35: the walk to Ondarroa

I did sleep better than I had since leaving Taize. This was hardly surprising, as it was the first night of the pilgrimage in which I didn't sleep either outdoors or in a cottage belonging to a sect that nurtures a habit of singing outside your window at 5 in the morning. One of the French pilgrims had already gone, and the other was packing up his things.

I took it easy, trying to get my clothes as dry as possible in the little centrifuge dryer. It was a tricky business, that dryer. Slight imbalances would cause it to jump around and hit walls and generally act like a merciless killing machine.

My guitar bag had a strap that kept coming loose, and I had had to mend it repeatedly over the last week. I tried to reinforce it with dental floss. I still mulled over the idea of getting rid of that guitar. It was proving to be a lot of unnecessary weight and hassle.

I ate the rest of last night's groceries for breakfast and eventually headed out. After yesterday's hike I felt that I needed a break from muddy mountain trails, and started walking along the carretera. I was going towards Ondarroa, which I had heard was a beautiful town but which wasn't on the regular pilgrim route.

The walk got annoying pretty soon, as I was on a twisted road that had no shoulder, where trucks would come barelling around corners and I, with my staff and my large pack, would feel like I was taking up too much space on the edge of the road. Maybe muddy mountain trails weren't such a bad idea after all.

Just as I was coming in to Ondarroa the guitar strap finally snapped off. Great, I thought. I was having enough trouble trying to carry the guitar in an ergonomic way even before this. This was something I would need to think through.