If this year everything’s gone to plan, well, 2016 was the exact opposite. Back then, Tina and I stayed overnight in Bayonne, only to discover the next morning that the train to the starting point of the Camino was nowhere to be found. Our sole option? A bus at 11 AM. After three hours of waiting and another three on the road, we finally arrived at our starting point. Just in time to find the tourist info office shut in our faces—where you’d typically grab your Camino passport and tips for the first leg across the Pyrenees. Gotta love their siestas; they really test your patience.
And what came next? Go on, have a guess. That’s right—more waiting. We decided to have a beer since it happened to be International Beer Day. Cheers to timing! Then it was time to hit the trail, heading up into the hills.
We cracked open the Camino guidebook for the Jacob's Way just in time to read that there was an emergency shelter at the top of the hill, perfect for hunkering down if things went sideways. Seeing as the night was already catching up with us, we decided that would be our stop. Oh, and for the record, we’d agreed that year to bypass any accommodation with fewer than a million stars—so, open-air camping it was.
The walk was stunning: sunshine, breathtaking views, and Mother Nature’s lawnmowers—horses, sheep, and cows—dotting the landscape. By the time we reached the shelter, it was pitch dark. Expecting no one, we opened the door and… surprise! A man was already there. Bit of a shocker. Naturally, he was French and, of course, spoke zero English. My personal list of things I like about the French is short: the clé à molette (adjustable spanner) and French fries.
He kept repeating: »Dots, dots, dots, dots, dots, dots.« We had no clue what he was on about until Tina figured out he was a junkie detoxing in the hills. Delightful. What could possibly go wrong, sleeping next to a detoxing junkie in a 2×2-meter SOS shelter with stone slabs for beds? I reassured Tina: “We’re two, and he’s one. If he tries anything funny, we’ve got him.” To his credit, he gallantly gave up the slabs and slept on the floor.
Just as we were settling in, the shelter door creaked open again. “WTF now?” I muttered, as you do at nearly midnight. In walked Henry, equally shocked to see us. Welcome to the Camino, where the only certainty is the unexpected. Thankfully, we all survived the night without a single life-threatening drama.
This year, the Pyrenees greeted us with fog so thick it felt like walking through soup. Honestly, I didn’t mind—it’s a unique way to see the mountains. Along the trail, I found my answer to the grim question: “How on earth do people manage to die on the first day in the Pyrenees?” Turns out, the fog can get so dense you can’t see half a meter ahead, and the poorly marked trail makes it easy to lose your bearings. The crosses dotting the path in memory of fallen pilgrims weren’t exactly comforting.
Luckily, the fog cleared as we descended, revealing the stunning views I’d been waiting for. I took a detour to linger in the mountains—my favourite bit of the Camino—even if it meant clocking extra kilometres. You only get one day up here, so why not make it count?
I’d arranged to meet Gro at a pub marking the end of the first stage. She was a bit worried when I didn’t show up on time, assuming I’d gotten lost in the fog. I texted her back: “Taking the scenic route, it’s gorgeous and empty.” When we finally reunited, we rewarded ourselves with a cold beer after the gruelling ascent and descent.
Soon, Erik—someone I’d bumped into earlier on the trail—joined us, looking utterly knackered. Gro decided to press on to the hostel, about 7 km away, while Erik and I discovered we had a lot in common. He’s a 25-year-old German into psychology, aspiring to be a personal trainer and nutritionist, with a penchant for techno music and dancing. Our second drink could’ve easily turned into a third, but the Camino waits for no one.
Halfway to the hostel, I stumbled upon a closed shop and had to wait 30 minutes under the blazing sun for it to open. Hunger made the wait feel eternal. I scarfed down some food immediately and then grabbed supplies for Gro. A kilometre later, it dawned on me that the next day was Sunday—shops closed! So, back I went to stock up for Sunday as well. My backpack, which started the Camino at a neat 4 kg, now weighed 8. It was a struggle, but I managed to get a cold shower and a roof over my head, which is all you want on the Camino.
