The Camino Santiago had been in my head for months. The preparations had all been made. Tickets bought, a timetable to be met. My flight was on AirCanada, Sunday August 4, out of Sarnia, a town in Ontario just over the BlueWater bridge. It was a 2 hour drive well worth the savings on my Airline ticket. A week before they canceled the whole route and rescheduled me out of Windsor across from Detroit. No big deal, it was a little closer.
Ana drove me down that afternoon for my afternoon flight to Toronto where I would transfer to the daily flight to Charles Degualle Airport in Paris. I would arrive at 8:50am and have plenty of time to make it to Montparnasse train station for a train to Bayonne and then a connection to St. Jean Pied du Port. On the way, we stopped at REI in Ann Arbor for a couple of last minute purchases; a spoon/fork combination and a "Tilly" trekking hat.
Ana dropped me off and she said her goodbyes and drove off back to Michigan. All was going according to plan until the moment came for the old DeHaviland Dasher to take-off. Weather closed in and prevented that, bringing a heightening anxiety as the delay grew and grew. Seated next to me was a young French girl in her early teens. She spoke little English and was getting visibly upset as the minutes ticked by. She was traveling to Paris also, sharing the same tight connection to Paris. I attempted to reassure her and beckoned for the stewardess and asked if they were aware of our dilemma. They were of course, arrangements were already being made to expedite our transfer if weather permitted. As the minutes ticked we waited, fingers crossed until finally, the airplane lurched forward with a roar and began the take-off roll. We both sighed in relief and prayed the pilot would get us there on time. He did. AirCanada ground staff took over. They rushed us off the plane to a waiting car that sped us to the gate where our plane was boarding. Out of the car, through opened security checkpoints, up the stairs to the terminal gate where our boarding passes were hurriedly scanned, down the boarding ramps through the already closing hatch. We were quickly herded to our seats on the Boeing 777 as the other flight attendants mimed the preflight safety demo in the aisle ways. Minutes later, we were in the air and on the way to France. Our checked luggage was not.
The flight to Paris was uneventful and sleepless as Airline travel has always been for me. The plane was relatively empty in the back. I had ma 3rd from the rear, window seats to myself. I paced back and forth to the Galley and ingested many Cokes and Coffee. Watched a movie and played trivia. We arrived none too soon, cleared customs not even attempting to get my bag. I went to AirCanada and arranged to have it delivered to the Albergue I was staying at on the second night in Espinal. That arranged, with a backup plan of delivery to Valencia, I determinedly went through my memorized route to Montparnasse with ample time to spare. I hung around the station soaking up the ambience of a Paris Gare Everything felt familiar, I had done this seven years ago with my nephew RJ on our trip to Normandy and I was remembering that day. That train journey was one of wrong transfers and comical situations that in hindsight seem funny. I was having none of that. I checked and rechecked times and platforms. I made my train to Bayonne settled into my window seat and watched the French countryside flow by, station after station. The possibilities of adventure ran through my head during that journey to Bayonne. I was still pinching myself in disbelief as the Gare in Bayonne hove into view. Almost there!!
Bayonne is a nexus of Camino travel. It is here where you can come to get a Regional train to St. Jean Pied du Port, the kickoff point of the Camino Frances and the end of Chemin St. Jaques, which extends up through France through LePuy, another traditional starting point.
The Camino is many routes in Spain, Portugal, and France that branch out all over Europe into Russia and also Scandanavia. All these routes share the symbol of the yellow arrow and yellow Conche Shell. They all share the common destination of the Cathedral Santiago de Compostela or "Saint James of the Starry Field", in the province of Galicia in the Northwest of Spain.
While I was waiting for that train, overcome with the spirit of the Peregrino. Crossing the Nive River, I headed to the Old City where Ivisited the Bayonne Cathedral and received the first stamp in my Pilgrims Crendenciale/passport. The history-soaked Cathedral is one of the finest in Southern France. My nose explored the streets in search of tasty treats finding excellent Chocolate (Bayonne is known for Artisinal Chocolate) and believe it or not, a Tuna Empenada. Happily munching my treats, I strolled back over the river to the "Gare", boarded a Pilgrim laden train with locals gossiping during a commute mixed with voices from many countries. I tried people watching, but soon became entranced with the growing beauty of the mountain valley as it steepened and grew in height, the train winding its way through the river valley to St. Jean. Ancient farms and ancient fields filled with cows and sheep beckoned to a gentler life. The river burbled through the gnarled oaks and swaying Poplars, guiding the path of the railroad as it guided the path of so many travelers through the millenniums.
St. Jean station appeared ahead, we were there. I felt giddy and curiously at home. I had walked this route on google maps many a time, but now it seemed surreal to be stepping off into the reality of it all. I WAS about to walk more then 767km. This was for real. My spine tingled.
It was near 6pm and I needed to find the Gitê Bidean quick so I could check in, get my beds a shower and then do some serious sight-seeing before dark and the curfew most Gitês, Alburgues, Parochial and Municipals accommodations imposed on Peregrinos. There was not a city Fortification left un-inspected as darkness swelled and the mountains purpled with night. I retired to Gitê Bidean where I slept fitfully, backpack awaiting the morning and the coming adventure.
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