Bilbao

Farmer Pete stood in front of the Guggenheim Museum, fishing for his disposable camera inside his fannypack. "It´s better in real life if you ask me." he said to a young women from his tour bus. "Como?" She replied. "I seen this once on this show called Modern Marvels, I think it´s on the discovery channel 'cause I watch this other show about logging, and I was waiting for that one to come on, and there is this architect who scribbles on paper and they make buildings out of that." The yound spanish women looked puzzled, "No english." she said apologetically. "Okay, then. Me neither."

It was late in the day and the musuem´s facade glowed a lazy yellow in the fading light. Pete´s feet hurt from all the walking that day. He borrowed a pair of combat boots from his middle sister, Becky. Her husband never came back from Iraq, only his belongings. Pete thought it would be symbolic if he wore these boots on the camino even though they were one size too small.

The tour bus pulled away and delivered the group to the Hotel on the edge of town. Pete signed up for the budget tour, which puts two people to a room. "Whew, good thing there´s two beds in here!" Pete said to his German roommate, a thin man with gray hair. "Vwhat Province are you from in America?" he asked carefully.