Basque in the Saddle Again!


Previous Day
Pamplona → St. Jean Pied-de-Port
-74.6 km (-46.4 mi)

Next Day

Kaixo, guztiontzat!

That’s Euskara, the language of the Basque people in whose home I have been traveling all day! No one knows for sure where the language came from, but it’s unlike any I’ve ever heard before. It may be the last prehistoric language left in Europe! Luckily, it, along with Galego and Català, survived Franco’s prohibition attempts in the 1930s, but there is still quite a bit of contention in this area over what is Spanish and what is Basque. You can see it in the graffiti.

In any case, I got some great news this morning! The airline found my backpack! It must have gotten wedged between some of the larger ones! That left me free to resume my journey, even if I was a little bit late. Juan González was super nice and offered to drive me the mountainous 75K to St. Jean Pied-de-Port. He meets a lot of different people in his line of work and very clearly expressed his dislike for Germans, who stick adamantly to speaking German. He once had fun with a Thai family who had to draw everything to communicate, but I got the impression he wasn’t used to driving beavers. Well, there’s a first for everything!

Looking out the windows, I was astounded at how dense the forests were! There were probably twelve trees for every five back home! Juan said they were full of corzos (deer) and other wildlife, though I didn’t see any from the road. I did see some peregrinos, though! In just less than a day, I’m going to be one of them!

After an hour or so, the shockingly snowless Pyrenees came into view! These mountains wore such thin, white yarmulkes of snow that I had to say “Oy vay!” and I wondered if this meant I would get to cross the treacherously beautiful Route Napoleon after all. Juan confirmed that this had been a very dry year, so dry, in fact, that as we coasted down the steep, mountain road toward Arneguy, I saw a thick cloud of smoke from a wildfire rising in the distance. I’m not a very big fan of fire, and I hope this isn’t going to be a recurring theme on the Camino.

The only way to know for sure you’ve crossed the border from Spain into France is that the street signs suddenly shift from Spanish to French. There is no big sign saying “Bienvenue en France,” only a bridge in Arneguy. We blazed through the town and arrived, at last, in St. Jean Pied-de-Port, where Juan dropped me off at the Accueil de Pèlerins. Here, in a wild mix of French, Spanish, and English, the nice folks in the office provided me with a list of albergues, an elevation chart, and a map of how to get out of town safely.

See, even though I didn’t see much snow, they informed me that the Route Napoleon had been closed for the season above Orisson. There was no warning that it shouldn’t be done, only that it was closed and couldn’t be done. So, I would have to take the road route through Valcarlos instead. I was a little disappointed, but I would much rather be safe than stuck under ten feet of snow. In any case, the scenery coming into town was still lovely, so I won’t mind going back through it again.

I bid farewell to Juan González and checked into the albergue right next to La Porte Saint Jacques, where Janine waited for me with a warm bowl of carrot soup. Janine may have been 80 years old, but she had the energy of a volcano! I guess that’s because she spends her mornings silently looking out the window, waiting for the next batch of pèlerins. That wasn’t my cup of tea. After all this time spent on a plane and in waiting, I had to get up and move.

St. Jean takes its name from its protector saints (John the Baptist and John the Evangelist) and from its location at the foot (pied) of the pass (port) through the Pyrenees. It served as an important town for merchants, pèlerins, and invading armies to rest up before tackling the challenging paths through the Pyrenees. According to legend, it was founded in 712 AD, but the deed for the town was signed by King Sancho the Strong of Navarra, almost four hundred years later.

Having a town in France founded by a Spanish king can only give a glimpse of the many border conflicts that took place over the years. These conflicts led to the construction of stone walls around St. Jean, which are still open to visitors looking for a stroll and run all the way to the top of the highest hill where they join the citadel, still standing since 1628. Now, the citadel is a school, but it is also a sublime place to watch a sunset. After a day of hunting for supplies in town, like Vaseline for my feet, I did just that.

After a few initial setbacks, I am back on track. Tomorrow, I take my first official steps on the Camino. For the next month, I will live off what I carry, with only those I meet along the way, and the way thousands of people in as many years have done before me. I am excited and a little scared for what will happen along the way, but who knows? Maybe George is waiting for me at the end. That should keep me going.

Bon chemin!



Previous Day
Pamplona → St. Jean Pied-de-Port
-74.6 km (-46.4 mi)

Next Day

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