Content Introduction My background Preparation Navarra La Rioja Castilla y León Galicia Epilogue Appendix
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Introduction This book recounts, in text and photos, the story of my first pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago in Spain, in October 2008. The majority of the photos are from the thousand-year-old Camino Francés – the French Way – which is the most popular of Spain’s numerous pilgrim routes to Santiago de Compostela. People walk the Camino de Santiago for many reasons. I discovered that for me, it was a good way to think through and process the different stages of my life. However, some walk for the unique social experience, some for the adventure, and some to know the local culture. Others have lost a close friend or a partner, and they are trying to regain their footing in life. Whatever the motivation, the monotonous hours of walking almost always deepen the relationship with one’s own self and life. Personal problems often slip away in the distance, and things can soon be viewed from above. What once seemed so important loses its significance.
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Preparation I read and pondered many articles online to prepare and thought even more about undertaking the pilgrimage. Most of the articles I read were about the French Way, and I also read two books about this route by the artist Agneta Sjödin. “This is the one that everyone walks,” I thought, “so I guess I should do the same.” The starting point appeared to be in the village of Saint Jean Pied de Port in the French Pyrenees. That sounded exciting. I had to decide what kind of equipment I would need. To begin with, I needed to buy a light backpack for a maximum load of ten kilos, hiking boots, light trousers, a light sleeping bag made of down – warm, but not too warm – and a few other things. I also needed to get a pilgrim pass, called a credential, which is required for staying in the albergues, the holstels exclusively for pilgrims along the trail. I discovered that I could order one in advance from a Pilgrim Center in Sweden or the UK, though one can buy the pass locally in Spain at many places, such as book shops and the pilgrim albergues in St Jean Pied de Port, Pamplona, and Logroño. 17
Finally, it was the beginning of October, and I went by air to Biarritz in the southwest of France. From Biarritz I traveled by the local bus to the railway station in Bayonne, where supposedly a train connected to Saint Jean Pied de Port. Instead, there was one bus. It was the first of countless Camino surprises.
Navarra 7 th October, Saint Jean Pied de Port
At the station, I saw people with unusually large backpacks who seemed not to be local travelers. Soon I started talking to a guy named Hans-Günter, who is from Germany, and we boarded the bus together. After a couple of hours on the road, we arrived at the stop in the mountain village of Saint Jean Pied de Port. We took our backpacks out of the bus-trunk and saw that everyone was walking quickly towards a special building. So, we followed them.
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The stream of pilgrims was headed for the Albergue Accueil Saint Jacques, the hostel at the starting point of the well-traveled French pilgrimage, where I also would spend the night. Adjacent to the hostel was a reception office, staffed by several people who inform visitors about the pilgrim trail. There I got a list of open albergues and a small, printed map with elevation profiles for each day’s march. Reviewing the map, I was a little bit worried about the first stage of 27 kilometers across the Pyrenees. An elderly lady at the reception kindly said that there was no open shelter along the first stage, but I would arrive well in Roncevalles if I just took it easy. That evening I met other hikers, among them Peter from Slovakia, who is a therapist, and Chantelle and Josie from Quebec, Canada. Later on, Hans-Günter and I went out into the small community to buy water and some bread and cold cuts for the next day's lunch. It was late and time to return to the albergue, crawl into the sleeping bag, and try to sleep. Jittery feeling, but exciting.
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8 th October, 27 km to Roncesvalles
When we started in the morning from the hostel and passed through La Porte d’Espagne, the weather looked good. Hans-Günter was in a radiant mood, and soon we caught up with Rolf, who also had stayed at the hostel. We walked the eastern trail and came to the hostel Auberge Orrisson, which was very much closed. Hans-Günter and Rolf decided to stay there for a while. I continued. The sky got darker and darker, and soon a hazy rain began to fall. The idea came into my mind of returning to Saint Jean Pied de Port and starting over the next day, but no. That I would not do. Sure, I was already tired, but we were many who were going over the mountain to the other side. I donned my rain jacket and moved on. An elderly Japanese couple I encountered started talking about how happy we were, to be able to walk like this. Well… maybe, that’s right!
La Port d'Espagne
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The road up the Pyrenees
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I began to walk more slowly so my two companions could catch up with me. The rain fell heavier, then turned to snow, and the wind grew increasingly stiff. The trail was not difficult to follow, but I was starting to feel lonely. In the middle of the day, I saw the stone distance marker for SaintJacques de Compostelle. So, now only 765 kilometers remained to Santiago. Maybe it was time to eat a little, I decided. I stepped a couple meters from the road, sat down on a rock, and ate my sandwiches. The Japanese couple stopped for awhile and said something. I did not catch what, but I smiled back as much as they smiled at me. Buen Camino, I thought, the usual pilgrim greeting phrase that means “good road” or “good luck.” Soon I was ready to go again. The trail turned off to the right, and I saw a rock that marked the provincial border with Navarra. All arrows indicating the trail were now yellow. The snow turned back to rain, and I continued the last bit steeply downhill among rolling rocks. It was also really muddy. Finally I arrived in the tiny village of Roncesvalles. Its only pub was full of hikers drinking water or beer.
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La Rioja 1 4 th October, 21 km to Logroño
Lovely, the vending machine worked, and it almost felt like getting breakfast in bed. We entered the province of La Rioja a couple kilometers before Logroño, the provincial capital. Through Logroño flows one of the largest Spanish rivers, the Río Ebro. Celts and Romans settled early on both riverbanks. During the Middle Ages, Logroño was one of the fiercest strongholds of the Spanish Inquisition, home to a Catholic court or authority tasked with assessing and combating heresies. I wanted to continue ten kilometres further to Navarrete, and Anita wanted to stay in Logroño. I was not that hard to persuade. We sat outside the large municipal albergue and waited until it opened. A guy sitting next to us called himself Bart and said that he came from the French-speaking part of Belgium. He seemed rather unbalanced and complained about most things. When the albergue opened, we paid a few euros for the night, then I went out for some shopping.
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Early Morning in Azofra
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El Acebo
30 th October, 26 km to La Laguna
Christian had been foresighted and bought bread when he arrived in Villafranca del Bierzo, and it was enough for breakfast for all three of us. A simple breakfast of a cup of coffee, bread, and salami, but no butter. In front of us was the trail's last mountain, which rose to just over 1300 metres and included an ascent of about 700 meters to La Faba. I continued to walk by myself as I had done the day before. It was overcast, and the rain hung in the air. It had begun to get dark when I finally arrived at the hostel in La Faba. Still, to my great surprise, the albergue already was full. A whole school class checked in just before me – and Norman, of course. I was advised to walk another four kilometers to the next hostel in La Laguna. Someone thought it was still open. I had hardly any other choice but to move on. The darkness deepend as I walked, and snow mixed into the rain. The wind blew straight into my face, and it became difficult to see. I really regretted that I had not brought my rain pants with me. The path was muddy and full of cow manure.
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The rain ran down into my boots. I started to get frustrated. I needed to find someplace to sleep, and I was soaking wet from the thighs down. It was fully dark when I finally arrived at the small hostel in La Laguna. It had only one other patron, with whom I shared the dormitory: a hiker who said his name was Henrik. That was the only thing I heard the extremely quiet man say during all evening. The hostel had a nice restaurant with a fireplace that was lit. I placed my leather boots in front of the hearth and near the fire. Soon they started to steam. I knew they should not be placed so near the fire, but what should I do? I had to dry them for the next day. After a while, Henrik came into the restaurant – and chose a separate table. It’s a little sad to sit at different tables in a small place like that. Wanting to be at peace is OK, but you can at least say something. But, for a frozen and really hungry pilgrim, the hot food tasted wonderfully good.
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Alto San Roque and the beautiful Galicia
Galicia 31 st October, 24 km to Triacastela
It was a glorious morning. The air was humid, and the clouds still lay in the valleys. I soon reached the border with the province of Lugo and thus the beautiful Galicia. After a few kilometers I was in O Cebreiro, which is perched at the highest part of the mountain and has one of the the oldest refuges for pilgrims on the French Way. In the 10th century, Benedictine monks started to take care of pilgrims, and they established a monastery there in 1072. The trail continued down towards the community of Triacastela and passed a bronze statue of a wandering pilgrim at Alto San Roque. The view of Galicia spread out below was stunningly beautiful from there. Stone with distance marking in O Biduedo
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Triacastela
Credentials 2008 Camino de Santiago
A stamp in the pilgrim's passport for each overnight stay at a private, municipal or other shelter. 108
Credentials 201 5 Camino de Santiago
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