St Jean Pied de Port to Pamplona - the Camino Gives and the Camino Takes Away.

It was four years ago that my walking buddy, Rach and I decided we wanted to do the Camino.  We were all booked for September 2020 when that virus which will not be named threw a spanner in the works and forced a re-think of the world.  Fast forward to 2023, and we are finally here in France ready to embark on our Camino adventure.

I never thought undertaking this would be anything other than a walking adventure for me.  I’m not religious (more atheist leaning than agnostic) and never really thought of myself as particularly spiritual.  This was all about the walking for me.

I was being organised with my training, spending weekends out on local trails getting the hours under my feet, testing different setups with shoes and equipment to give myself the best advantage as we crept closer to our September starting point. 

Three weeks out, a routine training walk (8km from PA Hospital to Carindale Shopping Centre) completely derailed any further training, with a heel spur and plantar fasciitis wreaking havoc on my right arch and heel.  I was doing everything to get it right, rolling with a frozen bottle of water, rolling with a spiky ball, TENS machine, acupuncture, physio - scouring the internet for things that worked.

It seemed to be coming along slowly, and by the time I landed in London, I felt like I might be able to continue on this adventure.

Our first night’s accommodation was the Chemins D’Elika in St Jean - a gorgeous old home converted to hotel rooms - mine being on the 2nd floor up two gigantic flights of stairs, now I know why the tour agency said to pack light!  The room was absolutely magical, with a beautiful big set of doors that opened onto the gardens, a balcony, shutters - everything you could imagine of a medieval building with the added bonus of running water.  At night it was so silent you might think you had gone deaf - with nary a noise to be heard.  Waking during the night I looked out to a sky full of stars - no light pollution here to mar the celestial map overhead.  

The morning that we began our walk in St Jean, I confidently elected to take the longer, harder Napoleon route, a mistake I realised within the first hour of walking.  In that time, my heel began to tighten, then throb and then spasm, with waves of pain on each step.  As I limped into the albergue in Orisson (8.3km into a 24km day), I realised that that was the end of my first day, there was no way I could continue another 12km uphill then the steepish descent into Roncesvalles.  As I waited for Jean-Paul to collect me in the shuttle to take me onto the first night’s hotel, my foot was throbbing in time with my heartbeat, and I couldn’t help feeling like a failure.  Day 1 and I hadn’t even made it half way.    In my mind, I kept thinking I could have pushed on, but being the hero on Day 1 could also have ended my entire Camino.  If only I had taken the Valcarlos Route, I may not have been in this jam!

My walking buddy kept reminding me to be kind to myself, my best bud back in Brisbane was giving me pep talks, Brendon was talking me off the ledge and the irony wasn’t lost on me that I was wearing my Silver Fox Foundation shirt which proclaims that “Mental Health Begins with a Chat” on the back.  

I did find a couple of friends as I waited at Orisson, Giselle, who was from Puerto Rico and Diane, a fellow Aussie who was ready to give her body a rest after the hard start to the day.  I added her to my booking and we sat chatting while we waited to be picked up.  Getting the shuttle wasn’t all bad - we drove up to the cross on the Camino to collect another traveller and then back down the mountain to Roncesvalles, complete with a stop to give a mountain pony a rub on the nose as he approached our car.  Honestly, I felt sorry for Napoleon’s troops who did this trail across the Pyrenees - it wasn’t a walk in the park by any means!

With the hopes of restrapping and rehabbing my foot for the next day, I began to feel the first signs of my anxiety reaction kicking in.  Nauseated, gut churning, appetite lost - all bad signs when you need to be loading for the next day’s walk.  Dinner at Hotel Roncesvalles (seated next to Marv, a delightful nurse from Canada) was delicious though and I managed to partake of all three courses - scallop gratin, baked salmon and brownie with ice cream before turning in for a reasonable night’s sleep.  The rooms were lovely and roomy, with their own ensuites and a bonus lift!  The building is a restored medieval hospital that was next to the monastery (which is now an albergue).

Highlight of the afternoon was watching both Friends and Big Bang Theory dubbed in Spanish.  Safe to say that that 3 years of Duolingo was not enough to understand the shows, and there were no English captions, but fun to watch anyway.

Woke up with no noticeable difference in the foot, so bit the bullet and caught the bus to Akerreta.  I’d given myself a good talking to, cut myself some slack and realised that a lot of my anxiety is not only based on what others think, but what I think of myself, and I realised there is only one of those narratives I can control.  So my new mantra is “My Camino, My Way” so if the foot is bad, I listen to my body and I take the bus.

Which turned out to be a bit of a blessing, as I saw so many others who opted to do so as well, for many reasons - injury, time available to complete the journey, skipping sections that were more difficult or long between towns - and not one of those people was sitting in judgement of anyone else.  As my walking buddy noted, this is all unfolding for a reason, and this may well be what I need to do to find my way.

I got off the bus at Larrasoaña, a small village in Navarre and only a short walk up the hill to Akerreta.  Being 10am, it was far too early to check in, so I sat at the albergue in Larrasoaña for a little while before a short walk around the village looking for a shop - which did not open until 1.30pm.  So I took myself over the medieval bridge, and up the hill to Hotel Akerreta, a stately old home built in 1732.  It featured in the movie “The Way” starring Martin Sheen and Emilio Esteves.  As I opened the gate, a head bobbed out of the window and questioned “Si?”  All of my Spanish disappeared and I stumbled through “Yo tengo una reserva para esta noche”.  She responded with yes, check in is 2pm, so I hurriedly asked if I could just sit in the garden, which was met with a smile and a nod.  

As 2pm approached, Josef, the host came out and apologised that the floors were still wet, could I wait.  He gave me the wifi password and was accommodating and friendly for our whole stay.  I checked in and then ventured back to the “supermarket” in town, which was more like the convenience store you would find at the caravan park as a kid - but run by a friendly gentleman who asked where I was from, asked me how I could sleep there (to which he noted that our Beds are Burning) and then serenaded me with “Never Tear Us Apart” by INXS.  I asked him if he had songs for every country and he said he tried!  He served the customer in front of my speaking with a German accent, and I asked if he had an Aussie one for me. Try as he might it wasn’t quite right, and he told me about these bush Aussies who had visited recently - “I couldn’t understand them at all, they spoke a different kind of English.”

Dinner at the hotel was another 3 course affair with a delightful Spanish red included in the price.  Tonight’s menu - pasta carbonara (divine), slow-cooked steak in a red wine jus with potatoes and cheese and quince paste.  Truly delicious, and only available to those staying in the hotel - those pilgrims in the albergue were sure missing out!

A lovely conversation over dinner with Rob and Libby from Melbourne, and then a good night’s sleep before once again my walking buddy was off on the trail, and I was down to the bus stop.

Now this is where the story takes a turn.  After a stilted conversation with a couple of women who wanted to know where the bus stop was, I was able to convince them that the bus did indeed stop at this place at just before 10am.  However with 20 minutes to go before it was due, a white bus/van pulled up and the women asked if they were going to Pamplona.  When the driver confirmed, they jumped on and he asked if I was going with them.  Told him no I would wait for the bus.  Two reasons - I had no idea what company he was from and no idea how much it would cost, but pretty sure it would be more than the 2 Euros that the bus was going to cost. 

Shortly after, two more peregrinos suggested that that was the bus and I had missed my opportunity.  I assured them I caught said bus yesterday, and that that wasn’t it. They insisted it was, and I began to doubt myself (Why? Who knows?) That doubt stayed for quite some time as the bus ended up being about 25 minutes late and I did have a panic moment.  There was also another incident which I’m not quite ready to share yet - nothing major, just majorly embarrassing and I need to be in the right mood to share.

So onto the bus, and into Pamplona, where I have spent the morning wandering around, taking in the sights and getting a feel for this beautifully huge city.  Of note - there are not a lot of immediately obvious public toilets here.  After a drink and a snack, I spent about 15 minutes trying to find a bathroom to no avail.  So at 12pm I rushed as fast as my dodgy foot would let me, to the hotel, where I told them I had a reservation, knew I couldn’t book in early but could I use the bathroom.  Thankfully they agreed, my room was ready, so I killed two birds with one stone.  Now sitting on my balcony watching the world go by, journaling and blogging.  Dinner joint has been chosen, and a rest day tomorrow to explore.  Seems a bit trite to have a rest day after two rest days, but I don’t make the rules!

Hasta Mañana (until tomorrow).