..but then it just keeps rising, and rising, and rising...
The tiny town of Saint Jean Pied de Port (population 1,800 when the rodeo is in town) is nestled quietly in the foothills of the Pyrenees, on the border between France and Spain. It looks like an old French town should, except the original town was burned and razed to the ground in 1177 by King Richard I and his troops. Whoops.
It’s an important part of the imposing landscape that surrounds it, as the Roncevaux Pass is one of the principal routes across the mountains. As such, it has changed hands time and again and seen it’s fair share of history in the process. It is here that La Chanson de Roland, the bane of every French Literature student’s existence, recalls the Battle of Roncesvalles where Charlemagne and Roland marched into the Iberian Peninsula during the Breton March. Napoleon would recreate the scene nearly 1,000 years later when he led his army through the same mountain pass during his invasion of Spain. These rocks have seen a lot of stuff.
The other reason Saint Jean thrives is because it serves as the starting point for the Camino Frances, the most popular route to Santiago de Compostela across northern Spain. The Pilgrim’s Office sits a stone’s throw outside my window, and pilgrims have been steadily streaming in this evening to register, pick up their credentials, pilgrim shells, and weather reports for the mountain crossing. The first stage of The Way is notorious for being the most difficult, with a 4,100 ft ascent on Day 1, and more than 26km to the monastery in Roncesvalles (here, I prefer miles; bad metric system, bad!) It’s downed many a pilgrim’s hopes of walking any further, so the best advice is to take it slow, and you’ll climb it in time.
Saint Jean is also a place of rich symbols. Golden scallop shells and yellow way-markers dot the landscape. There are iron crosses on medieval churches and hiking poles and rucksacks set outside hostel entrance ways. Orderly piles of hiking shoes sit clean and unworn inside each door, and shells sway on the backs of the new arrivals as they check-in. It’s a reminder that while each of these things may not necessarily be unique in their individual constitution, they acquire a special significance when infused with the meaning and importance ascribed to them by the pilgrims who have been coming from around the world, for more than a thousand years. Sort of reminds me of Sunday mornings in Buda.
As I prepare to climb, my dedication for today is for my mother. If anyone has had to climb and conquer mountains, she certainly has, and she’s done it with grace and poise. Her dogged determination and indomitable spirit have served as an example for our entire family, and nobody embodies the climb up the mountain more than she. I’ll be thinking of you on the way up.
"May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields
and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.
- Traditional Gaelic blessing
The payoff comes tomorrow, on the way up the mountain, and down into Roncesvalles, Spain. Pictures to follow when I have a good WiFi signal.
Onward and (very literally) upward,
Will
Top Row: La Bendicion hostel in St. Jean Pied de Port, and view of the river
Bottom Row: Other side of the bridge; Camino journey markers