Whispers from the Camino—Day Two (Pt. 2)

September 6

Saint Jean Pied do Port, France to Roncesvalles, Spain

After talking with Bronwyn on a much needed snack and rest break we re-started our trek over the Pyrenees. We walked together for at least a mile, but eventually it was clear that her normal pace was just a bit faster than my normal pace. She waited a few seconds for me at couple of times at memorial sites and then as we made our way up one longer hill, she pushed on and we said our goodbyes.

It was one of the things I had heard about the Camino. Before the Camino, experienced pilgrims told me that it was important to “walk your own Camino.” They told me that there may be times when you are desiring and enjoying the connection with other pilgrims on the route. At other times, you might just be in a very quiet and reflective place and would need to let potential conversations and connections go in favor of the solitude.

With Bronwynn, I sensed that she would have been glad to continue connecting with me, but only as long as we were walking the same pace. I didn’t want to push to keep up with her and she didn’t want to slow down in order to continue our conversation. We had our own Caminos to walk!

The beauty of the Camino is that there is no reason to take offense at someone’s choice to move on from a connection or conversation. Back at home, such an action might be seen as a little rude like, “Wow, you can’t slow down just a little to enjoy our conversation?” But on the Camino, we are all on individual treks of personal discovery and connections can be instantly deep but only last for a few minutes.

I could have talked to Bronwynn for much longer, but both of us had different paces determined by deeper goals and it was easy to let her go with one quick breath of gratitude for the brief connection.

I grew up in Colorado and have lived in the West for most of my life. I am used to rugged and steep alpine trails that often have snow-fed streams rushing down the mountain even in July. The Pyrenees had none of that ruggedness, at least on the Camino route. But it kept going up, even if just gradual. After my encounter with Bronwyn my legs were starting to feel sluggish. I was itching to get to the top and be able to relax into the decline into Roncesvalles.

The terrain continued to be stunningly beautiful and herds of sheep and horses watched as this parade of pilgrims marched through their home pastures. Not too far from the summit, we came across a fountain fed by spring water. A number of us stopped and drank from the pipe coming out of the ground and soaked our bandanas in water to cool down.

I was grateful for the cold water and a good excuse to stop. I was still moving forward, but my legs were starting to feel a little rubbery. Not too far after that we reached the summit. I took my pack off, lay down on the grassy hillside and looked out over the green valley below. It was beautiful, but I was more focused on just trying to get some recovery in my lungs. I was grateful to be at the top and even though the rest of the trek would be downhill, it was getting harder and harder to put one leg in front of the other.

And then it was downhill, finally! Almost immediately I realized this last third of the day’s walk was going to be more difficult than expected. A number of other pilgrims were feeling the same way. We thought gravity was going to be our friend, but with legs that were already at capacity, we discovered that our tired muscles were working almost as hard now as brakes.

I remember that deadened feeling I used to get when I overestimated my mileage on a bike pilgrimage and had to simply push through the last twenty or thirty miles. I had the same feeling on this 4-mile downhill stretch. I knew what I had to do—keep putting one foot in front of another and avoid the roughest patches so as not to overtax my legs. But I could feel a stupor-ish look settling into my eyes and face.

I arrived at the Roncesvalles Pilgrim Hostel, a large historic structure that was built in 1127 CE specifically for pilgrims along the “Way of St. James.” I was looking forward to being in this place that so many had talked about. At the same time I had almost no energy for anything beyond laying out my sleeping bag on a cot and resting for a bit.

But there were many more steps that had to be addressed before actually getting a bed. This famous hostel has 183 beds and that many beds takes a massive organization. We all were instructed to place our packs along one wall and shift to another room where we would wait while taking advantage of vending machines.

Finally, about a half hour later a hospitalero (Camino volunteer) entered the room with dozens of small cards with letters on them. With that we were instructed to get gather our backpacks and hiking poles, get into another line and have our passports and Camino credentials ready. Another half hour and I was presenting my passport and credential. Disposable sheets and pillows cases were handed to me and I was finally directed to my room.

I chose a bottom bunk. Above me in the upper bunk a French man set up his bed. He tried to communicate with me in French and I repeatedly shrugged. He kept talking and then laughing as if he was telling me a joke. I thought he would have gotten frustrated by my lack of understanding, but he just continued to say a few sentences, laugh heartily, say a few more, and laugh again. The rest of afternoon and evening we had our own agendas, but each time he would he see me he look at me, say few words in French and then let out a good laugh again.

Rooms were shared by men and women as well as the shower room and bathrooms. One only needed to securely close the stall door or shower door for privacy. I wasn’t completely surprised by this, but I was curious how it would be given the controversy over bathrooms in America and transgender individuals. Here gender didn’t matter. Just respect for privacy.