Day 1 - Saint-Jean- Pied-de-Port to Hunto (5 km + 10km)

Today started at 7.15 on a rain-wet street by the rail station waiting for a coach to take me to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and the start of my walk. Yes, the French trains were on strike. I was in good company; a variety of people of all sizes, shapes, colours and creeds were there too, laden with rucksacks and all - like me - caught out by the industrial action.

It was a somewhat hairy forty kilometre journey south to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port; an hour and a half of watching winding, wood lined roads, rocky rivers and precipitous green valleys slip past us. And what had started out as a promising day became more ominous as rain began to spatter the windows. By the time we got to our destination the clouds were low and grey and we were hit by a steady drizzle as we descended from the coach.

Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port is a lovely, small, walled town of hilly cobbled streets and white walled, terracota roofed buildings. It is nestled in the foothills of the French Pyrenees and has long been a key town on the Camino, although the author of the Codex is none too complimentary about the people around here:

St Jean

'This region near the..pass and...Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port has some truly vicious toll collectors. They come at pilgrims with weapons and demand an exorbitant fee. If you refuse to pay, they'll beat you up and take the money, even intrusively frisking you to get it. These people are forest savages. Their hard faces and strange language strike terror into the heart.'

Things must have improved as I found the locals more than helpful when I  visited the pilgrim office in town to arrange some accommodation for this evening.

                    

St Jean

Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port translates literally as 'Saint John [at the] Foot of [the] Pass' and the name says it all; the climb started as I walked through the medieval gate and across the bridge out of town, wondering just how many millions of people had done this before me over the centuries and with what success and what motives. As you leave you are faced with a continuous and gently winding ascent through bright green pasture; there is little else save the very occasional house. I was on my own in these surroundings with only the continuous singing of birds, the occasional clang of a cow bell and my own thoughts for company; I’m not sure it can get more 'pilgrim' than that. 






                         

Countryside Vending Machine!

I am now in a small and well appointed refuge called Hunto. It is only five kilometres from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and last year we stayed here by mistake; our intended refuge was fully booked and we mistakenly thought Hunto was after rather than before it when we rang ahead to secure a place.  But this year it is no mistake; the views back down the valley are to die for and it makes for a gentle start to the trip. I did arrive just after the three hour lunch break started so the place was shut (with those hours how do the French even find the time to strike...?) so I dumped my rucksack and headed back - unladen - into town for coffee and crepe. It had to be done. I am now back, showered and refreshed and looking forward to dinner and getting to know better some of my fellow travellers.