Bilbao and the familiar feeling

All that was remarkably easy. I even dredged up a bit of the old español and I made it onto the bus, both busses and I have one more to go. It's a lot greener here and really reminds me of the particular green of home after a wet spring. I'm soaking it in, I know I will get up on the meseta soon and mile after mile of monotonous flat.

At the request of my mother, I'm going to chat about the people I have met so far. That's really what it is about after all, for me and her.

I needed to get from the airport into town which was a follow the crowd situation. I met a girl who is from Roscommon doing her Erasmus here and we had a chat while waiting for the bus driver to pack a whole plane load of people onto a bus. No mean feat and I bet he took classes. Going through Bilbao really brought it home that I'm going back the exact way I came. I got the same bus from the same station, to Haro, and then the same bus to Santo Domingo. Much easier than I thought it would be. Can you imagine! Travel without bustracker app or google maps?! This is so five years ago.

I met two other ladies from county Clare who are traveling to Logroño to start where they left off last year. They are a bit sour, the real world grumpiness clinging to them, I wonder will the camino wash it off again. I wonder why they are coming back if they are dreading it so much. Either way they will be two days behind me if we stay on pace. The camino changes people, but it also drags out who you really are too. I hope I like me by the end.

Another retired woman is going to Estella and is only doing a week, but wished she could go all the way. Her friend, who she is traveling with, can't because she is still working and can't take a month off. I planted the idea of finishing it off alone in her head and she recoiled like a shy puppy.

'I couldn't be doing that!' She says in the shocked guilty way that says 'I'm scared, don't talk about it'

I have to admit, that didn't inspire the greatest sense of confidence in what I was doing, but that's her, not me. I know that I'm scared, but I'm also here. I was never going to back out, and I'm going to finish. Unless I do something silly. Which I won't.

A lady I helped on the plane was so very excited. She couldn't stop smiling. It was her first time. She was Irish but living in California and her friend had been her mentor in the exciting planning stages. She was worried about her age and if everyone would be looking at her on the walk.

I laughed.

All of these four women were retired, over sixty and still strong. All worried about what everyone would think about them. Yet we all left the make up behind, we are expecting to only wear two outfits for the next few weeks and, and one admitted to me, even left deodorant behind. I'm not going that far ... Yet.

The men that I've seen so far have been French. (I think, I'm never sure now after the French brothers who turned out not to be either) You can tell the seasoned travellers by the amount of badges on their bags. This main guy had ten, and with the size of the bagpacks we use, it was hard to even see what colour the bagpack was.

So far everyone is avoiding each others eyes. They haven't got there yet. The comfortable exhaustion and easy smile that comes with seeing a shell on a bagpack. Not even superperegrino man has looked around in that particular way. I'm feeling it already, or is that just Uni exhaustion catching up with me. Either way, I'm happy.

Buen Camino!