Norfolk to SJPP

Day 1: Norfolk to St Jean Pied de Port, France

We arrived in Paris at 8:30 in the morning after flights form Norfolk to Atlanta, and Atlanta to Paris. We went through customs, passport control and the luggage carousel and exited the airport in a light rain at about 10:30 AM. Outside the airport was a bus terrminal with connections to downtown Paris, the train station and to the other ariport ORLY. We stood in the rain to insure a ride to ORLY.

Our bus ride was an hour, along a highway far from the city, through neighborhoods of dull grey apartment buildings and dull grey businesses. Graffiti was everywhere. Not the lovely graffiti you might expect in Paris, but the same lifeless graffiti supplied by drug gangs around the world. The ride went on and on, and we never glimpsed a view of the Paris of movies.

ORLY was a small airport, but populated with many who were traveling for Semana Santa. Leo and I sat in the food court and watch the French military patrol the area, young men and women with machine guns, who roamed the area with eyes for terrorists. Eventually we were allowed to our gate area, and a few minutes later, onto our plane to Biarritz.

Biarritz was a very small airport, but there were many people on our plane. Surprisingly no one was at the luggage carousel here. They must have all had carry-ons. There was one man, a pilgrim from the States, but he had no intention of keeping a conversation with Leo and I. I hope he had a good time.

We had transportation booked in advance, and we went to look for our ride. Leo walked around the small airport, and I walked outside. I found the young lady carrying a sign “Kirk Springer”. She pointed to her minivan, and I went to grab Leo. Along the way I met a tall, very bald German man named Ogin. He wanted to know if he could ride with us to SJPP. I agreed but let him know our driver would make the decision. She did not approve! Despite plenty of room in the van, she said she could not accept money and she gave Ogin directions to the bus stop.

The hour drive to SJPP was through the mountains. At some point I realized the car was always going downhill, and that made me sad because I realized tomorrow we had to walk uphill for every mile it went down. We disembarked in SJPP, walked through the famous archway and found our hostal,

Beilari, the hostal, had changed hands over the winter, and the young Hospitalero in charge was very nervous. This was his first week open! He invited his sister and a family friend to help him with the operations. He spoke some English, they all spoke Basque. Leo and I entered the Albergue, full of excitement and we were given the tour. There was only one other man there, a Frenchman named Roberto… and no other reservations.

We walked over to the pilgrim office, and while busy, there was no one there with more than a basic grasp of English. This would set the tone for our trip. Thankfully Leo and I are good-humored, pleasant and respectful, and very aware nobody should be forced to speak English when its not the first language of the country. Be polite, smile, nod, try. Most important is to try.

We gathered our pilgrim materials and explored the town.

First we explored the grounds of the Beliari. Up a hill into a prayer chapel, and up further to a small garden. I am not sure if we were just too tired from being awake for 48 hours, or just our cynical selves, but we were not impressed by either. If I were to return, I would definitely spend more time in the prayer chapel, and I would leave a message on their “Intention Tree”.

Then we went up to the fortifications above the town. There was a geocache up there anyway, and I wanted to claim France as a country. Afterward we went down to the church. I could not figure out the Mass schedule…in retrospect it was easy enough, I was just tired… and then we went back for dinner at Beliari.

This is an interesting aside. Leo and I were standing outside and a woman approached and asked if we spoke English. There was another man there who replied Yes, but within seconds they were both speaking Portuguese. Since they were getting along, Leo and I went inside for dinner.

At the dinner table were the three Basque hosts, Roberto and us. Additionally, a 70-year old woman from Australia named Sophia had arrived. And two very handsome men from Germany, Yentz and Tomas. As we sat around the table and talked, I actually thought the two Germans were lovers, but like most Americans, I did not understand the European version of body space. While they sat close, and kept close eye contact, they had just met on the train to SJPP. Tomas was a young architect, had built his own home and lived there with his wife and three daughters. He was on camino to find “guy time”. Yentz had recently separated from his girlfriend of many years. He was still in love. She was not. He came to think about that. Roberto had already walked 500 miles from Le Puy to celebrate the birth of an unexpected grandson, and he was ready to walk 500 more miles to Santiago.

As we drank and ate and conversed, who should walk in but Ogin! He had finally made it to SJPP from the bus. Oh God, how bad did I feel about that? He took a seat and a plate of food. Ogin had walked the camino as a young man. Recently all the hair on his body had fallen out.. The doctors could not find anything wrong with him. He was back to walk a portion of the camino to Burgos, and his son was joining him in a few days.

I had decided before we left Norfolk that Leo and I would pretend to bebe “friends” on the camino. With the religious aspect, I did not want to offend anyone or create a distraction. It was shocking when Yentz suddenly asked, “if you guys are both single, why do you wear the same wedding ring?” Yeah, thanks Yentz. And thanks international language barrier because no one understood the question, and certainly no one understood my weird, evasive reply.

After dinner the seven of us retired to the room with four bunkbeds. Six men and one woman to the same room, and there were many other rooms. So much to learn on the first night:

a) Men and women are not separated, even when there are open beds and open rooms. The norm is to fill a room before moving to the next.

b) Both German guys got up during the night and rustled through their backpacks. I was terrified they were going to go through my bag and steal something. It is a beautiful thing that on night one I realized there was nothing for them to steal that I could not replace. My wallet and passport were in the lining of my sleeping bag. I never worried the rest of my camino.

c) People snore. And cough. And go to the bathroom. And search their bags. And turn on lights. And talk. I should have paid attention to this lesson, because I gave myself more grief than necessary.

I eventually slept. My camino would begin in the morning.