A good day, and an early rise, considering I didn’t get up from my city wander, and slight drunk scribbles unting about 1:30 and then reading till 3:30. I finish the Kite Runner and teh n leave it at the hostal. Its a hollywood book. well written enough, but too full of coincidence and fate to be credible, yet not enough to be fantastical. Its enjoyable to read, like any book that confirms the strength and good of the human spirit (which are fictions too).
I go out into the old towan again. Don Quixote was written here, in Salamanca, and I contemplate buying a souvenir for my own Rocinante. Instead I replace the weight of my steinbeck book with a cheap wine skin.
Arts students all through the streets, smelll of oil paints, and touriste peering at half finished works. I do my own doodle by the cathedral, and ask at the Casa Lis if they need any english guides for the Mucah exhibiotn. They don’t but it is here, that I meet Paco. He had seen me sketching, liked it, and invites me to his mountain farm. I accept without hesitation.
The day has become overcast. But I rejoice in the mild temperature, and ride out happy toward my new destination, Pareles Del Puerto.
There is something very exciting about riding into a land named Extramadura, or “extremely hard”.
At Miranda old ladies sit in rows. I buy almost tow kilos of perfect cherries, and fill my wine skin. In the hills again, pine trees and down hills. The sweet smell of rock rose, or Jara, as I found it is called. Tonights small fire feasts on pine cones, while I have a tortilla, bough in a small town bar. Its been a good 93km.
