…y eso es justo lo que harán

I awoke in Orisson at 7 a.m. and walked across the road to the dining room for breakfast—toasted baguettes with butter and assorted jams—standard European fare.

Thirty minutes into my day, I packed up my daypack and backpack, arranging for the blessed Donkey Service to transport the bulk of my belongings over the Pyrenees into Spain to the monastery at Roncesvalles. I bought a ham and cheese bocadillo and took to the road.

Livestock lined the trail as I continued the climb—first cows, then horses. At the highest elevations, sheep. The weather was mild enough for shorts and a thin shirt. My back pain returned, but the views, as before, proved an adequate distraction. I left the Advil in the pack.

The day required ascending 2,000 feet over eight miles to the near-mile-high Lepoeder Pass, followed by a three-mile, 1,600-foot descent to Roncesvalles. Just before the pass, I stopped by Refugio Izandorre, a small stone emergency shelter with solar panels and various instruments and transmitters, and ate my sandwich. I concluded the hut would make an adequate home.

Crossing the border into Spain, I opted for an alternate route, avoiding the steep, wooded descent most pilgrims choose. I followed the road west down to the valley below before cutting back east toward the monastery.

I arrived at the monastery at 1:20 p.m. and stood in line until 2 p.m. when the hospitaleros unlocked the check-in office’s door. The Dutch volunteers were dedicated, but like the pilgrims’ office in St. Jean Pied de Port, they prioritized thoroughness over efficiency. With only two volunteers handling check-ins, the process dragged on for more than an hour.

I was assigned a top bunk on the second floor of the 12th-century main building. The partitioned bunks offered some degree of privacy, a relief compared to the fifth floor’s wallless room, where up to 100 pilgrims will sleep in the open like refugees inside a relief tent.

I took a long, hot shower and spent a couple of hours writing syllabi and publishing assignments for two online courses I’ll teach this summer. I prefer not to work summers, but the last-minute offer was too lucrative to turn down—it’ll cover the cost of this trip and all my bills back home twice over.

Last time I was here, dinner was fried trout—tail and all. According to Hemingway, it’s an area staple. I decided to fast until i pass through Burguete in the morning.