Day 1: St. Jean Pied de Port - Roncesvalles

St. Jean Pied de Port is a beautiful little medieval town, adorned with cobblestone streets, fortresses, and large stone archways leading into the center. We traveled here on a two-car train filled with backpack-wielding individuals from all over. Upon our arrival into St. Jean, we immediately followed the masses to the pilgrim's office in order to register and listen any advice they were willing to give. Once we were shown our room in the albergue, Dad and I set out to explore. There was a very peaceful moment overlooking the town just as the rain clouds moved on and the sun came out in time to set - the sun reflecting off the various puddles throughout the town made for a crystal-like image of shining brilliance. Dad and I decided to jump right into the pilgrim lifestyle (not necessarily by choice) as we shared an apple and cheese dinner overlooking the view outside our albergue room's door.

The view from our albergue.

We shared our room with an older Italian couple, a Bavarian man named Franz, and an American turned French young lady named Stacie, with whom we had conversed during the train ride to St. Jean. This first night of "shared sleeping" was not a gentle introduction for my father. There was some award-winning snoring coming from both Italians - you know, the kind where the snore wakes the individual who produced the noise originally. After less than two hours of sleep, Dad and I headed to breakfast (bread, jam, and cafe) with a group of hikers that would inevitably end up in our camino blob. We bonded a bit more with Stacie and Franz, began hiking with them and quickly learned they would become our immediate Camino family.

Our first beds.

Initially, there were slightly cooler-than-normal temperatures, but no rain or heavy winds at the trail-head out of town. Now, we had been warned by the pilgrim office staff to avoid the Napolean Route over the Pyrenees due to its unpredictable weather - apparently, a hiker from the previous day was still missing. Slightly discouraged about missing the beautiful scenery but not proud, we decided to take the valley route. The woman who gave us instructions did so in Spanish, although she was French. As we soon discovered, there was grave miscommunication that occurred during our 15-minute conversation. As the four of us headed out of town, there was a steep uphill to get the heart going and already make us second-guess our abilities to do this. Eventually, we reached a major artery fork in the road where we had been (or so we believed) instructed to keep right - we did so and continued to see trail markers, thus assuming we did the correct thing. Fast forward two hours later and we were still ascending - we began questioning...so much so, that Franz and Dad felt the need to share a beer at 8:50am. There were multiple stops on the way up, to catch our breaths and share hot beverages. Heavy winds began as we entered the open, winding spines of the mountainside. To continue remaining upright, Stacie and I buried our heads into our rain jacket hoods, leaving little more than one eye exposed to the open air, and walked in a semi-squat position. Dad passed the statue of Mary without realizing because he was walking with his head down in attempts to prevent serious facial windburn. In order to snack without having the food fly away, the four of us dove down and nestled into a trench. The rains were off-and-on, which made the already-heavy, near-16kg bag seem like lead.    

Dad looking through the guidebook, still trying to figure out how we ended up on the mountain route.

Our weather at one point in time...

...and our weather less than 20 minutes after that. We reached a flat-ish part of the trail passing through a snow-covered wooded area that, apparently, was the "top" of the mountain. I remember passing a sign that indicated we were in Spain...things went downhill from there, in every possible way. First, we kept ascending gradually through a snow/slush-filled trail while the heavy rains began. It was at this point that I lost Stacie ahead of me and was passed by Franz while waiting for Dad, who came into sight around 15 minutes later. What goes up must come down, and that we did through similar conditions. I remember walking like an elderly person who lost their cane through the initial downhill, sliding and near-falling many a time. Finally, Dad and I reached a fork in the trail just as a group of hikers were debating about taking the unmarked, gradual descent off to the right or to duck behind the "Caution/Do Not Pass" tape and take the 60-degree, marked descent. We followed the group and did the latter. We all had boots soaked through-and-through with snow slush, sleet, and rainwater. I had a minor mental freakout that involved an internal debate of the pros and cons of crying. Cons: could waste much-needed energy and would not improve the situation in any way. Pros: could be a nice release of frustrations from that day and tears could warm face enough to where I might feel it. Ended up not crying and focusing that energy into preventing frostbite by changing the wet socks out for two dry pairs and a plastic bag buffer for each foot. Snow and slush was eventually replaced with slippery mud and slick, wet leaves. When we finally reached Roncesvalles, we almost collapsed from relief. We had decided to treat ourselves to a hostel room (like a Motel 6) before reaching the town, so the first one we came upon became our new favorite building in Spain. 

That "2.5 hours to Roncevalles" took us close to four.

This was the last photo I took for the day, just before the sleet and heavy rains began. There were some long hot showers and lots of staring at the wall that occurred immediately after entering the room. Eventually, I headed down to the mini-cafe/bar for two "we're alive" emails before setting off to find the other two. At some point, Stacie and Franz walked into the cafe, our eyes met, and although we really wanted to do the watery-eyes, chin-trembling, near-cry, unnecessarily long embraces, all our minds and energy could muster were simultaneous "are you okay?"s. Apparently, they had arrived nearly two hours earlier than we did, and thus, had actually started discussing the possibility of a search party. As Franz went back to the hostel to call it off, Stacie and I just discussed the ridiculousness of the day. Poor thing - as if only having tennis shoes in that terrain and climate weren't enough, she was also by herself for more than hour on the worst section of the steep downhill before her "angel" Franz finally caught up and accompanied her the rest of the way. There was a lot more talk followed by silence and tired stares over dinner. Eventually, when we could maintain our bodies in upright positions no longer, we all retired to our respective rooms and what became our favorite beds ever. Dad and I were seriously debating what else we could do with 35 days if the following day was anything like this extremely challenging first day. Oh gosh.

Today I walked for: Grandma Gen. In addition to the ever-expanding vocabulary of all things sweet, Grandma taught me strength and encouraged me to explore throughout my childhood. I have no doubt she is feeding all the souls in Heaven with the best meatballs they've ever tasted. I miss you so much and love you forever.