Pamplona, No Bulls

On Saturday we decided to go to Pamplona, a little more than an hour’s drive away.  We had a slow morning but wanted to get there before the car rental place closed at 1.  Alec had not liked the way the transmission handled on Hooky Van Jr. from the get go, especially driving in reverse up that steep hill the first night—the inside still smelled like something nasty had been burned inside of it.  So we thought it best to exchange it for Hooky Van Junior II. 

By the time we got to the center of town, it was time for lunch, of course.  We had pintxos (what tapas are called in this part of Spain) for lunch—red peppers with shavings of Idiazabal cheese, spinach crepes in mushroom sauce, rounds of toast topped with jamon, cheese and eggplant.  We walked through the old city and across the main square where the local protests are taking place.  The gazebo in the center of the square was covered in signs decrying government corruption.  My favorite:  “No hay pan para tanto chorizo.”  This translates roughly to “there isn’t enough bread for all of that sausage.”  “Chorizo” in this context could come from the gypsy word “choro” which means thief.   Or it could be a reference to what we call pork barrel politics in the US.  Another translation—there’s not enough bread for all of these sausages to fit in the sandwiches, as chorizo is typically eaten with bread.  

After lunch, the square was empty save for the protesters, and we walked around the streets of the old city, which were virtually deserted.  We found a green hill in the shade where we could rest a bit while Jody fed Zadie and someone changed her diaper.  Then we circled back to the center.  By this time, the city had begun to transform from a sleepy Saturday afternoon to a dynamic Saturday evening.  The shops had opened back up and it seemed as though everyone had come out onto the streets.  We headed back to the main square.  Alec and C.C. went looking for a new knight for her castle, Milo read The Shape of Me and Other Stuff to Zadie as she lay on a blanket on the grass, and Jody and I got ice cream cones, which we ate on a bench while we watched the square fill up—young anarchists, old people out for their daily stroll, girls in puffy white first communion dresses, and drunk football fans wearing Viking hats and waiting for the Osasuna game to begin. 

Eventually, we made our way back to the car and piled into HVJrII for the ride back.  It was after nine when we pulled into Arnedillo.  Our innkeeper had recommended Casa Cañas for dinner, so we went, and sat outside in a tent across the street from the main restaurant.  The wait staff all wore t-shirts printed with yield signs in the middle of which were road sign style stick figures of waiters holding trays—they had to cross the street every time they needed something from the other building.  Alec, Zadie, and Milo finished early and watched the first part of the Osasuna game on the TV in the main restaurant while Matt, Jody and I had dessert.  And then we all hit the sack.