(Planes, Trains, and Buses).
We left with such excitement as if marching off to conquer something. Two days, a plane, train and bus later, we arrived in St. Jean Pied De Porte, the French side of the Pyrenees. Izabela and I went immediately to the Pilgrim's Office to get our Pilgrim's Passport and shell to tie on our backpack.
We were now officially Le Peregrinos. Our Passports were to be stamped at each Alburgue or bar to prove we had actually walked to get there. The shell, now tied to our backpack along with the card of our Venda children stating "500 Miles, Two Women and One Cause," proclaimed our sacred journey. It took me forever to choose just the right shell. Our Alburgue (pronounced: Al-bur- gay) Keeper cheerfully stamped our passport. Now it was REAL.... Izabela and I were REALLY Pilgrims. There were only 8 in our room so we slept pretty good. Our day pushed off with a lot of "Texas Bravado." The Pyrenees swelled with beauty and charm.
(A
shot from above of two Pilgrims walking in the Pyrenees).
As we assaulted the Pyrenees, we encountered sheep, peaceful in a field, or well fed cows laying quietly on the lush morning grass...
Then the magical horses...the WILD horses stood as proud Guards to an unseen heaven... The foals danced around their moms teasing for a snack of milk and love. This idyllic Disney scene tricked me into believing the steep ascension would be a "walk in the park."
(Pilgrim Moon Pie Party)
Needing a little " pick me up," I invited several Pilgrims to join us in a Moon Pie Party in the Pyrenees. Jack Hurly, owner of Jack's Cosmic Dog in Mount Pleasant, SC provided me with loads of Moon Pies. Since every ounce counts, I figured the party would take the weight off my back while making many Pilgrims happy. A fascinating phenomenon happens -'we become like family. There are Pilgrims from all over the world and we are immediately bonded by this common experience. ..to find what we need to find about ourselves and our lives... And we are doing it as One.
Lurking in the background is the thinning air and constant upward march met by the grisly slope downward. Each step began to be a chore. The "Texas Bravado" was waning, cracks were rupturing my little happy bubble of "the little red engine that thinks she can."
(High Point,
14,249 meters)
Izabela and I made it to the High Point (14,249 meters-which isn't all THAT high). Oh, and did I mention that this Bravado Texan was slowing the little Polish Pixie named Izabela down significantly? Well, I was. We made it up there through the Forrest's and mountain meadows that were dotted with little Spanish villages. Such was the haunting beauty enticing me forward only to be swallowed up by fatigue and heartbreak of the vicious downward descent. Though I had thoroughly trained, nothing prepared me for the awesome power of the Pyrenees to humble any measure of pride. It is said, "You cannot take this mountain So let the mountain speak to you... Climb as the mountain wants you to." The unpredictable weather has claimed many Pilgrims who were caught in its icy merciless grip. We witnessed the markers silently proclaiming that this Pilgrim had once lived with love and intensity. One older couple got caught on top of the mountain yesterday and had to seek refuge in a shelter. Though the cold tried to drag them into its icy pit, they were not yet ready to give up and they wearily walked out the next morning.
But let's get back to the other side of the mountain....
The descent through Forrest and rock laden path was brutal.
(Izabela
coming downhill).
I regretted not having eaten enough protein and my fuel tank was running on empty. First, I felt my legs begin to tremble and weaken, but I pushed on. My pace significantly decreased until I became like that show "The living dead" but I wasn't acting. My progress could be measured in inches. The mountain had overpowered me. Izabela kept asking me, "please let me help you." (We both had on backpacks). And I said, "No, you must not also become injured or we will be in bad trouble." We had no idea how far we had go to reach Roncevalles, our destination. I inched forward at snails pace through sheer will. Finally, Izabela insisted on me leaning on her ( 5'6" Pixie). Then at one point the mountain won and I told Izabela, "I am going down." I collapsed only one kilometer from our goal. Izabela went into "Killer Mode," wanted to pick me up (can you see us?) and I said, "Just let me lie on the path a moment then I can crawl to a place I can sit up." She quickly got out my blanket and sleeping bag to use as a pillow and set my water next to me. Just before she left to get help, 2 other pilgrims, Marie and Alexa from Australia rushed over and sat with me. Izabela, with pack on her bag RAN while calling their SOS number. An emergency vehicle was dispatched, and she RAN back. She told Marie and Alexa they should go on ahead so they did not miss getting their bed for the night.
(Jamie helping to the Land Rover)
The red Land Rover rolled in within minutes and 3 strong, handsome, young firemen jumped out. Jamie (pronounced Hy-mie) hastily questioned me about medical conditions and if I needed to go to hospital. I said, "No, I really just need a hamburger." He pulled me up and helped me to the vehicle. Then he started to pick me up to put me in the Land Rover and I was saying, "No, No, No!! But gallant Jamie swooped me up, he buckled and dropped me on the floor board. I heard him gasp, "big woman!" I started laughing hysterically. He felt vanquished because he didn't get to swoop the charming maiden into the red carriage. I was laughing so hard he began to laugh too. We pulled up to the Alburgue
(medieval hospital)
where a volunteer strapped on my backpack. Jamie was telling me they (fire department) routinely rescue 3 to 4 people every day on this stretch of the El Camino. 2 of the 3 heroes graciously posed for our photo and they galloped off into the sunset (didn't they? It appeared so). Another volunteer took our back packs to the assigned beds.
Still another volunteer said we must eat before the last restaurant closed and escorted us there. Izabela and I were not familiar with the Pilgrims Dinner so we ordered it. The waitress brought us a drink and HUGE bowl of spaghetti . Thinking that was all we were getting, we plowed into it like "two work horses and a hog." The waitress tried to take the NOT empty bowl away and we latched onto it like desperate sailors while she frantically tried to tell us something. We won though and ate it down to the last quavering string. Then the waitress brought it in.... Two plates, each with a whole fish and a heap if potatoes. OMGoodness... Our pouches were full... There was NO room in the tummy... We asked her to take it away, assuming we wouldn't have to pay for what we didn't eat. Next was the dessert which we inhaled and asked for our teeny tiny check. WELL! That was a shocker. Walking outside full and semi-happy, we found another volunteer who had waited for us through our whole meal to escort us back to the Alburgue.
(inside the medieval hospital)
There were 120 (60 bunk beds) in one giant room. The beds had sheets and a pillow - I'm in Heaven. The volunteer told us to go to bed, lights go out at 10:00 pm no matter what). Izabela begged like a pathetic waif for us to shower and the big guy caved. We had started our El Camino Journey!!!
(Santiago De Compostela
790).
15.6 miles down... Only 484.4 miles to go!
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