Finally got Internet and permission to use lap top. What can I say about the past few days? I absolutely loved Saint Jean Pied de Port. I was in high spirits with looking, tasting, and walking up and down the town. Lovely flowers everywhere, cute shops and tiny cafes. Walking the cobblestone streets on a beautiful autumn day, well, my cells were happy. Then, a lovely meal with our friends in a lovely restaurant.
When I first laid eyes on the Pyrenees, I thought, “My, how very gorgeous.” Then I noticed how steep it climbed and my heart sank. I have to go up there? With this pack? O.K. then. Let’s start. It’s one thing to read about it and see pictures but quite another to actually having to do it. It’s very easy to have courage from afar. I set one foot and the next onto the path. On and on and on. Mist was rising and the surroundings were green and dotted with cows and houses. I stopped to catch my breath. After a couple of hours climbing, my spine was on fire, pushing Quasimodo (my name for my backpack) into my intestines. My thighs were shaking, my throat parched and dry and my feet hurt.
That was only the beginning. (Did I mention my bloody hemorrhoids???) I told Carrie, who was soldiering on and trying not to moan, that we had to remember how eager we were to do this. On and on, up and up. It couldn’t possibly turn into Jacob’s Ladder? Past cows and sheep, past other Peregrinos. Suddenly, my right boot hurt and my sole was on fire. Changed to my sandals, drank water, walked on. One more steep and rocky incline and finally, we thought it was done. We were on the way down. Basically that was correct. Except this “down” was miles of a very steep path, in the middle of a huge forest.
I knew I could not rest because I could never get back up. Carrie was getting exhausted as well but I told her we had to get out of this forest as we had no more food nor water. We could not rest. Well, she got her second wind at that and walked past me. Finally, we saw sunlight and there stood Julio. I nearly cried with relief but was too tired to produce tears.
We had lost Eileen somewhere but could not wait. This was an 11 hour and 21 minute long trek over rough and difficult terrain. BUT… we hmade it. I saw grown men cry and here we were. Carrie, my brave teen, and I.
I think there’s a law against serving people food earlier than 8:30 P.M. Well, tapas excepted. I can’t deal with those anymore. I am soo missing my greens and fresh fruits.
I can feel my energy seeping out. Bread, carbs, eggs, fries and then… again. Walking 22 km yesterday from Roncesvalles to Zubiri was not too hard as I had sent Quasimodo along. Here, I will state, that I had absolutely no separation anxiety.
This Basque country is beautiful. Some of the camino was sun dappled forest and great paths along the hill side. Some other people joined and we had nice conversation, usually in 4 languages, until we were in Zubiri. At one point I heard a snappy, lively tune out of an open window and I broke out in some happy dance steps.
Our refugio was in an old monastery, clean and bright with a very nice kitchen. We also got to wash our clothes in the machine and not by hand, as well as a nice shower. Except the water turned off every 25 seconds or so. I guess that’s the way to save energy. As we went to the kitchen, our Korean friends were there already, cooking their rice and veggies. Our friend Julio fixed two huge pots of lentils and we all sat around a big table with more people from Israel, Ireland, Belgium. What a lovely, fun-filled dinner. We laughed so hard we cried over Julio’s rabbit antics.
For photos, remember to check out the albums on our Camino Not Chemo Facebook Page.