An intimate time was held in the small and only  bar in town (a Spanish bar has a bar selling mostly wine, beer and soft drinks with some tapas, cakes and croissants with an eating area where you have meals as described in an earlier post).Twenty five walkers were the only guests of dad and his two sons as groups of Germans, French, Spanish, Americans and us spent some hours swapping stories and talking ‘walking’. From this tiny town of St Juan we headed off to the very big town of Burgos and two villages later out of the budding Oak forest was the most delightful cafe. With low timber beams, three levels around secret corners there were different counters for fruit, hot drinks and snacks. The owner seemed to mysteriously appear just when you thought he wouldn’t. We left reluctantly to climb a steep hill with large uneven rocks challenging our eyes at every moment. On the way down the other side we met a Canadian who showed an interest in Parkinsons while the relative of the Aussie I met yesterday is now following my blog and also gave a welcome donation. As well as our Canadian companion, we spent the last laps home with an engaging  Swiss girl into the large city of Burgos, which lies in the province (I’ve been saying region) of its own name,Burgos. It is known for its archaeological digs where one million year old human remains have been found as well as a tenth century Spanish language

We’re having our first ‘walk-free day’ tomorrow so will be staying in the architectural wonderland of Burgos for two nights. We asked a Spaniard for directions to our old worldly five-star-looking, one-star-paying hotel, and as past experience has showed us, he walked us 1km to its majestic entrance. Our hungry stomachs sensed out the crowded medieval’ street of bars’ for the last day of  ‘the week of tapas’. We bumped (the Spanish don’t mind being bumped) our way through ‘the floor of used serviettes’ to a ‘bench of delights’.

Until tomorrow