Trial by Ice, Basquerdly Deeds, and an Early Zero

Day one out of St. Jean started without a hitch. We (Australian Nick, Irish Eamon, Mexican Fernando, Brazillian Padrino, and U.S. Georgian Phil) set out around 7:30 AM from St Jean. We stuck to a beautiful countryside trail with phenomenal views of the Pyrenees and Southern France.

　

Didn´t smell too good, though (farmland with probably thousands of years of fertilizer on it), but the weather was great for hiking and the miles went by fairly quickly. Though because we took the alternate route, we had trouble determining whether or not we had crossed the border into Spain. And indeed, this is in fact the border we crossed (looking into Spain from France) by walking over a small bridge:

French spoken on one side of the bridge. Spanish spoken on the other. Basque spoken on both. Interesting.

Came across these guys fixing the roof on a small shed that looked like it had been there since the late middle ages. The Australian and I both agreed that really it would probably be easier and safer just to knock it down and rebuild it, but hey, we just hike here...

Overall the first two thirds of the day were pretty painless. But then there was the last third of the day where we started gaining elevation....

When the guy at the pilgrim office in St Jean gave us the briefing about the trail conditions and how we needed to stick to an alternate route, what he really meant was ¨you´re about to do some extra miles because I´m sending you up a windy ass road to the top of the mountains.¨

These signs are the bane of my existence. They say literally ¨Warning: Horizontal Orientation Signage¨ (meaning that the road is windy and to be aware of the turn indicator signs) but what they really mean is ¨Warning! Time and effort expended for low mileage!¨

We climbed up this road for hours. Out of the valley and up to the top of the mountains. By the time we were halfway up, snow was everywhere except the road we were walking on:

By the time we hit the hostel at the top of the mountain we were dead tired and in a decent amount of pain from various early-hike strains and aches (feet sore, back sore, hips sore, etc), but had to wait an additional hour and a half to check into the hostel. Seems that most hostels on the Camino open at 4:00 PM. We waited around for a bit, checked in, and headed down the street to the closest restaurant we could find for some much needed food. We all looked and felt terrible, but we were all proud to be the first crew to make it from St. Jean to Roncevalles in our group that started that morning. That was until we walked into the restaurant.

We were immediately greeted by two of the Koreans that had started with us earlier that morning.

¨Hello!¨ one of them exclaimed, lifting his fork from his plate of overly fancy European salad.

Both of them looked astoundingly energetic for two guys that spent a good part of the day slogging up a snow covered mountain road.

¨How did you get here? We arrived here way before everyone else, and we didn´t pass you...¨

Eamon asked the question that was on all of our minds. The other Korean looked up from his plate with a beaming smile from ear to ear.

¨We take...SHORTCUT!¨

He motioned to an older lady sitting across the bar. I didn´t get it, but the answer seemed to satisfy Eamon, who moved to sit down at another table. The rest of us followed.

¨What did he mean by shortcut?¨
¨That lady drove them.¨
¨What?! Are you fucking serious?!¨
¨Yeah. I met her last night. She was staying with a friend in St. Jean. She has a metal hip. She wants to do the Camino, but is modifying the route and cutting out sections.¨

We were all thoroughly pissed to learn this. Not necessarily because we had been harmed by their actions in any way, but more that we felt we had to ¨earn¨ the right to be there where they had just cheated. But, as the saying goes, hike your own hike.

Once we finished dinner, we headed back to the hostel. I set to work fixing my blisters. I had three very large ones (an unfortunate occurence right off the bat) but I was prepared with everything I needed to fix them. I popped them, cut the loose skin, applied disinfectant, and put on some liquid bandage. I would have preferred to wait at least ONE day before having to do blister work of any kind, but the road walking really beat up my feet something terrible.

Day two started the next morning at 6:30 AM heading to Zubiri. I was VERY happy to finally be off the road and on the actual trail:

 

With the accompanying views of the Pyrenees, of course.

 

We also came across the richest man in Navarre:

　

Well, probably, anyway. Dude owns an Ice Cream stand at the intersection of a major cycling route and the Camino at a place called ¨Alto De Erro.¨ By the time you hit it on the Camino it´s near the end of your day, and it´s too inviting a place NOT to stop. Even if the guy did have an odd sense of humor:

And, after coming down off the mountain and a small run by a magnesium plant

...we ended our day in Larrasoana, a town just after Zubiri:

　
Jeep fans in every country. Jeep Willy´s c. 1970.

Once we checked into the hostel, we were definitely looking forward to eating at the restaurants there, but then quickly discovered that they simply weren´t open. And not like the ¨not open right now¨ not open. Like the ¨only open one day a week¨ open. Despite the fact that one of them had a car parked next to it with a sign that said ¨Open:¨

Either way, this was bad news. The only alternative was buying groceries from a small shop owned by a questionably patriotic Basque nationalist who sympathized with the ongoing plight of the IRA to ¨free¨ northern Ireland. The prices at his shop were alright, but you can´t help but wonder how much money that guy has made off of this very scenario...hungry pilgrims with no other alternative...

A note on Basque nationalism. I was fairly unfamiliar with Basque history and culture until I started hiking through this region, but the easiest way to summarize the Basque people would be to simply say that Basques are what the American Indians would be if the US government didn´t make any effort to corral them on reservations, but instead just moved in around them and did its best to ignore them at every opportunity while quelling any attempts at violent rebellion. Technically the Basque region encompasses areas of both Spain and France, and they do have their own language and ethnic lines of descent, but the overly patriotic ones seem to have trouble getting over the fact that they have been forcibly assimilated. By the nations of France and Spain. Meaning this is a grudge that is at least 1000 years old....ridiculous.

Anyway, we bought groceries from this dude (he did give us free wine, though) and took them back to the hostel to cook. Almost as soon as we started working in the kitchen, stray cats started flooding the yard. And, as they were probably counting on, we fed them too.

Also worthy of noting is the vending machine in the hostel. Sells snacks, soda, water, and beer. In a vending machine. Where anyone of any age can plunk down their money and acquire said alcohol. Where drunkeness of hikers is clearly endorsed by the hostel owners....well shit. Just don´t tell any of the AT hikers...

I ended up buying a water, a coke, and a Jesus bar. Yes. A Jesus bar:

I did some laundry too. They had a whole setup for hand washing/drying, and luckily I had packed soap that worked very well:

But sadly, I spent a good deal of time tending to more blisters, and, a more recent development: a knee injury.

I´m not exactly sure what caused it, but in descending the mountain earlier that day, I likely damaged it doing...something. Although it was nothing different than I had done literally thousands of times on the AT: used trekking poles in conjunction with careful footing to descend a steep grade. I mean shit, it wasn´t even RAINING and the grade was nowhere near as rough as some of the stuff I´d been down before. Yet my knee was hurt. Luckily the Australian had a bandage and we wrapped it pretty tight. It felt better the next morning, but after we left Zubiri for Day 3 and did a few ups and downs for a final gradual descent into Pamplona, the pain was excruciating. So much so, that I decided I needed to stop in Pamplona and rest up. Which is where I am now. I decided to book a hotel (not a hostel) and take a zero day to do run some errands and take a much needed break. The rest day seems to have helped a lot, but my knee still hurts a bit, even without walking with a loaded pack.

Still, I believe I can continue. Unlike the AT, there are many points of civilization on the Camino where one can go to address ¨critical¨ issues (as the trail passes through several towns per day), so if my knee takes a sudden turn for the worse, I can get it looked at fairly easily. And, I have also decided that permanent knee damage is not something I´m looking for. So if I hike out of here tomorrow and I´m in excruciating pain again, I have no shame in calling the game on account of injury. Still, that is something I desperately want to avoid. And I do have extra time on my hands in my schedule planned for potential issues like this, so if this means I have to do smaller days in order to recover properly or reduce strain, so be it.

It is unfortunate, though. I would´ve preferred to save this kind of injury for much later in my hike!

Either way, I have clean laundry (from a laundromat..much better than a hostel sink!), a decent amount of food for the next leg of the journey, and I´ll be mailing some excess gear home tomorrow to lighten my pack a bit. Oh, and the hotel I´m in has a sauna. And I´m also in freakin Pamplona. That in and of itself is cool.

Here´s hoping for the best in continuing on...