The Camino: A Peaceful Unpredictability: Part 2. Bordeaux to St Jean Pied de Port

I was walking the Camino de Santiago in Northern Spain in 2016 and had travelled from Leitrim to Bordeaux as a first step. In order to go to where the Camino began in France I needed to get a train from Bordeaux.  The train stopped initially at Bayonne for the changeover to a smaller one for St Jean Pied de Port at the foot of the Pyrenees Mountains, the start of the Camino de Santiago from France. It  may as well have been called the “camino train”. It was here that a wave of hybrid walkers/pilgrims mounted the train. High tech walking gear went cheek to jowl with scallop shells on backs of rucksacks - the symbol of the pilgrim. There are many interpretations as to  why the scallop is such a ubiquitous feature of the Camino de Santiago.  The one most associated with St James ( the pilgrim saint of the Camino de Santiago) is the legend where the apostle once rescued a knight whose horse had fallen into the water and while saving him  St James emerged from the sea covered in scallop shells. Then there is the symbolism of the shape of the scallop shell which resembles the setting sun. This would have been an important daily event, full of symbolism in pre Christian societies. In those days where the sun set marked the end of the world.  The Way of St James is a journey to the West, towards the setting sun  and so finished at the “end of the world”  or "Finisterre" the end point of the Camino de Santiago on the most westerly point of Spain. On a more practical level, since the scallop is native to the coast of Galicia, the shell also became a momento, a physical proof of having completed the pilgrimage to Santiago. The shells could be picked up very quickly on the beach at Finisterre, but also became a popular souvenir and source of business for shops etc. along the way. The scallop shell also served practical purposes for pilgrims as it was the right size for gathering water to drink or for eating out of as a makeshift bowl.

The scenery from Bayonne to St Jean  Pied de Port was a vista of valleys and forests and the train chugged along   in a stoic fashion alongside a sparkling fast flowing river weaving and wending its way at the bottom of a V- shaped valley.

Main street.St Jean  Pied de Port

It seemed all of a sudden that we arrived to the pretty cobbled town of St Jean Pied de Port with mountain ranges ascending up at either end of the small narrow town. I queued for ages at the pilgrim office and was given a few options of auberges to stay in. And so I found myself marching doggedly down the street to the auberge where I was staying.  It looked fairly quaint from the outside but was very basic inside. I had forgotten that whole thing of loads of people bunking together and I certainly did not bank on it being unisex style but that’s how it was. Our patron swore like an absolute trooper but turned out to be a gem and his advice ensured my experience on the camino was a wonderful one. A lesson I have learned in life is that if someone knows what they are talking about and I am about to embark on something new where I have relatively little experience, then I take their advice. And so I did with this guy and his advice concerning the camino was as follows:

•           Drink plenty – aim for a couple of litres a day even if it does not seem hot – otherwise your joints become dry and you will get tendonitis.
• The camino is not a hill walk so no need to wear walking boots – they will give you shin splints because they come up too high on your leg. (I particularly smarted from this remark as he shrieked and flapped his arms when I walked  into the auberge pointing to my  hill walking boots as if I were wearing a pair of cloven devil hoofs).If like me it was too late to change them – then just make sure not to lace them up your leg.  
• There is a part of the camino we would encounter the next day coming into Roncesvalles (the next stop on the camino) where there is a fork .The left points to a very steep short cut to Roncesvalles and the right a longer though more undulating less punishing route. After walking nearly thirty km it would be tempting to take the left fork. Our patron begged us not to do this. He said that we would risk knee injury and blisters which would not be pleasant to have at the beginning of the camino and would serve to dog us then for ages. That would be the best scenario. The worst scenario would be similar something that happened just a few days ago to a pilgrim who took the steeper route and fell and broke his collarbone. In the following days I would meet many pilgrims with sore knees and awful blisters who had taken that steeper route and their problems had started at that time they had shot down the steep slope.
•   And finally do not attempt to rule on the camino or try to control it ……… it is the camino that will guide you. As Ernest Hemingway said “ The world  breaks everyone  and afterwards many are strong at the broken places”

As irked as he was about hill walking boots the patron of the auberge knew what he was talking about. I took all his advice on the camino even the drinking one (I am usually terrible for drinking water) and it seemed to work. I had an uneventful camino health wise – just the usual aches and pains – no worse than working a twelve hour shift at the nursing home where I work to be honest. And I had no blisters – again feet already hardened from pacing up down and around the nursing home for at least ten out of the twelve hours. It made me appreciate somewhat ruefully it has to be said how hard the work is for nurses and health care assistants in nursing homes.

I went for a walk after settling into the auberge which did not take long as the town is small. At one stage trying to be diligent and start drinking some water, I tried to obtain some from a water fountain opposite the main auberge for St Jean  Pied de Port – “Albergue Accueil Pelerin”. I could not turn off the pump and the water ran down the middle of the cobbled street under the impassive gaze of townspeople and pilgrims/walkers. I felt that awkwardness of the stranger to a town, not wanting to draw attention to oneself and be a bother. I looked helplessly over at a tall lanky man sitting on a stone bench near the pump. He looked a bit discomfited but nonetheless got up and managed to turn off the fountain. He did not speak English – only French so I stammered out my thanks in my shaky French. I marched off shamefacedly in the other direction down the town looking for less ham-fisted pursuits. I passed by a church and went in to light some candles and look round the church at the same time. I find churches are like a free architectural and cultural pursuit providing a blue print of the surrounding area (if it has had a lot of Christian influence through the ages). Mass was starting and it was actually a Mass for pilgrims with a pilgrim blessing.  I was delighted as it seemed a fitting start to my journey over the next couple of weeks.

 And so I sat in on the Mass. At the end the priest said something about pilgrims but I did not really understand. People were looking round and then I realised the priest was beckoning the pilgrims up to the front to give the blessing. There were about ten of us pilgrims/walkers all shuffling around and looking somewhat sheepishly at each other. We all bowed our heads and I felt very emotional as the priest raised his hand in the sign of the cross and bestowed his blessing. For the first time I did not feel like just a walker ……. I was really beginning to feel like a pilgrim. Walking back up the town I felt bemused and humble at the same time. I had not really thought about the pilgrim aspect of the camino. I had approached it as a long walk the way I go hill walking in Leitrim – a physical activity that would be challenging, yet satisfying.  That gentle blessing at the end of Mass had touched me and I began to realise that I was going on much more than a long walk.

The first step on the Camino de Santiago. Crossing the bridge out of  St Jean  Pied de Port