After finally getting to the Cathedral to get my sello from the hands of a smiling YOUNG nun, I headed back to my "neighbourhood" to "my" bar, where I'd had numerous coffees and breakfast, and where the proprietor and his wife were starting to recognize me. I would be leaving the Basque country tomorrow, and so I thought I'd better try some txakoli, the resinous white wine grown on Basque hillsides. It was sour and acrid, not to my taste at all, but the day got sweeter, as I caught a glimpse of "my" peregrinos heading down the street. I rushed out, signifying to the owner that I'd be right back, and wasn't running out on my debt. (In Spain you never pay for your drinks until you are ready to leave). I told them about the hotel and they went off to see if there was any space. I went back and finished my drink.
Ana and Margi were able to get a room, but there was only one. Gisbert and the Vikings were out of luck, but had lots of leads on other places. Gisbert asked if he could bunk down in my double, but I told him I didn't think that my husband would likely be impressed. I know he was offended, being an honorable person, but proper is proper. He had been sleeping on the floor in various lady's rooms all week, but there was always more than one lady! So he followed Liv and Anna Maria off on the search for a room.
We agreed to meet up at the local sidreria for a farewell meal. Ana and Margi were finished their camino, and Gisbert and the two ladies were going to be on a different schedule than me from now on. Later, Margi, Ana and I went for a constitutional along the river walk, where we saw a run/march in support of the Basque language and watched rowers train on the river. The cool air and the warm golden sun falling on our faces was so pleasant, it was hard to leave, but it was getting late. Time to eat!
The streets of the old town were full of the runners and other merry makers. The bars were spilling people into the street, banners were flying and there was an air of general happiness and good will.
As we walked toward the restaurant, I spotted my friend, Miguel de Murcia, sitting at a table. Big bear hugs ensued. I learned that Miguel had messed up his ankle on the day after Gernika, and like me, had been chilling in Bilbao waiting to be better. We didn't meet again on the Camino, but later, in looking at Gisbert's online photos, I saw him again, hale and hearty, and was glad to see he'd made it back onto the road.
In the sidreria, there was much hilarity, as we learned the proper way to tap a keg of sidra. As long as you order the table de hote, you can have as much sidra as you like, provided you amble over the sticky floor to pull your own. You don't fill your glass, so you need to make several trips. A clever way of self-limiting your consumption.
The meal was HUGE! Three courses, each of which would be enough. I had morcilla, blood sausage, in a tomato sauce, an omelette with asparagus, and some fish. And after that, we had postre, dessert, which was pastel aux Basques,an apple-y cake. And then it was time for bed. I left early the next morning, replete with addresses, and sad to know that this part of the journey was over.
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