got stuck in the "Press 1 for xxx" and "press 2 for xxx." Speaking French to a person on the phone is hard enough. Figuring out what a machine says is even more difficult. I decided to head to the bank branch 30 minutes away on Monday.
Come Monday, I checked the hours and saw that the branch is closed Monday. I knew Wednesday was a holiday, so my only option was Tuesday.
The bank was open until 5:20 p.m. and my last class ended at 4. I would have time to drive half an hour before it closed.
Then I got there at 4:40 and saw that it was closing early (exceptionelle) at 4:50. I barely made it. The woman who helped me, after a 5-minute wait, had no idea what to do with the form. The bank does not have an insurance branch. She searched online. Then she went to her manager's office and he suggested they would send it for me. So whether it was mailed, emailed, faxed or simply struck in a drawer, I have no idea.
The car accident reminded me that I had never received my carte grise for the car. The carte grise is like the registration. Our friend who sold us the car did all the French paperwork online, but we never got the form.
I hopped online and claimed that it was lost, even though we had never received it. They asked for 99 euros, which I paid, and said they were processing the request. Then I got an email that listed about 10 documents I need to send in before I can get my carte grise.
It's all a little overwhelming. I need to print out the forms and mail them in.
Technically, it's illegal for us to drive the car without the carte grise, so we need to be super careful not to get pulled over before we receive the paperwork.
But, the good news is, that my husband has safely returned to France, so anything I'm dealing with now is not on my own.
The weather was so cold today, I feel like I might be in a Nordic country rather than the south of France, with temperature in the 30s (4 C) and high winds that endanger pedestrians from flying market umbrellas.

These fabrics are beautiful, but expensive. They said they were hand-loomed. 

No matter, we're still enjoying life.
As for our living arrangements, they become more nomadic by the week, so I promise an update soon.

Oh, the Places You'll Go!

"Oh, the Places You'll Go!" as Dr. Seuss might say.
Yesterday I went on an 18-mile bike ride (that's 28 kilometers for those using metric measurements) with a French friend. It adds an element of skill to try to maintain a conversation in French along with riding up steep hills in the countryside. (She speaks excellent English so we only speak French to help me practice my language skills.)
The places we came across within a 10-miles radius of my adopted home. I had never been to the village of Montazels, but a climb up a fairly steep hill took me to the charming village. My friend pointed out a former chateau, but all I saw was a petanque pitch. Apparently, you can only see the chateau from below.
We stopped for a picturesque selfie.

That's the chateau behind us up on the hill and you can see mountains beyond in the split of the nearby mountains.
Next we coasted down the hill into Couiza where I caught a glimpse of another chateau I'd never seen. Duc de Joyeuse is a bed and breakfast now.

This isn't a great picture, but the sky sure is beautiful.
And in the other direction is the expected row of plane trees.

We saw so many gorgeous landscapes, but I couldn't stop all the time to take pictures.
I did get a shot of some poppies blooming. Yes, it's the beginning of poppy season here.

And this garden is very well maintained.
We stopped for coffee and pain au raisin, because what's the point of riding through the French countryside if you can't enjoy a pastry and coffee.
What a lovely morning exploring and enjoying life in France!

Huge in France on Netflix

I've been boring my local friends by telling them they should watch Huge in France, so I thought I'd spread the word to you.
Maybe my views are not pure since I am an American living in France, but the show has made me laugh as a French comedian travels to LA to reunite with his teenage son. He keeps telling people that he's famous in France, he's the French Jerry Seinfeld, but no one seems to care because he is not famous in LA.
Some of the situations are so French that I just chuckle.
He's trying to convince his son to spend time with him, so he suggests a meal. Or even a coffee. Or even a coffee while they walk like all the Americans do.
That is so American. I got a coffee to go from the new coffee truck this morning. It has a lid and everything. As I walked down the street to my apartment, a Frenchman standing by his window commented on my coffee.
What can I say? "I'm just like an American, walking and drinking coffee," I said to him in French, even though, I am really an American, but the French can't really tell if my accent is British or Australian or American.

The guy who stars in the show is a French actor you will have seen in so many French movies, if you have watched French movies. His name is Gad Elmaleh. And in America, he introduces himself as "C'est Gad," which translates to "It's Gad." Okay, that also reminds me of the time Tucker was two and he came down the stairs at our house in Michigan and said, "Here's Tucker."
But Gad is used to being recognized. He gets no recognition in the States.
The movie I most remember the actor from is The Valet where he plays the role of a valet who pretends to have an affair with a model to save a French businessman from his wife's wrath. (Also a fun movie.)
Anyway, in one of the episodes of Huge in France, they return to Paris, and the scenery is beautiful. There's Notre Dame in its full glory, and I realized that movies will be recognized henceforth as pre and post-fire in Notre Dame. Unlike the Twin Towers, which are there and then gone. the remaining shell of Notre Dame will be quite obvious in films. That made me sad.
Only the first season of Huge in France is out, and the teenage son is a bit of a conceited monster and the wife is also unlikable, but I know Gad will prevail eventually. I watched to the end of the first season.
In one episode, Gad says to his son's friend, that he wishes he could hug him, but he didn't really know how to do it American-style. Again, in France he would have simply kissed the guy's cheeks. The young man tries to show him how to do an American hug, but one extra pat on the back "made it weird." Gad has a lot to learn about America.
Jerry Seinfeld makes some guest appearances. Maybe you'll learn a little something about life in France too.
Check it out and think of me, struggling to fit in on the opposite side of the ocean.

Mourning the Loss of Notre Dame

As I prepare to go to bed tonight, flames are still shooting from the top of Notre Dame. The spire has collapsed and the roof of the nave has fallen in.
On Friday, as I walked from our hotel to the train station, I crossed a bridge and saw the beautiful cathedral. I took a picture. It was the last picture I took in Paris.

I can't believe that it will never be the same. 

While Earl and I were spending a few days in Paris, we found ourselves strolling around Notre Dame several times. 

I asked Earl if he had been inside and was surprised to find that he hadn't. I've even attended Mass at Notre Dame. 

We stopped to look at the bells displayed in a line outside. 

New ones were purchased to replace these in celebration of the 850th anniversary. 

850 years! I can't even fathom something that old. 

Our country won't be 800 years old until 2576.

Me trying to coyly pose along with crowds of other people in front of Notre Dame. 

My morning run took me past Notre Dame

You can see the scaffolding around the church where they were working on it. 

I hope that they find the fire was caused by a mistake in the work going on rather than an act of terrorism.

At the same time, I try to imagine a worker with a power tool in hand who started a fire that destroyed an iconic building. That just seems too mundane. 

Paris will never be the same. 

L'Atelier des Lumières - Van Gogh

Last year, as I reviewed some of the best things we had done in France, I included two visits to Carrières de Lumières and L'Atelier des Lumières, huge art installations that projected artwork onto walls and played music to go along with art. One was near Nimes in the South of France and the other in Paris. You can read my blog posts about them here and here.
When I learned that the exhibit this year would be Van Gogh, I had to go. Since Earl was flying out of Paris, we made a mini-vacation out of it with two nights in Paris.
I bought the tickets for the art show ahead of time, which was a wise choice because the tickets were sold out when we arrived in line. We went for the earliest show at 10 a.m. People seemed anxious about getting in, but there really was no rush because you can stay as long as you want, and there are plenty of places to watch the show.
We got in quite early and I had told Earl that I had been there before and didn't like the view from the balcony. As we perched on a round wooden seat, a guard came by and told us the best view was from the balcony, and there were comfortable seats. We decided to move to the balcony, but I should have listened to my own advice.
We could get some panoramic pictures from up high, but watching from the balcony was kind of removed from being down on the floor in the midst of the color, feeling the images move around me and getting a bit dizzy, as if the colors really were washing over me.

A panoramic view from the balcony

A photo I took on the floor when we stayed for the second airing of the Van Gogh exhibit

More irises

A shot of Starry Night from the balcony

The sun over the bare trees

One of the special things about the exhibit is that the creators find motion in the pictures and add that to the artwork.
I tried to record a few short videos that show the motion.

After the Van Gogh, there was a Japanese Dream exhibit. I captured part of that from the floor, which is where I recommend you plant yourself if you make it to the exhibit.

These look 3D, don't they?

Earl enjoyed the show, but admitted he preferred the giant limestone cave where the exhibit takes place in the South of France. Perhaps we'll get a chance to see it there again if we have any visitors this year.
Well worth the cost of 14.90 Euros for the ticket. Go if you can.

Dodging A Bullet

We've all read news stories about a business going under and wondered what happened to the people who had tickets for the cruise or the flight, but Earl and I had never faced that ourselves -- until this week.
Earl was scheduled to fly back to the States next month on Wow Air. That's the cheap airline that lands in Iceland, and they went belly-up on Thursday, leaving him holding useless tickets.
We hadn't heard about Wow Air until our friend Najah flew over last year. She drove from Columbus to Pittsburgh and flew Pittsburgh to Reykjavik to Paris.

Iceland looks a bit bleak

When Earl needed to go home quickly last August (the height of airfare costs from Europe to the States) he flew Wow. Then when I rushed home in February, going one way, the cost was cheapest again on Wow.
I returned on Norwegian, another low cost airfare.
Our experiences were fine, although, at one point when they announced, is there a doctor on board, I thought, "Really, would a doctor fly Wow Air?"
Unlike most airlines, Wow did not have in-seat entertainment. Maybe it seems spoiled to want to have movie and TV choices on an 8 or 9-hour flight, but it sure does make the flights go faster.
When we learned on Thursday about the death of Wow Air, we wondered if we should have been more aware. I had seen an article with the headline like "Why It's Safe to Fly on Wow Air" and I tried to click on it but I was blocked because I didn't have a subscription to The Guardian. That just made me think, huh, I wonder if we shouldn't be flying on Wow.
There was some muttering about financing, but other articles assured that the funding always comes through at the end through Iceland.
So we obliviously scheduled a flight on Wow.
When we saw through our online news that the company had gone under, we regretted not buying the flight insurance. Then we hopped on and rearranged another flight for Earl. We figured that everyone would be looking for replacement flights.
On Travelocity, we found a flight that was even cheaper than the Wow Air flight. So we booked it (he will have to pay for checked luggage since he's taking his backpack home for a hiking trip) but we felt fortunate to be able to schedule so last minute for $631 (561 euros).
Then we had to worry about how to get our money back. CNN told us we were basically screwed. We could file with the company but we would become one of many creditors asking for our money back. Another article suggested that credit card companies might have been keep track of the shaky finances of the airline and have held back money instead of paying upfront.
Earl contacted our credit card company the next day and they said the money would be refunded within 7 days! What a relief, and a reminder that using the right credit card company is important.
So no more WOW, but I'm convinced that we'll be better off choosing a specific airline and flying with them every time to earn points.
And will we be using that credit card again? Yep, whenever we book travel, count on us using our Sapphire card.