On Iggy, and waiting...(numero tres)

Alright, now  Iggy was crafting a plan.  A plan to bypass the whole priest thing, a plan to do things the easy way.  Now this plan was less crafty - more crazy, or perhaps just to do with the follies of youth.  You judge:

• He gave up on the ladies! He gave up on gambling!
  
• There was an incident where a donkey showed better judgement than he - actually not so surprising considering the superb judgement displayed by the donkeys of the day.
• There was an embarrassing incident near a shrine to the Virgin Mary during which he removed all of his clothes...
• He spent some time in a hospital tending to the sick, and during his breaks he went down to the river to 'have visions' and write his 'masterwork.'
• And finally, in an effort to achieve saint-like behavior he tired to out-do all of the saints who had come before - extreme penitence.  It never really took off as a spiritual practice.  It also left him with many chronic health problems.
  

Very typical of a young person seeking change, Iggy´s 'easy' plan turned out to be less than easy.  Once Iggy got over some fervor, and relaxed, he chose another path.  If he couldn´t get admission to seminary with the marks that he had, he would try something that would be sure to bring at least a laugh (as it did for Adam Sandler), if not his desired result.  He returned to grammar school...

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Whhhhew!  619 steps and then a hill!

The sun beat down upon my unprotected head, and a trail of sweat was making it´s way down my back.  Squinting at the valley below, nerves took a seat at my table.  If I couldn´t handle a climb to the citadel of St. Jean Pied de Port without tiring, how was I going to do 27k and a 1430m pass over the Pyrenees tomorrow?

I decided to find a tree and sit for a moment.  Sitting in the shade of a tree is an age old method of solving problems.  I rounded the citadel, found a grove of trees, sat down and unpacked some food.

<A few hours before, I´d asked a shopkeeper to help me find a meal to eat with the cherries she had sitting in a big barrel on the floor.  What she handed me was a bag filled with delicious Basque fare: dry ham, sheep´s cheese, dark soft bread, the fresh cherries, and a bar of chocolate - 'my best lunch for the sun!' she said smiling brightly.>

I rolled the stone of a cherry in my mouth and stared at the grasses, the flowers, the river, the sheep whose bells echoed through the hills.  The balmy air ruffled my hair.  I closed my eyes.

Later that evening, in the deep cool passage of the farmhouse where I was lodging, I tried to relate my plan for the next day to the innkeeper.  She nodded her silver-haired head quite a lot and said many things in Euskara that were lost to me.

I gathered that I should heed her advice.  The key should be left on the table next to the front door.  I was to be sure to drink all of the coffee and eat all of the bread that she left for me before I departed, and I was to take my time and have courage on my Camino...
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Lindy