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...

Zero Day

There is an old saying from the AT that goes "your journey starts the moment you decide to hike the trail." I would say that isn't quite right...I'd say that your journey starts when your bags are packed and you're on your way to the trailhead. Which means that for me, the Camino started two days ago...

The plane ride to Paris definitely wasn't the most comfortable one. While I did decide to spring for a seat upgrade for $129 (buying me a bit of extra legroom and extra reclining space), as it turns out the plane was only about half full as it is; people who had middle seats ended up being spoiled by the extra space, and were actually able to sleep across three seats! I wasn't so lucky, though. I was trapped between a fat guy (sitting in the middle seat) and the aisle. And, while it should be difficult to be 'trapped' by an aisle in any sense, that was very much the case. It seems that United Airlines, in an effort to "optimize" (aka overengineer) their flight experience had based the width of their seatbacks on the "average" person. So when you are forced to sit next to a guy who is very very much above average in the width department, you must then adjust yourself in your own seat to give yourself additional room. Which then means you are now quite literally hanging off the edge of your own seat. In my case, this meant I had a portion of my shoulder in the aisle. Which then caused the "optimally" sized galley cart for the "optimally" sized aisle to collide with my "optimally" sized shoulder. Repeatedly.

Then of course there was the food. Now I realize complaining about airline food isn't really a new thing at all, but exceptionally bad airline food (as in way worse than what can be mediocre at best), definitely deserves a mention. But I'll keep it brief: rubber chicken and bug spray doused in salt. Moving on...

Arrival in Paris went much more smoothly than I had originally anticipated. I got in at roughly 6 AM, and had my bag by around 6:45. I then headed downstairs to the train station, and, while I had a small amount of trouble navigating the airport, it was fairly easy getting the right train ticket and to the right platform.

I hadn't been standing on the platform for more than a few minutes when I was approached by an elderly frenchman, who naturally began speaking to me in French:

"--intelligible French"
"Sorry, sir. I'm afraid I only speak English."
"OH!" he remarked, looking very surprised. "It's cold, no?"
"Oh, well I suppose..."
"You are American?"
"Yes"
"Where in America are you from?"
"Virginia. Just outside DC"

I don't like saying I'm from DC anymore...it's what I used to do out of simplicity, but the fact of the matter is that there is a world of difference between Virginia and DC, and I have to say I am extremely pleased to live on the SOUTHERN side of the Potomac.

"Oh! I have been there before. I used to work for an American Company, many years ago."
"Which one?"
"McDermot"

Suprisingly, I had heard of McDermot, though I wasn't sure what they did.

"They had me working in Saudi Arabia. I was in charge of administering their work there."
"Ah, very cool."
"Yes, but listen...I want to tell you that I truly love America."

I stood there looking absolutely dumbfounded.

"Thank you for all your country has done for the French people. You have given us lots of help over many years, and we appreciate you very much."

Three thoughts passed through my head in nearly sequential order:
1) This guy is joking. I am on a reality TV show and any minute the camera crew will be in my face laughing at me, and I will just have to smile awkwardly.
2) I'm a government contractor...Am I allowed to accept thanks behalf of the government officially? Who do I call to get some guidance on this?!
3) Wait, I have now just become the sole representative of my entire country in this interaction. I am a sub-reddit waiting to happen.

"I gotta be honest, man...I've been in France for less than 2 hours, and the first conversation I've had with anyone has now been about how much France loves America..As crazy as that sounds, the most I can say is that we were happy to do it, and I look forward to the continued mutual success our two nations may have from working together."

Whaddaya know, I just spoke middle manager off the cuff and said something utterly irrelevant in a profoundly descriptive manner. Just call me VP of Operations and hand me my 9 iron...

But yes. Trains. Sadly, it's impossible to go from Paris directly to the starting point of St-Jean-Pie-De-Port. At least one changeover is required. I went from Paris to Bordeux (4 hour train ride) and then from Bordeux to Bayonne (about a 2 hour train ride). By the time I got to Bayonne it was about 4:30 and I was running down fast. I had barely gotten any sleep, and the jet lag was starting to really wear me out. Plus, the next train to St. Jean wasn't until 6, meaning I would've arrived after dark and been forced to try to find a hostel in the dark. Not really something that sounded like too good of an idea. I decided instead to try to find a place to stay.

That's when I saw this place:

Literally across the street from the train station. What luck! I headed inside the bar hoping to get more info on getting a room.

The barkeep was an older man with glasses, though it was hard to place his ethnicity (necessary to determine which language to attempt first). He was light-brown skinned, but didn't look very Asian. I figured I'd go with French and hope for the best.

"Parle vous l'angles?"
"Oui."
"AWESOME!"

In hindsight that probably didn't require such a jovial exclamation, but being as tired and hungry as I was the thought of not having to scale a language barrier at that moment was an incredible relief.

"One room, please"
"Ok...just basic?"
"Yes. Basic is fine"
"35 euros, ok?"
"Yes, absolutely!"

He handed me a key to my room. But not like a hotel keycard. An ACTUAL key.

"You are #16. W.C is in outside hallway. Shower is upstairs."

He could've told me that the bathroom was across the river and the shower was up the street. At that moment, all I wanted was a bed to lie down in. Which I did promptly. For an hour or so.

The room itself was fairly small, but I wasn't really looking for anything too special. And, as he said, the bathroom and shower were in two separate rooms. Because Europe.

Door to shower or Michael Moore's private suite. Take your pick.

I spent the night in Bayonne and ended up leaving this morning. I got up around 8:30, and was absolutely famished, though finding a restaurant that was open was definitely a challenge. Though it did give me a reason to walk around the nearby city, and all in all Bayonne is a pretty cool place to check out:

Though I had no luck finding a place to eat. Even the bar at the hotel I was staying at wasn't selling any "real" food...their kitchen didn't open until 12. Although I can't say the barmaid was very helpful to begin with. Seems like having to interact with someone in English was offensive to her. Even though I didn't really ask for much of anything, and did my best to be polite and leave a good impression.

I honestly don't understand discrimination when it comes to patronizing establishments...if you're polite and your money is green (or multicolored in the case of the Euro), does it matter what race you are or where you come from? Plus, it's quite obvious that I'm a pilgrim. I'm TRYING to get out of your country. Although technically it's not even FRENCH if you back far enough in history (see Basque Country), so really, by all accounts: wtf, lady?

Either way, aside from that, Bayonne was a cool place to see, and I ended up leaving this morning around 11. Made it to St Jean around 1, and naturally, it was raining. Though there were a few pilgrims on the bus getting in, and we almost immediately made friends after getting dumped at the bus stop in the middle of a torrential downpour.

Three Koreans, one Irishman, and myself. Amazing how a shared problem can suddenly unite a group of strangers. Even ones of different nationalities. It also helps when only one guy has a map. In life, it usualy pays to be the guy with the map. I was the guy with the map...

First order of business was checking in at the Pilgrim Office:

Small building. The office was inside a parlor room of sorts. We all walked in and were promptly greeted by a bilingual staff (French and English) who offered us tea, coffee, and some small candies. We each waited in line to get our passport...

....as well as an in-brief from the local administrator. Long story short, it turns out the trail over the mountains (the one with the spectacular views) has been shut down due to snow:

Behold: the reason I won't get the magnificent mountain views.

However,  according to the trail admin guy, an alternate route is currently in effect. I frowned at the news and inquired several times as to alternate routes over the mountains. All of them are no-gos. Apparently there are over 3 meters of snow up the trail, making it impassible for conventional hikers.

...Conventional hikers. Keyword "conventional"....

The guy who was briefing me, as if he could read my mind, immediately went into a story about how it REALLY isn't a good idea to blow him off

"You know...several years ago. There was a guy. A Brazillian guy. He came here about the same time. He didn't listen. He tried to go up the mountain anyway. We found him 3 weeks later. He died...."
"Uh...huh...."
"Yes. You see even if you try and decide you can't make it and you get too far up, you cannot be rescued. Even if you called us, we wouldn't be able to save you."

Ok. Fair enough....but only because I didn't pack snow shoes....

Relocated route aside, St-Jean-Pied-De-Port (Saint-Jean-Foot-Of-Pass) named so because of its location at the literal foot of the passes through the mountains, is also a pretty cool place to check out:

I'm currently staying at the hostel owned by the municipal government of the town, but by AT hostel standards it's actually quite nice. Have met several other pilgrims, too. Guy from Canada, guy from Australia, guy from Georgia, couple of Frenchman, few more Koreans....and we're all walking the same route tomorrow. I perused the log book at the pilgrim office. So far I'm the youngest American out here. There are only a handful within several weeks of me, and those are all middle-aged. Much different demographics from the AT....by and large, the AT is a very young trail by comparison.

Day 1 of hiking tomorrow! Will be good to get across the border where my Spanish will actually become functional. So far, the language barrier is still very much up...

Onward and upward!