Roncevalles at Last!

General Strike in Pamplona

Pamplona was our first encounter with Spanish soil.
There was a general strike going on across Spain
which brought what seemed to be all of the 200,000
citizens of Pamplona into the city streets for a march and demonstration.
Stuart and I wove our way into the marchers heading for
the bus station, and things were just beginning to get a bit
wild.
So we quietly boarded our bus to St. Jean Pied de Port,
and watched the Pyrenees loom around us.  I began to
ask myself what we were getting into, but I also knew that
all pilgrims feel this way on this part of the journey.
The Pilgrim´s Office where all would-be pilgrims must
register, was extremely busy and we just managed to get
two of the last beds in the municipal auberge up the street.
(Our notion of carrying a tent flew out the window as soon
as we tried to heft our full packs, so we are at the mercy of
the refuges, which is as it should be, since part of this
experience is to get out of our comfort zone, and privacy is
just that--a comfort.)

The walk ahead in view

So we got a bed and a simple pilgrim meal and tried to sleep!
Excitement and restlessness were high, but the through
hikers in the bunks around us were dead asleep by 9 pm.
Some had already walked the La Puy route of some 740 km,
so they already had a walking, sleeping, eating rhythm.
The next day at the crack of dawn, we are out of the auberge
and forlornly looking for an open shop to purchase any kind
of bread or food to carry with us.  Not one shop was open,
so we girded our loins and began our upward march.
First day, 8 km, straight up into the gently undulating
Pyrenees.  The vistas grew more and more spectacular with
each switch back in the road.  Pretty soon, the only sound
was the clanging of cowbells and sheep bleating on the hilllsides.
I leaned heavily on my tall wooden staff to help me up the
steep incline.  It was the most grueling hike I have ever
undertaken.  We were regularly outpaced by the experienced
alpine wakers who clack-clacked past us with their trekking poles.  Ah, well, we are pilgrims, not hikers!  One more night in a refuge in France, and again at dawn we  were off  after a cup of coffee and some bread and jam.

Today was a steady climb up to almost 2000 meters across16 km, then a treacherous downhill slide at the end descending to the Abbey at Roncevalles, where 200 other pilgrims were already milling about trying to get bunks.  Roncevalles is the traditional starting point in Spain for El Camino de Santiago.
I have my bunk and I have rubbed my sore muscles with balm and hand washed my clothes.  There will be Pilgrim´s Mass tonight in the great Abbey church.  I look forward  to the official imprimateur of the church´s blessing on this journey.