The Day Was Made for Walking by Noel Braun

Author:Noel Braun [Braun, Noel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography - Memoir, Travel Writing
ISBN: 9781742983899
Publisher: Sid Harta Publishers
Published: 2013-12-29T00:00:00+00:00

13. Because I’m in Spain

I was enrolled at the Pamplona Spanish Learning Institute and was to stay with a host family. I rang them on Thursday and in my very broken Spanish told them I would arrive Sunday afternoon (Domingo a la tarde). I could hear a lot of conversation and laughter in the background. I didn’t understand a word of the woman’s reply so I hoped she got the message. I obtained a map of Pamplona at the tourist bureau and found my way to their house, a large two story house surrounded by a garden.

Jacinto and Loli were open and welcoming. They had no English or French. They were very patient while I tried to find the right word from my limited Spanish vocabulary. We enjoyed a hilarious afternoon misunderstanding each other. Dinner was at 9.00 pm so I had time for a siesta. We continued our conversation over dinner. Communication was slow and laboured. There were moments of enlightenment and joy when they understood me. I went to bed with the thought that, even if I learn nothing in the two weeks, it should be fun.

The language school was housed in an imposing prosperous 19th century building just around the corner from the house. I was placed in an advanced beginners’ class. My classmates were Japanese, Taiwanese and German, all in their teens or early twenties, so I gave them fifty years plus. The age difference didn’t seem to matter; I was a student just like them struggling with the Spanish language, no different to when I was learning French at Chambéry and Amboise. Classes were from 9.00 am to 1.00 pm so the afternoon was free.

On Monday afternoon I wandered around the town. Along the Camino the pilgrim moves from place to place, spending a night here and a night there, taking small bites, as it were, like eating a tapas, and moving on. But here in Pamplona I was pausing for a full meal. I would get to know the city’s quirks and feel the rhythm of its life.

Pamplona is a beautiful city with lots of history. The fiesta of San Fernin was over and they had just finished running the bulls. So that’s a challenge I didn’t have to accept. San Fermin is a major festival and I saw a countdown clock ticking away the seconds until next year’s. I was conscious that I had shed my pilgrim identity. For the moment I was a tourist but, as I saw pilgrims with backpacks ( mochilas) walking through the town, I consoled myself with the thought that I would soon re-join them.

It was a long afternoon until dinner. As well as misunderstandings being humorous, I was frustrated at not being able to communicate adequately. Normally I converse easily. Now I was powerless, just like any traveller who finds himself confronted with an unfamiliar language. I felt isolated in my non-understanding. Perhaps the sense of isolation is part of the pilgrim’s lot. He’s a stranger in a strange land where the people have a strange language and customs.

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