My Camino Day 8/4 2018
My Camino Day 8/4 2018, seems like both a good place to start the story of my Camino de Santiago del Norte journey and a really bad place to start. It was not the beginning, but I can’t really identify the beginning. It was not even the end of the beginning, but can’t really identify that with any precision, either.
In working on this post, I’ve come to realize that that Saturday was really three days rolled into one. There was a beginning as I approached my first “real” day on the Camino with very real trepidation and learned that, yes, I could do this. There was a middle, a wonderful hike along the side of the Jaizkibel ridge, that I enjoyed immensely. There was an end as I descended into Pasajes de San Juan and found a too-long line at Albergue de peregrinos Santa Ana, but where multiple kind souls adjusted to my late arrival and provided me with a bed for the night.
It was also a day on which I learned five important lessons.
It was a wonderful day, a day to remember.
The Beginning
The Choice
What that Saturday, August 4th, 2018, does provide is a clear moment of decision as I stood looking at the signposts indicating that San Sebastian could be reached by continuing on the asphalt road I was hiking on, but that el Camino de Santiago followed the dirt road uphill.
The choice was clear: the safety of a safe walk that included services along the way or a step into the unknown on a dirt track that looked very questionable and I knew was the prelude to more than 16 kilometers (10 miles) with zero help available except other peregrinos, and steep climbs totaling more than 300 meters (1,000 feet).
Simply put, I was afraid. Even after decades of thinking about this moment, years of planning for it, months of training, and the best test of strength I could devise at the time, this was the moment of choice. My planning led to worry beyond whether I had sufficient strength because at the end of the day when I planned (hoped?) to “arrive” at Pasajes de San Juan, the only shelter would be a small albergue where I could not be sure of finding a bed.
Could I, with more than 72 years of living under my belt, succeed in this hike? Should I really attempt it?
Into The Unknown
All the joy of creating this website could have been avoided by a simple “no.” There was no real need to proceed up that intimidating hill, but I followed the Camino symbols with “I hope I can” lingering in the back of my consciousness and began a magical journey of the spirit, a tremendously educational journey of the mind, and a very challenging journey of the body.
Prelude, August 3, 2018
Everything had gone according to plan. I had left the Airbnb in Madrid, gone to the Chamartín train station without difficulty, caught the train to San Sebastian, stored my bag in one of the lockers, found the local train to Irun, and, eventually, found my way to the last of my Airbnb hosts for that trip.
I was, at that point, quite proud of myself.
After getting settled in the Airbnb, I set off to explore Irun and el Camino. It was easy to find the French border and el Puente de Santiago, the bridge that crosses el Rio Bidasoa, the river that separates the two nations. The scallop shell on el Puente’s sign reassured me that I was in the right place.
I crossed into France to make the beginning of my Camino journey “official” in my own mind, then back into Spain to explore a bit more. That quickly found me at la Iglesia Parroquial de Santa María del Juncal, a kilometer (0.7 miles) or so from the border.
La Iglesia was very quiet late on a Friday afternoon, but, since I had my brand new Camino Passport with me, I explored a bit in the hope of getting the first stamp, or sello, in it. A rather formal gentleman appeared and seemed delighted that I had asked. He led me to an impressive office, retrieved the rubber stamp from a drawer, aligned it in the first of my passport’s locations, and pressed it home with great care and more than a little ceremony.
Somehow, the memory of that first sello, and the importance the man who placed it in my credential assigned to doing so seems important. My transition from a tourist into a pilgrim probably began at that moment.
Up the Hill
As I started up the hill on My Camino Day 8/4 2018, the dirt road’s condition changed from dubious to what I then saw as bad. Its slope changed from uphill to steep, bringing with it reminders of all my concerns about my physical ability to meet el Camino’s challenges. The road included deep erosion channels, making me wonder about it’s inclusion as part of so significant a Path as el Camion de Santiago. That led to doubts about actually being on the Path. Those doubts kept tapping at my consciousness, fueled, no doubt, by having been lost for a bit while trying to find my way back to the Camino route after leaving the Airbnb that morning.
“I hope I can.” Not auspicious.
The Magic Begins
Memory plays tricks. My memory of that road emphasizes three things: smells, sounds, and deep erosion channels. As I climbed the allée, houses, fences, and farmyards drifted by, but demanded little attention.
The first odor, the first impression, was of horse manure. It was a strong , clear, easily recognizable odor. And totally unexpected. It was also a warning to watch my step because at least some of its source appeared in the roadway from time to time as I climbed. Dogs barked, some apparently at random, some apparently to challenge the human intruder entering the space they defended, some to answer the others. Barnyard odors, especially of cows and new mown hay, demanded attention.
I was already learning that this is farm country.
I had stepped off from Irun with little information about what I now think of as Etapa 3 and no understanding of it between Irun and Pasajes de San Juan. Thus, I was surprised to arrive at el Santuario de Guadalupe and to find a large campground in the same area after about five kilometers (three miles) or so.
Curious, I explored. The Santuario (Sanctuary) itself was closed, a disappointment as there was nobody to stamp my Camino passport. The campground appeared to be unoccupied but it was clearly equipped with the most necessary services and showed clear signs of recent use.
Importantly, the climb had not been as difficult as I had feared. “I hope I can,” began to change to “I think I can.” I pushed on feeling far fresher than expected, but the uphill resumed with dispiriting immediacy.
Memory plays tricks. At some point, perhaps before leaving home, I had added a hiking app, Map My Hike, to my smart-phone and developed a plan to use it to track my progress toward Pasajes de San Juan. The plan was simple: If, at any point before 8 or 9 kilometers (half way or the “Point of No Return”), completing the journey to Pasajes de San Juan appeared to be too much, I would simply use my remaining strength to return to Irun along a path that was mostly down hill. Now, however, that plan gave me comfort as the distance behind me increased. “I think I can” slowly changed into “I believe I can.”
Not all that much later, and with me walking along what I now believed would be a more-or-less level section of mountain ridge until the downward slope into Pasajes de San Juan began, I realized that the point of no return was behind me and that exhaustion had not overwhelmed me. “I believe I can” made its final evolution into “I KNOW I can.” I understood that yes, I could do this. My smile, with France and el Rio Bidasoa and Irun in the distance, is about relief that no rescue would be needed and the pride of knowing that yes, I could do this.
That moment is with me still. I suspect it always will be.
Memory plays tricks. Looking at that picture and reliving that moment with the knowledge that I have today, it seems likely to me that el Camino de Santiago smiled as well, saying “Welcome, peregrino. You are mine now.”
The Middle
The middle consisted of a pleasant walk along the side of the Jaizkibel ridge that is the subject of this narrated set of photographs.
The End
Down the hill
Memory plays tricks. The walk down that hill was a little longer than I expected because it winds a bit. The views, as had often been the case that day, were frequently blocked by trees. But it was a happy walk. The afternoon was young, I was tired but not exhausted, and I was, for all practical purposes, THERE! Everything seemed to have gone according to plan. My ego soared from the challenge met. The relief from certainty that all was well was palpable. The (totally misplaced) confidence from the (totally misplaced) belief that I knew what I was doing was very, very real.
A break in the trees gave me my first view of the estuary where el Rio Oiartzun empties into the Bay of Biscay and a small portion of the harbor facilities that line it.
Mistakes were made
It was about 2:45 PM when I saw the estuary. I continued down the hill and entered the lovely little town of Pasa Donibane. A brief exploration proved that the albergue I hoped to stay at that evening was nearby.
I had not had lunch at that point and was hungry. And thirsty. And Albergue de peregrinos Santa Ana would not open its doors for peregrinos to register until 4 PM.
In one of my first, if not precisely my first, mistake on the Camino, I decided to get lunch rather than climb the stairs to the albergue and get in line for a bunk. That turned out to combine chicken wings, french fries, and beer in a way that made me feel much better. That was a good thing, BUT, when I arrived at the albergue, the line of hopeful pilgrims included more people than the albergue had bunks.
Not good. And the situation was not improved by my limited Spanish.
But a bed for the night
Memory plays tricks. A very kind peregrina realized my confusion and took me a bit under her wing. She provided explanations and some translations. And some hope, too, as she told me that the volunteers at the albergue would “make some calls” to other local resources in the hope of finding places for all of the pilgrims to sleep that night. I should be patient and not lose hope.
So I waited, expecting (well, hoping) to be directed to someone with a couch to loan to a pilgrim for the night. It was easy not to worry (much) in the warm sunshine on a lovely afternoon.
The Camino takes care of peregrinos antiguos (old pilgrims). I was never told how the decisions were made, but the result was that someone else went elsewhere and I was given the fourteenth and final bunk for the night.
The greatest lesson of the day
The greatest lesson of the day was also the last. The people of the Camino, pilgrims and volunteers and clergy and business people, truly care for one another. There is a dedication to the peregrinos traveling The Way to Santiago that makes this community a very special one indeed, a community that it is an honor to be a tiny part of.
