A Golden Day and Disharmonious Night

After our wonderful evening in Pamplona, Kyle, Kevin, Ally and I slept in.  We had book our hostel for two nights so we would have time to enjoy the city more. It was nice to be able to lay around and relax for the day.

The cafe we ate at

The four of us had lunch at a cafe that Ernest Hemingway used to frequent.  Then, Kyle and I left to explore the city more while Kevin and Ally read the books they’d brought along.  The main square of the city was much emptier than it had been the day before. I stretched out on a bench in the sun. One of the more frivolous things I’d brought with me was a black and grey skirt.  I could wear it with on of my walking shirts and feel like a girl instead of a dirty hiker. That day was warm and perfect.

Kyle and I whiled away the afternoon talking about deep things and shallow things. While people watching, he commented on how great it was that women wear tights as pants these days (men!). We also talked about our dreams for the future and troubling things from the past.

That afternoon in the square was full of golden moments I would dwell on the next day when things started to look down for our quartet. 

The square of Pamplona

At nightfall, we fell asleep with a room full of new pilgrims who had wandered in throughout the day. We planned to get an early start in the morning and use our renewed vigor after a day of rest. 

Little did we know, around 2 AM, the whole hostel would be woken unexpectedly. A very drunk man had stumbled into the room and he was not content to fall into bed and sleep it off.  He was shouting loudly and knocking into things. When people started to shush him, things only went downhill. Now he began shouting insults; “Wankers. You, your wife, your children. You’re all wankers! Shut up, the lot of you bastards.” His insults focused in on one man in particular who he seemed to know. Soon came the off-key singing and the declaration, “I’m taking all my clothes off now.” 

Finally, when it seemed he would never be quiet, Ally and another woman rebuked him sternly. He’d been ready to fight the men, but somehow in his drunken state he seemed to fall back into the patterns of childhood at the sound of a motherly scolding.  The women told him to go bed and let us pilgrims sleep. They spoke firmly, but softly and miraculously he followed their commands. 

The event left me shaking a bit and I lay awake as other drifted back into snoring slumbers. Eventually, even I relaxed and fell asleep for the few more hours we had until morning.

Pilgrims in Pamplona

Our third day of walking, as reported by the Spanish man at dinner, would be short.  So, after our mental and physical turmoil of the day before we decided to sleep a little later than normal.  To our surprise, it was after 8 AM when we finally got up and packed our things. It was even longer before we really got started because Ally and Kevin desperately wanted coffee and there was nothing open in our town that could provide for their addiction.

While looking for a cafe or restaurant we met a beautiful father/daughter pair.  They were so kind and had an infectious happiness.  The young woman told me that they do a week on the camino every year and it brings her so much joy because it is her dream to do this with her father.  We crossed paths with the pair at least a dozen times that day and it was nice to see their friendly faces and know a bit of their story.

It was about 5 k before we found a quaint outdoor cafe, built onto a house.  The soft-spoken German “guru” from the day before caught up with us there and joined our party. I found out his name was Simon and he was a university student in Switzerland.  Soon we parted. After eating some fruit and a muffin I wanted to walk again, rather than sit and shiver away the shady September morning.

The four of us stayed close together that day. It was a light day to me and my spirits were high. Ally seemed to struggle the most. I think she was disappointed in herself for having a hard time. At one point she explained to us her level of negativity; she would pass a leaf and say, “Did you see that mother fucking leaf? I hate that fucking leaf. I want to kill it. It got in my way on purpose.” Kevin replied simply, “Yeah. I saw that leaf.” and that made her feel better.

In the early afternoon we had reached a suburb of Pamplona, our destination for the day. The streets were busy and there was a festival occurring somewhere. We lingered a long time to my slight frustration. Kyle sat on the street in front of the Farmacia popping and doctoring all his blisters with a knife and compeed. I considered it gross and ineffective.

Then we got food at a supermarket and ate in the sunlight across the street (I sincerely hope Kyle washed his hands before eating!).  

Simon walked by us on the other side of the street and we shared smiles, hellos, and buen caminos. “Buen camino” was the typical pilgrim greeting or acknowledgement. Nearly every time (especially in the beginning of the way) that you passed someone or were passed you would exchange those words, which basically mean “good walk.” After the first few days this greeting began to lose it’s charm and we couldn’t imagine another month of saying this a hundred times a day.

The rest of the walk went quickly, but we were disappointed to find the hostel we had planned to stay in was already full. Compared to the day before we felt like we had arrived very early, but in towns like Pamplona the municipal albergues could fill up by noon.  My Chinese-Austrian friend from the first day had gotten a bed at the municipal and gave us directions to a street in the city that had more hostels. 

Walking into the city was bizarre. The only American equivalent I could think of was Medieval Times. We walked through pathways between massive stone walls into the small, but impressive city center.  The first albergue we found got our business and we were really awed by the cool modern design of the hostel. 

Cool bunkbeds!

Unfortunately, as we were being shown the different areas of the albergue, Kyle tripped on a few steps and twisted his ankle. He was obviously in a lot of pain, but we didn’t know at that time how bad it would be. 

After settling into the hostel, I did some laundry in the sink and talked to a rather large American woman. Her mom had died the previous year and that spurred her to quit her job and decide to follow her dreams. One dream was to be an actress, so she had taken up acting classes, and another was to do the camino, so here she was. 

As my laundry dried, Kyle and I set out to explore the city, albeit somewhat slowly as he tested the limits of his ankle.  We soon entered a beautiful square, where we saw strangers and familiar faces. 

Pamplona is the city of the famous “Running of the Bulls.” It seemed to be quite a tourist and party destination. There were as many people sitting on the warm street drinking as there were in the bars. We were surprised to find a vending machine full of junk food (even hamburgers) and sex toys.

Some people drinking on a narrow Pamplona street

Rather than buying anything there, the two of us went into a small store.  I got a box of Sangria and Kyle purchased a bottle of wine.  Starting to get hungry, we stumbled upon a nearly empty Hemingway themed, middle-eastern restaurant. The food was pretty good to me, but to Kyle everything was simply “wonderful!!!” I had to laugh at his over-the-top enthusiasm. 

After eating, we ran into Chen, who had directed us into the city. He had some medical stuff that he offered to let Kyle use, so we followed him to his albergue. We sat outside there for hours talking to various pilgrims. We shared our sangria and wine and our new friends all chimed in with medical advice for Kyle’s ankle. It was now swollen and changing colors so he was convinced to shave it and wrap it securely with tape. 

Before we left, I got Chen’s email address so I would have a friend in Vienna if I decided to visit there. Most of the people we met were continuing on the next day, but Kyle, Ally, Kevin and I all wanted to stay an extra day in this special city. 

I didn’t see Chen again on the camino and I didn’t make it to Vienna during that trip. Camino friends can come and go quickly. Everyone I met, whether I knew them for a day or the whole journey, made an impression on me and was an integral part of my journey.

It was dark walking back. Kyle and I were happy and tipsy and really had to pee badly.  I remember thinking how strange it was that I had met this person just a few days before and we already felt so close. We really thought that the four of us would start and finish the camino together, but things happen that we don’t plan and no one can truly plan the Way.

Pain, Pride, Pilgrims

Physically, the camino is not extremely strenuous. I met pilgrims ages 10 - 75, in all kinds of physical condition. However, walking 15-30 kilometers every day while carrying 8 or 9 kilograms on your back is the real challenge. I had not prepared for the camino at all, though I’m not in terrible shape. Florida in July and August is utterly miserable and after one brief, but baking, afternoon walk, I decided just to trust that would gain strength on the camino itself. 

Waking up on the second day of my journey I could feel my muscles complaining.  In German they call this a “muscle hangover,” which I find to be an apt expression.  Everything from my back to my toes ached from the difficult day before.  My knee was especially sore, but I could walk on it fairly easily.  

The weather that day was gorgeous. The sun was shining and a breeze cooled us. I started out again with my three American buddies. We left after a pretty relaxed cafe breakfast, not understanding why so many other pilgrims seemed in such a rush to be off before the sun had even risen. 

Walking with Kyle made the time pass quickly. While his entitled attitude could get on my nerves, I also genuinely liked him and found him interesting.  He told me crazy stories about his boarding school experiences (seriously like the stuff of fiction), his decline into drug addiction, and his recently ended relationship.  I told him my own stories of my much more mellow home-schooled upbringing, my year in South Korea, and my Jaggi.

The four of us took a lot of breaks again, enjoying the nice weather and each other’s company.  We had determined that we would walk about 27 k to Larrasoana, rather than stopping in the slightly larger town of Zubiri.  

Zubiri was a great stop for a break to eat the cheese and bread we had obtained earlier at a small supermarket. Kyle and I had ended up walking ahead of Kevin and Ally again, so we had a long break waiting for them.  While waiting, I offered some cheese to a German fellow about my age. Kyle had met him at dinner the night before while I slept.  He was using a guide book and gave us some information about Larrasoana. This was the beginning of his and Kyle’s “guru” relationship. Kyle decided that this guy was placed in his path to help him at all the right times. He didn’t know his name and didn’t want to, though I found out soon enough.

When Ally and Kevin arrived we parted from our mystical new friend and went in search of a pharmacy. Kevin was having a lot of pain in his knee and Kyle’s knee was also deteriorating quickly.  They had both had previous injuries that were acting up under the strain.  Unfortunately, we learned the bitter truth of Spanish siesta time when we discovered the farmacia was close for a two hour afternoon break. Kevin didn’t want to continue without a knee brace so we waited about 20 minutes for it to reopen. By this time it was 5 PM and I was getting a little impatient to arrive at our albergue and relax. 

Finally, the pharmacy opened and Kevin and Kyle went inside. To all of our disappointment there was no brace that would fit Kevin’s knee. Kyle did purchase one though, so our waiting hadn’t been in vain.  

Kevin adamantly kept a smile on his face as we walked on, this time I mostly walked with him and Ally.  Those last 5 k to our town seemed an eternity.  First, there was a horrible gravel factory that provided a dull backdrop. Then the way was really lovely, but it had been almost 12 hours since we set out that morning and our steps were slower and more painful.  We stopped at a four hundred year old fountain to rest and have a drink as the sun started to set.  Setting out again we stopped to pet a puppy that seemed intent on following us and then picked a few wild blackberries that grew along the path. 

"Don't STOP Walking"

Eventually, we arrived at our town. We hadn’t seen any other pilgrims in the last hours of our walk and we began to realize why some pilgrims set out early and stop early- to get beds in the municipal albergues. The lone municipal albergue of that town was totally full and another small private hostel we tried to enter was locked and close. It was a low moment for me, emotionally, as I had so desperately wanted to just take off my backpack for the night. 

As we walked away, somewhat aimlessly, not sure where to go next, a man ran down the street behind us waving his arms. It was the hostel owner! He didn’t seem to have expected more pilgrims this late, but he was more than happy to offer us beds for the night.  Ally and I took top bunks so our slightly crippled companions wouldn’t have to climb up and down.  

We were all dismayed at the sight of our feet after so many hours of walking. Everyone had blisters of some sort and my feet were white, waterlogged, and cracking.  Kevin explained this was because my socks weren’t wool and he gladly gave me a pair of his. “That’s why I brought three pairs!” he said almost triumphantly. 

Our day wasn’t quite over, though it was nearly full-dark outside. We were starving and had no food left, so we set out to the village’s only restaurant/bar. Again we resented the early risers who had taken every space at the tables and seemed to be slowly enjoying the cheap wine that came with the pilgrim meals. We had missed this meal and another one would be served later, we were informed. So, we retreated outside for an hour, trying to talk and stay positive. 

Finally, we could sit down at a long table and enjoy our own four course meal.  The only other pilgrim to eat so late was a Spaniard who seemed friendly, but spoke no English.  We still had no problem all enjoying the meal together. 

Many restaurants along the way have a special menu just for pilgrims. I chose this option and for just 10 or 11 euros had a large plate of pasta, a giant bowl of beef stew, unlimited bread and wine, and ice cream for dessert.  Although I need the calories for energy, I couldn’t finish all the portions of this feast. 

Near the end of the meal, when we could concentrate on something other than sating our hunger, we tried to talk some more to our table-mate. He was really the epitome of “tall, dark, and handsome” and had an easy smile.  My Spanish is really bad so Ally was the one to mostly speak to him.  All I told him is that I liked the colorful bracelets that lined his wrists. To my surprise he promptly removed one and put it on my wrist. I was embarrassed by his generosity, but really appreciated the kind memento.  

The walk back to our hostel was a physical low-point for me. I deeply hated the cobblestone streets, that used to appear charming. Tears started coming to my eyes from the pain in my feet, knees, and back.  Kevin may have noticed because he started walking backwards and told me to try the same. It really helped to put pressure on different areas and best of all it made me smile again. 

The camino is not about the pilgrimage, but about the pilgrims. The true spirit of this journey, I realized, is interdependency, offering what you have, even if it’s just a smile, and taking what is offered to you. Because we all need help, no matter how strong we think we are.

Day 1- "Why am I doing this?" (Part Two)

That morning seemed infinitely long. We had stopped at the cafe relatively early in the day’s journey. My next respite came much later as I walked alone. Mostly my head stayed down avoiding the rain and the long road ahead. Then I finally had a reason to look up. I had reached the summit and while amazing views were hidden by the clouds I walked through, there was a small rustic building with no door. Inside, it was almost completely barren. An empty fireplace and a table were the only facets of the small room.  Kyle stood looking sullen alongside two other men whose faces I faintly recognized.  

I stayed in the hut for the next half hour. It emptied and filled with pilgrims who just peeked inside or stayed for a while. Within a few minutes of taking off my pack and standing still I started shaking from the cold. An older woman offered me a fleece, but I was already wearing one though it had soaked through. 

Soon, a burly Portuguese man, who didn’t speak a common language of any of the rest of us, began trying to light a fire. It was a funny image; pilgrims from around the world shivering in a mountain-top cabin as a bear of a man rips pages from a camino guide book to kindle damp wood into flames. I never learned that man’s name, but I liked his heart. He didn’t seem cold at all, but he worked really hard trying to start something that would warm strangers.

Unfortunately, just as the fire began to come to life I decided to set out. Shouldering my pack, I felt desperately ready to finish the day. Mostly downhill and mostly alone, the rest of the way wasn’t terribly bad or good. I hadn’t eaten much that day, not wanted to dig through my pack and take out food. When I started feeling shaky and weak I took out some bread and chewed as I walked.  

Walking down led gradually out of the rain, clouds, and bitter cold.  I thought a lot as I walked then- alone, able to focus on something other than moving forward. Many of my thoughts rested on my Korean boyfriend, who I’ll call Jaggi. We had dated for only four months while I lived in Korea. I didn’t want to be in a relationship, but at some point that was no other option. We fell into a crazy, young, obsessive love. Talking about our future children and promising to never love another person was characteristic in our everyday conversations (embarrassing!). Jaggi was my first boyfriend, though I had dated others casually. I liked it that way. I wanted my first boyfriend to be the one I settled down with and shared a life with. However, a big reason for doing the camino was to think about this relationship and my future, as two distinct paths lay in front of my. The few months of long-distance while I was at home in Florida  had been incredibly difficult, but also good in that they gave me the physical separation I need to think more objectively about my life.

Having a certain Asian man on the brain, I immediately struck up a conversation with two different Asians who caught up with me.  One was from South Korea and the other was ethnically Chinese, born in Austria.  I liked them right away. They hadn’t known each other before that day as they began to walk together. They had gotten lost for an hour and, thankfully, found their way back to the course. To my surprise, they recognized me from the  cabin as the girl shaking with cold.  “I tried to find something to give you,” the Chinese man said as if explaining himself, “but I only had T-shirts.” I was surprised and touched that yet another stranger had been so empathic and kind.

Not long after I met these two gentlemen, we made it to Roncesvalles, our final destination of the day! Kyle was standing there at the edge of town waiting for me, his sister, and her boyfriend. He joined me and my two new friends and we all headed to the local albergue to reserve beds. Ally and Kevin weren’t far behind and found us as we stood in line. 

I was far less than social that evening as physical pain set in and I found the introvert in me needing to retreat. After a marvelous hot shower, I climbed into bed and barely left until morning. I slept a few hours, wrote in my journal, and ate the food I had intended for my lunch that day. 

Kyle waiting at the edge of town. The building behind him turned out to be the albergue.

Although the day had been difficult, in some ways more difficult than any that lay ahead, I didn’t consider giving up. The feeling of making it was worth all the trials along the way. And even more importantly, I had had a hint of the beauty of pilgrims. So many people, each with their own reasons for the journey, all temporarily brought together. Pilgrims are not like normal people. No matter what they are like in everyday life, there is something that changes on the Way.  There is camaraderie, warmth, and generosity between pilgrims that is rare in the “real world.” After a glimpse of that on my first day, I wanted nothing more than to continue and be a part of it until the end.

Day 1- "Why am I doing this?" (Part One)

That night in St Jean Pied de Port was characterized by tentative excitement and eagerness, that I hadn’t felt starting out from Paris that morning. 

To me, getting to know people is truly a joy. It’s like opening a present that is truly a surprise. Usually at birthdays and Christmas we have strong expectations for presents, but if you have ever opened a present that came out of the blue you know the feeling I mean. Sometimes it’s not a good surprise and you don’t like the person you are getting to know and other times it just keeps getting better and better.  Either way the excitement and newness of those first conversations is invaluable.

With Kyle, Kevin, and Ally, I found our conversations to be of the best variety.  I spoke mostly to Kyle as Kevin and Ally were a couple and we ended up platonically paired off. Kyle had had a very different life from me and had so many interesting anecdotes and stories to tell. He’d gone to boarding school, had a famous father, worked as a ski instructor… Such interesting life experiences that were so contrasting to my own!

Much of our chatting occurred during and after the evening meal at our albergue. 

There was an indescribable atmosphere at that meal. We sat in a large kitchen at a vast wooden table that could easily accomodate the dozen or so people who joined the meal. All the food was cooked there at the hostel and it was such a feast. My mouth waters thinking about the cold pesto soup, beans, potatoes, veal, melon, wine and sangria that I shared that night with strangers, while feeling right at home. 

Day one of the Camino de Santiago is a definite test of resolve and determination, not to mention physical fitness.  In the Martin Sheen movie, “The Way,” a character gets lost and dies on this lovely section of the camino, where you cross the Pyrenees into Spain and the weather is more often bad than good.  Thankfully, I hadn’t yet seen that movie and I was quite optimistic starting out in the morning with my three friends.  We started after 7:00 (later than many pilgrims) so there was grey light showing us the way out of town. I felt well rested, though I was kept up by a cacophony of snores coming from the several Korean men sharing our bunk-bed filled room.  I had met these men before going to bed and loved their enthusiastic response to my few Korean phrases and the dog tags I showed them that had belonged to my Korean “jaggi” (Jaggi = Darling or honey).  

Regardless of our loud roommates and various levels of restedness we started out almost giddy with anticipation.  The four of us talked and joked, took tons of pictures, and stopped often for short breaks from the steep hiking.  Throughout the morning the day stayed cloudy and cool.  We passed gorgeous mountain views and horses grazing in the midst of fog.  Thanks to our eccentric pace we often passed and were passed by the same pilgrims so the faces became familiar.

 

Too quickly the rain began. It started off slowly and in his cheerful optimistic manner Kyle was sure it would stop soon. Minute after minute the rain kept coming and rather than wavering in strength in got harder.  We stopped to pull out rain jackets and I covered my backpack. A few more minutes passed and I discovered my rain jacket was not at all waterproof (I hadn’t had a chance to test it in sunny Florida). I still stayed happy a while longer. I like the rain. It felt refreshing while walking the steep paths. Except it never ended. 

Soon each raindrop was an added misery. Kyle’s rain jacket also failed and he had no pack cover. His smiles and jokes disappeared and we began to walk mostly in silence. Eventually we rounded a bend and saw the odd sight of a mobile cafe set up along the way. The small overhang gave a little shelter and I immediately bought a hot chocolate to warm my freezing fingers. The higher we walked the colder it got and unfortunately standing still, while soaking wet, doesn’t do much to warm you. Up to that point Kyle and I had mostly walked a little ahead of Kevin and Ally. However, after they caught up with us at the tent and we all started out together he shot ahead like a machine, never looking back.  

The way was no longer conversational or cheerful. Soon I had separated from Kevin and Ally also and walked alone. The wind was intense and blew the vicious raindrops into my face. My hair was soaking and while my clothes were warm against my body as I walked I knew that they were drenched with rain and sweat as well. Once I slipped in the mud on a small path with a steep drop on one side. My knee slammed against a rock, but the pounding in my chest affected me more. By that time my body and mind were mostly numb from cold and resolution. My half-conscious mantra was the title of this blog, “One foot in front of the other, that’s one less step I have to take.” Unlike the rest of the camino there were no options to stop early on this day. The one hostel between St Jean and the next town was far behind me and could only be stayed in if you had a reservation.

I was only half way through the first day of my month long journey and already wondering why so many people chose this over a resort on the beach.

From Paris to Pilgrimage

(I'm writing this more than 9 months after finishing the Camino, using my journal to fill in gaps in my memory. I will change most names to protect my friends's privacy.)

There are two lies that I like to tell myself: that I am invincible and that I am totally independent.  Waiting at the Paris train station for my train to St Jean Pied Port, it was hard to really believe those things.  Of course I was nervous and vulnerable and felt alone.  At the beginning of an adventure you need someone to dialogue with besides the voice in your head that always fears the worst.  Yet, I had chosen to do this.  The Camino de Santiago had been a corner-of-my-mind dream since I'd learned of its existence and there's nothing better than bringing dreams to fruition.  It's a chancy thing to wait for timing, personalities, and desires to match up enough to also have someone to start your adventures with, so I began this one alone.

My previous days in Paris I had had few minutes to feel alone.  I chose to couch surf in Paris because I wanted to be introduced to the city by a local.  That experience was really perfect.  Angeline, my host, was just lovely.  We talked about all sorts of things and she took me out to try absinthe ("the green fairy") and to the Eiffel Tower at night.  She gave me great advice and told me interesting things about France that I wouldn't have known by reading a guide book or staying in a hostel.  

My only real day alone, I met a Parisian at my first touristy stop.  Tobias had spent some time studying in Rhode Island recently and had the day free, so he offered to show me around the city himself!  We walked almost everywhere and I marveled at how every street in Paris seemed to have its own charm and ancient beauty.  Tobias, my spontaneous friend for the day, took me to several places that I wouldn't have gone otherwise.  My favorite place we visited was Victor Hugo's house, which was hidden down a side street and had a gorgeous park-like courtyard.  We walked along a famous road I hadn’t heard of and I ate a baguette. Tobias informed me, ironically, that his favorite food during his time in America was French Fries. We had easy conversation about our cultures, travels, lives, and the things we saw in our wandering. 

Eventually, Tobias, living up to a stereotype of Frenchmen, began making frequent and obvious comments that declared his interest in me as a woman. I was wearing the old dog tags of my boyfriend and when he asked about the unusual necklace, I told him all about my long-distance ‘true love.’ Later we walked into a pet shop and I mentioned that I had really started falling in love with my boyfriend after he helped me give away the dog I got stuck caring for for a few months.  Tobias laughed outrageously and responded, “I’ll buy you a dog and get rid of it, if that’s all it takes to make you fall in love with me!”  Later in the afternoon we sat in some sunlit grass near fountains for a break.  Abruptly, Tobias moved several feet away from me and when I asked why, he boldly said, “It’s just too much for me. You’re too attractive.” I laughed these over-the-top comments away, but an hour later when he tried to hold my hand I shook the dog tags in his face as a reply and we parted ways not long after.

The next day it was a bit sad to shoulder my 18 pound backpack and head to the train station, but I had come to Europe with a purpose and I needed to begin my journey while my nerves were intact.

The view out my train window offered plenty of pleasant distractions from my over-analyzing and worrying.  The fields and foliage, windmills and farmhouses, made for a constant stream of idyllic scenes.  I didn't talk to anyone on the mostly empty train, but had time to dream and reflect.  Eventually, I transferred trains.  This one was going directly to the small town of St. Jean Pied Port, which is the traditional start of the Camino de Frances (The French Way, the most popular route of the Camino de Santiago).  I sat by the window with an empty seat on my left and two in front of me.  As the train filled these seats were taken by a trio of boisterous Americans, who were clearly also pilgrims.  

Their group consisted of two men and one woman.  As an anonymous observer I found myself trying to guess their relationships to each other and figure out from their conversation if I wanted to reveal myself as an English speaker and join in.  The youngest of the group was tall and lanky Kyle.  He had wavy brown hair that came into his face and stubble on his cheeks.  From the first I heard of their conversation he seemed extremely enthusiastic and optimistic.  He also talked like he knew he was being listened to and threw out some comments that let me know he was featured in an ad for Apple products (cool, but not the kind of thing to widen my eyes).  The only woman in their trio was Ally.  She and Kyle seemed very close though they were not a couple.  They had inside jokes and old memories they shared.  Unsurprisingly they turned out to be brother and sister.  The third member of the party was Kevin.  He was Ally's long term boyfriend and added a nice balance to the group.  Though they were all really enjoyable, Kevin was more mellow and laid-back than his girlfriend and her brother.  

When I spoke to them they were surprised that I was another English speaker, much less an American. I hadn’t been sure about them from the start, but I was quickly glad that I joined in the conversation. Soon, we were joking together and I was grateful to feel accepted.  At our destination, I begged to be able to follow them to the pilgrims information center where we would get directions to a hostel and information about our upcoming trek.

The four of us were in awe of the charming St Jean Pied de Port. The cobblestone streets, white buildings with red shutters, scenic mountains, and quaint shops all came together to give our American eyes a real treat.

St Jean Pied de Port 

We went from the information center to a hostel that the helpful volunteers had suggested.  Eric our host, was a bald man with a calm voice, who seemed to speak English, French and Spanish perfectly.

Upon our arrival Eric began a speech that he had obviously given before. 

“You are pilgrims on the way and it is a good way,” he said, “I was a pilgrim once and I lost all my anger and bitterness.  Well, some came back. At the church seeing the tourists taking pictures I was angry.  On the way you will learn about yourself.  Everything else is stripped away. You will also learn about others. On the way all status and standing is gone.  You will meet many people from many places and in the end no one will understand this journey but other pilgrims. We’re all just fucking pilgrims.  That’s it. Fucking pilgrims.  You’ll meet people, but don’t be afraid to leave them.  Don’t say, ‘Oh, they’ve been so nice I can’t go on without them.’ No. Do what you need to do.”

Eric’s speech went on and I listened reverently, though still unaware then how truthfully he spoke and how valuable his advice would be.

After he finished speaking, Eric showed us our hostel, a remodeled house from the 1600s. Stone walls and floor and a rickety staircase showed the house’s age. Our room was packed full of bunk beds, which we put our packs on to claim.

The next day we would begin walking, but entering that hostel (or albergue as we mostly referred to them) was, to me, the real beginning of the journey.