Me versus the Pyrenees

The good news: I kicked that mountain´s butt. The bad news: it kicked back. Hard. And it took two prisoners - the honourable soldiers Left Foot and Right Foot. It was bound to happen; this morning started out with some challenges. I overslept, having mistakenly set my alarm for 7am sometime next week (not that i´m incapable of sleeping that long...) and so merrily snored away until after 8. Whoops. Sparked out of the hostel at the speed of sound and about two feet outside the door fell flat on my face and *definitely* pulled something. However. I am used to falling flat on my face several times a day, so (reasonably) undaunted, I proceeded.

the first obstacle was that i´d been to the pilgrim office to get a detailed map and directions of my route the night before, but owing to bad weather the route was closed so I had to take a detour with rapidly descending fog that obscured a lot of the landmarks and followed mostly a) a bizarre winding disorienting mountain pass that constantly seems to zigzag over where one has *just* been and where cars drive as though their bottoms are on fire and b) mountain forest paths which were staggeringly beautiful and where I did not see one other living soul (given the conditions, i could hardly blame them for staying in though).

anyhow, the detour was somewhat longer than the standard route (although thankfully marginally less steep; though that is not to say there weren´t a number of hills thrown in for our grunting pleasure). i ended up walking in the rain for 9 hours, which oddly enough was more pleasant than it sounds. on the down side, the detour didn´t have any water fountains so i was practically walking with my mouth open to catch rain. by 6pm i was belting out ABBA songs just to keep myself going (´super trouper´ was particularly rousing).

when i FINALLY arrived in roncesvalles, i saw a very homey looking building with a pilgrim symbol on it and a wonderful crackling fire and a friendly barman who looked like the type to pour a girl a whisky, so i turned off the choirs of angels singing in my head, went in and booked a bed - only smelling a rat when said bed turned out to be in an enormous solo room with gorgeous oregon pine floors, a private bathroom and two heaters. i anxiously enquired after the cost and it turns out this is not in fact the roncesvalles albuerge (which boasts dormitories with 120 beds and costs about 2c per night) but by that time i honestly did not have the moral fibre to turn down a hot bath, so i coughed up. on the down side, they only serve dinner at 8:30, which i am trying to regard as a test of my strength of character. (so far i am not very strong.)

lastly, lessons of the day:

1. trekking poles are the most amazing things ever invented and are instrumental in preventing absolute sense of humour failure;

2. the average spaniard is perfectly qualified to drive a minibus taxi in SA;

3. Three litres of water lasts about three hours on an uphill journey. Thereafter one is obliged to lick tree bark and stick one´s head in rivers in desperation;

4. When people say you do not need to speak spanish to do the camino, they lie. never in my life have i been so grateful that i pick up languages quickly, smile a lot and am comfortable with making a fool of myself. the combination of these factors has kept me fed and sheltered for a week;

5. A heavy backpack is not that big a deal. Having a clean, dry jersey on tap is way more important.

Lots of love from freezing, wet, icy mountain spain.