2023 Sep 16: Orisson - Roncesvalles

BASQUE-ING IN THE PYRENEES

The beautiful Orisson sunrise was a grand welcome to Day 2. By the time we arrived yesterday evening our legs had become fluent in Basque and had mastered many choice words of wrath that they hurled at us. This morning; however, they were singing with joy. We had already learned of the heavy backpack secret. One can send the heavy gear forward with a transportation company specializing in Camino deliveries. Now we gladly signed on to have even more of our stuff sent forward. We set out with renewed spirits steadily making our way. Reaching and seeing the Vierge d'Orison, a statue of the Virgin Mary, looking out over the vastness of the Pyrenees Mountains was rather heavenly. 

The morning mountain air remained glorious for about the first two hours. The majestic horses, fluffy sheep, and massive cows were a wondrous sight and they all rang their bells whenever they moved. The cows also mooed in harmony. The horses did not. Horses don't moo. Perhaps they have chronic laryngitis and that's why they are hoarse. Aha, that's it! As for the sheep, there were so many you can count on them for a good night's sleep. Wink, wink.

Then! The Wind Beneath My Wings, a famous Bette Midler song, took on a new meaning that day. As we climbed the wind got stronger. And stronger. And STRONGER. At one point it was clear that winds had reached hurricane (typhoon) force - seriously! Using a camera to record or take pictures was not possible. It was challenging just to keep our balance and to prevent from being blown over, down the mountain side, or onto dangerous objects like barbed-wire fencing. It was scary. How scary?

SCARY SCARY DANGEROUS

It was only fitting that I compose some new lyrics:

Did you ever know I'm not your hero? You are the wind beneath my Hanes (AKA Chones).

From the land of joyous "Je t'aime" to the valleys of "Vale", crossing from France into Spain felt somewhat bittersweet. We had only been in France a few short days and already we were leaving a place so dearly coveted by many. Still, it felt exciting entering a country where we spoke their language (mostly) and looked forward to reaching Pamplona, she of famed bulls, bull runs, and bull runners. One thing became clear as time transpired trekking from village to village: We had been and undeniably remained in Basque territory with its rich culture, language, cuisine, and history - so that was awesome. 

Walking through the windblown trees in the forests was quite enchanting. We could never have imagined that we would be where we were, yet there we were. And all of this because of one very special person who had inspired this journey. Those details will be for a forthcoming post.

Things suddenly started going downhill. And by things I mean the path AND our energy, by down I mean south as in worse, and by hill I mean HURT HURT HURT. We were introduced to what we had been warned about repeatedly. Going downhill is more difficult and painful than going uphill - True! The trekking poles were of tremendous help. Meanwhile, our shoes began to show us whatever defect there may have been in choosing them. Nearing Roncesvalles, Martha had begun to suffer pain in the toes of her left foot from their repeated mashing against the inside front of her shoes during the steep downhill steps. Meanwhile, my "light" trail-runner shoes were unstable in the jagged loose rocks that seemed to be in the most difficult places. My arthritic knees were saved only by the relief of the hiking poles and a knee strap below my right knee. Such was the transfer of weight to my left knee, that it then felt in need of its own strap support. Somehow we just kept going. We couldn't just give up.

On various occasions we had been advised that this day would be easier and with a lot less climbing. As explained here, for us, that was SIMPLY NOT TRUE. There were numerous difficult ascents, descents, harsh terrain, and severe wind conditions. Our bodies, especially our feet and legs ached with agonizing pain. I personally ran out of breath and felt overheated several times as well. My highly recommended all-weather wool socks inside my Gore-Tex insulated shoes were making my feet burn adding heat to my already overheated body.

>>All of this is shared for the purpose of maybe helping someone have a less grueling experience. That said, we did meet several people who cruised through the day with comparatively minimal difficulty and were mainly affected only by the portion with high wind speeds. NOT US.<<

NOW HEAR THIS: The idea in mind had been to rest BEFORE getting or feeling tired. Nonetheless, the exhaustion was so complete that we ended up taking countless breaks - mainly for moi. That's when Martha suddenly sprang into action mode. She would hike on ahead up the next incline and stop at a strategic point for me to still see her. Then she would point her hiking pole along the angle of the next stretch to show whether it was uphill, level, or downhill. Her silhouette made a dramatic outline against the sky while standing on the far edge of a steep mountain pass pointing out the path ahead. It was as if she was blazing the way on a historic journey for the ages. Epic. That elegant image of her will be forever seared in my fondest memories of life treasures - OUR EPIC JOURNEY.

Back down to earth now... she did this repeatedly, patiently waiting for Míster Señor Gordo to huff and puff and sneeze and wheeze to catch up. P.S. Míster Señor Gordo = Me

Our arrival in Roncesvalles mirrored our arrival to Orisson. It was about to get dark. We were exhausted, in pain, and very hungry. We were the last or near last ones to get there. With very few exceptions, if any, anyone we encountered on the trail was because they were passing us, including those who had started the day in St. Jean Pied-de-Port. We didn't care, especially since we couldn't do anything about it. It's not a race they said. Last one there is a rotten egg I said. If anything we were able to catch a few more glimpses of our Camino surroundings that we might have otherwise missed. Maybe it was a consolation to somehow appreciate the physical ordeal of BASQUE-ING IN THE PYRENEES.

mario@mmddestinos.com

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