Well I meant to write this on the 30th but did not get past computing the kilometers. There is simply too much good food, drink, and friendly peregrinos.

I certainly have become accustom to group life although I still spend a lot of time hiking alone. The original group is now spread over a day apart. The group at this wonderful refugio in Nájara under red sandstone cliffs consists of an older couple from Quebec formerly lumped in with "the French", 4 French that are vehicle supported as they walk, 3 Spanish men including Jose, 2 Australian girls, the crazy Kiwi named Derrick, Eric an American, Satoe a Japanese woman, and a German whose name I cannot remember at the moment, but who is teaching me a few German words as I go since my former teacher, Pascal, is behind somewhere. (Note: Sorry Dominik. I am terrible with names.)

This is the first ight I have talked much with Satoe. She is very interesting. The Camino was recommended to her by a friend who walked it. So, she picked up some Spanish using radio based lessons in Japan - and here she is. I now have authentic sushi and sake information and she gave me some good advice for making sushi rice. And now I have an invitation to visit her in Japan after the Camino and climb Mt. Fuji. That would be a fascinating trip. So I will have to check on ticket prices.

Also in this refugio are the wonderful smells of a giant pan of stir fry. On the way through town I escaped the rain and ducked into a small supermarket. Nobody was with me at the time so it was dinner for one. I cooked up a large pan of beef, pork, sweet red peppers, hot peppers, gigantic snow peas, and broccoli. My plan which worked perfectly was to get a late lunch started immediately. Otherwise I would be be battling for cooking space and pans. This had quite an affect on hikers coming in from rain exhausted and hungry. And of course I had a tasty local red wine too. Dinner was light, cheese with an average local white.

The hike for the most part was somewhat nondescript. The Camino crossed a lot of farmland with few landmarks in low visibility in the grey mist. In the morning we encountered a former pilgrim waiting for us next to his red hatchback. He had cookies, nuts, and other snacks for us. He even handed out walking sticks, but I still have my grand baton français as I call it. He was very nice and energetic. He even had his own stamp to stamp our pilgrim credential and a logbook for us to write something poignant. Great amusement was had at Eric's expense. Everyone was supposed to draw the flag of their country next to their logbook entry. His attempt at the US flag was so atrocious I wish now that I had a picture.

Outside Navarette was the remains of the pilgrim hospital of St. John at Acre