Day 3: A section of the 150 odd tents in "Camp Lizarra".

Mike's glee that he would be sharing close quarters with me for a week could hardly be contained.

A tour of the camp found a suh-weet pool.

Even from this angle it's still sweet.

The first real attempt at real Spanish food had Mike tasting a cheese and potato quiche and a sweet orange concoction. He was pleased with both.

I found some time to get in some last-minute training for the encierro.

A poet inspired by the serene 75 degree Spanish day.

Apparently we were assigned the only tent that was ripped. It was probably just a coincidence, but we were the only Americans in a camp dominated by Aussies and Brits. No matter. As long as it doesn't rain...


We had been repeatedly warned about the hot Spanish summer. Now I know what people feel like when they come to L.A. and it rains. Bewilderment, simply put.

The irony of the message at the top could not be escaped.

Che and I hide out in the ripped tent. No leaks - yet.

When the rain stopped we decided to head into town. I tried to strike up a conversation with this guy but he was hoarse. I gots a million of 'em I tells ya.

Spanish roadkill.

A 12th century water faucet.

Roughly translated: "Good bread, excellent water and wine, meat and fish lead to true happiness."

A stream leading to the Rio Ega.

A moment of prayer.

Or a photo op.

Rumninations: I wonder if Ben and J-Lo will will get back together. I mean clearly her marriage to Marc Anthony was either a publicity stunt or a id-driven act to get Ben's attention. And his blatant flirting with the Kerry daughters at the Democratic National Convention was just Ben being Ben.

A flier for a local band. Classic.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

Back to camp.