WHEN WALKING

Home to Santiago – Day 46

Saint-Jean-de-Luz to Irún: 18km

It’s a cool day, grey, beautifully grey. Last night a storm finally broke the humidity, and everything feels fresh.

I walk with Mickey today. The road takes us out of Saint-Jean-de-Luz through the harbour and then into the back streets and foothills of the Pyrenees. The mountains are always there in the distance, while the big, rolling hills rise close around us.

We stop at the first boulangerie, of course, for a snack, and then have the excitement of seeing Nievis, a new pilgrim, coming out. She’s from Lithuania. That’s enough for now. We’ll find out more about her later.

Mickey is writing a blog too, and tells me how much he’s motivated by the comments and encouragement he gets from his readers, sometimes from people he hasn’t spoken to for years. I tell him that my dad reads mine every day.

By the time we reach Irún, my phone has died completely, so we end up walking into the wrong end of town, crossing a busy bridge, without the dramatic entry into Spain we’d been hoping for. At least there are some policemen doing customs checks. Or they,are possibly parked for lunch.

We walk through the town, probably going a long way out of our way simply for the joy of trying the street escalators, and eventually settle on a bench just before the hostel. Poor Mickey is feeling very wobbly, and goes inside to buy an armful of energy drinks and Aquarius.

When we turn the corner to the hostel, waiting pilgrims cover the steps. There is Nievis and all our regulars, but so many new faces. It feels like a takeover. My doubts about doing the Camino del Norte return.

It’s strange. This is the first time I’ve been on a Camino like the Camino Francés since I did it nine years ago. Suddenly there are all these people, and because we’re all starting together, I’m part of it. I do not feel quite ready. For today at least, the walkers from Bayonne feel like a group apart.

When the doors finally open, I stand in the queue with a pilgrim by the glorious name of Marie Lourdes and have my last burst of French. We register together. It forms a bond that will last until she goes home to Brittany tomorrow.

As I am allocated my place, I realise I’ve got a window bed, bottom bunk, next to the fan. There’s noise, lights and traffic, but I will not be hot tonight. I am happy.

I introduce myself to a man making his bed two beds down. He introduces himself.

“I’m Andre, but I’m not French. My parents just thought it would be a good idea. I’m German.”

I introduce myself, and his first question is:

“Are you Jewish?”

“No.”

Then, realising I don’t want to sound as though I’m not proud of my heritage, I add, “But I do have a Jewish grandmother.”

“Oh,” he says. “On your mother’s or your father’s side?”

“On my father’s side,” I say, knowing what will come next.

“Oh, so you’re not Jewish at all!”

“No. No, I’m not.”

But Jewish enough for some is the unspoken thought. I think at this point André becomes aware of the oddness of the conversation, and we discuss the walk.

Guadalupe, from Puebla, Mexico, currently of West Drayton, is on duty at the hostel and takes us to a local Mass for a pilgrim’s blessing. There are eight of us: Guadalupe, one devout Catholic (Nieves), four Germans, Mickey and me. At least I know what to do. In fact, I find myself giving the others guidance, which makes me feel rather proud.

We stand at the front for our blessing, while a 91-year-old member of the congregation, right behind us, sings with a voice as loud and clear as a 21-year-old’s.

We all congratulate her afterwards on her singing. The priest changes out of his robes, gives us little stamps in the vestry, and, transformed now into a kindly old man, clasps his hands and wishes us adios.

On Conrad from Dortmund’s suggestion, we all go to a bar after the service. It really doesn’t matter what we talk about. It is just nice to be talking with a table of people who are brought together by no more than neighbouring beds, standing in queues, or simply choosing to start a long walk on the same day.

There are about fifty of us in the albergue tonight. I’m carrying on with the Norte. It is time to step into a new comfort zone.