Pilgrim World

At some point each day I ask myself what the hell am I doing here and why am I doing it.  It´s usually half way up the side of a bastard of a hill.  But then each  night after I finish a dinner shared with new camino friends it all makes sense.  I´ve been walking 7 days now need to apologise for the lack of updates.  Put simply I´ve either had no access or have been too exhausted to post.  Covering an average of 25 km a day over ground that can only be described as mountainous takes it´s toll.  I have just clocked up 241,499 steps.  I know I have lost weight because I´ve had to tighten my belt.  I am writing from Los Arcos in Navarra and tomorrow will move into the province of La Rioja.  Home of the best wines in Spain! 

I want to tell you about my life on the road.  I live in Pilgrim World.  It´s different to where you live.  We have no TV, no newspapers, no contact with the outside world, except for surly Spanish waiters.  When I return to civilisation there will be a black spot in my recollections of world affairs.  I understand there was an election last weekend.  Who won?  In Pilgrim World we walk on back roads or goat tracks and hardly see a car all day.  It was a bit of a shock traversing Pamplona the other day.  Not even any bulls but it was damn hot, 38 degC.  In pilgrim world normal standards disappear, especially those around privacy, hygiene and etiquette. 

When you share an alberge with 40 or so like minded exhausted pilgrims, in mixed dorms and with mixed faciltiies modesty takes a tumble.  Add to that extreme temperatures and things get a little scary.  I´ve seen enough sturdy, middle-aged Swedish pilgrims in their underwear to last a life time.  And there are certain Frenchmen who decide that its Ok to trott around the place starkers, and we won´t even go near the Dutch! 

Personal hygiene has never been one of my strengths but here it suffers.  We walk, walk and walk and its hot.  Each day we have to hand wash our clothes and sometimes can only get short cold showers.  I hadn´t noticed how much my fellow pilgrims stank until we were in the Pamplona and the yocals were avoiding us
In Pilgrim world we talk about blisters.  Blisters - I can recite the word in seven different languages now.  Blisters and assorted sorts of pain rule our lives.  But blisters are number one.  I have 4 of the bastards and the Bush Doctor, Yves from Lyon, worked his chemical magic on them this afternoon.  Perhaps tomorrow I won´t hobble anymore.

I will also apologise for not adding any photos, these internet booths have no connection for SD cards or USB but tomorrow I hit the next Big Smoke in Logroño so may have success.  I must go now because a French pilgrim behind me is itching to get on.

No chace to check for typos here goes!

Bob

To Hell and back

I´ve been there and seen the devil.  Its a great big never ending hill that tries to destroy you.  Day 1 was what I thought a tough but doable walk from St Jean to Orisson, a climb of about 700 metres before I spent a night at the Refuge Orisson.  It was doable but worse than tough.  A climb that was so steep that it took me 3+ hours to make 8 km.  In the end I was stopping every 30 - 40 meters to catch my breath.   The gradient was simply astounding.  I set out at around 10 am and after 1 pm nearly collapsed at the reception.  Was soon revived with a Grand Bierre de Pression though, not bad, and combined with the local version of a mixed grill I was ready for the next day. A photo taken on day 1 as I climbed to Orisson.

But not before the snoring monster reared its ugly head.  I was happily relaxing on my bed when what can only be described as an Idiot Dane walked in and took a nearby bunk, he then proclaimed "I suffer from sleep apnoea and will snore tonight", well thankyou very much, bastard.  I had already been subjected to 3 consecutive days of sleep deprivation on Cathay Pacific and by other snorers and now we had the grand master, The Idiot Dane.  I had around 4 hours of broken sleep, ear plugs were no use.  In the morning he told us he´d had a good nights sleep.  I suggested he sleep outisde and keep the cows awake.  Dinner was good again with roast lamb, a bean casserole and Tarte Basque to finish off.  A little wine was also consumed. 

Next morning up early to walk the final 18 km across to Roncesvalles in Spain.  A new surpise was in store for us.  RAIN.  Rain and fog like you´ve never seen.  The walk was difficult in good conditions, but with torrential rain and storng winds I was soaked to the bone within half an hour.  I had decided to walk with a Canadian and we needed each others support to get across.  Visibility was zero, I had expected to pass landmarks along the way but we´d pass without even seeing them.  Our walking track resembled a small stream and I found out that my shoes are waterproof, they don´t let any water out as I squelched my way across.  At one point it was so bad we had to take refuge in an emergency hut.  Out of the wind it was a little warmer.  We pushed on and felt sorry for a bunch of Irish youngsters who were crossing without coats or hats.  Unbelievable.  We finally got across and fell in a heap in Roncesvalles.  I took a room in a hotel to get some sleep and today walked 28 km to Larasoaña in 30+ degree heat, a hell of a change.
Back with more soon.
Bob

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away

Last night was a gift from above followed by divine punishment.  The gift was dinner at the Espirit du Chemin hostel here in St Jean Pied de Port.  Lots of good simple food, some rough local wine, the company of 25  pilgrims about to set out.  We all had to tell our story around the table, a little like introducing yourself at a work meeting but this was funny and full of emotion.  There are many reasons for walking this road.  My table was a pot pourri of nationalities, Irish, Dutch, Belgian, Spanish, French, Canadian and one Aussie.  I sat next to two Dutch widows who were riding from Rotterdam to Santiago and had to practice my rusty Dutch. St Jean right.

Divine punishment was trying to sleep in a dorm full of snoring old farts, literally.  I think I got about two hours.  At times the noise was like the jungle, strange sounds emanating form unknown places.  This must be retribution for too many years of my own snoring.  But the whole experience has been good.  I have been made to feel at home already.  No sooner had I finally nodded off when the early birds rose to set off.  I got up and wished them farewell.  Chances are we`ll never meet again but I hope it`s not true. 

Did my first round of hand washing clothes yesterday and raised a sweat, it must be in the low 30`s.  Today is market day in St Jean, so I`m hanging around for a sticky beak and buy a little fruit before setting off in a few hours time.  I walk to Refuge Orisson, a mid-point across the Pyrenees. 
Till we meet again, Buen Camino.
Bob

Pilgrim Haircut

My golly gosh.  It’s upon me already.  I’m leaving tonight and I need to pack and get ready for almost six weeks away.  I’ve never gone on holidays on my own before and I’m feeling guilty about leaving Nanette, Isabel & Eric at home.  But this is not a holiday, it’s a pilgrimage and I’m going out there to walk my ass off.  I’m wondering if these feet have the stamina to make it 500 miles.  Miles sound much better than kilometers.  The Proclaimers couldn’t have sung about 500 kilometers, but 500 miles, YES!   I’ll be voluntarily submitting myself to 24 hours of Hong Kong Chinese torture.  It’s called Cathay Pacific economy class to London.  Sit in a pathetically small space, be starved of sleep, sustenance and respect, and hope you’ll come out the other end alive.  But still an order of magnitude better service than Qantas or (shudder) any American airline.

I gave myself a pilgrim haircut this morning.  No need to carry a comb and it dries quicker.  I'm hoping for an end to Australia's latest Socialist experiment on Saturday.  Keep well and I’ll write again from the Camino.  

Bob

Saturday 14 August DDay-10

I have taken the unexpected step of creating a blog.  It was this or facebook and my daughter told me that facebook was for old farts, so it had to be a blog.  I leave  to walk from St Jean Pied de Port to Santiago de Compostela on Friday and start walking on Monday.  This week I was in Queensland flying the pipeline by helicopter. It's me in a Bell Jetranger between Rockhampton and Gladstone.  I named the blog one million steps to Santiago because I calculated I will do 987,500 with a few extras along the way.