Day 1

St Jean Pied de Port – Roncesvalles

25.1km/15.6miles

I awoke after a peaceful sleep with just as much excitement and energy to begin walking as the night before.  Weight was my only concern.  I still do not know how much my pack weighed.  I watched as all the other bags lined up next to mine, nonchalantly picking each one up trying to get a quick feel for what was “normal”.  My bag was heavy and I knew I had to let go of some things.

Six of us took advantage of Corazon Puro’s services and were set to begin our journeys together in the morning.  We drove about an hour through the mountains to reach the most popular starting point in St Jean Pied de Port, France.  I was extremely excited to be able to have traveled to two countries during my time away, even if I was only in France for half the day.

The winding road through the mountains left a knot in my stomach.  I felt terrible.  I was in a constant flux of feeling sick.  Whomever made the rule that the smallest girl sits in the back sucks.  I literally had my head down ten minutes into the drive, not even able to enjoy the view.  I needed to step foot on solid ground to provide my stomach relief.

My anxious pace quickly dwindled my group of six down to one.  I was a lone seeker now, owning my own journey and open to whatever needed to come my way.

Walking through the city of St Jean was one of the most surreal moments in my life.  I couldn’t believe where I was.  My heart was heavy with gratitude.  Around each corner I kept thinking how every street and building consistently exceeded my expectations of Europe.  I photographed the details with my wide eyes as I walked in wonder.  Street signs, door knockers, window shutters all gracefully had their place.

The trek out of the city was known to be one of the most strenuous days on the Camino.  The distance being 25k with a 1,390m incline.  No fucking joke.  A common conversation people had on the first day was if you were walking the full distance to Roncesvalles or stopping 7.8k into the day in Orrison.  Mostly everyone I spoke with planned on stopping.  They had made prior reservations since it is a smaller albergue with only 18 beds.  It would be impossible to find a bed this late in the game.  All of this unbeknownst to me prior to this day.  I had no other choice but to continue on.

This was the first day on the camino for many pilgrims.  Most start in St. Jean, the most popular route.  I had heard from someone that around 400 people started this same day.  I had not expected there to be so many people.  Everyone was equally spread out, but I was never out of sight of anyone.  I could feel the anxiousness of everyone’s energy as we all trekked on; none of us having a clue of what to expect.  I was quickly introduced to the phrase “Buen camino”, a common phrase being thrown around by every passer by, translating to “good way” meaning “good luck and happy traveling”.

It wasn’t long before the weight of my pack grew heavy on my shoulders.  This would be my first hard core back packing adventure; my feet and back were virgins.  Everything was fun and exciting until the consistent pain settled in.  Between the weight of the pack and the constant pounding on my feet, the gates flew wide open for my first negative thought to begin repeating itself.  “This fucking sucks.”  Over and over again.  Every now and then I would look up to see the most incredible view of my life.  It was only then that I cultivated enough strength to fight back and slightly tune out those thoughts so I could smile again.  The vast panorama views kept me feeling alive and distracted me from myself.

The camino inclined for most of the day, crossing over the Pyrenees Mountains.  Just as I would reach a point of what I was hoping for was the top of the pass, another stretch became visible with pilgrims walking in a line; climbing higher and higher.  The only thing that kept me going was the thought that this could possibly be the top of the peak and two German men that kept their eye on me.  The Germans were my secret motivation.  Just when I had enough and dropped to my knees, I could see them ahead, waiting for me.  They had taken it upon themselves to look after me, subliminally providing me support and the strength to continue on.

After 7+ hours of hiking uphill, it was finally safe to feel a sense of relief.  One of the highest points on the Camino, 1,450m or 4,757 ft.  I had been looking forward to the decent all day, going down sounds easier than up, right?  Wrong!  Going down instantly kills your knees; going down is often harder.  Its like your body is in motion and your knees become the brakes.  This was a first for me, I have never hiked this high to feel the effects of going down.  Pain settled in my shoulders, feet and now my knees.

With about an hour left now, my pace slowed down to taking breaks every 10 min or so.  I used my poles to hold myself up to provide some sort of relief to my feet while my body and head hung low.  I had never in a million years expected walking to be this hard.  Nothing could ever prepare anyone for this.  Even the most well trained walkers feel pain after walking 20k straight.

The Germans, who for the life of me I could not pronounce their names, spotted Roncesvalles, a refuge in the clouds.  Thank you God, Jesus, the universe whomever is listening.  We barely knew each other, but had spent most of the day hiking together.  I was grateful for their support afterwards.  I now wonder what my day would of been like without them.  I imagine they inspired an inner strength inside myself to keep going.  I felt safe and not alone.  Us and the hundreds of other hikers who started the Camino that day were in this together.

 

A good bed, good meal, good beer and the most friendly group of volunteers made my stay unforgettable.  I have never been so welcomed by people in my life and it was more than I could have ever asked for.  After a long, exciting, challenging and painful day, rest was well deserved and needed.