Day 6 - First day walking the camino

6am wake to a CD of monks singing. Every one is already up and about. God botherers and 50 plusers love this early morning shit. I resist the urge to throw my boot at the speaker. Every one keeps on saying 'god bless you' to me, which makes me heaps awkward. Only because I don't know what to say back. I don't, maybe, kind of, don't, do, sort of believe in a higher power so I'd feel fake saying it back. 'Err, thanks' is my standard response.

Decided before I went to sleep the night before that the ache in my back meant that the bag is to heavy. What can I leave here? After a discussion with Ignus, I leave my heavy jacket, gas burner and pot n pan. I end up really wanting them but that cuts 5kg off the weight (total 19kg) and saves my back.
I want to walk by myself so I wait for the other to clear off before I do. Leave the albergue and take the wrong direction and instantly get lost. Then it starts raining heavily. Good start.

Luckily my sense of direction kicks in (normally a requires a 2 cigarette warming up period). I land back on the trail and abracadabra there’s the group. I notice every one else is much more prepared than I with water proof hiking gear, walking stick and bags that look like if they became self aware, would start hunting down John Connor. But my shorts(didn't pack anything else),emergency poncho and flano (flannel shirt for you non aussie heathens) are doing a good enough job and give me extra pilgrim points for suffering. High horse rise’s by 2 points. Well if this group isn't going to stay in front of me ill have to pass them.

First of many small chapels I passed

The way leaves the town and turns into a muddy forest trail. Then it gets steep and goes up. And up. And up. 2 hours in and I’m soaked, my extremities are starting to get cold, the bags killing my back and my tar filled asthmatic lungs are struggling. What the fuck have I got myself into? I thought Spain was sunny? It was nice in France, I could just go back and spend a few weeks beach hopping!

But as I just manage to get to the top of the rise I’m rewarded with an amazing view of village we’d just left. The quicker in the group catch up to me, they don’t speak english but moments like these don’t need words. Their sweaty pained expressions change into surprised smiles as they take in the view.

I walk with these 3 for a few up hill hours. The rain doesn’t let up. Rolling smokes in the rain whilst walking is hard, and most times I end up just trying to light a crumpled, soaked piece of tobacco and paper. Finally we start to go down, we hit the picturesque village of Pasaia. It is like travelling back in time, the small cobbled streets are filled with small stone houses and smoke filled café’s with cured meats hanging from the roofs.

The path divides, to the right follows the hilly coast, the left follows roads. First day is no time to start getting lazy so right it is. Every one but a middle aged spanish lady takes the easy path. She’s heaps fitter than me and I soon loose sight of her. Embarrassing, ego minus 3 points. More hills, more rain. The top of this hill is covered and thick fog, medieval ruined towers keep on appearing from no where.  Brilliant atmosphere! I get into a rhythm and let my mind wander, but have to get the bag off my back every now and again when it aches to much.

3pm soaked and tired I’m doubting I’ll ever make it to Santiago. But as I descend another hill the city and beach of St. Sebastian appear and the clouds part and the sun shines with full force.  I stumble to the beach. I was going to test myself on the first day, but life’s for enjoying, right? I spend the afternoon sun bathing and body surfing. The water is amazing. Immense love life moment.

As it gets dark, I head off looking for a place for my tent but my legs and back lock up. So I sit on the promenade writing my journal and people watching. I meet two Swiss guys who are here to party for a day or two. We chat for a bit and they give me there details and tell me I’ve got a bed in Switzerland if I ever need it.

Set my tent up and open a can of food that Baloo gave me. It tastes horrible, like shredded cabbage with fish. I hope I can I eat this stuff cold.

24km's...831 to go

Day 7
It wasn't meant to be eaten cold, definitely not meant to be eaten cold…

Day 5

Travel tip 1: Toilet paper! The most important thing to have in your bag unless you want to spend the rest of the day wearing only one sock.

5 am Santi and I have a quick coffee and by quarter to six he’s dropping me off a few kilometres out of Irun. Here I am. Now what? Where do I start from? Where do I get a pilgrims passport? Is there an actual ‘way’ or do I just start heading West?  Ok, first stop tourism office to find these thing out.

The tourism office doesn't open until ten, check the watch it’s 7.30. There is a Korean couple ( they have a flags on there back packs). I smile and they look at me like I eat babies and scamper off.

I’m just relaxing, watching the crowds bustle by when a man sits beside me and lights up his pipe. I decide to try out some of the Spanish Santi taught me and start a conversation. The man gives me a confused look and says.

‘ What language do you speak because it’s obviously not Spanish’

So that’s how I meet Ignus. A Belgian pilgrimage junkie of about 40 years of age, he has cycled so many Camino’s he has trouble telling them apart. I learn that there’s a free albergue ( pilgrims hostel) in town where I can get my Pilgrims passport ( to be stamped in villages to prove I did the camino and so I can get into albergue’s). The Albergue doesn’t open until 4pm and I’m disappointed that I won’t start my Camino until the next day. Which turns out to be a good thing as Ignus is one interesting and knowledgeable chap.

We find a cheap café and sit there talking ( well mainly listening on my part) for hours. He has seen so much and is a great story teller.  He is a very spiritual person and a lot of what he talks about is a bit out there ( or completely bonkers depending on how you look at things) but it’s interesting conversation none the less. He takes out an atlas and shows me his favourite hikes around the world which I jot down.

After 4 hours of filling the Café with smoke and only buying one coffee the waitresses make it quite clear that we have over stayed our welcome. We go for a walk through the old city of Hondirribia. He makes a great tour guide, every time we pass a building of note he tells a story about the time when it was built, mainly focusing on the misdoings of politicians and the churches. He also points out the yellow arrows I’m to follow for the camino, I had passed plenty already in Irun but mostly you don’t notice them if your not looking out.

My favourite story of the day is about a Flemish king who loved to drink., but he liked to drink in the peoples bars. So he disguised himself as a peasant and was enjoying a few beers, when he over heard a drunk bad mouthing the king. The king asked the drunk if he thought he could do a better job, yes was the drunks response. The king continued to buy the drunk beer until he passed out, then called his chauffeur and had the drunk taken to the palace and placed in the kings bed. The staff were told to treat the man as if he had always been king.

So the drunk awoke, surprised. He was dressed as a king. He sat on the throne during court. He signed documents etc. That night, being the king he ordered a massive feast. The real king played the part of his servant and once again feeding him booze until he passed out. He was then put back into his regular clothes and dropped off at the bar were he first passed out.

Don’t know if it’s true, but either way it’s a funny little story.

We head back to the Albergue and I meet my fellow pilgrims. About a dozen. Mostly a lot older than me and don’t speak English, which I’m quite happy to find, I’m not here to party or socialise. The lights go out at 10 pm but I’m to excited to sleep, I lie awake for what feels like hours, my mind churning and I realise I’m also nervous.

Day 4 - 29th April

Hitching Tip 119: Hold your sign upside down and pretend only to notice when a driver does, then laugh. If they laugh with you chances are your getting a ride!

10.30am, I’ve slept in and missed all the trucks but happy as possible and In love with the world I set off. The sun is shinning, I find a perfect spot to get a ride but decide to take it easy and read in the sun for a few hours.

Finishing the book, I stick my thumb out and smile.

Then he comes.

Dressed entirely in black, a hood pulled over his head despite the heat and a dirty old army duffel bag; hobo. He takes a spot IN FRONT of me and sticks his thumb out. This frenchie just broke the rules.

I decide to approach him and see if we can sort it out, I greet him in french and stick my hand out. He looks at my hand, grunts and turns back to the road. And I was going to share my pilfered bread and cheese with this wanker!

The man in black has just ruined my perfect morning. So options are, I can walk further along the road and hope my smile and cleaner look (it’s not often I get to play that card) will get me a ride that passes him, I can show him that we both know he’s broken the rules and I’m not going to take it or I can take another direction. In my opinion confrontations with hobo’s are best avoided, they’re reckless with nothing to loose and are frequently armed. Plus breaking the jaw of a person who is already at rock bottom over a breach of hitching rules would be pathetic. So option 2 is scratched. This guys giving me bad mojo so I decide to clear off and head towards Poitiers instead of Niort.

As soon as I’m walking away from him I feel great and half an hour later I’m sitting comfortably in the seat of another truck getting closer and closer to Spain. But it get’s better than that.

Santi a spanish truck driver can take me all the way to Irun the town where I’m starting the Camino de Santiago. His name Santi is short for Santiago.

Santi

I’ve lost the belief as I write this but at the time, I take the man in black as a ’sign’ to get me on the right path so Santi could pick me up. Sound crazy? It sounds a bit silly to me but I remember how strong the feeling to change directions was and then I’m taken to the exact town where I’m starting my camino Santiago by a man called Santiago!

We ride in silence for hours, I slouch in the comfy chair, light cigarette after cigarette and soak in the sun and beautiful views. I can’t stop smiling, life is great.

We make it within 60 km’s of the Spanish border before stupid laws require Santi to stop for the night. He’s hauling spuds so all the other Spanish truckers crowd around and we cook potato soup and chips. One of the truckers pulls out a guitar and another a harmonica and before I know I have a glass of wine in my hand and every one is singing.

Santi (right) and another driver cooking spuds in 

the back of his truck

All the different parts of Europe are represented in the truck stop. The German drivers are sitting quietly looking distrustfully at the Eastern group, checking their watches regularly to make sure they go to bed at the correct time for the most efficient day driving tomorrow. The eastern group (Polish and Czech mainly) is drinking a lot and I get along with them well, they love to laugh but also don’t let me refuse a drink so after a dozen knocks of Vodka I move on, unable to keep up. The French look like they've prepared quite a feast but give me dirty looks when I go to talk to them. Then I see some UK trucks parked together and wouldn’t mind speaking some of the Kings English so I go over to see what the craic is, but they’re all sitting in their trucks, beer in hand watching DVD’s.

The Spanish party ends pretty soon and I fall asleep in the back of the truck with the spuds.

7 hours=590km