We have moved north to Loarre, a small village in the foothills of the Pyrenees. Loarre is famous for its castle, sitting higher on the hill above us. There is a windstorm on. Our small home wheezes and shudders but is warm, solid, and quiet. Today we will travel further north. Over the Pyrenees, to Pamplona, famous for the running of the bulls, and then on to Bilbao, famous for Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim, which we will visit today. It has a world-class contemporary sculpture collection.
We tramp around, poking here and there, one lane roads and narrower tiny village streets old as Rome itself. If Spain is anything, it is ancient. Western Europe was built in stone, and those relics still lie as ruins across the landscape. I imagine meeting those who stood looking at what they had built, often a tiny hamlet, but a fortress against nature, which even now blows against me. Humans build shelter. We are in the same process ourselves, our home being built away in Beulah Land, a small hamlet at the end of a narrow lane. We live in common efforts, shelter, safety, warmth. From Loarre. Lee
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| Our place is down this narrow street to the left. |
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| Coming out of the Pyrenees. |
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