It’s been a good day. We acquired a 76 year old lady walking partner, made it to Orisson in record time and saw a wonderful black kite flying school in operation.

Let’s start at the beginning.

That was dinner last night, as always (the third time), it was excellent.

We hadn’t intended to start so early but after a sleepless night, with daylight filtering in it seemed appropriate, so donning our walking kit, we headed out.

St. Jean was remarkably quiet this morning, only one pilgrim ahead of us and only two youngsters rapidly approaching from behind. They passed us with a cheerful buen Camino and motored off into the low cloud and mist.

Roughly one km out of town we were approached by a petite white haired lady carrying a small rucksack and a single walking pole gesticulating widely. In our broken Spanish and with her proficiency in English in negative figures it took some time to figure out that she’d been told that the Napoleon route was far too difficult for her, that she needed to go back to St. Jean before heading out again this time up the Val Carlos route. She was very upset so we reassured her that she was perfectly capable of walking the route and that she was welcome to join us. Which of course she did.

We arrived at Orisson in a fraction over 2 hours and promptly ordered coffee and bocadillo in my case, tortilla in Dorothy’s (and much regretted).

We hung about for some thirty five minutes chatting to all and sundry, the more interesting sundry being two young American lads and two Italians. I suggested that when they came to the fork in the route above Roncevalles they should consider taking the more difficult route that wound down through the forest, rather than taking the safer, more open route around the side of the mountain. We’d taken the forest route the first time we’d walked and it was peaceful (no one else took it) and quite ethereal. (We meet them later in Roncesvalles and they thanked me for suggesting the harder route. They’d loved the tranquility of the forest).

Just as we were about to leave, Marie Carmen, our new Spanish best friend asked if we would mind if she joined us for the rest of the journey to Roncevalles since she was 76, her sons were very worried about her and she was somewhat frightened about the walk ahead. Of course we said yes.

We headed off, she was an excellent walker, fit and clearly not as frail as looked.

We took our time and fairly effortlessly made it over the top to the fork above Roncevalles. We took the easier route and shortly afterwards Roncevalles came into view.

Marie Carmen burst into tears. We suspect that her husband has recently passed away, that she is on her way to Burgos in respect to his memory against the advice of her sons but it’s difficult to tell ands Google translate was particularly useless this time around. I also suspect that she too wasn’t at all certain that she was capable of doing this long walk but with Roncevalles in sight and the hardest part of the journey behind her perhaps these were also tears of relief. Who knows.

Towards the bottom of the descent we came across these impressive beasts.

Shortly after passing these fine beasts we walked alongside these fine horses and foals.

Sadly we shortly came across a mum and her foal. The foal had difficulty walking and on closer inspection it seemed that all four feet were dislocated. He was clearly in some considerable discomfort. Perhaps a birth defect some days or more likely weeks earlier. What natural law permits such cruelty to such an innocent creature?

As there was nothing we could possibly do we simply walked the final 600 m or so to Roncesvalles.

Roncesvalles is run by Dutch volunteers, eight new every two weeks throughout the year. They’re a cheerful bunch and have been doing so for 27 years. They’re very efficient, sorting out food, accommodation and generally helping pilgrims from a range of countries to get their bearings.

We’d booked dinner for 7 o’clock and were joined by Clifford the chap from Mauritious, an Italian who I’d earlier chatted to and had assured would get to Roncesvalles successfully, a French chap for whom this was only the latest instalment in a walk that had started 750 km and 30 days earlier in Le Puy, a young Slovenian lady and a somewhat unpleasant Brexit supporting English woman. All were intending to walk to Santiago apart from Alistair, Rachel and thankfully, the Englishwoman.

The rest of the night now safely ensconced in our bunks, was uneventful apart from my noisy descent from the top bunk at 3 am to visit the bathroom. It was dark, I’m extremely myopic and the bunk was far higher than I remembered. Thankfully my elbow took the brunt of the fall and I padded quietly to and from the bathroom presumably unheard by the sleeping masses surrounding me.

The rest of the night passed quietly, punctuated by the usual snoring and other bodily expressions typical of a large group of tired, well fed pilgrims.

Buen camino