July 8 Loarre to Bolea

Last night I had company in the B and B, a very personable Italian man, Luca, a science teacher, who was walking a different walk in a different direction.  He was one of those guys who carries everything in his back pack, which was not all that big, and, who, when the dueña tells him that there is a restaurant at the beginning of the town, is perfectly pleased with that vague instruction, but to which I would have answered, "What are you talking about?"  Also, he was the kind of guy, who, when he cannot get a place to stay—because he did not make reservations back in November or December or even last week—walks an extra nine miles—if he is lucky and it is only nine miles—  to the next town despite the fact that he has already walked a goodly amount and it is 90+ degrees.  Oh, and he is the kind of guy who only uses a little guide book for navigation and maybe a map, no GPS for him.  He also speaks Spanish (really well), English (pretty well), and French (I don't know how well). In other words, he is the kind of guy who is capable of this sort of adventure, while I am so wanting.

Today's walk was short even though I went off the designated path about three times. It was humid, which is the worst, so I was happy to arrive at my destination at about 10:30.  Let's call it a rest day.  I am staying in a room over a bar where men talk,  drink, and play cards all day, so it is kind of noisy.  But I have a lot of space and light, even if no amenities, e.g., no window in the bedroom, but there is a "sitting room," the wifi is reliable and there is a fan.

Bolea has a shop.  On Monday it is open only until 1:00, so it is a good thing I did not take that optional excursion to an ermita an hour and a half away, up a hill. About three people can fit inside the shop at once.  There was a modest selection of fruit and vegetables and a tiny refrigerator section mostly filled with yogurts.  But amid the packaged ham, guess what there was?  A vacuum packed roast chicken!!  I bought it!  Then, would you believe, in the bar, they sell locally made cherry jam. so I bought a jar of that, too!  (I transferred about half into a series of plastic baggies, and hope it will stay contained.

Leaving Loarre:

The non-metaphorical silver lining!