After a fitful sleep, I awake at 6:00 AM, the time promised by the Basque hospitaleros for breakfast. I walk downstairs to discover the three of them brewing coffee and shocked at my arrival. OH NO! In France, tonight was Daylight Savings Time, it was only 5:00 AM. (Did we really have this conversation in Spanish/Basque?) I tried to sneak back upstairs to bed, but by now, everyone was awake.
I don’t know how it all happened after that…. Leo wanted to take a shower, breakfast had to be eaten, Facebook had to be attended. However it happened, while I was the first to awaken, Leo and I were the last to leave St Jean Pied de Port. I would always insist on a early rise and walk, and I would win for awhile, but eventually Leo’s more relaxed beginning would define our walk.
And of course with no one to follow, Leo and I became lost before we ever left the city. In frustration we walked back to the pilgrim’s office and started over. This time we did better. We followed the yellow arrows into the French countryside, and we laughed at the sheep and cows and beauty. There was nothing more easy and beautiful and wonderful as a morning walk through this wonderful country. Yes, there were a few uphill walks, but nothing serious.
While we did not have a choice between the North route (closed) and the South route, we did have a choice whether along the highway or not. We were both bold and untested, and chose the path through the woods. We could see our first village of Valcarlos through the trees, slightly uphill and ridiculously picturesque.
However, right before Valcarlos, the trail dipped down to cross the river, and after passing a pumping station, we were confronted with an uphill climb worthy of an Olympian. I remember bitching all the way.
We had small talk with a couple of pilgrims and went into the shop for a bocadillo and some bottled water. We bought two2-liter bottles. I mention it now because we carried those two bottles across the entire country, filling them in restaurants, cafes and albergues. We added one more bottle during the long Meseta.
Leo also met a crazy man here. He insisted we should have taken the closed Northern Route, despite that it was closed. He also asked Leo to smoke some hashish with him while I was in the bathroom. Leo said no.
We continued, walking along the highway for the first time. I kept thinking this was the highway that took us down to SJPP, and now as feared, I had to walk up the same road At one point we went through a small shopping center. I saw a woman eating a banana, and I asked if there was one in the store where she sat. No, she said, she brought the banana with her.
We continued walking and soon left the road onto a dirt trail, and it was beside a small farm that we met Maria and Mariah from Ireland. They were two super sweet ladies, and their feet were already hurting them.
Leo and I walked with them for awhile. I felt bad for leaving them, but they were walking too slow for me. We said our goodbyes and Leo and I trudged forward. We walked beside a stream, over a hill, progressively more difficult. I asked Leo if we should stop for the two Irish women, and he echoed my thoughts that they would make it.
On and on we went, ever more steep. Honestly, it became ridiculous. . We came upon Susanne (from Germany) sitting on her backpack, taking a rest from the horrible ascent. We talked for a few minutes, but I was sure the mountaintop was only a few feet away, so we eft Susanne and trudged onward.
The top was not a few feet away. It was a grueling mountain. Our bodies were not trained to walk up such a slope with a backpack. We were exhausted and yet we had to keep moving. The sweet jaunt of the morning had passed into a nightmare of completion At one point we passed the highway, and the sister of the host in Belairi , who lived in Pamplona , passed us by and waved. It was crushing.
The last mile up was on a dirt path following the power lines. And then we hit the Ipaneta Pass. Leo got there- all joy and happiness- and I got there _-all bitch and whininess.
At the top there was a talkative woman and man. These were the two from the front of the pilgrim’s office the previous day. The man was Brazilian, I have forgotten his name. The woman was Glaucia, also a Brazilian but she lives in Abu Dahbi with her husband. We all rejoiced to have made it. And then the short descent into Roncesvalles.
The path leads straight into the door of the municipal Albergue. I suppose from research there are other places to stay. But this is where we went. In through the door and met by a kind,, multi-lingual staff. In five minutes we were checked into the second floor of a three-story pilgrim haven. We had nice bunks in a quad. The Brazilian man had the top bunk across from us.
I was so tired, I forgot their was a famous church and pilgrim blessing in Roncesvalles. I only wanted dinner. A friend had recommended a restaurant, and we went there for a glass of wine. We bought a ticket for 7:00, and as it was 7:00, we had dinner with a group of Spanish girls on holiday for Semana Santa. We learned during dinner the Northern Pass was still closed (despite the Valcarlos bicycle guy) and that several people had been lost all day, but found before nightfall. We also learned about dried pork and French fries, a camino staple.
After dinner, we adjoined to the lounge, and Ogin would buy us a round of shots. In that crowd was a young Irish couple, who we would meet again in Pamplona. After the shots, we went back to our bunks. Our first day of walking left us exhausted.
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