I don’t mind pain. It’s damage that concerns me.
Today I seem to have struck a new collective bargaining agreement with the unions that operate my right calf, but the left is implacably opposed to my designs. In past days it would warm up once I began walking, until at some point I usually could barely feel it anymore. But today the soreness and tightness persisted for all of Julio’s and my 5K walk from Pamplona to Cizur Menor. I suppose it’s possible to limp another 470 miles. I can manage some pain and inconvenience. But is it wise? Could I be doing permanent damage?
Pamplona
Pamplona is a fine little town of around 200,000 people. The old part of town has narrow cobbled streets and a cathedral with fine examples of medieval art. The other jewel is the Plaza del Castillo, surrounded by fine buildings with metal work and balconies reminiscent of New Orleans.
Hemingway wrote of the town with great affection. He is the one who drew worldwide attention to the Festival of St. Fermin, also known as the Running of the Bulls. The places where he ate and drank – and Hemingway seemed to enjoy only writing about shooting and killing more than he loved writing about eating and drinking – have been prominently marked by their owners. We tried to have a morning coffee in the Iruna Café, full of elaborate carving and glazed mirrors, but its announced 8a.m. opening time was apparently aspirational. At about 8:20 I jokingly suggested that Julio alert some nearby policia, who came over to take a look into the café after he called to them. I was hoping they would batter down the door, or at least drag the owner out of bed, but after a brief conversation they departed.
Marie Anne said I spoke Spanish with a South American accent, and spoke, or maybe it’s more correct to say pronounced, French with — well, she didn’t have a word, she just glowered and mimicked spitting out the words. “Very grrrr!”
“It’s Vichy French,” I said. She burst out laughing.
Mom’s energy was quickly waning. She felt dizzy and lacked the energy to walk. Was it because of the diet here? “They think ham is a vegetable,” she told a young peregrina from Germany yesterday. She’s expressing a lot of surprise at how different her energy is compared to when she’s able to eat her healthy diet. Once we were in Cizur, though, Marie Anne, who was born in Morocco, made a wonderful meal of cous-cous mixed with salad. I took her suggestion of adding salt and cumen.