France 2024 - Days 68 and 69 – “Over the hill and down the creek”

Borrowing the title of a book written by a geologist who crossed the Andes and went down the Amazon, I am getting ready to cross the Pyrenees and go down the Arga River to the city of Pamplona. The Pyrenees are a pretty considerable mountain range that forms the border between France and Spain, the home to the Basques--who are a tough breed of montagnards--, and the location of many a battle and epic voyage. Naturally I am going to take it easy, so I plan to follow the first stages of the Camino de Santiago, both to have some trail signs and to make sure that if anything happens someone else will come along eventually to give me a hand.

I took the train at Bergerac and after two transfers landed in the small train station of Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, where several trails that cut across France (including the one that goes through Périgord and Bergerac) come together. The foothills of the Pyrenees, which I could see through the train windows, are green and luscious, with plenty of streams coming down from the mountains to the south. Lots of peregrinos milling around in Saint-Jean, from true mountaineers loaded with gear for camping, to singles or pairs who were getting ready to undertake the 800 km walk to Sanitago (also overloaded with gear, in my humble opinion). It was pretty warm (heat advisory for temperatures that might exceed 30 degrees C over the next couple of days) and humid, so almost immediately you were drenched in sweat that would not evaporate. I stopped by the Peregrinos Welcoming Center, where a group of kind volunteers made their best to dissuade us of the craziest plans. For example, the first stage is 30 km long and takes you over the crest to Roncesvalles, and no, starting at 2 pm doesn't give you enough time to get there today. It will take at least 7 hours. I stored this piece of wisdom for future reference, and then walked about 5 km to the hostel where I had booked a bed for the night, Le Relais de la Source, in the village of Caro. Unfortunately it is not on the El Camino path, so it was suggested to me that I would have to walk back to Saint-Jean the following morning. Me go back? Never!

I got there early, around 4 pm, and was greeted by the barks of a Border Collie, Zuki, who reminded me a lot of Cooper. The barking brought Muriel out, who welcomed me like a long-lost brother. The accommodation is pretty basic, as is common in hostels, and I was going to share the four-bed room with a couple from France who was coming by motorcycle later in the afternoon. Another friend of Muriel was there, Pascale, and in no time at all we fell into easy conversation. My French is middle-level, at best, but the two friends had no trouble understanding me (a tremendous boost of confidence that I need to improve), and were full of curiosity about what a geologist does, and about what I was doing in France. Then we started telling travel stories, dabbled into French and US politics, and talked about this and that until we were interrupted by a phone call: The other two visitors had had a minor accident in their motorcycle, she fell off, and hurt her ankle bad enough that she landed at the hospital. Dommage! That was the end of their vacation and, no, they were not coming.

Muriel then got ready to start supper, but before she got down to it I asked if there was a way to reach El Camino from Caro, without having to go back to Saint-Jean. Yes, there is, you take Le Chemin Primitive all the way to La Vierge d'Orisson, a small statue of our Lady that is half way between Saint-Jean and Roncesvalles. She even had some printed instructions. Perfect! Half way should be 3.5 hours. Say 4 hours, so I could start at 7 am and be there by 11 am.

Supper was a grand affair, with salad, pasta, a large bowl of ratatouille, and an omelet platter the size of a pizza. Yumm! Like before the conversation was quick and very lively, and I felt blessed to have found such amiable companions.

The following morning I was on the road by 6h45, and had no problems following the instructions to the start of the "Primitive Camino". Primitive it was, with no signs of anyone having walked this way in the last couple of years (or maybe since the Middle Ages?). There were small (very small) shell signs here and there, but mostly I had to go from the shape of the road, as mimicked by the luscious vegetation, which unfortunately included abundant blackberry bushes and trailers, which in no time had me bleeding from a thousand cuts. I had started early to take advantage of the cool of the morning, but by 9h00 I was drenched in unproductive sweat (unproductive because it would not evaporate and cool me down on account of the high humidity). Without evaporative cooling I got hotter and hotter. Time ticked by, and by 11h00 I was still climbing, steeper and steeper slopes. I had water with me, but not a lot of it, but was able to refill my bottle whenever I crossed a stream. The crest of the mountains--which are quite considerable--kept sliding away out of sight. The last two hours were pure torture, and when at last I reached the small statue, at 14h00, I prayed fervently in thanksgiving for having at last reached the crest of the mountain chain. Alas, it wasn't. I had only reached the first 800 meters of elevation gain, and I had another 400 m to go.

So the slug started again, but this time there were no streams to give me their waters, so I started rationing my scarce resources and became slightly dehydrated (I know because I started getting fibrillating cramps in both my legs). I also noticed that there were no other peregrinos behind me, which I imagine was because the wave that started at 7h00 had gone by around noon. So I was the straggler. On and on the camino went, and ahead of me loomed an enormous mountain. There was no way I was going to be able to climb it. Fortunately, the camino took a side trail, skirting the tall mountain, and after a kilometer or two I reached a water spring, where I was able to drink liter after liter of water. It was there that I met two other peregrinas. They were from Brazil and planned to go all the way to Santiago. They had started at 5h00 and, like me, they figured they were the tail of the procession. So from there on we walked together, supporting each other in the best way we could. They were in their mid to late 50's, and not experienced hikers, but we limped together all the way to the pass across the crest of the mountains, and rejoiced seeing the hills of Navarra extending at our feet. This is when my real Calvary started, because going down was a lot harder than going up. Not only were the knees strained, but tired and facing steep downward slopes I had a real concern about stumbling down and falling. The girls were in better shape for that, and left me far behind (but were very sweet and waited for me at different points until, close to Roncesvalles, I asked them to go ahead and secure their hostel). I had booked an expensive room ahead of time, and was all I could do to stumble into the Guest House, to rehydrate and seek rest for the night. Tomorrow is all downhill to Zubiri, but only 20 km, so I will take my time to get started and hopefully get there in good time.