Sunshine and Sore Toes

The day began with a bang as Nolan plummeted from the top bunk to the floor at 5:15 a.m.  Hostel bunk beds aren't big on the safety bar thing, and Nolan has been intent on hurting himself from the day he was born, so this was an ordinary start to the day - just surrounded by 100 or so slumbering hikers who seemed largely unfazed by the commotion.  Honestly, the snoring that emanated from the bed next to us for most of the night was far more annoying than the small child falling from the sky.  So, we were up and moving long before the "Ave Maria" began softly playing from the hostel speakers.  Surreal.

We made do with a vending machine breakfast in order to get on the road quickly (as quickly as is possible with teenager morning pacing).  We hobbled onto the trail under a promising blue sky and chilly temperatures.  After passing by a group of women chanting together in prayer, Nolan wondered aloud if they were witches.  I assured him that they were just real pilgrims doing this walk for religious reasons.  Then we popped out of the woods and read a sign post telling us that we had just exited the woods which were thought to be bewitched by local witches. Weird.

We had a day full of walking and sunshine ahead.  We enjoyed long stretches of downhill as payback for yesterday's mountain effort, and we got scorched by the sun that we had worried we would never see again. Today's path took us through villages, across rivers, and through pastures. The scenery was beautiful.  We saw many of the same pilgrims we had met along the trail yesterday  - all with their own personal distance goals for today and their own inner journeys to complete.  

Today my guidebook reminds me that pilgrims travel at a slower pace: one that allows time and awareness to expand.  Well, this pilgrim fulfills the responsibility of traveling at a slower pace. I am trying to work on allowing my awareness to expand.   I did come away from today's travels with two somewhat inspirational observations on life.  The first came while speaking the universal language of parenting with two women from Croatia.  They had seen Nolan at his worst on the trail on the mountain yesterday, and they asked me what I told him to keep him going. I said that I told him that he just needed to keep moving forward - things were not going to get better just standing still, crying in the rain.  As soon as I said it, I thought to myself, "Wow. That sounded really deep. I could pretty much be the Alchemist - just professing wisdom as I travel my path in search of my Personal Legend."  I mean, seriously, just keep moving forward. When life gets messy, don't wallow in the muck, just dig yourself out and continue forward. Profound.

A few hours later, I was walking down a steep gravel section of the trail with Brianna. I told her that I was pretty sure that I was going to come tumbling down behind her, so she should brace herself.  She replied, "I'm not going to catch you if you fall, but I will help you get up."  I thought, "Ah ha!  That's brilliant.  This wisdom from the trail is amazing!  That's how I want to parent, and I want my kids to know that. I want them to fall without a safety net for the lessons learned, and I want them to know that I will be there to help them back up." I thought back to my wake up call, and the day came full circle. Nolan had crashed to the floor with nothing to cushion his fall, but I was happy to pick him up, brush him off, and plunk him in bed with me to recover.

As I stare out the open window from MY top bunk in tonight's hostel in Larrasoana, I am astounded by the rapid expansion of my inner awareness, and I am, quite frankly, exhausted (could have something to do with the hiking). Fortunately I have many miles ahead to contemplate this mystical journey and make my guidebook author proud.

The Ronceveaux Test

This first day of our hike would take us along the "Route of Napoleon," through the Pyrenees and into Spain, with the goal of reaching the monastery in the valley of the thorns, Roncevalles/Ronceveaux. My guide book suggested I should make spiritual preparations for the day and take time to reflect on the inner purpose for my pilgrimage. Without much deep reflection,  I decided that family harmony was a worthy goal for today and set about redistributing the contents of Nolan's backpack to maximize joy and minimize whining for all of us. Foster, with minimal arm-twisting, took on the bulk and weight of an extra sleeping bag.  Next, I tossed Nolan's dirty socks, three pairs of shorts, two magazines, a knife, and random snacks he had accumulated. In the end, the contents of his backpack weighed less than the pack itself.  We all quickly assessed the weather (before sunrise) which appeared to be cool but dry, dressed, and headed upstairs for breakfast.

Then it was time to fill out water bottles, hoist our packs, and set off on this grand adventure.

As we headed out the Spanish Gate, marking the edge of the walled city of St. Jean Pied de Port, we paused for one more picture before assessing the distance ahead (25 km) and the climb (from 170m to 1450 m). Then we put our heads down and started walking.

After just a few minutes of family togetherness, we all settled into comfortable rhythms. Foster turned on his music and took off. Brianna followed at her own speed. Nolan decided that music was the solution too, and set himself up to cruise.  I pulled up the rear - quite content to walk along in silence and admire the countryside.  I was under no illusion that this would last forever and was confident that I would eventually be picking up the pieces. I decided to relish the moment and take it all in.  As we started upward, the city street turned to a narrow road, and, then, dirt path through high meadows.  It was cool and misty and seemed to be the perfect weather for the steep climb ahead.

My bliss lasted far longer than anticipated.  We were easily eight miles into our day before the rain and wind began to mess with our glorious hiking conditions.  I had been pinching myself every mile or so to make sure that I was not dreaming.  It seemed so very easy. Nobody was complaining. I had been left in the dust, and I could not have been happier.

Then the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down. And this was not a friendly rain; It was a driving, bone-chilling rain, accompanied by a wicked wind that would not quit.  We were walking on exposed hills with nothing but hundreds of sheep for company. We donned rain coats and ponchos in hopes that this would be a passing problem.  As lips turned blue and deep shivering set in, so did the tears. It's pretty tough to make the decision to strip off layers in driving rain in order to add more layers in hopes of warming up, but there was nothing else to do.  So, we opened the packs as the rained dumped down.  Nolan was not a happy camper. Brianna and Foster paired up and forged ahead in an effort to escape the real storm that was brewing. For forty five minutes I alternately tried to shelter Nolan from the wind and rain and cajole him into moving faster so we could get this ordeal over with.  At one point, through chattering teeth, waves of shivers, and sobs, he informed me that he would rather die than do this hike.  Just as I was tempted to agree with him, there appeared a small miracle on the crest of the hill: a man in a trailer selling hot chocolate. I'm not sure I have ever been more relieved in my life. Four hot chocolates and ten minutes under the shelter of the trailer was exactly what the doctor ordered. 

From there, we carried on to the end - seven more miles - with happy chatter (perhaps a bit too much discussion about all of the latest posts on iFunny, but I was not going to complain).  And, by the grace of some hiking god, we rounded a corner and spotted the monastery of our dreams looming in the distance. Hot showers, free WIFI, and clean beds.  What more could a pilgrim ask for?

A warm meal, perhaps? A good stretch? And more sheep than you can shake a stick at. I've got some tired and proud pilgrims on day one.  I'm bracing myself for what the leg muscles will be saying in the morning.

Pilgrim Passports and Scallop Shells

Our night of loud snoring and brightly lit bathroom stops finally came to an end at 5:45 a.m.  When the bus rolled into Bayonne, we found Nolan asleep on the floor under the seats. The rest of us had spent the night contorting our bodies into various odd shapes in an effort to get any kind of rest that we could.  Fortunately our arrival coincided with the opening of the local boulangerie, and we restored our energy with pains au chocolat.

Our next bus ride took us to St. John Pied de Port, the starting point for our walk. As the bus wound its way through the hilly countryside on narrow roads,  three of us admired the beauty of the Basque region and its mountains and quaint red and white houses. Nolan spent his ride staring into a plastic bag - getting progressively more car sick with every curve in the road.  When we finally arrived at our destination, we were excited to find exactly what we had anticipated  - an ancient walled city, gorgeous scenery, and lots of friendly residents wishing us a "Buen Camino!"  Two years ago, we watched "The Way" on a family movie night and were inspired to do this pilgrimage.  It's hard to believe that the dream is becoming reality. 

We entered the city through the ancient stone wall and climbed the steep cobblestone street to the Pilgrims' Office where we were greeted by hospitable hosts who registered us as pilgrims and gave us Pilgrim Passports and tickets for beds for the night in the pilgrim hostel.  

Our pilgrim status means that we are entitled to stay in pilgrim hostels along the way for the next 500 miles.  Sadly, it doesn't guarantee a bed in this busy season (particularly since someone ditched her sleeping pad in Paris), but it is a passport to sleep sheltered somewhere every night - seems like the least I could guarantee my kids for  putting up with this wacky idea for their summer vacation.

With Pilgrim status now official, we set out to get ready for the actual walk ahead.  We began by choosing scallop shells to hang from our packs, symbolizing The Way of St. James.

We then toured the town and found a grocery store to stock up on snacks for tomorrow's hike through the Pyrenees into Spain.  

Exhausted from all of our travel and anxious to get this show on the road, we were in bed by 8:00 with plans to be up before sunrise to begin paving our own way. The adventure begins!

Bayonne Bound

Day two in Paris got off to a slow start. After eleven hours of deep slumber, I had to rouse the sleeping monsters so we could check out before they kicked us out. We enjoyed what may have been the best shower we will see all month, and we got busy dumping weight out of our backpacks. Our little Tour de Paris yesterday served as a reality check on the weight we can comfortably bear. Consequently, the housekeeping staff at the Hotel Voltaire was blessed with a treasure trove of discarded reading material, candy, camping odds and ends, and (the one I fear I will strongly regret) one spine-saving Thermarest sleep pad for the senior member of our group. We left our packs downstairs and set out to make the most of our remaining hours in Paris.

We looked for Quasimodo in the bell towers of Notre Dame.

We checked out one of Paris' romantic symbols on a bridge of eternal love. Lovers seal their fate by locking a padlock to the bridge and throwing the key into the Seine. I'm guessing the combination locks represent something a little less committed. Return to the bridge, unlock the lock, repeat the charade with new lover. Very practical. Do I sound jaded? 

We were serenaded by whistling clowns on the banks of the Seine.

And we enjoyed lots of sweet Parisian treats.

Then, just five hours into our fun, it was time to say goodbye to Paris and get busy with the real reason we are here.  El Camino beckons. We hoisted our packs for one more urban adventure - navigating our way to the outskirts of Paris to find the bus that would take us to Bayonne, in southern France, one step closer to our destination.  By tomorrow morning we will be in St. Jean Pied de Port, our jumping off point for our pilgrimage through Spain. 

Tonight, however, as we roll through the pitch black French countryside, we are engaged in less spiritual matters. "Mama Mia," subtitled in Portuguese, is playing on the television in the bus. Brianna and I are surrounded by snoring, Portuguese senior citizens who are oblivious to our glee and unperturbed when we belt out "Dancing Queen" on cue. Life is good.

  

  

Heavy Bags and Head Bobs

Well,  we made it.  Day one was really all about survival and tear minimization.  My biggest coup was actually getting the kids off the plane after six hours of media paradise. Before we even left the ground in Montreal, Foster informed me that he would prefer to skip Paris and just fly for a few days so he could catch up on all of the movie and television offerings playing on the seat back in front of him. This television nirvana resulted in far too little sleep for all three (particularly Nolan who did not close his eyes until we were taxiing to a stop in Paris).

I knew my challenge for the day would be to keep smiling and to try to be encouraging in the face of everyone's exhaustion. I could have helped my own cause by choosing a hotel a bit closer to the city center or researching some other transportation options.  But, backpacker law insists that you always spend as little money as possible to get from point A to point B. So, we took the train into the heart of Paris.

Everyone was all smiles.  Sitting on a train is fun. When we popped out into the city, that was fun too.  When we had to hoist the packs and start walking, that was sad.  Nolan decided that the pack he had deemed, "not too bad," back in Vermont was ridiculously heavy.  Foster and Brianna looked at the map and tried to roughly calculate the miles to the hotel. I smiled and tried to remember my higher calling.

 

We lasted about 5 minutes before taking our first bench break in a park and determining that we were going the wrong direction. The kids were not amused.  I smiled. We carried on in a similar fashion for about three miles - making our way from central Paris to the outskirts.  We had the requisite "small world run-in" with a Vermonter who recognized us on the street near the Bastille.  We paused for numerous rest breaks in parks. We stopped for water and a rowdy demonstration of some kind. We watched a running police man with a baton chase a driver down for littering (and made a mental note to keep close track of all loose paper and trash we carried). About one mile into our hotel trek, I found myself carrying two packs and smiling through gritted teeth.  When our two-star Grand Hotel Voltaire finally appeared in the distance, it was like a mirage in the desert - shimmering (that may have been the tears) and beckoning, but leaving us unsure as to whether we could trust that it was really there.

After running two credit cards with no success, the kids had to empty their pockets of their bon voyage gift Euros (Thanks Grandma and Grandpa! Know that you kept your grandchildren off the streets of Paris for the night!) in order to pay for our room.  When the lady at the reception handed me the key and pointed up five flights of stairs, I thought this would be the final straw - that there would be mutiny. Then she uttered the five magical words that saved my life, "Your free WIFI password is..."  The clouds parted, the sun shone down upon us, and two kids heaved packs onto their backs and sprinted up the stairs. Nolan, however, was busy trying to sleep on the floor and still holding back tears because I had just taken away all of his money. This was no time to teach self-sufficiency. I balanced my load with one pack in the front and one in the back and gingerly picked my way up the staircase. I was doubled over and panting by the second floor. Sweat poured off me. I gritted my teeth and tried to smile - questioning my higher calling. Nolan breezed by me in pursuit of his siblings and his own WIFI connection.  I decided I could probably just knock on somebody's door if I had a heart attack and my kids failed to notice for the next couple of hours.

When I arrived at the summit, I found everyone happily connected and oblivious to my suffering - a typical day in any parent's world I suppose. Petrified by the possibility of being defeated by jet lag, I gave everyone the 20 minute warning - 20 minutes to relax (no sleeping allowed), and then we would hit the town. At the first sign of Foster trying to doze, we headed out to see the city in whirlwind fashion.

We started with lunch in Pere Lachaise Cemetery where Nolan noted that there are a LOT of people in France named "Famille."

L'Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, and a boat ride on the Seine rounded out day one. Nolan slept on a bench at the Eiffel Tower. Nolan and Foster slept through the boat ride.  We all slept on the subway back to the hotel.  In between naps, hopefully these kids will remember bits and pieces of Paris someday.

As we sat under the Eiffel Tower eating ice cream late in the day, we agreed that this was all just a little surreal. Less than 24 hours earlier we had been trying to figure out how to get to the airport from the side of the road in Montreal. Now we were finally in Paris.  Brianna summed up the whirlwind pretty well when she said, "Today I almost forgot this trip is really about el Camino."  For today, though, it was all about France...and Algeria.  As we drifted off to sleep close to midnight, Foster tracked the World Cup games on his iPod. Algeria scored a goal to tie Russia, and the street below erupted into raucous celebrating - cheering, singing, dancing, and flares.  We're not in Jericho anymore.  Surreal.