Snowy Mountains and Saving Souls

We assume those left reading the blog have looked up the Camino de Santiago by now. In case you are still in the dark about it, the Camino is a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela where St. James the Greater, who was one of the 12 apostles, is buried.

There are several walking routes all over Europe ending in the city of Santiago de Compostela. We chose to do the Camino Frances. It is the most popular and well travelled (for us that meant safest for only English speakers) of the Camino’s. From St. Jean Pied de Port, France, it is 30-40 days of walking depending on your walking speed.

Some of you may be familiar with the Camino due to the documentary about it a few years ago and/or the Martin Sheen movie about it. We have seen the doc, not the movie.

We can’t remember when or why we decided to do the walk, but somehow it ended up on our travel itinerary.

Day 1: St. Jean Pied de Port – Roncesvalles

Distance: 23.6 km, including elevation 28.5 km (Sidenote: We won’t be converting kilometers to miles in our blogs. To better understand how much we are walking – 1km = .62 m. So 10km = 6.2 m, 20km = 12.4 m, and 30km=18.6 m.)

This was the hardest day of the Camino for almost everyone.

We began day one leaving St. Jean Pied de Port headed to Roncesvalles, Spain. Everyone gets an early start at the beginning of the Camino, often rising at 6-6:30 AM. We left around 7:30 as we were not aware of such departure times. We had covered 200-300 meters before stopping for pastries. Probably not a great idea, but who knows when you will be in France again.

After a croissant and pain au raisins (which was incredible and the best pastry of our two months of travelling so far), we were back on the road and ready to cover the other 28+ km.

No rain the first morning as we walked through the French countryside. Some of the walking is on the road, albeit very narrow rural roads. Much of it through mud/dirt paths. Our sights consisted mostly of valley views, cottages, and farm animals. The trail also followed the river dividing Spain and France so we trekked back and forth between the two countries for a bit in the morning.

Once solidly in Spain and having covered a few km’s, we stopped at the first supermercado we encountered. We had not brought sunscreen on the trip and the day was proving to need it. We bought what we needed and had our first conversation with a pilgrim on the same path as us.

She was English and carrying a larger pack than either of us. That was a bad sign as I (Clay) knew my pack was already too big. Elizabeth and I discussed whether or not we would see the woman later that day because the hike is extremely strenuous and she was already having a rough go at it.

Content with our sunscreen, we carried on. The countryside was lovely. We enjoyed being out in nature, away from large cities and traffic.

And then we began the ascent. The hill begins at 5 km but doesn’t start getting steep until the 17 km mark. And it doesn’t stop getting steep until the top of the mountain, km 23. The entire 6 km was also covered in snow/ice. So for every three steps you took, you really only took two because you slid back a few inches each step. For some of the more snowy portions, there was no place to take a break, to sit down, to take off your pack. So you just kept walking, waiting on the opportunity to drop the pack. I managed to find a limb to set my pack on to grab a few seconds of air.

Since Elizabeth walks hills at a slower pace than me, she caught up with me just as I was ready to start walking again. We discussed how difficult the walk was and then started walking again. Further, longer, steeper, and finally out of the snow for a strech, I sat down in the middle of the trail. I was spent.

By this point we had covered 12-13 miles, the last several all uphill. I pulled out my water filter and started drinking water running directly down the trail. I knew with the filter, it wouldn’t kill me. I also knew if I didn’t drink any water, I might die on the trail.

We also failed to eat anything of substance during this entire stretch of walking. Stupid we know, but we did not consider that for several miles we would be abandoned and left for dead in the Spanish wilderness (there was a clean, cleared off road only a 100 feet to the right of the trail that we later found out most people walked on because the snow was too challenging).

Eventually we made it to the top of the mountain, the last few feet crawling because the snow was too deep to walk through without falling or getting stuck.

At the top we were ecstatic, having covered all but 1 km left of our walk/hike for the day. We were exhausted, completely gassed. We celebrated for a few minutes and turned towards our final destination as a van pulled up at the top of the mountain. We don’t pay much attention to the van, but as the sliding door opens up, we see a familiar face. The English woman.

She locks eyes with us and we can tell she is embarrassed. She starts talking to us, and we are all laughing at how we all made it to the top of the mountain at the same time. She mentioned how she didn’t think she would use her “get out of jail free” card on the first hike of the Camino.

We didn’t mind that she cheated and she was disappointed that she was unable to climb the mountain. Of course, we were proud that we had worked our asses off to hike what we had set out to do. And a little annoyed. But that is not what the Camino is about.

We made it to our albergue and ended up staying in the same four person bed cube as the woman. We also were with an Australian woman who we got to know later on the Camino.

We both needed showers but had failed to pack a towel. We thought the places we stayed would have clean towels we could pay a euro or two to rent. Nope. So Elizabeth toweled off with her long underwear. Clay airdryed, after squeegeeing as much water as he could off his body. Shortly after we put “Buy a towel” on our to-do list. 

We had dinner later than most other pilgrims so Elizabeth could attend mass at 7. Since it was Palm Sunday, mass started outside in the church’s crypt. Elizabeth followed the procession to wherever the congregation and priests went. I stayed back sitting on a rail somewhere outside of the church waiting for the congregation to rejoin, bitching internally at the cold temps, choice of shoeware (flip-flops since I had just taken a shower), and anything else I could find to complain about.

And then I heard it. A loud banging sound. And again. And again. “God is that you?” I thought. Surely not. Sounds more like a door. And I follow the banging to a large wooden door. A door with people behind it. And the door is locked. Thankfully one of the individuals spoke English because I explained in my best Spanish that I only knew English. I also explained that I understood they were locked behind the door and did not need further information, especially in Spanish.

So I found a man who looked to be working at the church and attempted to explain to him what was happening. He told me he understood English, but after I explained, he explained that what I said was impossible. And he explained it to me with many hand gestures and in Spanish.

I explained again more slowly in English (which never works), and commenced to drag the old man over to the door so he could unlock it. Out popped three poor, unhappy souls whose only reaction is to walk off and leave without so much as a thank you to anyone.

That’s the last time I help strangers locked behind a large door.

Church was relatively normal but at the end the priest prayed over all the pilgrims. It was humbling to hear him pray for all of us in our native tongues. He prayed for us pilgrims in in Spanish English, Italian, French, etc. Although we still didn’t understand all of mass, we did understand the pilgrim prayer.

After mass we headed to our first pilgrim dinner. It was underwhelming and we tried to avoid this as much as possible in the future.

We eventually made it bed, ready for day two. The hill on the first day is known to be the worst you will face the entire Camino. Athough we were a little tired and sore we knew we could walk any day from that point on.

 

We Are Pilgrims on a Journey…

“…We are Travelers on the Road…”

After our stay in Barcelona, we left early in the morning for France and our new adventure – Camino de Santiago. Our train from Barcelona ended in Pamplona and the bus awaited us. While waiting for our bus to leave, we stopped in the Spanish post office, Correos, to forward most of our luggage to Santiago. Because we are carrying our clothes for 6 months and for various seasons, we needed to forward our luggage to the end so we didn’t have to carry it on the Camino. Basically, no one has any business carrying much with them on the Camino.

An hour plus later, with the help of four non-Inglés speakers, we managed to pack up a box and a large suitcase to send along to the finish line. Once everything was packed up, and by packed we mean wrapped in plastic wrap and taped up, we realized that we forgot to include the unnecessary binder full of travel paperwork. It was missed in the shuffle and with the amount of tape used to secure our box and luggage, the 2+ pound binder would have to travel some 500 miles on Clay’s back.

No big deal of course because we had decided to carry only what we would need for the trip in our packs. Of course, for some reason, Clay needed a hardback book and a paperback around 400 pages.

Now we know what you are thinking: “Clay, they make this thing called a kindle/nook. You should have invested in that instead of real books for this trip.”

And Clay’s response would be that he also has a kindle in his backpack. Now you know why his pack weighed around 30 lbs when it should have weighed 20 at most. He carried things he wanted and not just what he needed. The motto in Elizabeth’s family has always been “If you can carry it, you can bring it.” Clay may have taken that to the extreme.

But back to Pamplona. We walked around a little in the rain with not much success and headed down to the bus station to make sure we were in the right place at the right time.

We had not eaten yet and were hungry. Luckily the bus station had several restaurants. But only one open due to construction.We ordered a hamburger and suffice to say Elizabeth refused to eat what was ordered due to the odd color of the meat.

I (Clay) ate it instead with her looking on in disgust, anger, and concern. Disgust and anger that I told her that for what we paid for the burger someone between the two of us was going to eat it. Concern because she was certain that the burger was going to make me ill.

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I took every pill from the collection given to us by my mother that I thought would be necessary to prevent me from dying. Thankfully it worked. That or the burger was not in fact poisoned.

Once we got on the bus, things cooled down. We were pleasant and amicable and then worried about our decision to begin the Camino.

The bus ride is 2 hours of winding mountain roads leading you into France while crossing the Pyrenees mountains. While sitting in the bus, trying not to get too queasy, we were passing pilgrims walking along the road. These poor souls were wearing the best weather protection they could find and were still soaked to the bone, having walked for hours in the rain. And that is what we had to look forward to the following day.

Once we arrived in France, we headed to our first albergue. An albergue is a type of hostel where only pilgrims are allowed to stay. We were the only people spending the night in ours. That’s because it was not supposed to open until the next night. I guess we missed the sign somewhere. It would be our last good night sleep for many days.

We settled in our albergue and headed to the city office assisting pilgrims starting their journey from St. Jean. An adorable French woman, Charlotte, assisted us and let us know, in French, that only one route was available for hiking tomorrow. The Napoleon route was closed after a couple of pilgrims had to be helicoptered off the mountain after getting stranded. Instead we had to take the Charlemagne route, a shorter, but much steeper climb.

Once Charlotte sent us on our way, we headed to find full length ponchos. We had brought rain jackets, but after seeing those lost souls earlier in the day, we knew we were going to need something more robust to protect us and our packs (filled with books).

We didn’t know what to do or where to go after all this other excitement, so we walked around the city, taking pictures in the rain of old stuff. And to celebrate France, we headed to any pastry shop we could find still open.

We found a single place open and ordered dinner, and apple tart and a raspberry torte/cake.

And while trying to find some sparkling wine to celebrate France, we encountered what appeared to be a female biker gang. These women were all dressed in black, looking terrifying, with one of the women having face tattoos and short spiked hair. An ominous looking group, we made it a point to walk across the street to avoid bypassing them a second time.

However, they chose to leave the bar at the same time we were walking by and they crossed our paths again. Elizabeth and I awaited the worst: hateful comments in French, possible assault, something else nefarious. Once the face-tattoed woman got closer though, we realized things were not as we assumed.

The hair was a wig. The face tat’s were temporary, taken probably from a cracker jack box or a quarter machine. The women were no longer looking scary but silly, laughing and wildly gesticulating and wearing matching shirts with a picture of an adorable four year old from 1986. The pieces came together and we realized it was a bachelorette party.

You can’t be to careful in France though.

We headed home, enjoyed our pastries and went to bed, ready (or so we thought) for the next 30+ days of walking through Spain.