dawn from our window

getting our credencials stamped at the Pilgrims Office

(St. Jean Pied de Port to Orisson, France:  13,481 steps)

Exodus 15:1-21
v. 1, 13 “I will sing to the Lord, for he is highly exalted.
Both horse and its rider he has hurled into the sea….
In your unfailing love you will lead the people you have redeemed.
In your strength you will guide them to your holy dwelling.”

This was certainly a watery Bible passage, to match our watery day. Fortunately God did not hurl us into the sea or down the muddy mountain paths. From the time we finally walked out of our B&B into the misty air at 9:12 am, having told our landlords that we really had no idea what we were doing (which apparently no Camino pilgrims had ever told them before), a fine rain began to fall. Down the rue de la Citadelle we marched, our packs not overly heavy, though I could feel mine too much on my shoulders (“Pull the hip belt tighter!” says Sheila in my mind). No one else was around. “We’re probably the last pilgrims out,” I noted.

But near the pilgrim office backpackers were milling about, and others soon appeared on the street. A local lady walked uphill past us. “Bonne Camino,” she said–our first real pilgrim greeting! We stopped several times in town to rearrange, buy bread, take pictures and put on the backpacks’ rain covers. By the time we headed out of the old town and up the hill (immediately straight up) it was 9:40.

The country road wound around hills and ever upward. The rain strengthened. Why didn’t we waterproof our shorts, Maurice wondered. And why not my waist pouch, I added. The edge of my notebook was damp, probably where it touched the zipper; I should have put it in the plastic bag with my credencial. The piece of paper I had torn out and arranged more conveniently to make notes on was soggier with every use. I had (cleverly, I thought) brought an old shower cap to use as a rain cover for my waist pouch but I had to detail it to use as jury-rigged camera protection. Maurice turned on some music. “Every move I make I make with you, Jesus. Every step I take I take with you!”

The rain lessened. As we climbed we passed misty valleys, a cornfield, hillside pastures and some sheep. The opacus sky lifted a bit and we turned around to see the magnificent countryside below that we had walked through.

A large cow poked her head under a fence and stretched to reach a tasty weed. Maurice took a couple little videos on his phone…or not, because he didn’t actually push the button, which I guess makes up for the ones he took accidentally while he was putting it back in his pocket. The path turned off the paved road onto a trail through a field, steeper and rocky. “I know who goes before me; I know who stands behind. The God of Angel Armies is always by my side.”
The rain started again and I rewrapped the camera. We kept a slow but steady pace, the operative word being slow, bent down and deliberate enough to spot the slugs on the edge of the road. We thought no one was as limacine as us, but, steadily, we passed the Texans. We passed a couple Kiwis. We passed the Argentine cyclists dragging their bikes up the rocky slope.

At last we reached a paved road. Almost there, we thought, as we pressed on through the rain. But the road ahead just kept disappearing into the fog and never seemed to get anywhere. Then, rounding a bend, we saw a parked car. Just past it materialized the cozy Orisson refuge, a restaurant “with panoramic terrace” (we’ll take their word for it) and pilgrim hostel, only about eight kilometers (five miles) from St. Jean Pied de Port but our destination for the day. It was a little past twelve. We had climbed 550 meters.

Soon we were checked in and shown to our beds in a dorm room for…two! Oh, do we feel special! Maurice said it was probably because he reserved early and told them we were old and slow. There are three toilets for the eighteen hostel guests, two showers each for men and women (operable for five minutes by each person’s one allotted token), and four sinks. A high covered porch has clotheslines but not enough. We dumped our packs, carried our lunch down to the bar/restaurant to eat, sat with Jonathan (the British pilgrim we had met yesterday) who had also recently arrived, took our five-minute showers, washed some things, arranged our beds and lay down for a delicious nap.

Our luxurious room for two in Orisson…

…and after we exploded into it.

The hike wasn’t as bad as I had heard about; Maurice says yes it was and more so. Tomorrow’s walk is just as steep and twice as far.

The refuge served us all a fine pilgrim dinner (vegetable soup, roast chicken and mixed vegetable stew, gateau Basque with its yummy almond filling and red wine).  All the pilgrims introduced themselves.  Before we went to bed we strung a very short clothesline (because there wasn’t much to attach it to) in our room and hung all our wet laundry on it in hopes of a dry night and morrow).

Maurice taking off his shoes in the albergue lobby.  Our room is behind him.

Oh, Lord, in your unfailing love you have truly led us here. In your strength guide us again tomorrow and every day. Amen.

NB:  I have no idea why two of the pictures above aren’t upright.  They show up correctly on my view when I edit it.  I tried to rotate them anyway but the program won’t let me do that.  (This blog is really at my tech limit!)