While all the rest of the staff at my school returned to work on the first Monday of September, I was lucky enough to be whisked away to France for an extra 10 days break with my dad. The trip had been organised for months and I was under the impression that we would be spending 8-9 days walking the Camino de Santiago with a day off at the end. However, I quickly discovered that travelling with my father should really come with its own manual entitled, 'Shit My Dad Doesn't Say'.
The first thing my father failed to mention was that our trip started in the gorgeous beach town of Biarritz in the south of France. As I had packed bathers I couldn't really be too annoyed at the notion of spending a day or two sprawled on the sand with the sun beaming down on me. In fact any annoyance I had seemed to disappear when I found my spot on the beach right next to the lifesaving tower. I couldn't help but notice a common theme amongst the lifeguards; apparently tanned + beautiful = good at saving lives in Biarritz. I suddenly resented my parents for buying me swimming lessons as a child...
After two days in paradise we caught a train to the little town of Saint Jean Pied de Port. This beautiful French town sits at the foot of the Pyrenees and is the beginning of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage. It was also our meeting point with our other fellow pilgrims, a group of my dad's friends. It was from them that I discovered I would only be walking 3 days however, it was the most challenging 3 days of the entire pilgrimage as it went straight up and over the Pyrenees into Spain. I was starting to realise that perhaps my training, which consisted of walking between London pubs, may not have been enough. I was so ill-prepared that I hadn't even brought a backpack (in my defence Dad said I wouldn't need one). Luckily while Dad and I were at the supermarket stocking up on mass amounts of water, we found me a lovely 4 Euro bright pink backpack and a matching pink water bottle to attach to said stylish backpack. It even had a matching pencil case. I was ready.
The following morning we rose bright and early to conquer our mountains. Equipped with walking sticks, walking boots and filled with adrenaline we began to stride out to the edge of the town in search of signs of shells which point the pilgrims in the right direction. This grand beginning was somewhat anticlimactic when we discovered that we were headed in completely the wrong direction. My faith in the seven adults, who were supposedly Camino veterans, began to waver. Moreover, I had heard horror stories of vultures who had pecked a pilgrim to death when she broke her leg on the walk and couldn't escape. Even with my adorable pink backpack our odds of survival weren't looking good if we couldn't even find our way of a very well signposted town.
Eventually we made it out and began our trek up into the mountains. It was not long before we encountered our first very steep incline which seemed to set the standard for the rest of the day. It was about 30 degrees while we were walking however, it felt slightly cooler due to a wind that was both a blessing and a curse. Although the wind meant the heat was not as stifling, it made it difficult for me to walk in a straight line at times. Despite all of this, the scenery was absolutely magical. Nestled amongst the green mountains we encountered sheep, horses and cows grazing. Their huge cow bells in the breeze quickly became the soundtrack to our walk. But what goes up must come down, and of the 25km we walked that day only 5 were downhill, resulting in an incredibly steep gradient to the point of being painful. Even high powered businessmen were making noises that resembled the whimpering of a kitten. It was sweet relief to finally reach our first destination, kick off the shoes and enjoy a Sangria. I was pleasantly surprised that not only had I completed day 1, I had done it with relative ease.
Day 2 was by far the most challenging for me. Although the track was flatter, my toes were covered in blisters and it was incredibly hot. My pace was a lot slower than the first day and I thought I was going to cry from the pain at one point. However, once again the scenery was pretty amazing. Very different from the first day, we ventured through tiny Spanish towns littered with window boxes full of bright flowers. I also discovered that the best way to distract myself was just to get lost in my own thoughts. They say that miracles happen on this walk so long as you focus on them. While I'm not sure I can claim I witnessed any sort of miracle, walking through the idyllic countryside and beautiful Spanish towns did manage to provide me the clarity I'd not been able to get in the hustle and bustle of London.
Day 3 I was bandaged up and ready to go! We had a much shorter walk for our last day so we went at a leisurely pace and nibbled on wild blackberries along the way. We stopped for omelettes, to cuddle horses and even for wood fired pizza. At one point I had a little black and white cat accompanying me down the path however, when she figured out I had no food to share she decided the trek wasn't worth it. After a three day journey the final hour into Pamplona seemed to drag on for an eternity though. Finally, we crossed a bridge to encounter a huge wall that encased the home of the running of the bulls and the end of my Camino experience.
To be continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment