FIESTA: Food, Wine, and Barbarism in Logroño, La Rioja

ONE

It was on the floor of a large salon in Tribunal when, amid small glasses of silver tequila and jovial summer accounts, I remembered that I had a few minutes to gather my things at the place I where was crashing in the quiet, musty barrio of Lista and walk to catch the coach set to pull out of Avenida de America at 01:00 with or without me sitting in the seat I'd paid for.

Dry Well No More

A week is through and the bounce is back.

No easy start to the first week of work in almost three months. As can be imagined, one slips with comfort and ease into a routine consisting of leisurely activity, contemplation, and reflection. Eating well and visiting every city, town, and country fitting the dual-pronged bill of accessibility and affordability does much to relieve the mind of the burdensom memory of work. Complete monopoly over intellectual property. And so the first few days of classes and their preparations went along like a rusted locomotive.

One from the Archives: Camino Journal (Day3)

LEARNING FROM THE MISTAKES OF OTHERS BEFORE ME.

Yesterday it rained. A lot. The storm came in so hard and fast toward the shore that the very sea itself vanished in the torrent. As we walked under the heavy skies toward the city streets from one of Donostia’s promontories, shrieks behind us and the flashes of people running past made us turn to watch the white wall of storm come hurling in from the sea to erase everything it passed.

Volver

THE SUN ALIGHTS on green leaves and grass across the street in front of the plaza set in and shaded where I sit in the back in a café that shall not be named. The morning is about to end and people outside are walking in every direction. But I have finally stopped moving.

48 hours ago roughly a bus carried me eastward across dry, thirsty plains of sun-baked earth and sparse pale green vegetation. Earlier that bright Saturday morning I had left Lisbon - that sunny city by the sea where red roofs collide