Getting there

The last 48 hours have been quite eventful. 48 hours ago I said goodbye to my fiancée, Mikayla, and 48 hours later I am finally going to bed to get my first full night’s sleep in two days.

On Thursday at noon, Mikayla dropped me off at the airport. Our goodbye was a happy one. There were some tears, but we both knew that this is something that will be good for me. With the promise to call each day, we gave each other one final hug goodbye before I headed into the airport.

A few interesting details about the very beginning of my journey that I’d like to share: on the way to the airport, Mikayla and I stopped at a red light. The street we stopped at was named Saint James Street. Then, as soon as I got into the airport security line, a woman called her son next to me, whose name was Santiago. Curious…

The first flight was very simple, flying from LA to San Francisco. During my layover, I got to talk to a nice older Indian couple. They were surprised at the prospect of walking 500 miles and they wished me luck. Over the next few hours I researched the details of the history of the Camino to update my blog. Finally, I boarded my next flight to Paris Orly. Unfortunately, we left an hour and a half late. I prayed that I would make my connecting flight, which had only an hour and 40 minute long layover. Despite the slight worry, the flight was actually nice. It was an overnighter, and I got about 6 hours of good sleep.

Upon landing, the mad dash to my gate began. I had to take a terminal transfer, go through security again, and figure out the right gate, running all the while. And I wasn’t even close to making my flight - they were long gone once I arrived. Oh well. A nice man at the desk told me to follow him, led me all the way to the ticket desk for the airline, talked to the person at that desk, then told me “It’s okay”, which I suppose was supposed to mean “you’re out of luck,” for he left after that.

Crestfallen, I sat for a few minutes to gather my thoughts and emotions. It wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe God had a reason to push my arrival back - I’d just have to trust in that. Comforted by the thought, I bought a new ticket, flying out the next morning at 8 am, 14 hours from that point in time. I had a long night ahead of me.

After getting a sandwich at a shop and eating while reading a book by my favorite author Brandon Sanderson, I felt much better. I knew there was nothing more I could do about the situation, so why worry about it or stew over it? I found a nice rest area on the outskirts of the airport with dimmed lights and snoozing fellow travelers. I then fiddled with my old European SIM card for a while (quite a while longer than I’d like to admit) and finally got it to work. Then, after some more reading, I undertook the arduous endeavor to get some sleep.

This certainly was a fierce battle. Many different sleeping positions were tried, and only one truly worked, which was laying flat on my back as I normally do. The problem was, the spot I had chosen was a small raised metal platform, barely above the floor. The metal got progressively colder throughout the night, and had little holes that let even colder air out. So while I got maybe two hours of sleep there, it eventually got too cold to stay. I tried many more sleeping positions on the nearby chairs, but none really worked. By the morning, I at least felt slightly rested, and the anticipation of truly beginning my journey certainly helped. Figuring that I wouldn’t be getting any more sleep, I decided to get to my terminal early and eat breakfast.

At 8 am, I finally flew out from Paris Orly to Biarritz. I arrived after only an hour. Upon walking outside of the airport, I was hit with a wave of fresh plant smells from the beautiful greenery around me. This was a glorious moment, especially when you consider I’d been surrounded by airport smells for the previous 30 something hours. A simple moment, but one that I appreciated all the same.

I took a short bus trip to the nearby town, Bayonne, that has a train connecting straight to my destination, Saint Jean Pied de Port. I watched the passing town scenery, which was quite peaceful. The clouds decided that it would be a good time for a few minutes of torrential downpour as soon as I exited the bus to finish my walk to the train station. At least I had my rain gear readily accessible. Can't say the same for the dad who flew by with his wailing daughter over his shoulder.

Soon, I was standing outside the train at my platform. Looking around, I saw what I realized I hadn’t expected to see: other pilgrims. I had accepted that I would quite possibly be the only pilgrim for a while. Winter pilgrimages are far less common than summer ones, at least for the Camino de Santiago. But thankfully I was not alone! There were a few very young boys obviously outfitted for the Camino, and a girl who looked to be about my age. On the train, I asked her if she was doing the Camino, and blessedly she responded in proper American-accented English. Her name is Margaret, and yes, she is walking the Camino! We figured out that we were both starting tomorrow. It’s nice knowing that I’ll know at least one fellow American on my travels!

We talked for the length of the train ride and decided to stick together. The ride was very scenic, and upon arriving, we made our way to the city center. We grabbed lunch (finally a proper meal!) and it was quite fantastic: squid and ham. I also got a sangria since it was so cheap.

After lunch, we checked into our first albergue and got our pilgrims passport. Then I finally got to take a much needed shower after so many travel hours. The hot water felt glorious.

Soon after, Margaret and I checked out the local church, got some money out of the ATM, then sat on a bench overlooking the town. We both wrote in our journals. Once it started to rain, we moved inside. I then relaxed on my bed until another newcomer by the name of Sean came along. He’s an Irish high school teacher, and a very nice man. He has a week to walk, so he's going to see how far he can go. We all shared our reasons for walking the Camino and stories of our previous travels. Then we rested for a while. I stared out the window of our albergue at the stunning scenery before taking a short nap.

Then, at 7, Margaret and I went to Mass at the local church. Turns out both she and Sean are Catholic as well! It was a French Mass, so I couldn't understand anything, but the usual rhythm of the Mass was calming and prayerful as always. The church was beautiful, and the organist's playing, along with the singing of the people, made the Mass feel very reverent.

After Mass, we met back up with Sean to get pizza at a local pizza shop. The lady who took our order was very nice and we talked with her for a while about where we're from, the travels we've taken, etc. While we were waiting for our pizzas, the three of us sat in the loft upstairs and talked about our home cities and what it was like, and compared cultures and traditions. That's one of my favorite parts of travel. I love seeing all the differences between cultures. It's very fascinating to see how people go about their daily lives in a completely different way than I'm used to. We all bonded until our pizzas were ready, then grabbed them and returned to the albergue to eat. We had an unexpected guest eat with us too!

This guest was fond of pizza, and since he didn't have his own, we decided to bless his day with a small donation.

And his manners were surprisingly good while he waited!

The pizza turned out to be one of the best I've ever had. I'm looking forward to eating the rest for breakfast.

After some more chatting and bonding, we all got ready for bed. The cat is now sleeping with two other pilgrims who I haven't gotten to meet yet, which I find wildly unfair since I was both the one to let him inside and also feed him free pizza. Oh well.

Finally, as everyone is getting in their sleeping bags, I go out into the night to pray a rosary. It's a beautiful night - slight drizzle, chilly. I feel very excited about starting my Camino tomorrow. The anticipation looms, but it's different than it was before I left home. It was more of a nervous anticipation then. Now, it's an excited anticipation. I can't wait to see what more God will bring me, what He will do for me, and what He will ask me to do - or sacrifice - for Him. I'm ready for anything.

I had previously prayed for God to help me make my connecting flight, but that ultimately His will be done. And I think it was. In missing my flight, my walk was delayed by a day - but I got to meet Margaret and Sean. Who knows if I would have ever met them if I had been a day ahead? It's small, sure, but I think the small things are important. God cares about every little thing in our lives; He never doesn't have enough time for us, no matter how small our problem is. He literally created time. How could it bind Him? And what would railing against the outcome of my missed flight have done for me? At best, it would have put me in a sour mood and made me miss the gift that God was placing in front of me. At worst - who knows? Best never to find out.

Here's a final photo dump of the scenes I got to pray the rosary with. Yes, I may have gotten a little carried away. But it's my first blog post!