Day 8 Logroño to Najera: Feet Fight Back!

Grapes for the world´s Rioja wines
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After a night sleeping on gym mats, you´d think I´d have been anxious to get out of Logrono, but my feet were still dragging.  We had close to 30 km again, to Najera.  The German volunteer "hospitalieros" (albergue managers) had treated us well, providing both dinner and breakfast.  Their Friends of the Camino group staffs this albergue during the summer, with 2 volunteers each staying 2 weeks, to be replaced by another pair.  They were gracious in trying conditions - one shower for men, one for women, for instance, and 24 of us slept there that night.  I wanted to donate more so it could continue.

Baby grape vines, protected from the elements. I had to take a look, since it looked like they were growing plastic pipes!
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Anyway, Pierre and I set out for Najera.  First stop, Navarette, where we ran into Graham and his daughter-in-law.  Graham was one of the Orisson group from our very first day.  He was alone then, but Runhilde joined him in Logroño.  On we trudged to Ventosa, Pierre a good half hour ahead by this time.

Spanglish??

The scenery was grapes as far as the eye could see.  Young grapes, old grapes, brand new grapes.  All for the famous Rioja Wine.  Chances are, if you order Spanish red wine, outside of Spain, it will be from La Rioja.

Inside each pipe, a grape is born...
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At Ventosa, I decided my feet hurt too much to continue that day.  But Ventosa is a tiny town with a bar and a small albergue, so I decided to take a taxi to Najera, to see what I could do about my feet.  When I took my shoes off, and saw the blisters on my inside heels, I realized just what had been hurting for the past several hours!  The taxi cost €30, by this time I realized that in that area, it was more than a night in a hotel, but it was blessedly fast, and I arrived in Najera in 15 minutes.

On to Azofra
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I got to the Hotel Hispano, where the restaurant owner in Ventosa had phoned for a reservation for me, and decided I would wash some clothes.  The room had a balcony, and some previous occupant, no doubt another pilgrim, had fashioned a dental floss clothesline.  It seemed a pity not to use it!  So I went down to the restaurant/ bar managed by the same family who owned the hotel.  One of the sons, behind the bar, behind the bar seemed to speak a little English, so I asked if he had any soap for washing clothes.  Turns out he didn´t speak THAT much English, so I tried in Spanish.  I had been spoiled by having Pierre do the talking, since he is so good with it.  Well, those Spanish speakers among you will appreciate that I asked for "sopa para lavandar la ropa" (soup for washing clothes)!  Fortunately, they did in fact give me soap and not soup, but when I got back to the room, I realized that "soap" is in fact "jabon."  Oh, well...

I bought a needle to lance my blisters, and set to work at my operating table.  By the time Pierre arrived a few hours later, I had pretty well cleaned them and dressed them, but I knew I should see a doctor.  We had seen a "Clinica del Pie" (Foot Clinic) sign, so I decided to go in the morning.  Pierre went with me, but decided to walk on to the next Albergue in Azofra, only about 6 km away.

So, when I saw the doctor, I was on my own.  I had my dictionary -- not much in the medicine section beyond diarrhea and stomach cramps, so no help there.  The doctor spoke no English, though she admitted she had studied it in school.  I guess we spoke Spanglish.  She showed me what to do to properly dress my blisters, and sold me some supplies to help me do it right.  The main advice?  Don´t walk so far!

So I was off to Azofra, only a couple miles away.  More grape vines, more dreams of red wine.