The Unpilgrim

After spending 10 days in Paris I took a long ride on the fast train to Bayonne, where I met a couple of English women and an Australian, heading towards St. Jean Pied de Port. They were anxious to begin their pilgrimage, and before I knew it there was a whole bus load of pilgrims. They all seemed so fit, and were wearing all the right clothes, especially the nylon zip-off pants. Mine were my old navy 'villagers', the kind with elastic waists, that old ladies wear when their waists match their busts. My tops were cotton too, not the self wicking ones that the pilgrims wore. On my feet were sandals, but I knew that deep within my bag, stood a pair of German boots that could match any on the Camino. They had a worn look too, because I'd walked in them over a couple months.

I booking in at a hotel, I visited the Albergue which only compounded the feeling of separateness. All the pilgrims, seated around a large table were eating, drinking and laughing. They were having a good time. Finally, unable to tolerate the isolation any longer I walked to the pilgrims office and in broken French attempted to relate my fears of carrying my heavy backpack over the Pyrenees.

....to be continued.