Camino Wandering

1

THE MOST CRACKPOT IDEA EVER

SAINT JEAN PIED DE PORT

Aubrey lay, heart pounding and suffering from an anxiety level she’d never experienced before. What the hell was she thinking? Did she honestly believe she could walk the entire length of northern Spain? What if she injured herself? Who would help her? Was she kidding herself, believing she could do this? She’d never been super fit, not even in her younger days. But now? Now she was fifty and her body ached at the prospect of the distance. Eight hundred bloody kilometres. Fuckity fuck, fuck.

Fact was, she was falling apart before the walk had even begun. At least mentally. What was her Plan B? What if she didn’t walk the Camino de Santiago?

She rolled over on to her side and placed her hand over her pounding heart. She’d come halfway around the world to do this bloody walk. She had to do it. Besides, she’d been talking about walking the Camino for… well, months. Ever since her son Simon had shown her that bloody movie, the Martin Sheen one.

People were watching, waiting for her to fail. People at home. Friends online. She could sense their expectations, waiting for her to quit. Yes, she had to do this, if only to prove them wrong. Because, if she didn’t, they won the judgement game.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck, fuck. She flipped on to her back once more.

Besides, she thought, with a waiting list at her next night’s accommodation, she had little chance of getting a bed if she changed her mind.

There was no choice. She had to swallow this angst and get on with it. Aubrey sat up on the soft double bed and placed her feet on the plain wooden floor. She looked around at the room in her albergue. Albergue. She’d have to get used to that word. It was what they called hostels on the Camino. She rolled the word on her tongue. The albergue she was now in, in Saint Jean Pied de Port in the south of France, offered private rooms, along with dorms. Most albergues on the Camino were just dorms. That she knew from her research. She’d opted for a private room for this part of her journey and was relieved she had.

She looked around the room. It was clean, basic, filled with everything a pilgrim needed, she supposed. A bed with minimal linens, a simple wooden chair, and a small bathroom containing a minuscule sink, toilet, and a decent-sized shower. It was simple, but at least she could privately deal with her pre-Camino panic.

She looked back to the rustic wooden chair in the room’s corner. On the seat lay her nylon shopping bag, which held her pilgrim necessities: her English passport, European cash, a travel pack of tissues, a small stash of Nurofen, Chapstick, her Ray-Ban sunglasses and her Pilgrim Credential. She’d stopped in the Pilgrim Office the night before to pick up her Credential, a crucial part of her walk. It was the document that proved she was a pilgrim to be stamped by albergues and restaurants along the way. It would allow her both access to the albergues and ultimately, proof of her pilgrimage once she reached Santiago de Compostela. If she ever reached it, she mused.

To the left of the chair, her pristine maroon Deuter backpack sat in a large black bucket on the floor. For bedbug containment, she had surmised the night before. Her backpack was spewing open with all of its contents. She wasn’t ready to contain herself to a compact space just yet, and just the thought of sharing a dorm room full of people took her anxiety to new heights. With a shake of her head, she was relieved to have booked a private room.

Fuckity fuck, fuck was right.

Aubrey threw herself back on the bed. She was bone tired just envisioning the walk. It wasn’t just the Camino. She cried when her twenty-three-year-old son had dropped her off at Melbourne airport. Not cried. Sobbed. She felt like she was leaving home, never to return. A part of her wished that was the case. There was so much she wanted to leave behind, but this adventure was only for three months. Besides, she was returning to her European roots. Well, her English roots anyway. That had exhausted her too. Seeing her dad for the first time in years had almost broken her completely. Her beautiful dad. He looked old and lonely, like a worn-out pair of boots that had been discarded into the back of the closet.

Aubrey sat back up and reached over to the nightstand for her iPhone, disconnected it from the charger and unlocked it. She looked at the clock to see what time it was at home. Seeing it was early evening, she clicked over to FaceTime to call her son. 

Hi, Mum. Where are you?

Hi, love. I’m in Saint Jean Pied de Port. I got in about seven last night. Sorry I didn’t call you. Did you get my text? 

Yeah, I got it. I wasn’t sure if you were starting your walk today or tomorrow. Simon hesitated. Are you okay?

Yes, love, I’m fine. It was a bit of an ordeal getting here from London yesterday. That rain from the last few weeks has done a number on transport. The rail line from Biarritz to Saint Jean was closed, so I had to work out a shuttle, she said, knowing she was rambling. And, of course, by the time I’d stopped by the Pilgrim Office and checked in to my albergue, I was just too tired to call you. Sorry about that.

It’s fine Mum. You sound a bit, I don’t know … worried. Are you okay?

She paused before answering, Yes, I’m alright. Anxious I suppose. It was hard to admit this to her son. She hated him knowing she was having second thoughts.

Why? You seemed so excited by this walk. 

Oh, I know, she said, remembering her eagerness of this adventure had blocked everything else that was going on in her life.

How was London? asked Simon. How was Granddad?

Aubrey sighed. Hard. He looks sad, lost. It’s been hard for him since Granny died. I should have stayed longer.

Is that why you’re anxious? Or… he prodded.

Aubrey looked down and tried to smooth some wrinkles from her shirt, hesitating on her answer. She shifted focus back to the screen.

No, it’s not that, she said, not wanting to admit what was going through her mind. I’m just worried about how much I’ve committed to. Whether I can do this. Eight hundred kilometres is a long way. It’s like walking from Melbourne to Sydney. 

Yeah, I know. But you can do this. Put one foot in front of the other and before you know it, you’ll be in Santiago, her son said.

If only I had your spirit.

Mum. I know you can do this. You need to do this. We both know you do. Besides, once you get going, you’ll be fine, said Simon, with the confidence of youth.

We’ll see. She looked out through the French doors into the courtyard beyond; the light was peppering the opposing wall.

We have a deal, remember? he prodded. She remembered. She asked him not to let her quit, no matter what she said.

You’re right. One day at a time, she said, trying to boost her confidence for what lay ahead. Okay, I need to get going. I need to pick up some snacks. Tomorrow is only eight kilometres, but it’s all uphill and the next day it’s longer. 

Okay. I’ll let you get to it.

Thanks love. How’s everything there? Sorry, should have asked.

All is fine. Don’t worry, he said, but Aubrey also knew her son wouldn’t tell her if there was a disaster either. She knew he could handle anything that might come up. Mum, you’ve got this. I know you do.

Thanks love. I needed to hear that, she said, looking down, now stretching out the wrinkles in her black merino t-shirt. I’ll reach out again when I can. From what I read Wi-Fi is sporadic over the next few days.

No worries. Just be careful. I’ll be thinking of you, sending you positive vibes. Love you Mum! Mwah.

Love you too. She paused, before adding, Thanks again for the support. She blew an air kiss into the phone before hanging up. 

Yes. I can do this, she said aloud. If only she believed that. Each time she considered the walk, she felt unsure, nervous. Was it just about the walk, she wondered? She thought about Simon. He had been her rock in so much of her life, especially over the last two years. 

Five minutes later, Aubrey stepped out of her albergue to join a few other backpackers in the street. Some carried the look of lost sheep, eyes wide and bulging. Others looked determined, like they’d been here before and knew exactly what they were doing. Aubrey felt akin with the lost sheep crowd.

As she walked the compact streets of the Middle Age hamlet, she wondered about the stories that lay behind the thick walls. The ancient stone buildings, stuccoed with white-wash and capped with red tiles, lined the street. Colourful shutters bordered the open windows, their residents chatting with their neighbour across the way. It was an almost party atmosphere, and it was barely nine in the morning. 

Her map led her to the supermarket in the newer part of town. The market was much bigger than she imagined, and she had to remind herself of the limited space in her pack. Keeping herself in check, she purchased roasted almonds, a couple of apples, some dried bananas and a robust amount of trail mix.

Aubrey walked back to the old part of the city. She needed to buy trekking poles. Given the cost of them in Australia, plus the hassle of getting them to France, buying them here made sense. She read the St Jean Pied de Port Pilgrim Shop offered everything a pilgrim needed, so she’d start there. They had everything from the trekking poles she needed, to buffs, to even new boots. Although she couldn’t imagine starting this walk wearing new shoes of any kind. Talk about priming yourself for blisters straight off the mark!

When Aubrey stepped into the shop, a petite smiling woman greeted her in French. Crap, she thought. She should have brushed up on her French before arriving. She had taken a Spanish class, figuring she could get by on her rusty high school French, but she had not imagined a full transaction with it. Her face must have given away her panic. The woman asked, with a knowing smile, if she spoke English. Aubrey looked embarrassed, nodded and mumbled Petit Francais, or little French, and a very grateful Merci. 

The shopkeeper was gracious. She spent the next ten minutes explaining the right poles for her. She left Aubrey to try them for herself, when another pilgrim walked in. The shopkeeper offered the same greeting as she had with Aubrey, and it made Aubrey smile when the pilgrim reacted the same as she had. Like a stunned fish, she chuckled. They must get this all day, every day.

With poles and a poncho purchased, a decision she made at the last minute, Aubrey headed back to her albergue. She wanted to explore the town more, but she was so tempted to curl up on the bed for the afternoon. She wasn’t jetlagged. Just emotionally exhausted. Best to keep moving, she thought, so she spent the next few hours wandering the town. She headed up the hill to La Citadelle, once a 17 th Century French Military building. Now the fort was a school. The views were spectacular. She could see the details in the village below. But it was the surrounding Pyrenees countryside that had her heart in her throat. Tomorrow she would climb those mountains. The following day, she’d be on the other side. It was enough to give her an anxiety attack.

2

WILL I EVER GET TO ORISSON?

SAINT JEAN PIED DE PORT TO ORISSON

At seven-thirty the next morning, dressed in her green Columbia hiking pants, black merino top and zip-up hoodie, Aubrey stared into the bathroom mirror. A ghastly sight stared back at her. Her cognac-coloured eyes looked drained. The bags under them would have exceeded her airline weight allowance. She leaned in and noticed her eyes no longer showed a red tint, which was an improvement from the day before. She moved her head to the right, keeping her eyes forward and looked at her long, curly auburn hair. Sadly now, thanks to the travel shampoo bar she’d used the night before, it was frizzy, and bed headed. She raked her fingers through the curls, unknotting the tangles, then bunched it high on her head and secured the knot with a hair elastic. Then, she reached for her toothbrush.

Once done, she leaned into the mirror. The stream of sunlight from the nearby window was glinting off the small stud in her freckle-spattered nose. On closer inspection, she realised there was not much she could do with her drawn, dried-out face, other than washing it and slathering it with moisturiser. She just hoped that helped. She knew her moisturiser was a luxury on the Camino, but she didn’t care. This stuff saved her skin.

At ten past eight, Aubrey left her room. She made her way down the heavy wooden stairs where she received a wave from the lovely albergue hostess and a ‘Bon Camino’. Ah yes, French again. She was eager to get to Spain so she could understand the language better.

She was dragging this morning. She intended on leaving at seven, but her body had rejected the idea. Being with her dad for a week had drained her more than she’d realised. She’d walk it off, she thought. But she knew there was so much more than worrying about her dad’s health to walk off. That was just the tip of the iceberg.

She laced up her hiking shoes. Her trekking poles, now wrapped in the bright yellow duct tape she’d brought from home, sat in the corner bucket. They were at least identifiable, she thought, as they stared at her, egging her on. She could almost hear them whisper to her to get this show on the road. If only she felt that enthusiasm. 

Her Camino journey was to begin. She was as ready as she’d ever be. She grabbed the poles, opened the door and felt the cool breeze of the morning hit her. She stepped outside and on to the cobbled street. 

One step at a time, she whispered to no-one. She looked down at her phone and saw it was eight-twenty-three. Shit. She really needed to get going. 

The street was quieter than she expected, unlike the morning before. It was like there was a lull between crowds. She saw four other pilgrims as she began walking down the wet, cobblestone hill. Two, with their heads down, seemed focused on getting their journey started, maybe later than they’d planned, like she. The other couple were standing in the middle of the bridge, facing the town and looking up. As she passed them, she turned and saw they were staring up at a statue of the Virgin Mary embedded in the church’s archway. She remembered reading how Catholic pilgrims offered a quick prayer to the statue, asking Mary to watch over them on their pilgrimage. Not being religious herself, Aubrey walked past and then, seeing the morning light reflecting on the river, stopped for a quick photo, careful not to disturb those praying. 

As she continued toward the old city gates, an elderly woman, dressed in a traditional Basque dress, tights and sturdy shoes, smiled at her and offered a quiet ‘Bon Camino’. Aubrey smiled in return. Somehow, this made it real. She was doing this. 

At the city gates, she looked behind her for one last view of the quaint village. She wanted to savour this moment. Her journey was beginning. With a deep breath, she turned and started up the first hill. 

At five feet, ten inches and carrying boobs and hips to the envy of many young women, Aubrey now struggled with her backpack. She had spent a considerable amount of time in the Paddy Palin shop. The shop assistant explained how to adjust every strap and buckle to ensure the pack fit comfortably and correctly. This morning however, all that knowledge escaped her. Now the shoulder straps were digging into her shoulders like Satan was pulling her down to greet him in Hell. She bent over, tightened the hip straps a little more, and found some relief. 

Despite her pain, she relished the beautiful morning. A light rain shower fell the night before, making everything look fresh and in bloom. As she reached the split that would take her either to Orisson or Valcarlos, she stopped to catch her breath. The hill had her heart racing, but only because she had foolishly tried to keep up with a younger, fitter couple, who were seemingly sprinting up the incline. She needed to find her own pace! 

She walked to the sign that pointed toward Roncesvalles, via the Napoleon Route, and laughed. Twenty-four kilometres? No thanks, she thought, relieved she was only going to Orisson today. But she knew she had a long way to go. Eight kilometres, most of that uphill, a trek that was sure to take her hours.

Pilgrims passed her at a rapid rate. Some with a perky wave, others a quick smile. She had to contain her competitive nature and not attempt to keep up with them. The hills were making her pant more than she wanted. After an hour into the walk, she stopped and took a long drink of her water. Looking around, she took a deep breath in and inhaled the French countryside. Even by mid-morning, she found fog still hugging the valleys, and winding its way over the surrounding hills. It was a stunning sight, almost postcard perfect. She admired the French cottages nestled into the lush green hills. And she laughed when a group of sheep stared at her through the fence, looking to her for, well, something. When she saw other sheep continuing to eat, uninterested at the foot traffic nearby, she pointed at them and said to the sheep still staring at her, ‘Look! There’s the good stuff’. 

A few people walked in front or behind her. There were fewer than she expected. She was glad now she had been late to start. If she had left earlier, she was sure to have seen those hiking the entire way to Roncesvalles and tempted to walk a faster pace, like she had before. She enjoyed her slower pace, giving herself the opportunity to enjoy the scenery. And, she had to admit, she needed the solitude. It gave her time to think.

The birds sang to Aubrey as she walked. She felt as if they were following her, keeping her company. Maybe they were. Maybe she had a beautiful spirit walking with her. It would be lovely if that was the case. She’d rather think that than why that spirit would be lingering. She didn’t want to go there. She couldn’t go back to that dark place.

She focused on the countryside, dotted with white stucco cottages with deep terracotta tiled roofs, as she continued up the mountain. The further she climbed, the more incredible the scenery became. A sense of balance came to her. Smelling the blossoms and hearing the twitter of the birds filled her soul. The mass of wildflowers blanketing the fields were utterly breathtaking. With each stop, she looked around and felt Mother Nature showering her with love. And there were plenty of stops. The elevation change was harder than she thought it would be.

The line from some movie popped into her head, over and over: ‘Beautiful, wish you were here!’ Each time it popped into her head she considered her children. She wished they could have shared this experience with her. But it was because of them that she was here in France, undertaking this interminable walk. 

After a major climb, and an elbow turn in the road, she groaned out loud. Not another bloody hill. Yet another steep incline stretched out before her. She soldiered on, realising she would get nowhere complaining. A few minutes on, she noticed a large herd of sheep coming toward her, dominating the road. Pilgrims she’d not seen before began scrambling to the side, trying to get out of the way. But within seconds, they were pulling their phones out of hidden pockets trying to capture the moment. 

He must think we’re a bunch of imbeciles, she mumbled. Surely, most people had seen sheep in their lifetime. But this scene was so quintessentially French, she understood the admiration. The old shepherd, bumbling along with his crooked, wooden staff, was whistling quietly while his working dogs did their job around him. Aubrey took advantage of the wait and removed her backpack. She took a drink of her water and grabbed an apple from her top pouch. She popped the apple into her mouth with a crunch and picked her backpack up once more. The chuckling shepherd waved as he walked past, greeting each of the pilgrims with a ‘Bon Camino’.

The sign at Hunto said two kilometres and listed thirty minutes to walk it. But when the trail branched off and left the asphalt behind, she saw switchbacks ahead of her and decided it would take her more than the estimated time. She’d been walking for two-and-a-half hours already and took a break before tackling the switchbacks.

She found a large log under a tree. It looked to be a spot the locals had created for tired pilgrims, or a spot which tired pilgrims had created for themselves. Either way, she was thankful. She unhitched her backpack, letting the weight slide down her leg. Once her bum hit the log, exhaustion flooded in, nearly overwhelming her. She opened the top pouch of her pack to find her trail mix. She needed energy.

Are you okay? A deep baritone voice asked her. She jumped at the sound. She was surprised to see a good-looking hiker approaching, approximating him to be in his late twenties. His American accent was distinctive. As he got closer, she noticed his tousled brown hair, flicked with grey, with matching grey in the whisper of a five o’clock shadow. He must be in his thirties then, she thought, possibly forties. She hesitated, disconcerted by his good looks and the intensity his umber-coloured eyes.

Oh, she said, catching her delayed response, brushing invisible specks from her lap. Yes, I’m okay. Just needed a pick me up, and held up her trail mix as she sat with her legs stretched out before her. 

Beautiful day for a walk, he said, and turned to admire the views beyond the fence. She noticed how at ease he was with his backpack. She only wished she was with hers.

Breathtaking, isn’t it? she said. He laughed at that, turning back toward her.

Ha! You can say that again! Where are you from? the American asked. England?

Originally, yes. But I live in Australia now. She paused. Melbourne. You? 

You’ve come a long way, he said. She nodded. I’m from New York. Well, not originally. He smiled, the authenticity and warmth of it took her by surprise. The smile was so genuine. How far are you walking?

Today? Or overall? It’s a bit of a crazy adventure isn’t it? she asked, popping a few more nuts into her mouth. He laughed again, his face lighting up. Another nut dropped to her lap. She looked down and stared at it. 

Are you going to Santiago? he asked. She looked back up at him and nodded.

Me too, he said. That’s the goal anyway.

I just need to get to Orisson first. I don’t know if it’s exhaustion or exertion, but I am dragging today. She closed the bag to her trail mix.

I bet. It’s a long way to come for this walk, he said and took a long swig of his water.

Yes. Plus, I’m a Slow Stroller, referencing a popular Facebook group, one of many her son encouraged her to join. I’ll get there eventually. I’m in no rush.

Well, I’m straight off the train from Bayonne and I still have to get to Roncesvalles today, so I’ll leave you to it.

Wow. That’s a long day. I wish you luck! She said, grabbing water from the side pocket of her backpack. 

Thanks. Buen Camino! he wished her, and with a wave, he continued walking. 

Buen Camino, she repeated, and watched him go.

She thought of her son, Simon. He’d be like this guy, she imagined. Fit, eager to keep going. Simon had the unlimited energy of a twenty-three-year-old. She thought then of her daughter, Cass. While Cass would have found France and Spain both fascinating and beautiful, she could not imagine her walking eight hundred kilometres. Aubrey sighed. This journey would be difficult if she kept thinking ‘what if?’. But she would never have imagined she’d be doing this without either of her children. And yet, here she was. She stood, shook her head, working hard to keep the tears at bay. Time to push on. 

When she reached the top of the switchbacks, she saw a sign displaying the mountain range, showing just how far she’d come. So far, so good, she thought and took a moment to congratulate herself. As she admired the views, she looked down at the trail she’d just followed. The incline had been challenging in parts, and she was pleased with herself that she’d taken her time and made it. But she was not done yet and she was already wanting to unload herself of her backpack for the day. She was tired of carrying it. Hell, she was ready to throw it over the damn mountain!

She turned back only to see the road continue ahead. 

Bloody hell. How much further? This has to be the longest two kilometres in history, she thought. She hoisted the pack back on. It wasn’t terribly heavy. She’d packed frugally but throughout the morning, she worried that she hadn’t packed properly. What if she hadn’t packed enough to keep warm if the weather turned? It had been chilly when she left this morning and she’d managed fine. She brought two sets of clothes so she could always wear it all if it came down to that. But what if she couldn’t wash? Or if it rained and things didn’t dry? There had been substantial rain over the last few weeks. That had been the tipping point that had prompted her to purchase the poncho. What if she experienced snow or sleet? Would her poncho hold up? It hadn’t been cheap, and her pants were water resistant. At these insane worries, she laughed. Clearly, when she packed, she had not thought things through on the cold and wet-weather front. Oh well. She would have to be fine with what she had. 

When Aubrey rounded the corner, she saw a restaurant with a large patio jutting out, overlooking the spectacular Pyrenees mountains. The place was packed with pilgrims, just like her. There were tables full of people enjoying lunch in the sunshine. This had to be Orisson, she thought. She checked her phone. It was a little after one in the afternoon and she knew of no other place until Roncesvalles. If it was, she’d made better time than she estimated.

As she approached the restaurant, she saw the guy from New York putting refilled bottles of water into his pack. He waved in recognition, then hitched his pack back up on to his shoulders, turned and continued onwards up the road. She silently wished him luck once more. 

Aubrey walked inside to the very crowded, dimly lit restaurant, hoping to find out where she could check in. Pilgrims were everywhere. The bar to the right was busy with one girl pulling beers, and another writing passport information into a large ledger. Ah-ha! Check-in. She dropped her pack with a stack of others near the bar and pulled out her passport and credential, then laid her trekking poles against her pack. Joining the queue, she turned to look back into the restaurant. 

Crazy, isn’t it? A tall woman, with straight, shoulder-length grey hair, dressed head to toe in black, stood nearby at the bar. She smiled hesitantly over at Aubrey, her sea green eyes expressing her wonderment. She looked natural and chic. And, Aubrey noticed, she had a very distinct Australian accent. Aubrey smiled back. 

Yes! Are you Australian? 

I am, the woman said, slightly more confident now, and nodded to the passport in Aubrey’s hand. Are you English?

Her voice was soft and quiet against the intense noise in the bar. She leaned toward the bar and took a beer from the bartender, handing over five euros. She offered a quick Merci when given her change, then looked back at Aubrey. 

I’m originally from London, but I live in Australia now. Melbourne. You? Aubrey asked.

Really? Wow, small world! I’m from Tasmania, she said. Did you just arrive?

Yes. Aubrey said as she inched her way forward in the queue, still with two more ahead of her to check in. 

I got here about an hour ago. They’ve been non-stop the whole time I’ve been here. The woman took a sip of her beer and sighed. Aubrey inched up one more place.

I’m Georgina, the woman said.

Aubrey, she replied.

When you’ve checked in, come join me. I’m sitting outside on the patio with another woman I met about twenty minutes ago. She’s from Australia too. I think she’s regional. Somewhere north of Sydney? She took another sip of her beer. To be honest, I’m surprised there aren’t more people sitting outside. I mean, the views are amazing. She pointed her thumb toward those huddled around tables inside with a look on her face that seemed to express the people sitting there were nuts. Aubrey laughed.

I will definitely find you, she said, just as she edged to the front of the queue and the albergue hostess asked for her credential and passport.

Bonjour! said Aubrey, with a broad, goofy smile on her face, expressing both gratitude and relief that she had overcome the first hurdle.

3

SKETCHY KNEES, SKETCHY STORIES

ORISSON

Aubrey headed outside into the sunshine, the sudden light just a little too bright. With her sunglasses somewhere deep in her bag, she shielded her eyes with her hands, while trying not to spill her beer or drop her tortilla.

Merci, she said gratefully to the pilgrim holding the door open. She walked across the road to the large deck. She found Georgina sitting against the far railing, her back to the bar. Another woman sat across from her with her feet propped on a chair, icing a knee.

Hello, Aubrey said, looking at Georgina.

Hi Aubrey! Please, join us. Georgina scooted over to give Aubrey room, accidentally knocking the chair behind. She offered a quick ‘sorry’ and a smile for the intrusion.

Sorry it took me so long. They had to show me to the dorm. Georgina introduced her to Pam, who gave Aubrey a wave. The woman looked like a sweet little granny, her glasses sitting precariously on the tip of her nose. Pam had short, blonde/brown choppy hair, which gave her the appearance of looking younger, but Aubrey estimated her to be in her mid-sixties. Maybe it was her glasses that aged her? Or the sadness in her eyes.

Pulling out the chair to sit, Aubrey pointed at the ice-packed knee, but Pam ignored her inquisitive look.

Which room did they put you in? asked Pam, her voice gruff, strong, and very Australian. She was definitely from the bush, Aubrey decided, just as Georgina had guessed.

Up there, above the bar, the room with about twelve bunks, Aubrey said, pointing to the stairs between the buildings. The room straight ahead. I think I got the last of the beds. The room was rather full already. Backpacks spread out everywhere. 

I was the first one in one of the downstairs rooms, Georgina said, pointing below the enormous patio area. There’s probably ten beds in it and one bathroom. That’s going to be interesting. It’s probably full now as well. She scooted her chair over to give Aubrey a little more wiggle room. And I have no doubt there are backpack explosions there too. It will take some getting used to. I’ve done nothing like this before, said Georgina. Aubrey nodded.

Which room are you in? said Aubrey, looking over at Pam.

Same room as you, I think. I’m at the end against the wall. Like Georgina, I was the first one in that room. I got here around eleven.

Wow! What time did you leave?

Six-thirty. I’m an early bird but a slow walker.

I usually am too, but I couldn’t get it together this morning. I left at half past eight, Aubrey said. She noticed Georgina look at her watch.

Before I forget, do you know where to do laundry? she asked, looking at Pam and then at Georgina. 

There is a hand wash with a line up the back, said Pam. But there’s a washing service in Roncesvalles at the monastery tomorrow. I’m waiting for that. 

Good to know. Thank you, said Aubrey. Pam played with the ice pack on her knee.

What happened to your knee? Are you okay? Aubrey asked, taking a swig of her ice-cold beer, licking the foam from her top lip.

I had my knee go out from under me when I was boarding my plane to Biarritz. And now, it wants to give out whenever I add any actual weight to it. Climbing stairs is really tough. It’s always been sketchy, but it’s never gone out on me, Pam said. Aubrey looked over at the knee. Pam had wrapped her travel towel around the ice, but the water had seeped through to her black hiking pants. There was a large wet spot now where the ice pack had been.

Sketchy? said Aubrey. That is an interesting description.

Yeah. As in, my knee is shit. Done for, said Pam, and put the ice pack back on it, even though she’d just taken it away. I mean, it’s often swollen after a lengthy walk. But now, I’m anxious about making it all the way to Santiago. Aubrey could relate.

Oh well. I’m here now. So, I guess I’ll just take it one step at a time. See how I do, added Pam. 

That must have been scary, happening on your way here? said Georgina.

I’m thinking the Universe is trying to tell me something. Like, what the hell are you doing you stupid woman?! 

Surely not, said Aubrey.

With the ice pack and Nurofen, it should ease it a little, right? Georgina asked. Aubrey looked around at the other pilgrims sitting on the patio. 

It doesn’t seem you’re the only one nursing some injury, Aubrey said. There were quite a few people treating blisters, some with ice on their ankles. You could smell the various forms of liniment when the wind picked up the scent. It hadn’t been that hard of a day, she thought, but who knew where they had walked from. Many looked to have walked a lot further than Saint Jean Pied de Port.

I met a girl today who had walked from Le Puy, Aubrey said, turning back to face Pam. I saw her feet when I stopped at Hunto. I’ve never seen so many blisters. She had blisters on blisters. I think boots were the cause. She said she had taken a rest day in Saint Jean but, if you ask me, she’d need at least two or three to clear them altogether. She took another long draw on her beer.

Shit, that would be painful. I hope I don’t get blisters. The knee is bad enough to deal with! Although, I have to admit, I have a shitload of stuff in my backpack, in case I do, Pam said. She then laughed thunderously, a sound so booming coming from her small stature, the sound surprised Aubrey.

For all I read online in the Facebook forums, I ignored everything that said, ‘don’t over pack’, Pam added, then reached for her water.

Those online forums were great for information though. I learned a lot, said Georgina.

I didn’t read much of them at all, said Aubrey. The forums got a little too opinionated for me. It was hard to navigate what information would apply.

Pam laughed again. I think I was on every forum out there. My head is full of shit I learned. And I have notes galore on my phone. But I hear what you’re saying, some people were dictators!

God yes. There were so many opinions. I didn’t know what was right or misguided, said Georgina. But I was mostly interested in the weather, and I looked for information from those ahead of us. I was having a bit of a panic attack yesterday, admitted Georgina, looking worried. I couldn’t decide which route to take because of the rain. Either this one or the valley route.

The rain has been horrendous, that’s for sure. But I think everyone is concerned about the weather, Pam said, as Georgina scooted her chair back a little, now the people behind had moved. Aubrey settled back into her chair, crossed one leg over the other. The sun was at her back, and she was enjoying the warmth from the sunshine. 

"I read there