Day 1, June 8th, 2023
It is still dark when I wake up. There is a clattering sound above me, as if people were walking around in ski boots. The old wooden floors creak when I hear voices in the hallway. Oh please, it is still the middle of the night! Besides, my head hurts, I would love to sleep some more! But there is no point in doing that so I get up. After all, I have something planned for today and that is crossing the Pyrenees!
As I walk downstairs into the corridor, I see a few pilgrims sitting at the breakfast table enjoying fresh croissants, fragrant coffee and orange juice. With my rucksack already on and about to leave, I ask the hostess if breakfast is included in my booking. Her answer is short and clear: No! No attempt to ask if I might still want breakfast or at least a coffee, for a fee of course - no, she turns away and doesn't even bother to say goodbye, let alone wish me a buen camino Fine then. Who needs breakfast before a hike of over twenty kilometres and 1400 metres of elevation gain anyway? Au revoir et bon débarras, I think, and at 6:30 I leave the hostel.
In a bakery across the river I buy a horrible tasting cappuccino and half a baguette. The saleswoman simply places the bread on the counter, a paper bag costs extra.
And then the big moment has come. Reverently I placed one foot in front of the other, knowing that for the next few weeks I would be doing nothing else. My Camino de Santiago has begun.
The Pyrenees
My first hiking-day is already quite challenging, because today, as I said, I am crossing the Pyrenees.
As soon as I leave the main street of Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port behind, the path climbs steeply uphill on an asphalt road. It is wonderfully peaceful. The rising sun bathes the beautiful landscape in a warm light, the birds are chirping, and the roosters are crowing. This is exactly how I imagined it. Surprisingly I see very few pilgrims, and although their numbers increase throughout the day, the crowds remain quite low.
Kites circle overhead, and sheep graze in the meadows or lie dosing in the sun. Foxgloves and other flowers line the roadside, it is beautiful.
At a point where the path winds, I sit down for a rest, leaning against a large rock near a slope, when Andrew comes waving up the hill. He and Aki had booked beds in advance for tonight at the Refuge Orisson , just eight kilometres away, as they don't want to walk too much on their first day. It is not that far from here now, much to Andrews regret, because he would much rather continue walking today.
The Refuge Orisson is an old stone house nestled in the mountains between Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and the Col de Bentar. Inside it mainly consists of a bar and a restaurant. The beds for pilgrims are located nearby. The owners only accept pilgrims who have hiked up the mountain independently, everyone else is turned away. When I arrive, not much is going on. I would have loved to try the advertised soup, but according to the owner, it is too early so the soup isn't ready yet. Instead, Andrew and I sip cappuccinos and as we sit there, Aki bursts in, grinning broadly. She has hoped to find us here and immediately orders a round of beers. Sensible as I sometimes am, I decide against alcohol, since unlike the two of them, I still have a few kilometres to hike. So instead of beer, Aki buys me a banana. Very thoughtful.
Just before I continue on my way, the soup is hot. As I go to collect my pilgrim's stamp at the counter, a young pilgrim in front of me in line orders a bowl of it.
»Is there no bread with it?« he asks the innkeeper as he takes his bowl. The innkeeper reacts almost indignantly and replies with a strong French accent, »No man, but you can buy sandwich.«
The hungry pilgrim says nothing, just looks somewhat confused, and walks away with his soup. I am on the verge of intervening, because six euros for a bowl of soup in a pilgrim hostel strikes me as pure extortion. As soon as I sense injustice, I can not hold back, and remaining silent here now is a real challenge for me.
I am enjoying the company of Andrew and Aki and would have loved to stay, but I definitely want to reach Spain today. Gosh, how that sounds! But it is true, Roncesvalles is already in Spain, in the Navarre region of the Basque Country. Somewhere there I will have to find a place where I can pitch my tent discreetly. Wild camping is forbidden in Spain, but it is tolerated along the Camino de Santiago as long as you follow certain rules, which are: pitch your tent after sunset and take it down before sunrise. Do not camp visibly on the trail due to visual pollution, not on private land or in a nature reserve, no fires and no litter. I think this is it.
The landscape here reminds me a lot of Scotland. Soon I can hardly see any trees, which is probably less due to the altitude and more to the harsh climate. Some gusts of wind are so strong that they almost knock me over. And the rucksack is so heavy. Its weight makes me stagger easily.
The first water source comes nine kilometres and 550 meters of elevation later. It is the famous Roland's Spring. Legend has it that here, in the eighth century, the knight Roland blew his horn during the Battle of Roncesvalles, and that Charlemagne drank from the spring. Instead, I am sitting here eating my potato chips. A significant moment too, one that won't go down in history, but for me certainly is more significant than the legend of Roland and his horn.
My Campsite
In the distance I can make out the walls of the Roncesvalles monastery. From now on, I will have to keep my eyes peeled for a suitable place to sleep. I am still completely uneasy, constantly thinking that someone is watching me.
Just before reaching the town, I pass a hillside with wild horses, and beyond it is a wooded area with a slightly sloping meadow in front. Small bunkers are built into the ground here, it looks almost like the Shire from Lord of the Rings. I like it here, and I decide to pitch my tent right at the edge of the woods. The ground is a bit uneven though, so I push the surrounding leaves together to create a soft, even surface. Not far behind me, the wind is blowing gustily up a slope, so strongly that I have to guy out the tent.
Once everything was set up, I cooked myself some instant noodles in the lee of my tent. Not particularly nutritious, but I will make sure I get a proper meal tomorrow. Right now I am just exhausted and tired. I eat my noodles a little further away on the meadow and notice that it is much calmer here, and also much nicer and brighter than over there at the edge of the woods. There is also a bush here that will definitely conceal my tent, so I won't be seen from the road. Without further ado, I loosen the tent pegs and carry the assembled tent to its new spot. Yes, this is much better. And it is perfectly hidden by the bush.
It is not dark yet when I go to sleep. The crickets are chirping, and I admit it is a little bit eerie. I am not afraid as such, it is just all so new. As I am getting ready for bed in the woods, I discover a horse's jawbone while peeing. I can only hope the animal died of old age and not from wolves or something. With that in mind, good night.
Distance: 23km / Steps: 43106
I found the following video on YouTube. It shows the route from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to Roncesvalles in time-lapse. Except for the end, where I walk a bit more carefully to protect my knees, this is the exact route I take.
Hi Steffi, how wonderful that you were able to have this experience, and how wonderful that you have the leisure and the ability to write it all down so vividly and engagingly. I'm not much of a hiker, although I do enjoy being in nature, but what you describe and how you describe it gives me the opportunity to be there without having to walk those 800 km myself.
This ability to write vividly and naturally. You could do it even as a child. It's surely also a way for you to process everything more intensely.
Great story, your Mum