Why? Why? Why?; This Time I Don’t Know.

A worn , chipped century old door. But it’s still faintly coloured and working .

I’m often asked “why do you walk in Spain? What about the Bibulman, that’s right here in Western Australia and so accessible.”

The only answer I usually give is rather a cliched one of “Because I can” (and for a more detailed answer see blog of :Porque Caminando?,26/5/2018).

Today though by my answer is “because I’m able to right now and I might not be around to do it later”…..etc. This late morning though, slogging out km through a not especially attractive countryside, with small hamlets without bars so no coffee, hitting bitumen at times, avoiding cow pats and stones with my poles, I answer with no real conviction. In fact the dark realisation taking shape in this heat and sparseness is: “well I can’t do it“

And the other related question: do I want to do it ?

Still 12 km to go and it’s hot .

The most interesting landmarks, or walk marks today apart from the faded wooden door heading this post have been the herds of cows crossing a small stream in front of us or staring immobile as we passed ( probably the only interesting thing they have seen for weeks), and the large sheepdog sitting quietly watching as we passed.

He’s too hot to even raise a bark

There you are I am so done in I’ve forgotten the Menhir we viewed a few km back. Medieval. There are 42 of them in Cantabria I think the notice said. So others trekked across this landscape thousands of years ago, and I bet they were not as ungrateful as I am. The Olvidado should have stayed forgotten, in my view right now.

Menhir de La Llaneda

Past 5 o’clock we limped into this large town of Aguilar de Campoo and my first, not very nice thought, was to do with a mix of poo and eagles at sight of the industrial edge. But … ..BAR . Coca-Cola Zero and cerveza. It’s starting to seem a smidgen better already as I plonk my stiff thighs onto the stool. Next up to find a bed .

And here we are this morning. I can feel the ground. I can move my legs. A day off today and life is ok again. After a few coffees we’re off to explore this town.

Carry on walking the Olvidado

Lots of Windows. Different Views: From a Spanish Plaza.

Espinosa Plaza looking out

Sitting in the main plaza looking out at this Spanish late night world. In Fremantle we’d be at least brushing teeth and preparing for bed at 10.30 pm. Here we’re watching kids tearing around on scooters, some wailing as they fall off, toddlers crying, and heated conversations from the adults sitting with beers and wine and food. Older people no quietly observing.

A father shoots across the plaza following a boy on his scooter. A woman picks up a screaming child. Two older women wheel another across the plaza. Someone walks by arm in arm with an old man needing help to walk.

We move to a restaurant upstairs. I watch from another window as a wheelchair is pushed over the crossing below. A single red car drives by. The plaza is quietening.

Night colours pretty street

11 o’clock on a week night in a small town and street life is shutting down . But all the generations have been out together, making a noise and having fun.

And I’ll write from another Spanish window next blog.

Still Watching this Little World go by: From Plaza Convento San Roque, Balmaseda.

And he’s trying to sell umbrella !

We are sitting on the large plaza in front of this 16 C building , an old Convent. We are staying in this beautiful building tonight. Drinking our riojas, and watching. Over the street is a playground with a gigantic castle. It’s gradually filling up as people wake from siestas and begin the evening wanderings and meetings before the late dinner. Lots of parents and pushers strolling by, young girls off to meet friends or home from school, old men strolling slowly by, assorted dogs on leads being taken for their daily walk, groups of older women laughing .

The group of women on our right are as happy as, drinking wine like us and the mum or grand mum in the wheelchair cheerfully joining in the quips and observations of neighbours walking past.

It’s all happening . Buses go by regularly. Commuting with nearby Bilbao.

There’s a sprinkle of rain after the fairly warm day and the umbrella man comes by cheerfully with the usual selling umbrellas spiel. The women laugh with him, but he doesn’t sell his umbrellas . They have moved like us into the shelter of the eaves.

The traffic in front increases as silence descends, the drizzle has become rain and we are the only people left on the plaza. Apart from the camarero drawing on his cigarette while checking his phone.

A Brief hiatus
Time to go inside

What do I see from my Window ? … Now.

Looking out . First evening in Madrid

So this morning I left Madrid to connect with the walk; the Olvidado, the Forgotten Path. It was the name that first attracted me.

Forgetting and remembering is what happens with age. Remembering what has been long forgotten, or ignored, in the charge through life. Walking allows one to go back and review, like a film trailer. Fragments of the past start to connect and a route of sorts emerges .

So what of these first few familiarising days in Madrid ? Looking through lots of windows: our hostal, a few bars facing different streets, the eye of the phone as I frame a picture .

Yes it’s a different culture, an unfamiliar language, and one is forced to really see each object that has been so familiar at home : rooms and beds , food, streetscape, people. Even keys operate differently here. Still the same struggle to open doors that I recall from earlier Spain visits. And always a room is on the third floor with a winding dark staircase to navigate .

Just the bottom stairs here. Long steep dark walk to go
No this isn’t our front door !
Out (remembered the code ) and waiting
We have stairs surprisingly similar . But not half as steep . Cats to trip us up

So I’m wondering what will trip me up here. Metaphorically and literally: walking a new path with just a pack , a compadre, and a rough idea of the path. How fit am I? Will I trip ? Lots of other questions , Maybe, maybe there will be some answers .

Half Sick of Shadows

I’ve had lots of shadowy ideas lately but nothing that grabs. The idea for this blog flashed into my head a few weeks ago as I pushed Diaz , my grandson , along the back of the old Woolstores in Fremantle… Pondering once again about life and it’s different manifestations. The shadowy patterns of past and now moving slowly through my mind . Hence the title . I looked up to be confronted by the graffitied messages and posted adverts on the old walls.

Be happy , mostly

I thought about my other grandchild walking cautiously on the “ rubbery “ sand at the beach last summer. Her description. An apt description of life at times : caution and uncertainty. The under layer , whatever is underfoot, is precarious. Yet we are constantly moving towards an expected happiness. All around are messages of how to be happy: excercise , eat well, meditate, be mindful , buy.

The walls which face me proclaim :Be happy. Be happy, this way to happiness. The dark , conflict -suffused graffiti serves to highlight dire alternatives.

We went to the library later as it started to rain . The same message on some of the shelves.

Like we need a formula for happiness

As if happiness is assured and life equates with happiness . Three year old Ava got it right, I think : Life is rubbery and needs to be walked with caution as the rubber has degrees of thickness , sometimes it’s perished so you can fall through, sometimes the halves are linked by a thin thread. But if you’re lucky , or careful maybe, you can walk on the thick bits and be content for a while.

You’ve got it right , Ava .