SPANAIR ARE TOTAL SHIT!
SPANAIR SON MIERDA ABSOLUTA!
Right. Now I can tell my story...
A long time ago in a country far, far away (Spain, last month) a mad 27 yr old woman decided to go on an ancient quest for wisdom, like what Paulo Coelho did. I took some honey and plenty of money wrapped up in a nifty little money pouch and borrowed my sister's mattress, which Satan's airline stole. That's SPANAIR by the way.
She'd been awfully nervous, what with spending several months hiding behind a blanket and an internet connection, but once she hit the road and started being fleeced by Spain's tourism industry she felt more confident.
She arrived in Bilbao instead of San Sebastian because the pilot was too gay to land the plane in the rain*. As some trans-atlantic passengers remarked, "if that pilot had been American, he would have landed". As it was, the Spanish pilot tried to land in a giant grey cloud for half and hour, before pulling-up abruptly and causing a panic, and then swanning off to Bilbao.
*I have nothing against gays. Except you, Steve.
Once in entirely the wrong city, we had to pick up our luggage (which for 6 of us was not there because some goof-ball forgot to put it on the plane - SPANAIR ARE SHIT by the way) and get the bus. So my flight which should have arrived in San Sebastian at 8am in the end caused a delay of 3 hours. I therefore arrived at 11am, in summery clothes, with nothing but a handbag, in a rainstorm. The bus dropped us off at the 'bus station' which was actually the side of a road. The tourist booth was rather inevitably closed. Naturally, because it was a Saturday, and tourists don't happen on Saturdays. Or more likely, the manager saw it was raining and decided that was justifiable cause not to go to work. I wonder what would happen if the English took that view.
I ran into the nearest building which was a hotel and asked if they had a room. 'NO', was the delightful reply delivered to my left shoulder rather than my face. I then returned to the bus stop which had a bit of shelter and spoke with my new US friends whose luggage was also still in Madrid (though at that point we didn't know where it was). They helped me out a great deal, not to mention bringing me to the one B&B in the whole region which wasn't booked out. I had to pay for two night's accommodation which was not part of the plan (pilgrims once they start get cheap/free hostal beds for the night, but I couldn't start walking without my rucksac). A man at the airport said it was my first test (alluding to the idea that the pilgrimage is a big spiritual journey). I smiled and tried to feel spiritual about it, but I mostly wanted to attack people.
Aggravations aside, the B&B was a delight, and I got to see a good deal of San Sebastian which is very, very lovely.
Monday morning arrived rather insensitively (my how the Spanish like to honk their horns, as if I could ever forget they're there!) and I took the bus to Pamplona. The bus drove through some exceptional scenary and then as ever, dumped me in a crappy bus station with no information such as maps, or even a sign. Of the two ways I had to choose from, I inevitably went the wrong way, and for some time. It took me over an hour just to find the middle of the town, get my 'pilgrim's passport' from the Archbishop's palace (which was hiding behind a bullring) and discover the most wonderful sight in the world. The yellow arrow.
PART TWO
The humble yellow arrows mark the entire way from St Jean Pied du Port to Finisterre, though once you get to Galicia they are less helpful! They prevent you from wandering off down the wrong pony track, etc. Therefore, once you are on the road, life is simple. Follow the yellow arrows. That is all you have to do.
http://www.archicompostela.org/Peregrinos/Ingl%C3%A9s/La%20Compostela%20.htm
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