Day 1 - Thoughts from Roncesvalles

I survived my night in the plan B albergue surprisingly well – probably my first night in a dormitory since boarding school. My French friend was delivering a consistent B flat, the Mexican a C sharp, and the bloke of uncertain nationality who claimed the final bed in our room at around midnight, I would assess as D with a slight vibrato.

I escaped early and was on the road a little before dawn, I was not the first on the path, several wispy figures moved in and out of the mist in front of me as we started into the Pyrenees.

The word is that the first day can be the toughest, and I have to tell you, the narrow roads leading into the mountains are seriously steep. To provide context for the cyclists amongst you, even Jeremy Gittins with his revitalised knee and a rear sprocket the size of a dinner plate would have had to get off and walk.

What a fantastic morning, as the mist cleared, the Pyrenees materialised in all their majestic glory for the little collections of pilgrims on the path. The Japanese seemed to be in the lead followed closely by a group of Koreans, then came some Italians and a collection of antipodeans. Chatted to a lovely Danish couple who are vets and an American who gave up trying to convert me having concluded I was the Devil incarnate.

I am now in my dormitory in the Roncesvalles monastery, high in the Mountains with the bells calling the faithful to prayer.

Speaking of Americans, the lady in the next bed is an American woman of a certain age, who by way of introduction tells me she has recently had major heart surgery and has just converted to Catholicism – if I’m honest, not really sure where to take this conversation next.  She’s just had several suitcases of drugs and medical equipment delivered as she has to be plugged into something called a CPAC machine all night.  Apparently, it will hardly disturb me at all.. Rain held off today it’s forecast to absolutely piss down tomorrow on the way to Zubiri