It has been unseasonably hot in this part of the world the past few weeks with temperatures regularly over 100 degrees in Pamplona, so we were happy to see the forecast showing things returning to normal in time for our arrival. Our celebration may have been a bit premature as a solid night of thunderstorms and torrential rain have reinforced that you have to be careful what you wish for. I’m no fan of hiking in brutal heat but, given the option, I think I’d take it over grinding out 15 miles in squishy shoes with a possibility of getting struck by lightening.

The next couple of days are showing more of the same so I’m hoping that means relatively benign days with the worst of it reserved for while we sleep. Either way, we’ve got a schedule to keep so it is what it is.

We don’t have many essential tasks on the agenda today, mostly just a visit to the Pilgrim’s Office to pick up our Credencials. It only opens for a few hours each day, which gives us some free time to explore inside the old city walls, testing our legs a little on the short hike up to the citadel that overlooks the valley.

When the office finally opens, with our Credencials we get a bit of disconcerting news regarding the section of the Camino we are about to embark on. As we West-coasties are all too familiar with, the heat has brought with it forest fires and there is talk of the trail being closed from Roncesvalles to Logroño, a meaty 133km chunk of our journey. The rain and cooling temperatures have people a bit more optimistic but we won’t know for sure until we get to Roncesvalles tomorrow afternoon.

Last on the agenda is stocking up on a few provisions for the path ahead. As F-Bomb will be going by bus with our larger bags, it is, thankfully, just these snacks, water, and some layers that we have to haul over the mountains. One intersting thing we spot is that, like the tar-coated lungs they put on the front of cigarettes, they seem to have a requirement here showing what can happen to your kids when you give them apple juice. I think it is called Sam’s Law.

We have arrived. It is a tired, disheveled bunch that finally spills out of the car and onto the sidewalk but the worst part of the journey is now over.

After a small hiccup getting into the apartment we have rented here for the next two nights (apparently the older owner of place sometimes forgets that he has rented it and his daughter gets to scramble to let people in). It is a huge place – 3 bedrooms – and just a short walk from the center of town so will be a good base of operations to adjust to the time zone, pick up our Credencials (the passport you have stamped along the trail to record the journey) and take care of any last minute gear changes.

These few days will be all time we spend in France. We are thankful for this as we have quickly realized that unless we meet someone here named Monsieur Thibault, four years of high school french was wasted on us. From here, it is straight up over the Pyrenees, so F-Bomb will be skipping that leg and heading to Pamplona with the luggage for a fews days of R&R.

And so it begins.

I’m not sure if it is just the adrenaline wearing off after a wave of graduation ceremonies and getting Sam out the door for his summer semester in Rome, or a sudden realization of the magnitude of hiking 480 miles but, at this moment, I am feeling like, this time, perhaps we have bitten off a little more than we can chew. This is an entirely new experience for me – how interesting. Nevertheless, prepaid flights and hotel rooms are an exceptional motivator so another adventure begins.

With Sam (aka Limber Ern) setting up shop in the Eternal City, the team consists of: yours truly; Nick (who needs a trail name), Blueberry Joe; and the legendary F-Bomb. Following a 24-hour journey that will take us from Seattle to Paris, on to Biarritz, and final days by car to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, we’ll be hiking the Camino Frances route of the Camino de Santiago. Over the course of 32 days we’ll cover 790km, crossing over the Pyrenees, and passing through Pamplona, Burgos, León, and countless other Spanish villages on our way to Santiago de Compostela (which was the starting point for last years hike to Finisterre). If all goes well, we’ll make it just in time for our next scheduled flight and meet up with Sam and stack the pounds back on with all of the great food he has been sending us pictures of.

It’s daunting but we’re excited to have this opportunity with the boys. The say the journey of a thousand miles (which is actually quite fitting in this case) begins with one step so here goes…

For as down as I felt checking into our resort roughly a week ago you would think I have some extra bounce in my step piling our luggage into the car to leave it behind. Nope. The place has kind of grown on me and I feel just as down this morning.

Nevertheless, time waits for no man and we need to make our way to Málaga in time to see a few sights, return our rental car, and catch the evening train back to Madrid. Roughly this time tomorrow we’ll be sitting in an airport waiting for our long flight home. Pobre tomate.

Our one schedule event is the Picasso Museum (no, you’re not back reading the Barcelona post). Picasso was born in Málaga so it is probably natural that there is a museum here dedicated to his work. It is smaller than the one in Barcelona (although the seem to have crammed in the same number of people) and more of the pieces are from later in his. It is nice to see a different side but, of the two, I found the Barcelona museum more enjoyable (wow, I really did just compare my experience walking through multimillion dollar buildings housing hundred of millions of dollars of art – I’ve become a bit of a douche).

With museum checked off the list, we spend some time just wandering through the streets of Málaga. It is one of the oldest continuously occupied cities in the world, having passed through rule by the Phonecians, Romans, Visigoths, Moors, and, finally, Christians. I’m not sure where I would have pulled them from, but I could definitely have spent a few more days here. There is a good feel to the place even though we only get to do drive bys of the Alcazaba, Roman ruins, plazas, and cathedral.

It is with a heavy heart that we find the perfect gift for Sam here (yes, better than “Monkey in Suit”), but realize there is just no way it will fit in our bags.

As our time comes to a close (not just the train we need to catch but, man, it gets friggin’ cold here once the sun goes down around 6 o’clock), we’re able to squeeze in one more great meal and a celebratory jug o’ juice. Spain, it has been an awesome four weeks.

The days are ticking by pretty quickly now. It seems like a lifetime ago that we were grinding our way through the forests of Galicia, and even longer since we stared down at the old town from the turret atop the castle in Segovia. We have packed a lot into a fairly short period of time, but we know that time is soon coming to an end.

This is our last day in Marbella and we decide to take advantage of one final sunny day to walk down the beach.

Part way, we come across a long stretch of sand dunes that look deserted. To be sure, my trusty sidekick sends me up to see if I can flush anything out. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective) just a few birds emerge from the tall grass.

By this point we’ve covered a fair amount of distance and, as if on cue, come upon a small beach bar, the perfect place to rest a bit and enjoy a couple of cool ones.

The beach goes on for miles and, for some reason, things to me seem closer than they are. Rather than returning to our hotel where there is little to choose from, I come up with a grand plan to continue on into the main town of Marbella, arriving just in time for a nice lunch.

16,000 steps is still the death zone for my experienced pilgirm, particularly without Stickey and L’il Stickey to help her along. Town ends up being closer to 20,000, but for the last 4,000 I only hear words of encouragement. I think they were “Let’s go, Chad”, but I can’t say for sure.

Was it all worth it, you ask? Three words – six coil churro.

Out front of our hotel is a beach. Some loungers. A few umbrellas. More importantly, swimsuits. This will do just fine.

The closer we get to the end of our Spain adventure the more it feels like we should take the foot off the gas a little and just enjoy having no responsibilities. Today is that day and our destination is a spot just a few miles down the coast where Google tells us there is a great beach that is a throwback to Marbella before the condos came. Sounds good to me.

We park at a small marina and just a few steps south is exactly what we’ve been promised. Ahead of us is calm, open ocean with empty beach as far as we can see in either direction.

A few more degress of temperature would be the cherry on top, but we’re plenty content enough just listening to the waves, knocking of a few chapters on the Kindle, and partaking of a few well-deserved catnaps.

To the north of the marina, there is another beach and, after a bite we decide to check that one out. It is quite a bit busier, with a handful of restaurants, a massage place or two, and some live, albeit mediocre, music. This beach also stretches on for quite a ways, with a large area of dunes keeping the builders well back from the water’s edge. All in all, a nice place for a walk.

Now it turns out that dunes provide all kinds of natural depressions where you can lay out a towel, protected from the wind and blowing sand. All the more important here as these particular dunes are populated by people with sensitive crevices otherwise unprotected. It gives new meaning to the phrase “sun’s out, gun’s out”.

My fellow adventurer, not far removed from a spiritual pilgimage is aghast. “Nobody wants to see other people’s junk!” she says, and proceeds to describe exactly what was offensive about each piece on display. And yes, if you are standing naked at the top of a dune with both of your arms behind your head, it’s a display.

Of course going north means we have to go back south the return to our car and I think we may be getting close to our step count limit as the rest of the teams seems to have slowed down considerably. Not far now though, just past these dunes.

Sometimes we are really stupid. We have decided that today is the day to make the drive to Granada and see the Alhambra. It is about two hours from Marbella, which, now that I have mastered the art of driving in Spain, is a piece of cake. It is a bright, sunny day, traffic is light, and the scenery driving up into the mountains is a pleasant change. As we ease into our parking spot, it is hard to imagine the morning going any better.

Stepping into 44 degree weather snaps one back to reality pretty quickly. For rough context, Granada sits about 30km from a ski resort. We’re coming from the beach of course, and not thinking it wise to check the weather are finely decked out in sandals and shorts. Alhambra is the most visited place in Spain and there are hundreds of people around us. I see plenty of puffy down coats, scarves, and boots, but nowhere do I see another pair of shorts. On a positive note, it looks like we can expect it to get eight degrees warmer yet. This could be a long day.

Alhambra is a palace/fortress complex dating back to the 1200s (some elements preceded that, but it was that time frame when things really got poppin’). For 200 years it was a Muslim stronghold, creating a mix of Islamic architecture and the Renaissance style in vogue at the time Ferdinand and Isabella pushed them out in 1492.

Let’s go in.

The main attraction (the only one you have a timed ticket for anyways) is the Nasrid Palaces. These date back to the 14th century, with successive rulers expanding buildings, adding courtyards, and otherwise one-upping those that came before them.

Next to the palaces sits the Alcazaba, the oldest part of the complex and original fortress. There is not much left of it other than the outer walls and towers, but a few flights of stairs gets you some great views of the city below and, yay, selfies!

A short walk away sits another palace called the Generalife. It was the summer palace of the Nasrid rulers, which I can’t quite figure out since it sits only a few hundred yards away from the main palace. Perhaps when you’re that rich you just want a palace where you can enjoy a great view of your other palace.

As a royal getaway, the Generalife goes heavier on the gardens and other outdoor spaces, although almost all of them have been redone over the centuries leaving little of the original design.

Far below, we can see the old city and figure it is worth the short cab ride down to have some lunch and pop in to yet one more cathedral. What more can I say at this point – it’s a cathedral.

As we hit the street once again we’re starting to lose the sun and with it the few degrees that separate nippley from downright cold. We hike back up to the Alhambra (props to my fearless navigator) and head back south.

I’m not sure how to explain it but I wake up every morning here and my muscles feel incredibly loose, almost like they’ve been rubbed down with some kind of relaxant. Maybe it’s the sea air.

There is absolutely nothing to report today as we made it no further than the pool. The weather has changed now and, while there is nothing but sun in the forecast for the rest of our trip, fall has arrived in the south of Spain and the temperatures won’t make it out of 60s again. If you find a good spot with no wind and turn your chain to face the sun though, it is just warm enough to stretch out and partake of a good book. So we do.

I am a bad traveling companion when I feel trapped. There I said it. Knowing this one tiny weakness, my events coordinator has scheduled an outing to Mijas, a small town up in the hills overlooking the coast. It feels like a bit of a stretch but, with the weather still only so-so, it is hands down a better option than flicking through all of the foreign language channels on the TV again, hoping that I’ll find the English one I somehow missed the previous ten times.

Apparently, Mijas is famous for donkey taxis. Walking out of the parking garage, I assumed that, somehow, the locals heard we were coming and knew of my fellow adventurer’s penchant for donkey’s on hilly terrain so made appropriate arrangements. Alas no, this is simply a taxi stand in these parts.

I have to admit, Mijas has a good feel about it. Up in the hills mass construction has yet to arrive and the views are fantastic.

There is also an old, small town bullfighting ring that you can wander through.

Good to see they have reserved seating for me should I ever make it back on game day.

There is also plenty of shopping here (woohoo!) and we manage to find a few souvenirs for the boys before piling back in the car and heading back down to the coast. Overall, a good, relaxing day which, some might say, is what vacation is all about.