Walking Backwards Up the Pyrenees

Sunday morning dawns, cloudy, cool, damp. The guy above me snored loudly all night, and once made some kind of odd noise, and jumped down off the bed and stomped around for a few minutes. He was very strange. But, at any rate, he is the first one up and gone. I don´t see him again. Next goes the gentleman from Quebec, again quietly up, dressed and gone. It´s about 7am, and the young American couple get up to go downstairs to have breakfast--that they have bought themselves the day before, and put in the fridge, with the landlady´s permission. Suddenly, there is a huge commotion downstairs and the landlady comes flying into the room screaming French in a stage whisper. She tears the couple´s things off the beds, and starts pushing them out of the room. Everyone else is still half asleep and can´t figure out what´s going on. To the best of my ability, all I can figure out is that she´s saying they are up too early (not before 7am), in the kitchen too early, and making too much noise. Actually, they are probably the quietest people there. Then the landlady comes back into the room and tries to explain everything to the Swiss girl, because she speaks French. She is still half asleep and doesn´t quite grasp it. Finally, Ari, the young man, comes back in, saying he needs to check to see if they have all their things. The woman doesn´t want to let them in, but does, and then he is gone. I´m pretty upset because I don´t think they did anything wrong, and I´m sad because I doubt I´ll see them again, and wanted to wish them well.

But, onward. I get dressed, gather my things, get my pack packed as best I can, and head down the stairs. I get my boots and go out to the street to put them on. Pilgrims are heading down the street past me, in ones, twos, groups. It´s very quiet, almost mystical in the cool and damp air. It feels nice, but as soon as I begin to move, the sweat starts. I don´t look forward to that. Finally, I have everything together, and heave my pack onto my back. Boy, is it heavy! But, thinking about it, I don´t see what I can give up, so on I go. I begin the walk down the street, and think about going to the morning mass in the church, but decide to just go ahead and leave. I have only walked to the edge of the town yesterday to see where to start, so after that, nothing is familiar.

As I cross the last street of St. Jean, I look towards the road and realize that it´s going up nearly vertically, but I think, well, it will top out at some point, right? Wrong. So begins my entire day of walking 8 kilometers. An entire day. From 8 a.m. until nearly 4:30 p.m. I walk UP. I am talking about a 45 degree angle. Up, up UP until I think I am going to just drop dead right where I stand. Climbing has never been easy for me, and this is probably one of the hardest days I have ever had in my life, including giving birth to my child. The landscape is beautiful...I pass the most wonderful gardens, huge plants at one place that look like giant aloe veras, everything dripping with dew, the mist lying in the mountains, it´s magical. I see it, but I am consumed with the effort of dragging my weight, including a too-heavy pack, up, up, up, against the gravity that wants to pull me immediately back down to the lowest point.

After about 2 hours, the sun is coming out, and I can see where I am going. I´m not sure it´s a good thing. There is no top, only continuous UP. At one point, I see a small bench and blessedly drop down on it, glad to take off my pack and rest my feet for a few minutes. I decide to eat one of the croissants I bought before I left. I realize I am actually steaming in the sun. Picture the Budweiser commercial where the big Clydesdale is backlit, and is standing there steaming after the effort of pulling the beer wagon...you´ll get the idea of how I felt. But, as wonderful as the bench is, I can´t stay there. I must go on...and up. At one point, I pass a farmhouse and see a road that goes so steeply, I nearly fall backwards looking at it. It´s at that point, I begin to walk backwards. I realize that the weight of my pack actually helps PULL me up the mountain if I turn around. So, slowly, one step after heavy step, I spend the rest of the day walking backwards. Another hour, and I see a LEVEL driveway off the road. I stop and sit, thanking God for a flat place. As I eat my other croissant, a young woman comes panting up and sits beside me. We greet each other and begin to see what languages we speak, etc. When I tell her I´m from the US, she gives me a huge hug and says it´s a sign. She is from Berlin, loves America and wants to move there. We sit for a few minutes, talking, then she is up and onward, and I believe I will never see her again. Pressing on, at around 1pm, I reach Huntto, the first stop with a place to stay. Blessedly, I sit at a table, change my socks, and have some water and then go across the road (and UP) to find the bathroom. I begin to think I should have stayed here instead of Orisson, but Orisson is only 2 km further, so how much worse could it be?

I find out as I start out, and immediately have to turn around and go backwards again. Inching my way up, up, always up. I begin to see people who have passed me in the morning, coming back from their outings. They nod and smile, maybe a little bit worriedly. I´m sure they think--this big woman will never make it where ever she is going, and I begin to agree with them. As I go up the road, slowly, slowly, one foot at a time backwards, I see a sign to the alburgue that shows a way that´s off the road. There´s a wide grassy track that looks pretty easy to follow, but I´m not sure. Then, a group of other pilgrims comes along, and says, yes, this is the shortcut. All right then, I´ll take it, but it becomes problematic to walk backwards then because the ground is very rocky. However, I have no choice. I CANNOT lug that damned pack going forward. So, there I am, walking backwards across rocks, small ravines, slick grass, what have you. Inch by inch, I go up. Around switchbacks, I go up. Again, more people pass me going along. I speak for a few moments with a French woman, and ask if she is going to Orisson. She says yes. I say I have a reservation there, and ask her if she will tell them that Linda is coming SLOWLY. She says she will. God bless her.

At last, I reach the overlook that is mentioned on the map. There´s a rock where I sit and steam some more, and also look over the scenery. It´s stunningly beautiful, and I wish I could just stay right there for the rest of my life and not move again, especially not UP. But I must go on. A group of day hikers pass me on their way down. I ask if there is water up there (there´s supposed to be a fountain). They say yes, just up there, and are very concerned that I might not have any water. I assure them I do, but just want to fill up. Okay then, they are on their way. When I get up there at last (more backwards inching), there is the water, plus an overlook with a map of the mountains and the towns. Also, there is a whole group of cyclists who are resting and fiddling with their bikes. I can´t even comprehend riding a bicycle up these roads...I´m still going backwards. I pass them, going backwards, and they smile and wave. I look behind me and see only a hill. I look off to my right, and see the downhill slopes, with small farms, sheep, gardens, and notice vultures flying overhead, soaring on the wind currents. Should I be worried? Am I that bad off? I try to inch a little faster. Finally, finally, I see one more woman who had been walking earlier and passed me going up. In French and sign language, she lets me know that really, REALLY, Orisson is just a little bit ahead, DOWN a bit, and to the right. DOWN sounds so good right now, but I´m not sure I believe her. I´ve been going up for so long, I have forgotten what down is!

But, indeed, she is right. Finally, finally, I take one, two, three last steps and the ground levels out, and suddenly, I have turned around and am walking down a hill! The pack doesn´t feel so heavy, I can actually WALK instead of inch! And lo, and behold, there to the right, is the Refuge Orisson. I made it! Only 8 hours later, and I have arrived!

It´s enough to make me cry.

Love to all,

Crone