May 4th, 2017
Irun to Passjes de San Juan
Km hiked: 16
Km Total: 16
Today we started the Camino del Norte, or was it yesterday? I don’t know. Our sleep schedule has been very discombobulated, on account of multiple time zone traverses spanning several days, and an overnight bus ride from Barcelona to Irun that left us just a little more than exhausted.
But, sleep deprivation aside, we stepped on the Camino and became pilgrims, or rather, perigrinos, as it is said in Spanish, as we began our journey to Santiago de Compostela where St. James is buried.
We didn’t do much planning for this trek, which is somewhere in the ballpark of 500 miles. There is a guidebook in English and a mobile app, and all we really did was purchase these things and figure out how to get to the start.
Our lack of planning became apparent as we hobbled off the bus and into the still dark hours of 6:00 AM, not sure entirely where to go or what to do. We knew there was a church, and at the church you could get something called a credentials book, which is a passport book that you get stamps in from Alburgues or other institutions, to show that you have walked the Camino. You need the book to stay at the public Alburgues, which are large hostel like places, and you need to get at least one stamp a day to prove that you walked. If you turn it in at Santiago you receive some kind of award- a medal or something, that you can hang in your home or bring to the office or just lose in a sock drawer.
We found the church after some rambling around town. It was hard to locate because it was not referenced in the guidebook. We began to understand throughout the day that the guidebook was fairly worthless. The guy that greeted us at the church didn’t speak any English so the whole process of getting the passport took awhile. It’s an official registration, which requires your actual passport number and residency, and consists of a whole form you have fill out. It was very official and also very aggravating.
Soon we were on our way and found the first markers well enough. Mostly they are yellow arrows painted on trees or rocks and sometimes there are signs. The route took us through the middle of Irun which is an old and pleasant town, and then skirted us away and up a large hill. After a few kilometers we were walking through lush green forests dotted with small farms, where goats and sheep roamed around or lay in the sun on neon green grass. We saw the small city below us eventually and caught a glimpse of the Atlantic ocean shimmering in the haze. Larger mountains rose to the west of us and meandered towards the skyline.
We followed a ridge of a large hill for awhile and had great views of the valley and of all the small buildings with their little red roofs and white walls, and took a break in the shade for lunch overlooking them.
We saw maybe 10 other pilgrims before noon throughout our walk, but we were alone sitting on the ridge and eating some crackers, until a man showed up and joined us for a snack.
The hike ended at the Alburgue in pasajes de San Juan, some 16 km later. A short day but a very long one because of the bus ride, and we were exhausted and ready to take a nap. The Alburgue was pretty and there were people already there. It didn’t open until 4:00 PM so we waited outside.
More people kept showing up, including an old guy in a bright red shirt. Apparently the Alburgue only sleeps 14, and the amount of people waiting had already reached 12. He and his wife made a note and public announcement of this fact, and were quick to share this information with two other pilgrims that strolled up to the Alburgue after them. He was kind of rude about it, the man in red, and I instantly disliked him.
Eventually the hostel volunteers arrived and it was a big ordeal trying to fit people in. It was hard to understand what was going on as everything was in Spanish, but I wasn’t getting good vibes for the situation. A few people that were waiting decided to leave after their friends were turned away. Somehow we made it in and began the process of checking in and getting our passport books stamped.
We showed the volunteer our books and he blankly looked at them, eventually looking back at us disapprovingly and shaking his head. It was a little more than rude. Apparently we didn’t fill in all the information on our books, so we had to do that, and then handed it back. He was confused that Carolyn and I shared the same last name, because apparently that is not a thing in Spain when you get married. The wife keeps her maiden name.
We were issued top bunk beds and were refused a request for open bottom ones, again rudely, as if asking was something we shouldn’t have even considered.
It was odd. And I was cranky and angry. All anyone was doing here was going for a walk. And this whole Alburgue thing and the stupid stamps was kind of a complicated waste of energy. Or perhaps I just wasn’t getting or understanding it just yet. Maybe that was it.
It’s 11 PM now and I have my earplugs in. The guy beneath me is snoring like a rhino and I can hear him even through the plugs.
At least the Basque Country is breathtakingly beautiful. At least we have that.
