Through the Misty Mountains

Our first challenge and 25km is past successfully. The only injury sustained was cutting my finger on a wet fern I used to clean a dirty hand – Purell, Polysporin and a Bandaid successfully applied (no sponsor money received from either!).

The high route over the Pyrenees is notoriously steep up and then just as steep down, whereas the lower route is rolling to start and then a steady uphill climb, both meeting at Roncesvalles. We split our journey into two days, the first of which was glorious – sunshine on the high hills as we walked in early morning shadow along the river valley. Warm even under the trees along the quiet country road. It is Sunday and there is very little traffic. The bare craggy edges perched above the velvety green hills held sheep straggling along their steep sides, so tiny they looked like creamy stones. The second day was spent almost entirely in mist, trying to avoid the narrow, hairpin turning highway and its rumbling trucks of hay bales as much as possible.

Off the road a narrow alpine path rose up through wildflowers and shrubs and ferns and bramble, then under forests of beech and oak. The mist was so thick the tops of the trees were hidden from our view at the bottom, and the sound of strong rain came to an end in the rare clearing, proving the wet air collected on the leaves and then dripped down in stages, and we walked in quiet until we again entered the forest.  Even at midday it was gloomy and grey green, the air soft and all sound swallowed in moss.

A tiny church in the mist,
with a bell to help guide those lost on the mountains

Remembering pilgrims who never made it off the mountain

view through the church door to glass pressed into the ourside wall

summit marker that points out all the mountains
one can view form this site
when it is not like this 

The sound of my boots in tandem with my walking sticks sounded to me like a distant raven calling – a symbol of home following my path. The stone was a form of slate and could get slippery if not attended to, and a true rain storm would have made a muddy, slippery slog we were spared. The path was clear, but also well marked with the now familiar yellow scallop shell emblem and yellow arrow on blue, painting on small pillars or rocks, on which previous pilgrims had placed small stones. We left an Canadian Inukshuk (of course) to welcome those that followed us, including a Guadalupan, 2 Irish women, a Welsh couple and a triplet of Americans we joined, then passed along the way.

The mist stayed in Roncesvalles and our clothes now felt clammy so we got our passport stamped at the pilgrim office, and sat out for a beer and sandwich of Iberian ham, local sheep’s cheese and baguette to dry off a bit, watching the mist swirl around the occasional shaft of sunshine that could get through. At this altitude our skin feels tight with even a bit of sun, and the breeze moves cold over the ivy, making green waves of movement along the side of the stone buildings.

There has been a good deal of work done here, with a lovely plaza built outside the tiny Church of St. James and the square building that supposedly houses the bodies of the 12 Peers of France who died with Roland that August day in 1340. A large contraption is in the middle of pulling down an old wall and the trees that lined it, and we can guess it is to allow more large buses to park. The skies cleared even as a wave of mist continuously rolled over the forest.

Church of Santiago, the square Sancti Spritus chapel,
and our white washed posada

the stone on which Roland broke sword
(although I like the word 'smote' better)

And this is the disappointment of Roncesvalles. Bus after bus of day tripping pilgrims of an elder age, all Spanish it seems if our ears do not deceive us, arrive from Pamplona, are herded into the aforementioned church and Sancti Spiritus chapel, then into the museum and the other sites. Unfortunately for the rest of us, those first three locations are closed to us. Then there is a short walk along the Camino path proper before they get back on the bus and depart for dinner back in Pamplona.

I have no issue with Roncesvalles now becoming as much a day stop on the tourist trail, but that I was not able to access some of what made Roncesvalles worth stopping for. The next town of Burguette is a much more pleasant and charming place to stay and if we’d known, we would have walked the 3km further to do so. But the history of this place is why it is here at all, and the old church and monastery are wonderful. 

The 12^th century monastery has put up all pilgrims
“…sick and well, to Catholics as well as pagans, Jews, heretics, beggars and vagabonds…”

I suppose we would have to put ourselves in the vagabond category, although pagan might be a potential option.

still putting up pilgrims by the thousands
almost 1,000 years later

Tomorrow is our first long day, 22km, and includes some steep descents to be careful of, so we will enjoy our hot shower, do a little stretching, go to the pilgrim mass at 8pm, and then hit the hay, or, in our case, the very hard bed.