Days 65-66: Officially a Pilgrim

Officially a Pilgrim

Days 65 – 66

March 3 – 4

St. Jean Pied de Port, France

Saturday morning, I took a bullet train from Barcelona to Pamplona.  I was surprised how smoothly the train moved at 240 km/h (144 mph); this was a new experience for me.  The last time I moved with this groundspeed, I was 21 years old and my hands were gripped tightly on the steering wheel of my Chevy Camaro.  I’m glad I outgrew that unwise portion of my life without destroying the car, or myself, in the process.  

One of the nicer train station clocks I've seen.

I found the "Running of the Bull's" statue in Pamplona.

I spent a night in Pamplona, staying at a pilgrim’s hostel called an alburgue.  I wasn’t yet an official pilgrim, so I had to pay a bit more: ten Euros.  Walking into the alburgue, I was reminded of my Marine Corps days that I spent living with dozens of others in a large squad bay, bunkbeds lined in rows and spaced just far enough for a little bit of comfort when exiting one’s bed.  Immediately, I met my first group of friendly pilgrims: Carlos and Alisa were from the United States, Oliver and Hannah were from England, although Oliver has been living in Australia lately.  Oliver was the first to offer me a beer, and I was happy to have my first drink since Ned and I finished the Huemul Circuit in Patagonia.  We gave a cheers to the Camino and gathered between two of the bunk beds to celebrate comraderie.  I felt like I had been walking alongside these guys all day; they were so friendly.  This was one of the many reasons I decided to do this pilgrimage.  Later that night, Carlos demonstrated his culinary mastery by cooking dinner for the five of us: stir-fried vegetables, cheesy rice, and pan-grilled chicken were on the menu.  Being my first of many communal-style dinners on the Camino, I knew this one would be hard to beat.  We retired to our beds satiated.  

The next morning, I bid farewell to everyone as they continued their Camino pilgrimages.  I was still yet to begin mine officially, and needed to get to St. Jean Pied de Port in France.  Technically, I could have picked up right with them that day, but I would feel like I cheated myself if I skipped the first three days of the trip.  The entirety of the French Way route spans from St. Jean to Santiago de Compostela, and it wouldn’t be much of a “French Way” if I never even walked from France.  

I took the only bus from Pamplona to St. Jean Pied de Port at 2:30 PM.  At the bus station, I met Michael and Claudia.  Michael had military-like stature, and it was no surprise when he told me he was a former officer in the German Army.  Claudia, who was born in Chile to South African parents, has been traveling for seven months with plans to eventually return to school and pursue her PhD.  For 90 minutes on the bus, we wound our way through the wooded Pyrenees, paralleling the Rio Luzaide that served as the border between Spain and France.  We crossed the French border with no indication save for traffic signs that changed languages.  Arriving in Saint Jean Pied de Port, the sunny late afternoon illuminated a French countryside town the way I always imagined it to appear.  

St. Jean Pied de Port seen from the top of a nearby hill.

The town was full of quaint countryside homes.

We found the pilgrim’s office and each purchased a Carnet de Pelerin, the Pilgrim’s Credentials, and a scallop shell.  The first is the official document obtained by all pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago, a progress report stamped at checkpoints along the way and a permission slip to stay in alburgues, the pilgrim hostels.  The second is the iconic symbol of pilgrims on the Camino; it serves to identify pilgrims who wear it, and it is found on guiding signpost and alburgues.  I was now officially a Camino pilgrim.

My Pilgrim's Credentials and scallop shell.  I am now an official Pilgrim.