REFUGE ORISSON to RONCESVALLES

May 3, 2016
Today — 8.7 miles
Total — 14.9 miles

I wish I could blame my sleepless night on noisy roommates, but truth be told, I just couldn’t shut my brain off.

Somewhere around 2:00 a.m. my eyes flew open and I was wide awake. Excitement? Doubts? Anxiety? Probably a bit of each. Determined to provide my body with some rest (if not sleep) for the difficult day ahead, I lay quietly in my upper bunk, listened to the soft breathing of my roomies and waited for morning.

When the first gal began stirring, I climbed down from my aerie, shuffled down the hall to splash cold water on my face and went through my simple toiletry routine. Back in the dark of the room I dressed, stuffed my sleeping bag in the bottom of my pack and loaded the rest of my gear on top. Satisfied, I hoisted my pack on one shoulder, grabbed my hiking poles and big Camino hat and padded downstairs in stocking feet. I found my boots where I left them, thanked God—again—for no blisters, then met Marian and Sandy in the dining area for a sparse breakfast of toast and tea. By 7:00 we were off.

Thankfully, we enjoyed some lovely views of the Pyrenees the day before because today there would be none.

Fog had settled on the mountains, and it would get thicker the higher we climbed.

The day was not only damp but cold, and where the road was exposed, forceful winds did their utmost to blow the chilling moisture right through our bodies. Our jackets, pants, gloves—all exposed surfaces—glistened with fine dew. I was grateful for my buff—a new piece of gear that protected my neck, ears and head from the biting cold.

For the first time since leaving SJPP our Camino marker led us from the long narrow asphalt road and out onto the grasslands. At that intersection an enterprising local had set up a protective canopy. Beneath it were tables spread with hiker delights—hot beverages, fruit, and a wide variety of snacks. I shouldered through the pilgrim crowd to pay for a banana and a steaming cup of cocoa. Fortified, we headed off cross country.

On the hard-pack dirt and grass the trail was undefined. The mist was so thick it was difficult to find our way. It was a bit unnerving and I was glad I wasn’t alone. Each time we began to wonder if we were going the right direction, we would spot another short stone post imbedded with the Camino scallop shell symbol.

Soon our mostly turf path turned to mud, then to a cushion of ankle-deep fallen leaves, then to leaves, mud and snow, then finally to dirt. As the miles passed under our boots, sloping pastures alternated with steep woodlands. The earth often fell away sharply on one side of our trail. Encased in mist, the world felt surreal and muffled. Our senses sharpened, absorbing the sounds and sights around us.

Mysterious, naked forests lurked, their dark and desperate trees shrouded in fog. Pilgrims later described this as scary and spooky; I found it fascinating. Cowbells clunked in the mist—somewhere not too distant below us—but hidden as verdant slopes morphed downward into a veil of white. We were warm, breathing bodies floating through a bleak and ghostly landscape.

We found a huge stone slab mile marker—765 kms to Santiago—and made it a photo op. Shortly afterward our entrance into Spain went almost unnoticed. Only a cattle guard marked our leaving France. No signage that we saw, but perhaps it was there somewhere in the chalky gloom.

We found a grassy patch for our lunch, and amazingly, the sun chose that time to poke out its brilliant head to warm us for a short while before succumbing once again to the dense gray.

Finally, we were at the summit. Now for the trek down.

The beginning was steep and a bit tricky with mud, snow and ice, but the remainder wasn’t nearly as grueling as anticipated.

Down and down. Changes in the landscape were dramatic. Like walking from winter into summer. Black, gray and white changed to technicolor. Bare, dormant trees gave way to dense beech forests alive with spring green foliage. The sun finally showed up for good, bringing with it blue skies and fragile white clouds. Here and there broad carpets of delicate blue flowers blanketed the woodland floor.

After an arduous day we finally spotted the town of Roncesvalles peeking from between the trees. We had no idea it would be so small. It has only two small hotels, each with a restaurant, a tourist office, a museum, a cathedral, and a huge monastery, part of which is newly renovated as the Refuge de Peregrinos—a pilgrim albergue. They’ve been providing beds for pilgrims since medieval times. How AWESOME is that! With a population of 40, we pilgrims far outnumbered the locals.

We were checked in by Dutch volunteers who run the place, then hung out on a sunny bench in the huge square courtyard until we could go inside and claim our beds.

This was a big place, but nice! 183 beds—which were fully occupied by 4:00. Sleeping areas were divided into neat, two-bunk cubicles that included individual storage lockers. We had one additional “roomie,” a pleasant gal from Romania. So far, no male roommates; that would soon change! The showers were hot, and we had no time limit. Ahhh…

We would later realize that until now we were being spoiled with our particularly nice accommodations!

To kill time until dinner we strolled down the one road through town and surveyed the countryside. Grazing sheep contrasting bright white against green pastures. Ancient buildings—with their time-worn, weather-beaten exteriors and imagined, unspoken stories—outshining their newer copycat neighbors.

With only two restaurants available, dinner reservations for pilgrim meals were required. Our meal of soup, pasta, pork chops and potato wedges was served in a small dining room at round tables for eight. Another opportunity to meet more people from around the world. The meal was okay; the companionship made up for what it lacked.

After dinner we attended a Camino “must see and do” event—evening mass, with a special pilgrim blessing afterward.

Then, back to our little cubicle for bed. As I snuggled into my bag I remembered my prayer from the night before… and I smiled.

I had stayed warm, even with the wind, wet and cold. I had no problem with the intense ups and downs of the day—in spite of my lack of sleep. And God made His Presence known in numerous and personal ways, especially as we experienced the uniqueness of our surroundings.

Thank You, Jesus!