Five meals in a row that contain pork is at least four too many. It may in fact be five too many. The El Camino guidebooks do not mention this fact or provide this important insight.
I got my Pilgrim passport at the Pilgrim office right when they opened at 7:30a.m. The man that was helping me actually covered his ears when I attempted to speak with him in French. I really need to work on my language skills, but I thought that the ear covering was a little unnecessary, especially since my attempts were genuine. Regardless I obtained the passport and then headed out down the road, following the seashell fleck amarillos that point the way.
The walk through St. Jean was beautiful. The streets narrow, twisty and cobblestoned. There is a beautiful small river that runs through the town with multiple bridges and arched doorways. The charm palpable. For example, when I walked down the trail there was actually an old woman sitting on some steps petting her dog and singing in French as I walked by. The sound of her voice echoed against the stone walls of the buildings. It was unbelievably beautiful.
I stopped at a small store for some food.
“Uhhhh…je veux un sandwich” I said in my slow search for each word kind of French.
“D’accord! I will make you a ham and cheese!?” The shopkeeper asked exuberantly.
“Oui.” I replied, I wasn’t sure how to explain anything else if I would have wanted it anyhow. And so my meals began.
The bread was amazingly fresh, the ham and cheese sliced very thinly, almost like a prosciutto with a sharp cheese, perhaps a Parmesan. It was delicious and it was pilgrim sized.
I began walking. I was part of a throng of people, pilgrims everywhere. I am sure I saw hundreds. Hearing different languages all up the trail.
I chose to walk via the Route de Napolean. Which my guidebook informed me was “the longest and most arduous route, but the most beautiful and spectacular. It was the way favored by the great French general to get his troops in and out of Spain during the Eninsula War and by medieval pilgrims anxious to avoid the bandits hiding in the trees surrounding the lower routes.” I imagine that this route would have amazing views. I could feel the vast openness, but I could only see a few meters in front of me through the dense fog. It was like hiking on a typical day in Seattle, a cold constant drizzle with gusting winds to cool you down.
I stopped briefly at Orrison, to get a quick bite to eat. I wanted some fresh fruit as I was worried about my lack of fiber from the white bread ham and cheese sandwich. I ordered a fruit cup, imagining a fresh fruit cubes. Instead I was given a small container of canned fruit. It was akin to the pop top canned fruit that a child would get in their lunch pail. It was in a plastic container with a small spoon under the lid. Regardless of the discrepancy between my expectations and reality, the sweet of the fruit juice was welcome and delicious. I ate a few more bites of the ham and cheese sandwich.
About 2 minutes past Orrion I ran into three large pigs. Literally! I have never been walking and then run into pigs! (I should have paid attention to their presence and their foreshadowing in my story!) They oinked and snorted their way down the road. Above the pigs I could hear the cow bells jangling on both the cattle and the horses that were wearing them. The animals were right along the road grazing as the pilgrims walked past. To say it was pastoral seems the best adjective, yet somewhat inadequate because it was just over the top quaint and charming.
“Bonjour cheval.” I called out to a horse as I walked by. It didn’t even look up at me. I probably offended the horse with my poor French too! The horses appear to be small work horses. They look like miniature Clydesdales.
Their large hooves clomping quietly on the rain softened ground. I passed a shepard and his three sheepdogs. There was a flock of sheep grazing nearby. I couldn’t see them all through the thickness of the fog, but the sheep could be heard in the distance. No wonder the cheese here is so amazing.
Approximately 5km past Orrison up the road was the most welcome roadside van and awning. A gentleman was selling fresh hardboiled eggs, bananas, coffee, tea, chocolate bars.
I think that the roadside gentleman asked me if I was cold, he came up to me and put his hands on my bare arms and then made a shivering motion.
I had to concede. I pulled on my wool long sleeved shirt and put on my rain jacket. I ordered a hot chocolate and a banana. I ate some more of my ham and cheese sandwich.
The top of the climb on my first day was Col de Lepoeder, followed by a steep descent into Roncesvalles. This downhill trail was quite slippery in several places from the wet leaves and rocks. Roncesvalles is home to a huge hostel, over 180 beds. It was crawling with pilgrims. The name of the town means “valley of thorns” and it definitely has a medieval atmosphere. The large Romaneque chapel loomed over the pilgrim trail.
On my descent I met Yeonjoo a chiropractor from New Mexico. She was walking my pace. I think that she was planning to stop at Roncesvalles, but we were both feeling well so we continued on to Espinal.
The hostel where we stayed in Espinal had a pilgrim menu. Because of the language barrier (now Spanish) and since they knew were were pilgrims, they must have just assumed that was what we wanted. The appetizer was a plate of spaghetti with red sauce. The main plate was French fries with three large slices of pork. The thick layer of fat and the generous marbling gave the meat an unappetizing sheen. The meal ended with an ice cream bar.
And the next morning my best available meal option was a choizo sandwich. (If the saying "you can put lipstick on a pig, but it is still a pig" doesn't come to mind here it should!!). Much to my dismay, the sandwich was large. Enough to last both for both breakfast and lunch.