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.