30-31/8/18

We flew to Biarritz on Thursday 30th August with a small group of people who we continue to see, walk with and share food and hostels with.

Apparently 300+ people registered with the pilgrims office in St Jean Pied de Port (Wee town in the foothills of the Pyrenees – it means: St John at the foot of the valley) on that day to begin walking the pilgrim route ‘Frances’ (French) to Santiago de Compostela.

St Jean is a beautiful medieval town with cobbled streets. Angie and I shared our first night her in a 40+ bed Municipal Refuge or Auberge just below where this picture was taken:

We started our walk at Saint Jean’s trailhead at Porte St. Jacques (St. James Gate), at the top of Rue de la Citadelle (just outside the municipal albergue) walking downhill along Rue de la Citadelle past Notre Dame du Bout du Pont -a 14th century Gothic-style parish church with a water fountain beside it. We crossed over the River Nive and began our climb up into the mountains and higher and steeper leaving the little town in a vapour of mist.

After hours it seemed we were up high enough to see golden eagles soar below us. Angie counted 16 at one point. Majestic, powerful and poised, the biggest birds I had ever seen outside of my oven.

We reached the top and descended into Spain to the sound of cattle, sheep and horse bells.

Arriving at the monastery at Ronnesvalles (Vale of thorns) was the worst part of our trip. Queueing for a bed for in a bottleneck two girls fainted in front of us and then Angie felt she was going to join them. Thank God she didn’t faint but she was pretty ropey for most of the evening. Our extensive queueing meant we were billeted in something like a cellar with 20 other pilgrims so the queueing began again for the 2 toilets and 2 showers which we were sharing with 14 others.

The cheerfulness of pilgrims was wearing a bit thin….

We had a great meal, making new friends and sharing stories and group photos!

And so to bed but even in my exhausted state sleep was not easy…. creaks, groans, the ubiquitous snoring and rustling of sleeping bags meant for a restless night.

When I did get to sleep it didn’t seem like very long before some cheery soul turned the light on and greeted us with “Good Morning” in four European languages at the top of his lungs.

I had to refrain from my desired response…