Profile
Blog
Photos
Videos
Hmm..I gather this blog thing is supposed to be a bit more frequent. And indeed, I thought it would be, and have been busily composing detailed entries for every day I have been With tantalizing titles and everything. However, the WiFi is not quite as accessible as had been suggested to me, at least not in this stage of the game and in the villages this small, so I have waited till the bustling Pamplona to bring you up to speed. Apologies for the compressed version, but since the long entries would have likely made your eyes dry up from looking at the screen so long, this is probably for the best.
So hi from Pamplona, and yes I have walked here from France! I can hardly believe it myself, to be honest. There have been a lot of up and downs, both physical and otherwise, but it is such an absorbing world , I can hardly believe I was at work a week ago today. My life now is walk, shower, eat, sleep, in more or less that order.
When I arrived in Madrid and trained up to Pamplona, I was greeted there by a pension owner who picked me up and would drive me to the starting point at St. Jean Pied de Port the next day. As it happened, two women who had just come down from the mountain were staying there as well. They had a lot of helpful counsel, including encouraging me to go up the mountain Saturday, instead of my scheduled start of Sunday, but not all at once. It was good advice...I was jetlagged and fatigued and needed to ease into this a little. They also suggested I get walking poles, which was also excellent advice.
THE HARD WAY
The next day, bright and early and right out of the pilgrim store with my freshly stamped Pilgrim Credencial in hand, I set off out of the pretty, medieval town of SJPP and followed the scallop shells outside the town gate, where blue and yellow scallop markers and yellow arrows became my new guides. There are two ways to get to the first stop of Roncesvalles in Spain from St. Jean : up over the mountain, or a lower road around it. Naturally I took the harder way, up. I started up the mountain, which is indeed as steep as warned, and was scheduled to stop at the first hostel 5Km up, where I had a bed booked. However, that first 5K, while hard won, seemed to come too soon...so I pushed on to the only other stop on the mountain, the auberge Orisson at 8K. If you don´t have a spot here -- and I didn't -- you either go back down, or do the whole 18K push up and over...not a prospect I relished given the lateness of the day, and my own tiredness.
When I got up to the pretty mountain lodge, they were indeed full up. However, I´d heard that around 2, if people who had reservations didn´t start showing up, they would give spots to whomever was there. I made a point of looking haggard and near death (a fine bit of Method acting), and luckily they took pity on me and gave me a spot. I spent a lovely evening enjoying sunset over the mountains and a Basque cake dessert amid a few dozen other pilgrims sharing the accommodations. At dinner we were invited to stand up and introduce ourselves, where we were from, etc. Little did I realize that because we were walking along roughly the same schedule, I´d be seeing a lot of these people over the next 30 odd days. I´m lucky it was a nice bunch, even if I can't communicate with half of them because of language barriers.Having French at least definitely helps. (Ukrainian has not proved necessary.)
WHAT GOES UP....
Sunday dawned crisp and bright, and we all woke up at 630 to prepare, have breakfast, and set out. It was a lot of up, for a long time....gradual in some places, but you definitely knew you were moving up the Pyrenees. There is a statue of the Virgin Mary that we caught in brilliant 9 am light overlooking the clouds below. (repeat: the CLOUDS were BELOW) and then continued on to the summit, where horses grazed and a lone Basque guy ran a food truck on the empty road selling snacks to pilgirms weary of walking for two and a half hours. From there came the long, slow descent, through a beech forest reminiscent of a Group of Seven painting, spring snows (that I got stuck in up to my thighs), and a rambling winding road down to Roncesvalles, Spain. Because, after all, somewhere up there we had crossed a border. Very refreshing to do that without needing paperwork or a TSA bodyscan.
Because Roncesvalles is mostly an old monastery, and a starting point for pilgrims who don´t want to do the mountain, it is basically a pilgrim processing factory. The albergue, or residence, is massive : row after row of IKEA style bunk beds, wonderful new shower and laundry facilities, and the option to have a pilgrim (ie discount) meal at one of the two local restaurants. We collectively bathed and unwound after our 6/7 hour walks over challenging terrain, and several of us made the 6 pm Mass where we received the Pilgrim Blessing. As usual, the non'Catholics were the ones most awed and moved by the service, but even an old hand like me appreciated the sentiment of getting a good wish for our journey.
I HATE THIS ALREADY
I set out on Monday morning at 7:30 am all chipper, if underslept (I forgot I needed earplugs to deal with the snorers in the shared space) and at what I thought was a lively pace. However, I soon started to get disheartened to see people passing me, even though it is not a race, and it´s not important how fast you go. Also, my ankles were hurting, and my pack seemed heavier than ever. Also, I was still tired. And as the sun climbed and the heat rose, the 22K to our destination of Zubiri started to feel impossibly far away. How the hell am I going to do this for a month if I can't even do today? It didn´t help that I accidentally missed a marker and went off along the wrong trail into a forest for a while...I only lost an hour, but it was an hour that was critical to my spirits as I returned to the right road and found myself doing another endless climb. By the time I descended into Zubiri, I'd been going for about 9 hours, with little food and a lotta pain. I got one of the last spots in the local albergue amid two dozen others in my room and spent my night washing socks and nursing my aching calves and ankles, before turning into bed. At least I finally got my full night´s sleep that I hadn´t had in a week, complete with deep heavy dreams. That helped.
THE WALKING OF THE PILGRIMS
Today I tried to do some things differently before I set out. I stretched. I had breakfast - a not the bread that seems to persist in all forms in Spanish breakfasts, but some high protein oatmeal I had dragged along.I also popped an Advil. And indeed, all of that plus the good sleep and foot massages seemed to help. I chugged along nicely all day, through damp riverside forests and down slippery stone paths, over bridges and through mud, up hills and under highways, all the way to Pamplona. Only at the end of the 7 hour, 22 K walk was I starting to flag and get cranky, but luckily the hostel where I decided to splurge and get something a little better than the basic municiipally run dorms I´ve been staying at redeemed my whole day. I met some acquaintances there, and we marvelled at the super modern space agey train bunk style bed cabins that were inside a medieval street facade in the old city. It was a delight to hang out, and go out for 2 Euro pintxos and wine at various places around town ..seems Tuesday night is THE night to be out on the town here!
Tomorrow I head another 22-25K to Punta de la Reina, the Bridge of the Queen, which is another place that is used to receiving pilgrims. I am very glad today was such a better day, and that I reached a major city, because now it feels like we are actually GOING toward somewhere, not just sort of hiking around. So as long as the blisters hold off and the ankles hold up, I should be good all the way to Santiago!
Some random thoughts to fill in the blanks:
-- There is a wild preponderance of Canadians on the Camino...it's the only place besides Cuba that I have been to where you are far likelier to find a Canuck than a Yank, though there are a lot of them too. I was wondering why this was, and laughingly wondered if it was connected to ski culture. The lifestyle is very much the same: get up early, do your thing, stop, shower, eat, rest, and just hang out until it is time to go to sleep and do it all again. It´s very much the same routine.
-- This is supposed to be a spiritual or religious pilgrimage, but the first few days all you heard from me of that nature was "Jesus Christ!" or "oh my GOD" at every new bloody hill we´d enounter. However, you do start to appreciate both your strength, and your vulnerability...one misstep could end your Camino with a twisted ankle, broken leg, or worse...there are enough crosses at random points along the Way to remind you that people die at any moment going along. That fragility starts to make you appreciate caution, and fate. Now when people ask, "Where is your next stop?" I say, "X Town...I hope". It´s only a short hop from there to "God willing", and then you start to see how people want to believe in something out there supporting their journey.
-- After three days of trails and villages, it was odd to come into the outskirts of Pamplona today and suddenly have to start looking for markers in an urban setting. You start to realize there are yellow arrows spraypainted on poles and signs, randomly, like secret graffiti -- or hobo signs. It's a whole new way to approach a city and notice these things.
-- I´ve met some great people along the Way. One is a girl who lives not only in my part of Toronto, but was on my street for a while. There is David from Vancouver, Wendy from Australia, the stepson and stepdad from Minnesota travelling together...tons of people with great stories and personalities. One of my favourite encounters was when I stopped at a fountain to get water, and a voice yelled,. "PILGRIM, pilgrim" . It was this woman from Korea with big sunglasses and pink tights and purple shoes, and she accosted me with friendly, broken English and walked with me a while. Kim from Korea is 51 but doesn´t look it, and she´s crazy but fun...she told people she was from North Korea and worked for Kim Jong Il and people took photos of her till she laughed and told them she was kidding. She is fixated on losing weight and talks about it fine, even though she appears to be a healthy size and looks 35. Much of her conversation is at a semi-holler, and she calls me Machilda because she can't pronounce my name. I haven't seen her since yesterday, but she is hilarious and weird.
-- My iPhone and its music collection are big helpers in getitng me through the long days, and I'm starting a little playlist of songs that come on at particularly opportune times, or that sum up the day. Here´s what I have so far:
-Fall Down or Fly, Lindi Ortega . The lyrics struck me at the top of the mountain and really fit where I was at in the push...I liked that a lot.
-Burnt By The Sun, Amy Sky. A bit on the nose, but it came just as I was setting out in afternoon sun after changing into a short sleeved shirt, and reminded me to put on sunscreen. I laughed at that.
-Nadiya Ye (There's Hope) by Ukie band Mad Heads. This upbeat ska song is about hope, and how it doesn´t forget you even if you don´t believe in it anymore. At the point in the long, hot, endless trail I was at when it came on late yesterday afternoon, I really needed its encouraging blithe optimism.
-Lose Yourself, Eminem . This came on early in today´s walk, just as I was going up a hill. The rhythm fuelled my already enhanced energy and pushed me up at a clip I hadn't yet achieved in three days, making me feel like I was actually getting somewhere and in a good place. Plus, following yesterday´s defeatism, the message of picking yourself up after a failure hit home.
Thanks for reading! I will try to check in wherever there is more WiFi. Hope to have more pics up soon, if I can ever get my phone synced or backed up......watch this space!
- comments