A night out. Beer and sangria. Meeting people. Talking. the sky bright blue, then darker, then deep ocean blue. Could have seen fishes swimming in the sky. But that would have been the sangria spirits talking. Traipsing around with a Scottish guy and an Irish guy. Funny friendly guys. It was great, because lots of talk of literature and theater. One guy: "Oh, I liked Joyce, but now I´m over that.." Please, dude. Gavin from Ireland is in love with Steinbeck. Robin from Scotland likes to do Jack Nicholson impressions. Refuses to do "Herés Johnny" from The Shining because, well, "everybody does that one." Met two girls, Aussie and NZ. Accents indistinguishable to me. Like American and Canadian, they say. One of them had pink nailpolish and it was wearing off. Don´t ask my why I am writing about that, I wouldn´t know. Robin got too drunk to function so we left him in a ditch for the vultures. Went off to sit in the street with the Spanish youth surrounded by bottles of beer and wine and cider and empty plastic cups. Street music. Slept like a rock.
Today wandering around Pamplona. Will meet the gal from the internet cafe for coffee. For breakfast a cafe con leche and a tortilla (which is truly a potato omelette in our parlance). Going to find an art store for new pens, new notebook, and a post office to mail Scott´s secret gift.
Tomorrow back on the camino.
For life and living
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