At the bar of the Okapi Taberna, I drink a café leche and eat pintxos. The bartender is busy, and frustrated by my lack of Spanish. Through the window across the street, on the second floor, I watch people learning to dance. A man ordering next to me notices too, and we smile at them together.
In the streets, people kick soccer balls, smoke cigarettes, and drink wine. The air is cool, and my knit mitts are not enough to keep my fingers warm as I write. Even back at the Aloha Hostel, with a cup of chamomile in my hands, I still cannot feel the tips of my fingers.
A young man staying at the hostel sits across from me, and we swap stories. Matt. He sets up temporary hostels for festivals all over the world, and is visiting Pamplona to prepare for San Fermines – the…
View original post 2,838 more words