Camino Day 2: the Pyrenees, Roncesvalles, and no blisters yet!

The Pyrenees were extraordinary.  Nothing like Montana mountains, and not very high elevation (I think just a few thousand feet?) but nonetheless it felt alpine, climbing out of St. Jean, up and up and up winding roads.  This was me before starting (so nervous, as if I might twist my ankle on the way out of town and ruin it all before walking even one of the 800 km) with trusty guidebook and travel mug of instant coffee in hand, the coffee just mixed up in the hostel sink:

It was so surreal, being able to step out the door with nothing and just... go! 
After about 10 km of the 25, there was this little cafe/wayside rest, before the French town of Orisson - a single-lane road for miles in both directions, and just a cafe perched in the foothills:

The cost of the hostel tonight in Roncesvalles was just 8 euros (Yes!) and money spent on food was 0, thanks once again to this fantastic gallon bag of oatmeal-raisin-peanut butter trail rations, and to the boiled eggs I cooked and carried.  Today the Gorp waseaten in alpine meadows:

It felt so strange and selfish to be sitting there eating alone.  Like, can we really do this?  Are we really allowed to do this?  To land in another country, and pay nothing - no entry fee, no registration - and just start to walk, and spend all day taking in the vistas of their fields and meadows?  What I cannot pay the people of Spain back in money I will pay them back in awe.  I feel lightweight and deliriously free and overwhelmed by the unexpected sense of having nothing to do but wander and observe, to see it all and really see, and when we first started out this morning, like an idiot, I was just grinning.  The few Spanish farmers I passed smiled back with knowing nods.  I think they must see this expression often, shining out of pilgrims' eyes.

That photo does not do it justice, but the slope was STEEP!  There was snow on some mountains in the distance - and all the grass we walked through was grazed quite short, by sheep and cows and lots of mountain horses.

Finally, waiting on the other side of the mountains, after a very steep 4-mile downhill through lovely forests ankle-deep in leaves, lay the town of Roncesvalles, with a whole cathedral complex containing a massive 182-bed albergue and nightly 8 pm masses for pilgrims.  I attended the mass and it was all in Spanish and I understood... maybe half?  At least I captured the bones of a very good message (all-inclusive, regardless of faith) about praying for peace and an end to violence, and about being a light and a source of peace ourselves as we traveled.  The priests described each pilgrim as a light.  Whatever path we walk, whether here or in our normal lives, every action and interaction we have casts ripples, for good or bad. 

So choose to make them good ones. 

The perfect message for the world today.  Lastly, I guess it's normal to have all pilgrims take off their shoes immediately upon entering, and store them on shelves, in side rooms, to contain the overwhelming stench.  Witness these impressive racks of hiking boots, all identically dusty after traipsing through 25 km of mountain lanes and paths and oak forests:
 

(That's just one corner.  The entire room was filled with boots.  Many simple worn brown leather like mine, nondescript and beaten-in by lifestyles involving lots of walking, and virtually identical; I stashed mine in a lower corner, to be sure I'd find them in the morning.)


Also, no blisters yet!

Buen camino,

mlj