November 7. Rest day in Saint-Palais.

After walking almost a straight week on what is becoming increasingly hilly and difficult terrain, it was time for a rest day to give the old tootsies a break. Scott and I took the opportunity to do a walking tour of the town, which is actually fairly small.

We get plain yogurt at every breakfast so I was pleasantly surprised when mine turned out to be strawberry. Scott was not pleasantly surprised to find was the usual plain yogurt. There was nothing on the packaging to suggest a flavor. Some of the yogurt here has an unpleasant stringy texture which we disguise with too much jam.

The Basque architecture is becoming very prominent but mostly i was taking a picture of the guys from the fish place outside with their huge pans. I managed to get closer on my way to do laundry.

Looked like paella. They were also cooking up mussels and a third pan of something unidentifiable.

He lives on the corner of a very busy intersection but somehow knew to stay off the road. An attention seeker, which Scott was happy to provide.

Never turn down a chichi / churro. But the dont use cinnamon here, only sugar…and the ubiquitous Nutella for dipping.

Today, I learned about a game called pelota born here in the Basque country and equivalent to hockey in Canada as a cultural game. The game itself is similar to racquetball but the racket is not flat but is curved so that it can cup the ball. The playing space is called a trinquet and the wall where you smash your ball is called a fronton. If you’ve heard of jai alai, it grew out of pelota.

Every large river had a series of mills along the river…the buildings on the right. They’ve now had apartments built on top.

I saw these pink pigeons painted all over town but I never learned the significance of them, unless they were for October Rose month?

This area changed hands many times and for about 300 years, this was the seat of kings and thus there was a mint here. I always appreciate the signage in English even in the small towns. They want to reach as many people as possible in sharing their history.. Pisses me off that Quebec refuses to use any English even in their museums.

I’ve happily crashed weddings before but this time I inadvertently went into the church just before a funeral. There were a few people talking around the gate but my first clue was the guest book by the door. But they were just opening up the church so I went in anyway to light my candle. The church altar area was beautifully painted with a gilt design that I had never seen before.

I thought it best that I light this candle for the Maman for whom the funeral was. As a note, we happened to be walking by after the service and the bells began rolling, so slowly…and so melancholy. I just had to record them but pointed away from the church.

Close by was a black pilgrim statue, similar to one we’d seen in La Coquille.

I told Scott that his Christmas gift to me would be to help Ruth and me build these insect homes for our yards. But don’t tell Ruth – it’s a surprise!

The tourist office is also the entrance to a garden, museum and the 30-bed pilgrim refuge (closed for the season).

These prints by a local artist were all from dried plant parts.

Not the best photo but we saw a lot of these European robins. Much cuter than our robins. He was in the garden courtyard of the museum.

I wish I could have captured this better. In all my years of visiting museums I have never seen a more beautiful mural depiction of a timeline of history. It wraps around the walls of a long rectangular room and start with pre-man and ends with modern pilgrims and “time yet to come”.

The World War 2 section represents people escaping over the Pyrenees into Spain.

Wooden pilgrim statues. The towns we are passing through have been important stopping routes for pilgrims for centuries.

Typically walking stick for support and warding off wild animals and brigands plus gourds for water.

The grocery store has photos of the local producers who supply their goods. Great idea for supporting local.

There are still signs of Basque tensions, with the French name of Saint Palais painted over, leaving only the Basque.

We had walked to the grocery store the night before in torrential rain and along a very busy road, and I was the recipient of a lovely big splash of muddy water on my newly washed pants. Yay. At least tonight it was only mildly damp.

A Compestelle brass plaque embedded in the road. Two Caminos meet in this town.