Day One

Walking Day One from St. Jean Pied de Port to Roncesvalles OMG as they say.  What a day!  What a nightmare!  I knew our climb would be difficult.  I watch the Tour de France.  I see them ride their bikes over the Pyrenees over the Col de Loepoder.  However nothing on tv gives you even an inkling as to how difficult it is to climb 20 kilometers over a mountain. We spent the evening before in the French town of St. Jean Pied de Port after traveling by plane, train, taxi and van from Madrid.  Our hostel was an absolutely wonderful place run by pilgrims, for pilgrims.  Tom and I enjoyed a communal meal prepared by our volunteer hosts.  We broke bread with people from around the world:  two young women from Taiwan, a gentleman from Australia, several from Germany, the Netherlands and one from Norway.  Everyone spent the evening getting to know each other and their personal stories.  Their reasons for doing the Camino were as varied as each person.  Richard, from Melbourne, was actually walking in reverse from Finnesterre, which means the end of the earth, to the Mediterranean.  He was very delightful and told some wonderful stories about his experience on the Camino going backwards. Everyone was anxious to get started early the next day as the first day is a daunting walk, 26 kilometers, 20 of which are uphill.  Tom and I left in high spirits, although a little nervous.  There is really no where around the Twin Cities to prepare for such a climb.  Our first difficulty turned out to be acclimating to the altitude.  The climb started right out of town and we were carrying fully loaded packs.  The first kilometer, Tom and I were huffing and puffing something serious.  We almost called an audible to change our plans and cab it back over the hill. But we were already an hour into our walk and we both didn´t want to retrace our steps.  If we knew how the day would end, we would have without a doubt.  After we got accustomed to the thinner air, we were able to pick up our pace.  Our self-assuredness returned and we actually felt a little smug.  Big mistake.  We were quickly disillusioned and soon disheartened.  As we climbed higher, a mist settled over the mountain.  I told Tom it would blow by and we would soon be fine.  I was wrong.  Ptretty soon, we were drenched by a downpour.  We hurried to find some shelter under a tree to cover our backpacks and ourselved.  At this point, I discovered I left my fleece jacket at the hostal.  I needed it.  The wind started picking up and with our weight on our backs, we had a difficult time walking.  I was soon drenched and cold.  There was no place to find shelter and we knew we had to keep going.  We still had some 15 kilometers to go to finish our day and there was no shelter ahead until the end.  We did not want to go back.  As we reached the top of the mountain and the border between France and Spain, the rain subsided to a drizzle but the winds still threatened to knock us off our feet.  All we could do was lower and heads and keep going.  Some school kids from a local camp were also climbing the mountain but they only had small personal backpacks and they kept passing us like little mountain goats, singing and laughing.  I was not pleased.  We kept trudging along the top of the ridge and we did take time to enjoy the most spectacular of views.  The valleys below us were emerald green dotted with pockets of white where the villages were located.  We thought that the downhill would be easier and we would make it to Roncesvalles in no time.  It was a great day for being wrong.  The rains had made the uneven trail very muddy and made footing very treacherous.  After walking that far, we did not want to risk slipping and falling.  It would have been a long way to get help if there was a serious injury.  All told, it took us 11 hours to go over the mountain and finally reach Roncesvalles at nearly 7:00 that evening.  I was wet, cold and hungry.  Our provisions for the day were long gone.  We checked in at the official office of pilgrims, only to be told the albergue (hostal) was full.  However, as they for days like the one we experienced, they had a room set aside for stragglers.  We were two of ten people that came off the mountain at that late hour.    We quickly showered to warm up and hung our wet things off to dry and then headed to the nearby bar.  They had a pilgrim´s dinner available, so we ate, drank some wine and shared stories with some of the people we had met the day before.  We then headed back to the albergue for some well deserved rest before our walk the next day. In our small room of ten, it was great to be with people, who although were strangers that morning, now had something in common that would unite them in a bond.  No one can really know how difficult our experience was except for those on the mountain that day.  Those that left early and were able to walk fast missed most of the storm.  But they were all in the other hostal, all 112 of them!   I must stress that Tom was an absolute trooper.  When I kept doubting the wisdom of my folly...he urged me on.  When he doubted the wisdom of my folly, he accepted without hesitation that at some point the day would end and tomorrow could only be better. (please excuse typos and grammar errors, I have limited computer time to type!) Cris www.stutler.blogspot.com