Scottish Catholic Observer

I realise the Camino de Santiago had been sneaking up on me for a long time. I had always found a good excuse for not making a move on it. I was working, new courses to develop, family demands, you name it, I had it for an excuse.

This time it was different. The Camino was in my head and it was being prompted to pop out at unexpected times. The crunch came when my cousin Matt McGhee put on The Way after dinner one night in his house in San Francisco. “This is the Camino again!” I realised. “There is no escaping this, wherever I go.” I knew then I’d have to step up and step out.

That was in November last year. When I returned home I began my preparations, researching on the internet, buying a guide book and, eventually, starting to walk.  I began walking from home for an hour and then another hour home again and built up from that. I surprised myself in just how far I could walk without any great difficulty. Sore feet were a problem but no blisters.

I decided that May would be a good time to go as it would be warmer and dryer and I would not be working. I researched travel to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and decided that a train journey would be a suitable beginning for a pilgrimage. A pilgrimage this was going to be. I wanted to make a journey that would give me time to get closer to God and discover something about myself. I went online to book the train tickets. I had the journeys set up on the screen. I just needed to push the button to make the booking. I paused. Was I doing the right thing? This was crunch time. Was I really up for this?

I pushed the button and booked the tickets. I was committed—some might say I should have been. The next few months were spent in more walking, buying equipment and working. Before I knew it the end of April had come and I was heading for the station. Josephine dropped me at Central Station—was I being selfish to leave her on her own? Then I was gone. The Virgin train to London was fine, an easy journey. I arrived at Euston a few minutes late and headed for St Pancras and the Eurostar.

Before long I was entering the Channel Tunnel and leaving the UK behind. The journey through France went well until we approached Paris and the train stopped. We waited for a while and then a longer while. Little did I know but this was the start of things to come on French trains.

When we eventually got to Gare du Nord I made my way across the city to Gare Austerlitz and the overnight train to Bayonne. There I found myself sitting with a German pilgrim called Meitner. He told me he was on his eighth section of the Camino. He had started by walking from home in Frankfurt and in seven stages he had reached Lourdes. When we reached Lourdes just after dawn he left and started his next stage.

Our train was delayed by about two hours as a result of a technical fault. On reaching Bayonne the pilgrims discovered that the morning train to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port was cancelled as this was a public holiday. We discovered we would have to wait until late afternoon for a train. Bayonne Cathedral was an obvious choice for investigation while we waited. By the time the train arrived the station was brimming over with pilgrims.

The pilgrims came from all over. I met Alina from Romania; a graduate who has worked in England as a waitress for years and wants to make a big change in her life—starting with the Camino. There was also Janice from South Africa, currently working in Paris who was spending a week on the Camino and Cheryl, a widow from Washington State who had decided it was time to walk this road. There were also pilgrims from South Korea, Eastern Europe and South America.

The small train was not big enough to take everyone so we were asked to alight and take the waiting bus instead. Many of us took this option, only to find that there was no bus and the train had gone. A bus was arranged and we eventually arrived in Saint Jean. A large crowd gathered at the pilgrim office where the staff proved to be very helpful. Pilgrim passports were issued and they helped us find accommodation for the night.

I stayed in a hostel called Le Chemin vers l’Etoile, a very old building with rudimentary facilities. With some fellow pilgrims I enjoyed a pilgrim’s menu at a local bistro, a very good meal for €9 to set us up for our first day on the road.

Back at the hostel there were about 14 sharing the room and we all slept well. I woke early with some of the others packing to go. I showered, packed up and went for breakfast—bread, butter and coffee. Then it was simply a matter of going for a walk.

I left the hostel at seven. It was just getting light and it was raining. There are two routes from Saint Jean. One follows the valley through Valcarlos and the other goes over the ‘Route Napoleon’ on the hillside. The Route Napoleon had been closed the previous day due to snow and cloud. I decided to take the lower route.

The road is 28 kilometres long and climbs about 1500 metres. The first half up to Valcarlos is fairly straightforward but the steep climb comes after that. Fortunately the sun stayed hidden and the rain kept me cool. For the last stretch the road zigzags up the mountain and I found myself walking in cloud for most of the way. I had no idea how far I had to go, expecting eack ben to be the last.

Eventually, when I was beginning to think I would not make it to the top, a giant Cross looked out of the mist. The murk cleared and I was greeted with the sight of the church at the crest of the hill. I was buoyed with elation and strode on over the

top. Just by the church a group of pilgrims were examining a shrine marking the death of a pilgrim on this route.

The old monastery at the top was converted into a pilgrim hostel. In 2012 a new hostel was opened on the site. The accommodation is new and first class. There is no food available there but the bar and the hotel along the road serve a good Pilgrim menu. At eight o’clock there was a Mass for pilgrims in the old church. There was standing room only. The concelebrated service finished with all the pilgrims being called to the altar steps and a massed blessing given to all.

Next morning I was ready to go at six but it was dark and raining heavily. I decided to wait. At seven I left, joining a straggly line of pilgrims weaving through the muddy track. The hostel does not serve breakfast so the first stop was the village shop at Burguete for some bread to fuel the morning walk. It was about 28 kilometres to Larrasoana, the next stop on the route. Heading down through the village I met another pilgrim, Ray from Arizona, who thought I knew where I was going and tagged along.

Ray is an airline pilot. He is not a Catholic but was taking the opportunity to walk and think about the people who had helped him on his journey through life. He had come to the pilgrim Mass the night before and had been impressed but didn’t understand what it was all about. This was a religious pilgrimage for him too. This stretch was hilly and muddy, very muddy. Again we found shrines set up in honour of pilgrims who had recently died on this stretch of the route. There were difficult downhill sections on this trail, made more difficult by the mud. I was glad I had decided to bring a walking pole. It made the descents manageable.

We stopped at a café in Espinal for an early lunch —ham baguette and a coffee. The café was busy that morning. I think every pilgrim took advantage of a warm, dry seat and hot coffee. Suitably refreshed we set off again. The Camino took us off road again and we began the climb up to a wooded area, through a muddy wood and back out into the open again. The route went uphill and then downhill again. We crossed streams on stepping stones, crawled under fallen tree branches and negotiated mud, lots of mud.

Our next break came at Alto De Erro where the track crosses the road at the top of the hill. There is clearing at the roadside and a caravan sits there dispensing ice cold coke to customers. We sat at a small table and relished the cold Coca Cola. Checking our guidebooks we discovered that accommodation is scarce at Larrisoana. There were lots of people on the Camino that day and we thought it might be a good idea to look for accommodation in Zubiri, about five kilometres short.

As we were setting off again we met Michael Caulfield from Coatbridge and his friends from Belfast who were happy to take our seats. You expect to meet people from all over the world on the Camino but not someone from down the road. We set off on the trail again.

We arrived at Zubiri and crossed the bridge over the river. A lady was touting for pilgrims willing to pay a bit more for a decent room along the road. We accepted the offer and were shown a nice house beside the river. We had a room for two, beds with sheets, a shower and a washing machine, luxury! After getting cleaned up we took our boots down to the river and with the aid of a large scrubbing brush we found at the house, set about removing the mud.

In the end the boots did not look clean but the caked mud was gone. We put our dirty clothes in the washing machine and after some messing about we managed to start it. Then we set off to find some food. A local café served a reasonable pilgrim menu.

On the way back we stopped at a store and bought a couple of baguettes and some sliced ham. Tomorrow’s breakfast was sorted. Back at the house we encountered two other Americans, a husband and wife. The husband had suffered a bad fall coming down the muddy track and had damaged his ankle. It didn’t look as if he would continue.

Next morning we were off at seven. We went back across the bridge and headed for Pamplona. The trail took us up and down some small hills but the route was fairly gentle. We passed Larrisoana and continued on towards Pamplona. This was only a 20 kilometre stretch, the route was easy and the sun had come out. It was a beautiful Saturday morning.

It was on this stretch that I got the pain in by back. It was as if a large hand was gripping my lower chest. The pain came and went. Then it came back again. This went on until the pain was getting fairly constant. My companion, Ray, was trying to get into Pamplona before the shops closed for siesta so I told him to go on and I rested for a while.

We were almost at Pamplona at this point and when I set off again I was soon in the town. The pain was back and I decided to go into a pharmacy that I was passing to ask for some advice. It was there I met Rich from Kent. Rich is a paramedic who immediately, on hearing my complaint, set me off to the Urgencias for a check-up. We looked for a taxi but I ended up on the bus and the driver deposited me at the appropriate place.

A nurse there had studied at Glasgow Caledonian University and was tuned in to the Glasgow accent. They checked me over there and sent me on my way having found nothing life-threatening. However, I felt I needed to see my own doctor and made arrangements to go home. My long walk had ended far short of Santiago.