Soy en España!--Orisson to Rouncevaux

So, I was talking to my friend Jim Lawrence a couple of weeks ago, and he asks, ¨How high are the Pyrenees?¨ I mentioned that the first day´s climb will be over 3300 feet--going over 4000 before I start back down the next day. Jim looks at me agog: ¨Have you ever hiked elevations!?¨ ¨No,¨ I casually reply, ¨but I´ve been practising on Camp Wisdom.¨ Boy am I stupid. Jim, you were right. I nearly died in the climb to Orisson--beautiful scenery aside. I ran out of water, and the final couple of kilometers (the hike was about 8 miles) nearly killed me. But the scenery was beautiful. Rolling hills and sharp granite peaks were dotted with cattle and sheep. Corn grew on nearly impossible downslopes--and everything was lush and green. Why? Because it rains at least once most days. Of course, it started just when I was a mile or so from Orisson--and it got cold; I could see my breath before me as I climbed. I was never so happy to find a bed in my life.

A brief aside: before you think that I am heroic in making the climb despite the elevation and the weather, consider that I was outpaced by a grandmother from Canada. And by a couple from Germany. And by a group of kids from France. Oh, yes, and by just about everybody else. I don´t know if it´s just me, or maybe Americans should get out and walk a little more often.

The hike to Rouncevaux was nothing short of tedious. While yesterday I at least had the beautiful scenery, today we had heavy fog and a steady, frequently heavy, rain. I couldn´t risk taking out my camera when I passed the frontier marker into Spain. Nevertheless, the 11th century chapel and the 13th century church of Saint Mary at Rouncevaux are beautiful--even in the persistent drizzle. There is no town here--only the buildings associated for 1000 years with the pilgrim trail; Rouncevaux was the junction of several other trails from throughout Europe. I managed several pictures of the monestary and of the stone commemorating the death of the French hero, Roland, in 788--they claim to have the very stone on which he broke his trumpet, Oliphant (see the Song of Roland, folks). The hostel here is in a part of the old church buildings. All very historic, but the truth is that, right now, all I can think about is DINNER!

p.s. Everyone is so wonderfully caring. We help each other completing little cleaning chores, lifting backpacks onto bunk beds, or with uplifting words of encouragement. The world should be so nice elsewhere.