I keep thinking it's Tuesday

It was a cartoon I never actually saw but which tickled my mum. Two hippos submerged in their mud bath, just nostrils and eyes showing and the legend has one saying to the other, "Do you know, I keep thinking it's Tuesday." It became a a catchphrase for my mum. At this point on the trip pilgrims have lost track of what day it is and how many days they've been walking.

The best part of the day is walking by 8am when the sun is just lighting the sky. The colours of the landscape gradually deepen from the pale hues of day break. Over the last few days from the lush growth of the Pyrenees the landscape has been becoming gradually more arid, more dry earth and more scrubby bushes, but no less beautiful. Also overt the past few days conversations have deepened (perhaps like the roots of the trees and plants) . More things have been shared and questions asked, including, "So John the Baptist was really Jesus' cousin?"

More churches are open today, being Sunday and so we call in on a few.

We stop at a river, some to bathe feet, others for a swim and on to the next town where Matthias decides he has swallowed some river water and must drink whiskey as a medical emergency. The rest of us press on. We arrive at Estella at a pretty good time and I decide that the Casa Parochial is a good bet as I should easily be able to arrange to celebrate mass. I haven't made any fuss about being a priest, but people ask and I now get the feeling from a number of conversations that there would be quite a few pilgrims, with all sorts of varied relationships to the church, who might be drawn in were there an easy opportunity. I would willingly say mass were it easy, but do far it has not been. A priest had told me beforehand of his experience of Refugio guardians delightedly opening up churches and encouraging pilgrims to go to mass. I can only say that has not been my experience so far. I had hoped that I might pitch up at a place, offer to say mass, and then put up a simple notice: "Mass in English, 6pm, in the church, Tony". And I think a fair few of the pilgrims with whom I talk would like to come. Today the volunteer at the parochial hostel said, "But it's Sunday! All Churches in Spain are closed from lunchtime on Sunday. Maybe you can celebrate mass tomorrow." And so, after exploring all other options, I end up celebrating mass with a Canadian called Chris on a picnic table behind the parochial hostel.

Mad hot today: 32c. Estella is a fine town but sadly shut for business: a place to return to.