They could go to Pamplona-Veleia to go back in History, they could go to discover the strange landscape of Añana, or, through the salt flats, to the natural park of Valderejo, but the Traveller, in order to avoid the macro-prison that is being built in Pamplona Oka, left aside the main road and took his friend to Urizahar, overlooking Treviño. He did not know the way to Mount Toloño; he only knew that, when they had come down from there, they would have another friend waiting for them in Bastida, and then they would go on together.

Although they mentioned the rusty Treviño affair and the summer fire in the car, as they walked, the traveler praised Manu Leguineche’s book The Club of the Misdemeanors. “For him, not complaining and not saying bad things about people rejuvenates him.” The friend added that he then understood why he had found the Traveler so rejuvenated and whether he cared about leaving the book. “I have the Nightingale book, but talking well about friends doesn’t mean trusting them...” There

was a gentle southern wind, and the mountaineers were inadvertently rising. There were road signs, stay, but they followed their instincts, to the south, as if they were passing through the birds at some point. Before long, they visited the sanctuary, built in the 14th century, and the snow house, next to the summit of Toloño. To the north, they admired the golden colour of the thrones and beech trees, while to the south, the tapestry of wine crossed by the Ebro River.

“Once, during a round table, the painters Zumeta, Ameztoi and Goenaga joined together; they began to talk, babbling and stumbling, even the three of them, recognizing that they could not explain their painting, that their words were colorless, canceled the event.” The friend was indirectly aware that the Traveler was asking for silence, but unable to retain his tongue in the pimp, he soon confessed to him that he regretted not knowing how to fly in the paragliding, which is to say, not to be more avian. The traveler pointed to the Church Tower of Lanciego on that large postcard and searched for it on his mobile phone. “You are not the only one,” he began, and finding the photo he was looking for, “here is the memorial of the church tower there: On February 10, 1881, St. Mision was thrown in the street by the bell Jerónimo Ugarte of 11 years of age, and he did not receive any serious injuries.” And yet, the Friend kept within himself the fact that the Traveler would consider it a disgrace: during the time of the child, he fell from the fourth floor through the stairwell, “and did not receive a great injury”; not to mention the terrible vertigo that has affected him since then, he praised the film Between Cups. “In the vineyards of California, two friends, one on the eve of the wedding... I have a DVD, but talking well about friends does not imply trusting them...” When they

arrived at San Ginés Park, the Bastides took them by moaning. I see you rejuvenated!” Friend The traveler was told: “You know, it’s good to talk about people well and not complain.” And hoping that the wine would accentuate this gift, they turned to the wineries of Erremelluri. However, the Bastard had previously cornered the car on the side of the track and showed them the necropolis of the old village of Erremelluri and a dolare rupee to get the must.

In the wineries, the Traveller paid little attention to the introductory video; the future aroused his greatest curiosity. However, he was amazed at the slow and laborious process of the wine; he was surprised to learn that, in order to take care of the barrels there, they bring the barrels of Bordeaux and Asturias: “But their descendants are no longer attached to this profession, and in about ten years we will have to use steel barrels ourselves...” And his astonishment peaked as they reached the dark cellar they considered the Wine Cemetery: “This is where we store a few rare bottles of each season or harvest to see how they age.” The friend, mocking, said upside down that he would stay there, and under his mouth: “With this charming guide, of course.”

During the tasting at the end of the visit, the Traveller did not dare to say that he liked more and more the white, or simply the good wine of the year, because in Remelluri, neither yearbook nor mushroom, only wines of great reserve and reserve are made. In addition, he wanted to go there as soon as possible: the longed-for chapel. As they walked, the Traveller noticed the Basque inscription on the porch of a building: “Any beautiful bird its nest.” The traveller knew that in the hermitage he would find six works of art about the Saints and an apocryphal image about paradise, which he had seen for the last few hours in the KM of San Sebastián, but he was excited to see them in their natural location. On the altar, there was Saint Vincent –with the same lustful face as the painter Vincent Ameztoi–, on the sides Saint Gines, Saint Sabina... –all with the faces of relatives or acquaintances–, and there was the paradise: the gorged monkey, the serpent, Adam and Eve; the image was magnified in the picture, in a kind of television on the right, and the mark of the device Don Quixirron, the sign of the monument, marked 59 hours, but the first time to enjoy it. “Apparently, Adam and Eve were only in paradise for seven hours.” Just before leaving the

chapel, the Traveller read aloud the sign on the top of the door: “Psalm and wine open the heart of man,” and as they all agreed, they returned for another drink. In the evening, the Traveller recalled the statement he had read to Atxaga: “On sunny days this environment seems Italian and Basque, on the contrary, in rainy days”, or Leguinecherena, who moved from Bizkaia to Brihuega in Guadalajara: “That’s what I was looking for when I came down from cirimiti to wheat.” But, above all, he remembered another phrase from his book: “Life is ratic.” Indeed, in such a company, the world was awakened by such fine works of art, that for a moment other afflictions and misfortunes were forgotten.

Getting in the car and starting to sing was one. Han venido (bis), two from Bilbao; there bebido (bis), one and a half, good race is that for both sides; good couple is that for the pig's block. The Traveler, however, was moved by the ochre of the landscape, and found it significant how little La Rioja has been reflected in us – Luisa Etxenike’s Wine, Julio Medem’s Land, and these in Spanish – and renewed his lifelong vision that, even without going far, time takes another measure when traveling, experiences and feelings multiply.

Before lunch, ‘They went back in history again, despite being around 3,400 years old, they discovered it 75 years ago in the town of La Hoya, next to the Guardia. Both the reconstructions of a house and the tools, weapons and beauty tools of the time seemed spectacular to them, but above all they were enchanted by the enthusiastic performance of the Vitoria-Gasteiz guide Alberto. They saw the skeleton of the man killed in an attack—no head and an arrow on his chest—and/or they knew that the defeated warriors had their heads cut off, and that they had used it as an ornament on spears, horses, or on doorways, and that even if the warriors were incinerated, the children were buried in the house itself. And the Traveler was also renewed by the disturbing feeling that combines autumn and death within him.

The Judit de Valdelana wine for lunch was selected: “Cheers for the wine. It's wine: vasodilator, sedative, diuretic, fat absorption aid, good cholesterol stimulant. It helps to prevent or repel diseases such as Alzheimer’s, cancer, heart attacks, cardiovascular pathology, eye diseases, hypertension.” Drinks to the cup, for a moment the Bastard admonished the Friend, thinking that he was getting too close to the servant, but he, then: “Don’t worry, I’ve grown so old a long time ago that I doubt I’ve become a female.” It was a rich

meal and it became clear that the wine, in addition to the benefits of the label, had the gift of opening the heart. But it was also unexpected, for while the Traveller was tasting the dark chocolate with oil and salt, the Friend, who had come from the bathroom, said to them: “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to finish the journey together. I have an appointment with the waiter.
The guard is supposed to show me the wetlands on the side, and the hedgehog to Hechice...” The traveler began to grin, he had also seen the movie Between Cups, and the laughter spread to everyone. He ordered another bottle, white this time. He hadn’t had a drink after lunch for a long time and, continuing with wine, he barely had a hangover. “Biba tu!” he said to the Friend, and they made a toast to them. “For those who seek charity, let’s make a club!” added the Friend. The traveler, more and more conversant, brought to the subject the theory of moments, but the debate arose as to whether these moments in the world, in total, reach the completion of seven hours...