Bad Day in Un Castillo

I rode down a long hill into Un Castillo, a small town two days bike ride from Pamplona, without putting on some warm clothes, the local bar had coffee, cigarette smoke and no Croissants, so we went looking. The girl in the information office said there was an Internet Cafe, but her directions did not work. The guy cleaning the street seemed to know where it was, but we could not understand him. My day was not going well; Val tried supportive councelling, but it fell on deaf ears.

Up to this point I had really been enjoying Spain, my ignorance of languages had been covered by Vals burgeoning Spanish skills, and the standard response to the question ¨Do you speak English¨ usually elicited a ¨Non¨, with an unspoken question that seemed to be ¨Why should I¨. Matter of fact and non offensive.

Being under pressure to get my Blog updated, this wall of impenetrable Spanish, accompanied by waving arms and pointed directions, led to my minor breakdown.

Such are the joys of cycle touring, the pressures, decisions, responses seem to be directly related to blood sugar levels, and at any one point in a days riding, a word thrown over your shoulder, or projected ahead to your cycle mate, can be blown away, torn to pieces and reassembled in many ways, not all of them gentlemanly.