Clamour — Pamplona, Spain

Spanish men wear, in general, too much cologne. I am basing this on little to no experience with Spanish men, other than that of passing them on the street. Cologne is a great disservice to male sensuality, a mistake that's surly come about by some woman telling them this is actually an attractive product. 

It is not. 

But other than that Pamplona is a wonderful place to be. It is a well cared for city, full of the brick and buildings that signify a depth of history that Americans like me are eager to find when they travel to Europe. I am from a place even younger than the Western-era Americas. Alaska had its "civilizing" done in the most recent century, and some would say we've a ways to go. Some of us say we'd like to lag behind a bit farther.  

In my single day of wandering around Pamplona, I have accidentally found that plaza that's about the bulls, and the citadel. I am quite excited by these finds, given the short time I've had here, though my discovery of the Spanish language leaves a lot to be desired. This morning I panicked and answered the breakfast server in Russian. Also not my native language. 

Here is another thing I did:

 By the time I realized the photo booth specialized in joke photos, I had already put in my two euros. This was the most normal looking option. There were about 20 others. Pirates. Sailors. Bandits. The Statue of Liberty and a beret-topped French look. I picked this because I liked the sunglasses, and because I have no idea why it says Clamour. Is it so they don't get sued for using the word Glamour? Is it a joke about scrambling for something? Is it just a really weird typo?

The Hotel Leyre was beautiful and friendly and comfortable, especially after 30 hours of travel from Seattle. As it's likely to be my only room alone for quite a while, I reveled in it a little bit. Rolling about and listening to NPR podcasts all morning, trying to memorize useful Spanish phrases, and braiding my hair. Change the podcasts to Simpsons episodes and the phrases to Alannis Morrisette lyrics, I'm basically in Junior High but with credit cards. I'm wondering if this is what other people do when traveling alone. What that looks like for them. 

Last night I wandered through the narrow streets, past tables of beer spilling out from alley bars, and under tall brick buildings set close like dominoes, until I found what amounted to a 7-11 and bought bread and cheese and salami and tonic water for dinner. I don't really feel the urge to go to restaurants. Food is everywhere. I'd rather save money. And the bread was good. When I successfully rattled off the phrase "cuanta cuesto" to the cashier to find out the cost of cheese, I was dismayed to find that I was unprepared to decipher his answer. So I just nodded, and while I was nodding finally located the price on the shelf and pulled through. 

Today I successfully purchased a bus ticket to St. Jean Pied de Port, where my Camino will start. I have about an hour before I have to be back in the underground bus terminal. I am excited to be leaving the cities behind (though I'll be walking back through here via the camino in just a few days.) And I'm even more excited to see how the buses get above ground from the dungeon I just bought my ticket in. I did not see any entrance tunnels in the immediate vicinity.

Underground Bus Den

This post is more like a list of random stuff than a story. And so dry I'm concerned it will spontaneously combust. But I'll post it nonetheless. If nothing else, a writer must write down all the things. Even if it's poorly and with very little color. I'd add more pictures, but I am reluctant to take many pictures with the iPad, especially self portraits.