Just before reaching my Hostel for the night, I sat down on a door step to catch my breath and take in the atmosphere of the main street. I was little tired after perusing the little medieval village of St Jean Pied de Port. I had not been sitting long when I was approached by middle aged man who appeared to be dressed appropriately as a pilgrim, hiking pants and boots. He smiled and struck up a conversation with me in English. (As I traversed the Camino, I was to learn that most pilgrims guessed I was American without uttering a word which was interesting.)
He was pleasant enough, but my little internal voice was telling me to beware. He spoke about his journey, weaving his story with interesting details. He informed me, he started his Camino at Notre Dame in Paris, France, which is a long way from St Jean Pied de Port. With mastery he slipped in the fact that his backpack which stored all his money had been stolen. I said, “oh that is too bad.” He continued his tale of loss and woe. Ending it with, he was short on money to pay for a hostel down the road.
At that point he shifted focus of his conversation to asking some questions about me and my plan to walk the Camino. While I was talking, I debated whether or not to believe his tale and give him some euros. I thought what a perfect scam, hit on an older woman traveling alone on the night before starting a religious pilgrimage. Yeah, the perfect mark!
However, I thought what if his story is real and I’m just jaded. My thinking turned to the critical and pessimistic perspective that most people are out to get you because of your naiveté. Then I stepped back from this thought and said to myself, “go ahead, you have plenty of money. It is the start of your pilgrimage. Let it go. If he is lying to you that is on him”. At this point, I felt that I would rather err on being compassionate rather than doubtful. This decision I could live with.
I pulled out 10 euros and handed it to him wishing him well and a Buen Camino. (Buen Camino is a typical call to pilgrims upon leaving someone.) I stood up and walked to my shelter for the night.
Early the next morning, I packed my sleeping bag along with my other sundries into my backpack. I took the stairs and made my way to kitchen. I sat in the warm kitchen with other pilgrims who stayed the night and ate a filling breakfast made by the woman who owned the hostel. Everyone spoke a different language so the conversation was at a minimum and pretty basic.
After finishing my breakfast, I sat down in the front room where my backpack, hiking boots and my trekking poles were stored and laced up my hiking boots. I stepped out to a cool and fairly dark empty street. And so it begins…I thought as I took my first steps into the start of a journey of my lifetime.
It did not take long to walk from the village to the start of the Camino. I patted the shell tile which was imbedded into an ancient rock wall with an arched passage way, which indicated I was on the Camino path. Just past this wall, I made a right turn following the yellow arrow painted on a post. I was lucky. Walking in front of me was a woman with a backpack walking on the path toward some nearby farms. It reassured me that I was on the path. I soon lost sight of her as the path wound around the hills.
Leaving behind the village, I walked toward pastoral northern Spain. I strolled past many little farms with rolling hills surrounded by green pastures. I began to notice I was slowly walking up a gradual but continuous incline. I walked through little clusters of rural houses and out onto more rolling hills and cows. I was getting use to spotting the little yellow arrows on fence posts or on rocks. I was very happy and excited.
As the sun raised higher, the temperature got warmer. My steps became more labored. The weight of my backpack more noticeable. I was drinking more water. I sat down on a short rock wall to rest. I was still in good spirits. Refreshed, I began the trek again.
I began taking more breaks with shorter distance between stops. I had been walking for 4 hours with no sight of Valcarlos which would be the half-way mark. The backpack straps felt like they were cutting into my shoulders and my feet were feeling very warm in my hiking boots. It was beginning not to go very well. A short time later way above me on another hill was the edge of the town called Valcarlos.
Not that the hill in front of me was that far of distance to walk, it was however, straight up for about a .5km. Demoralized I stopped at least three times to catch my breath as I dragged my body up the hill. Finally, just short of the last tenth of a kilometer I gave up. I sat down next to a tree, literally laying in the path, legs sprawled out in front of me. I was done! I was a pathetic sight. Some pilgrim I was.
Then the internal dialog began. “ I am not going to make it! I cannot do it. This is day one and I only walked half way to my first stop and I am finished. What the Hell was I thinking… I going to walk over 500 miles..Yeah… right…Loser… that’s right I am a loser with a big “L”. Yeah… I am going to carry my 46 liter backpack all the way, cause I am a real pilgrim.. Yeah right. I going home. I don’t care what those kids from the school will think.. get real kids, so I am a loser, that’s life. Get Over it!”
After laying there for a while I took out my phone and texted my sister. “Kill me, Kill me now!” I was to find out later that when my sister got the text; she freaked out. She thought about how to get me out of Spain. She even tried to get her son-in-law to find me and bring me back because he had lived in Spain and spoke Spanish.
I do not know how long I laid there next to the tree. As time went on I became calm. I began the self- talk again. This was the beginning of a month long negotiation with my self during my journey. I told myself… “You are not going home. You are not going to Roncesvalles today. You are not going to carry your backpack. You are going to ship it to your next stop in the morning. You are going rest and stay the night in Valcarlos”. Done!
