Pamplona bound

I am sitting on a train to Pamplona and realized some context to this trip might be in order.

So there are a few moving parts here. I am spending the next four weeks in Pamplona studying Spanish. If anything is going to bump my Spanish up to where it should be after the time I’ve spent on it, this is it.

Jennifer will join me in Pamplona for a couple of days in 10 days time. She is then going to spend the following two weeks walking the Camino de Santiago with her Aunt Tiny. The clever part here is that I get to spend four weeks in a school and get to see Jennifer part way through.

I’ll meet up with Jennifer and Tiny, and our Spanish family, in Logroño for a weekend. Then, once Jennifer has reached Burgos and my four weeks are up, we both head to France for a couple of weeks.

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Got a very polite email from Renfe informing me that an accident on the tracks meant my last hour on the train would, in fact, be on a bus. The train stopped in Olite but there was no bus to be had. The staff had little idea what was going on but after about 90 minutes informed us that we could expect to be stuck for another couple of hours. Locals were being picked up one by one and the already not very full train was thinning out. I did a deal with a lovely couple from Angola to share a taxi to Pamplona. The taxi drove down from Pamplona to pick us up, so with the waiting and the driving back I arrived much later than expected. Sort of luckily my host had been called away to an emergency and left the keys to the apartment in a shop opposite.

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The apartment is in Estafeta which is probably the main street of the old town. It is, as advertised, on the 6th floor of an old building with no lift. Popping up and down those stairs – there are 118 – is going to be great for my legs. Once I settled in and ensured all mod cons were available, I braved the stairs to go to the local supermarket which is about 20 paces from my front door. I found the makings of dinner, fresh milk and the least sugary cereal available. Then I went back to the shop across the road which is jammed to the ceiling with local produce. Thanks to the keys I am already on first-name terms with the owner and he recommended a bottle of wine. Organised.

After everything was in the fridge (back up the stairs) I left the air conditioner cranked up to full (apartment is in the attic so collects the heat, and it is still stupid hot here) and headed out to treat myself to a beer and tapa. Estafeta is famous for its bars so I did not have to go far.

I can already see that a month here is going to be tough.