We have been flung out of the hostal at 8 a.m. and my first stop is the Pilgrim Office across the road – to get my Credencial – the Camino Passport that will get stamped along the way. This passport is to track my walk and is an exciting way to look back on the journey and reminisce about the various stops en route. There is also a basket of scallop shells in the office – small, medium and large and payment for them is by donation. No pilgrim’s pack is complete without one of these shells and greedily (and quite unwisely) I pick the largest shell I can find. It is only after a few days into my Camino that I realize how each ounce added to the pack finds its own weighty way to cut into my back and shoulders. and I start eyeing my shell with sullen resentment. At that point I only have enough strength to lift up one heavy foot and place it in front of the other – so I cannot even give myself the well-deserved kick I’ve earned.
The shell has long been a metaphor – the grooves supposedly represent the various routes that pilgrims walk to get to the same destination – Santiago (like all roads leading to Rome); Practically, they were used to hold food and/or drink and it is said that when pilgrims were given food along the way, the scallop shell was used as a scoop measure (I hope they used a shell as large as mine to dole out the food to starving pilgrims). For those that don’t know their East from West, the shell-signs on the way are life-savers. When they are not directly on the stone way-markers on the Camino, they are on the walls of the streets, on wooden posts, on barn doors, carved into city pavements. Sometimes even the stars in the night sky start looking like twinkling scallop shells. This blue shell and the yellow arrow (Flecha Amarilla) team up colorfully to become a formidable navigational guide, so pilgrims (like me) do not have to dig around in their voluminous packs for a printed map and pretend they know what they’re looking at.
The streets are looking festive with colorful streamers – apparently it’s party time at St. Jean and not just its everyday let’s-look-cute-for-the-tourists look!
SJPP is in its 4th day of a 5 day festival and I am not quite sure what they are celebrating but am thrilled to be part of the song and dance. Every single Basquian is out in their Basque costumes – men in dazzling white pants and shirts with red neck-kerchiefs looking jaunty, women in white swirly dresses with red scarves draped fashionably in a hundred different styles, and little kids looking like miniature men and women – Little Men and Little Women.
Dorothy is leaving today so Nance and I walk with her to the end of the village and the beginning of the Camino.
Tomorrow we will be walking the same way and we are excited to walk to the starting point and let our anticipation build. From Saint-Jean (146 meters) there are two routes across the Pyrenees to Roncesvalles (952 meters). The highest point on “Route Napoleon” is 1410 meters, and the highest point on the “route Valcarlos” – the Puerto de Ibaneta, is 1057 meters. The Napoleon route is a steady uphill climb and then a steep drop – Valcarlos curves around the mountains, is close to a paved road and is said to be not as challenging as the daunting Napoleon.
The distance from Saint-Jean to Roncesvalles is about 27.5 kilometers and is reputed to be the toughest climb on the Camino Frances. We bid Dorothy adieu and urge her to walk slowly so as to give us a chance to catch up with her the next day.
Back in the village square the narrow streets are crowded with tourists, pilgrims and the colorful Basque locals. Nance and I attend our first Pilgrim mass at noon. It is an hour long but seems like two and since everything is conducted in Spanish there’s not much I follow. Nance tells me she’s not much of a church-goer and has barely attended any masses, so I’m surprised when she bursts into song and joins full-throatedly when everyone stands up to sing. I take a small peek out of the corner of my eye and the singing is definitely coming from her. Hmm!!! Before soon everybody is lining up to receive communion and at the risk of eternal damnation for being a non-catholic communion receiver, I line up too. Ever since Nippy – my dear friend and staunch Catholic neighbor forbade me to receive communion when I accompanied her to her church, it immediately joined other imperatives in my bucket to-do list. This obsession wormed its way to the top of the list by the time I left for the Camino and I am thrilled and excited (and quite a bit nervous) at my own daring and defiance. I have asked Nippy several times how “Christ’s body” tastes and she has told me it is quite tasteless – but now I am about to find out for myself. I manage to open my mouth and stick my tongue out to receive the wafer and I do a little dip – like taking a bow – because it seems to be the right thing to do and with my heart thudding and pounding in my ear that someone may yet discover that there is a heathen in their midst, I almost run back to the relative safety and sanctuary of my pew. Once the danger of being outed is over, I realize that I have chewed on the wafer without quite tasting it and think that maybe it is indeed as unremarkably tasteless as Nippy had warned.
Out on the narrow cobble-stoned streets, the entire village has spilled out of their homes. Joselu is there with his wife and daughter – a sleepy
and shy little girl who buries her head on his shoulder when urged to say “hello”. People are hanging out of their balconies, crammed on the sidewalk cafe chairs, huddled cozily in street corners. Children are playing, astonishingly well-behaved dogs are waiting sedately beside their families, tourists are picking up souvenirs, pilgrims are hastily purchasing last-minute essentials before their Camino. Having broken my dark glasses in Paris, I replace it with a hat – the visor does a great job keeping the sun out of my eyes and the shop-keeper assures me that it will protect my head both from the sun and the rain. Dark glasses and I have a lose-lose relationship – I cannot do without them even on days when the sun merely threatens to glint softly through clouds and therefore I keep one in every room in my house and in the car and in my purse and in the garage….and yet…I lose/misplace/damage them all – some even vanish in a pouf even as I am reaching out for them. I decide that I will punish myself for breaking the only pair I had brought with me by NOT buying another but make do without. I console myself with a cold beer and a fillingly large baguette with cheese and tomatoes and sitting in the afternoon sun surrounded by the buzz and hum of this festive village, I lose myself to the moment!
We go back to Beilari in the afternoon. Nance has a package to send off to Santiago but the post office is closed today. Many pilgrims send ahead non-trekky clothes so once they’re done with their Camino they can switch back to real world garb! I hadn’t thought of this at all so I was a WYSIWYG person for the entire Camino *and* on the plane back home. Back at the hostal I meet two more pilgrims who will soon be part of our Camino family except I don’t know it then. I already know from having glanced at the register earlier in the morning that there was a peregrino named Rohit arriving from New Zealand. Joselu had asked me if it was a man or woman since he himself couldn’t tell. I see a smiling friendly Indian face beaming at me and I am greeted with a loud and enthusiastic “HI”! I smile back and say (much to his complete amazement) – “you must be Rohit from New Zealand”. For a few seconds I could see that he was wondering if I was somebody he had met briefly somewhere but had just forgotten where. I can’t hold the suspense much longer and confess that I had known to expect him because of my register sneak-peek. Rohit is a bouncy bubbly big kid. He introduces me to Mark who’s flown with him from NZ and then proudly beaming follows it with “he’s my partner”. We exchange the usual peregrino notes – when, where, how long, do you have a finish date etc. Turns out that R & M are also planning to break at Orisson the next day instead of attempting the entire 27.5 kms (in)famous crossing over Pyrenees in one day. R & M have to get their credencials – Nance wants to put up her feet for a while – so I head out to get me a Gateau Basque that I’m told I must absolutely try while I am here.
I head to the bakery that Joselu swears is the best in SJPP. I am hard-pressed to choose between the almond filling and the vanilla filling so I ask for one of each. When I ask if I can pay by credit card the shop-owner looks aghast and looks down her supercilious nose to say in French – “for a purchase of 4 Euros?!?! absolutely not!” The pastries are wrapped – barely – in some wax paper and I am not sure how to carry them back with me to the hostal. I ask her for a plastic bag and she almost has a fit. She is just about to reprimand me again when I say that I have to carry it with me to Orisson the next morning when I start my Camino. Her demeanor changes as if I had just announced that I was the Virgin Mary. Apparently pilgrims are revered in this village – or at the very least in this bakery. I am quickly handed a sturdy plastic bag and exit the shop – this time to smiles and a friendly chorus from everyone in the bakery – including the customers – “BUEN CAMINO”! I come out feeling warm and fuzzy and special – I am a peregrina – for real!!!
At Beilari I sit down for my second evening of introductions and Pelota. R & M’s title is “Camaro – Camino for Mark and Rohit”. Marie from Canada is waiting for a friend to join her and then plans to start her Camino from Lourdes. She says that the Camino Frances is a complete zoo and is no place for those seeking solitude and soul-searching time. She is also a little weary of the Pelota game, she says in a whispery aside to me – especially the monotony of three rounds – she feels one round is more than enough. Amongst the day’s arrivals are Barbara and Laura – both from Amsterdam – but independent travelers who just coincidentally happen to be from the same place starting their Caminos at the same time. Laura is very very pretty and my eyes keep straying to her glowing face from time to time. Barbara is a strong personality and sweepingly takes over the conversation at our table. Dinner tonight is carrot-ginger soup, a green salad, pasta and ratatouille and chocolate pudding for dessert. I am happy to lose myself in the (once-again) flowing wine and let all the hum and chatter and buzz wash over around me.
