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...




Damn.




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.