VF Britannica Via Campaniensis Voie de Vezelay 2025

Today we are able to follow the Camino far more closely, crossing it, driving beside it, sometimes a little ways off. We saw about 25 pilgrims over the course of the day. Considering we only saw two pilgrims along the whole of the Via Campaniensis and Voie de Vezelay during a 2 month period, that was amazing to see.  The Camino Frances is by far the most popular route and people are walking later in the year to avoid the crowds.

We have to stop for Ken’s coffee. Look at these beautiful swan pastries. How can anyone bear to actually eat them – they are art!

Christmas is all around!

I completely forgot that in Spain if you want regular hot chocolate  you have to ask for ColaCao (Spanish version of Nestlé Quilk). If you ask for hot chocolate, what you actually get is a mug of undrinkable melted chocolate. Which is what I ended up with. Thankfully Scott and I had big doughnuts to dip into it.

I got in trouble for taking photos of the fish section in the grocery store.

I think they used to be flounders. We are less than 100 km from the ocean.

Another iconic pilgrim stop on the Camino. The Irache wine fountain. This bodega has a fountain where you can fill your water bottle OR dispense yourself a glass of wine. Traditionally a pilgrim was supposed to just take a sip using the Camino shell they carry on their packs. Most pilgrims only take a bit to save some for the next person but others will fill their water bottles.  Ken only took water as he felt he had not “earned” the wine by walking this particular Camino.  I have to respect that.

It is amazing how much the landscape has changed since we crossed the Pyrenees.  The French side was lush and green  while the Spain side is significantly drier. We are in Rioja, the land of fine wines. Lots of vineyards in brilliant colours.

The road crossed the Camino trail by a picnic area that I remember well.

The colours are phenomenal.  Most grapes have been harvested with only a few forgotten bunches remaining.

You see these bulls all throughout Spain on the highways.. They originated as an advertisement for a brandy in 1956 but have since become a national symbol of Spain

These are underground wine cellars – wine is stored underground as a means of maintaining even temperatures. We see them in grape growing regions of Spain.  To be honest we only saw these because the navigator (that would be me) made a boo boo.

These sheep were guarded by a very large jowly dog standing very firmly in the middle of the road. By the time I got my camera ready he had moved off, as Scott had assured him that he wouldn’t hurt any of his sheep.

More huge piles of corn. In France, most of the corn was going into making ethanol or for animal feed. Am assuming animal feed here.

Such bright red soil.

By the time we got into O Cebreiro ir was raining hard and just about dark. This town is yet another iconic stop on the Camino as it sits on top of a ridge/hill and is the second biggest climb after the Pyrenees.  It is tiny, perhaps only 10 or 12 buildings, including the small church, and is very much alive because of pilgrims. It does get the odd tour bus as it is quite charming with its slate buildings and thatched roofs. There is a restaurant, 2 gift shops, a tavern, a municipal albergue with 104 beds (dormitory style) and a few places for non pilgrims or pilgrims who dont like the dorm lifestyle (mostly because of the snoring). Scott the foodie was introduced to his first traditional Galician soup.

There was a young pilgrim sitting by himself so Ken invited him over. It really was good to connect with another pilgrim. Nick was from Australia and had been walking since Burgos. We commiseratedabout judgmental pilgrims, noisy albergues, and the difficulty of walking in the cold rain and wind. The few days walk before O Cebreiro are difficult in nice weather but can be a drudgecand tricky when it’s wet and the wind is howling. We offered our Buen Camino and wish him well on his way.

Ken’s  comment:  I was grumpy and coffee did not help and I was a downer so Mrs Zitnak had to act decisively. Ten minutes in the corner should change my attitude for tomorrow. We’ll see…Terry’s hoping!

We’re off now on the automobile portion of “planes, trains and automobiles” plus feets and boats.  This has been such a strange journey with so many modes of transportation.  And only 2 weeks left before we head home. We are on our way to Santiago to pick up Antonio to begin our Camino Finesterre and Muxia.

I took a lot of photos from the car window but will only show a few here.  And we did stop along the way.

The plan is to drive as closely as we can to the Camino Frances which starts in St Jean Pied de Port and which we walked in 2019.  So…back to St Jean we go…but not to see my kitty. I must let her go. 🐈

The view from the bedroom in Bordeaux.

We put Scott as main driver with Ken as secondary. I guess I will be navigator. Yuck, so much responsibility! I’ll never hear the end of it if we end up in Timbuktu.

On the freeway trucks can only drive in the right lane if there are two lanes, and in the two right lanes if there are three lanes. I like this system- controls the speed ofvthe trucks and improves safety.

We went back through the pepper town and of course the store was closed because everything closes for lunch between 12 and 200.  Can you imagine the tourist traps in Banff closing for a 2 hour lunch every day?  But we pulled onto a side road so I could take pictures of the pepper fields and the local farm had a vending machine with local products.

Plus there was a greenhouse where they were drying the peppers. The photo is not the best but the red stuff is the peppers.

So the blurry storks from yesterday’s bus ride are a little clearer today. There were six of them in the soccer field.

Scott wrote 19 postcards for friends and ran out of stamps, so we had to hit the post office in SJPDP as it’s the last one before the border and Scott wanted the scratch n sniff butter croissant stamps.  Seems the French post office also “mails” letters to Pere Noel at Christmas.

Mary Ann OG, these people take Christmas almost as seriously as you as i am seeing towns and houses being decorated for the last two weeks.  Heavy on the “almost” though!

There are two routes over the Pyrenees to Ronceveaux/Roncesvalles in Spain, which is the first stage of the Camino. Most people take the Napoleon route which is very steep but closed every year from November 1 to April 1. It’s not closed in that there is no gate, and we did see a pilgrim going that way as there is no snow yet  but the mountain pass is very unpredictable and once you are off the pavement halfway up it is easy to get lost. A few pilgrims have died that way.

We are driving the Valcarlos route, which is also very steep, but it remains open all year for pilgrims and is not as high in elevation.

All of a sudden we are pulled over by Spanish border control, which we weren’t expecting  as you pass freely through the Eurozone countries. But they just logged in our passports and sent us on our way.

I think the sign means you have to let the big bad bus go first, Scott.

This is where the Valcarlos and Napoleon routes meet up (unless you take the steep short cut through the woods).

The monastery in Roncevalles (where the Spaniards believe the Camino actually starts) which house almost 400 pilgrims. It was completely full when Ken and I walked in 2019 but we had a reservation so no issues.

One of the most photographed signs on the Camino. Too bad it gets so defamed with stickers. People have to clean it every year but there are still jerks who have to show they were there even though no one else cares. Not very pilgrim like in my opinion  – its disrespectful.

In Spain, these pillars mark the way, along with ubiquitous yellow painted arrows, the yellow shell on blue tiles  and brass shells embedded in the streets. This route is so well marked you don’t need a map, guide or GPS tracks…just follow the yellow marked road.

There was a wide-eyed horse in the back of the trailer. He looked very scared.

Blurry photo to the entrance of a Camino section Ken called “Mirkwood” as it was dark and scary. I had to hold his hand. It’s amazing that these places are so embedded in our minds from a walk we did in 2019 that we recognize them driving past at 80 km/hr six years later. I’m also grateful that it was a shared experience with Ken as we both recognized it at the same time.

Still in Basque country, judging by the architecture.

The view from our window in Estella.

The stores are open untol 800 or 900 here, not 700 like in Spain.

I love how these towns come alive at night, although an hour later the square was empty as it began to rain very hard.

Scott did a phenomenal job of driving in Estella as it was getting dark, especially as our place was on a narrow street (on the Camino actually) with no parking, which also meant driving around until we found a parking spot in a very full free overnight parking lot on a busy Friday night.

I woke up early this morning to hear a familiar “Buen Camino” through the open window as yet another pilgrim was sent on their merry way over the Pyrenees to begin their Camino. “Buen camino” is the standard greeting/goodbye for all pilgrims and you hear it countless times if you are on a busy section. I’ve even had people lean out car windows to call it out to us.

We pack up and prepare to leave.  But first I must look after my cat – feed her then later in the morning I bring her food and bowls across the street to the pilgrim office. I gave her more food there so she knows she has new people looking after her. She hangs in the street a lot, especially near people sitting on benches, but it is primarily a pedestrian street so no worries about cars.  I have many mixed emotions at leaving her but at least I know she will be fed for a while and I have to believe the pilgrim office will continue to care for her. And the temperatures stay mild.

This week’s volunteers at the office. They switch out every week. I am seriously considering volunteering, maybe in a couple years. They always want at least one English speaker and it gives me incentive to keep up with my French. I would want to do the Camino again first, maybe drag my sister along.

Some last pics of the town as we head to the train station. I went to the tourist office to see what the options were as the trains were no longer running. Because…it’s arbitrary France. However, it turns out the trains were cancelled because they were expecting heavy winds from the Sahara – a sirocco…similar to the chinook winds that pour over the Rockies into western Alberta, these winds pour over the Pyrenees and wreak havoc on the trains. But if the trains are cancelled, they provide a bus as an alternative.  when i think about  the winds yesterday were warm and strong, warm enough for a Tshirt.

Our yard.

Le bus.

This pilgrim was made up of plough shears, with each one donated by a different village along the Way, to represent the assistance provided by the villages and ploughmen to pilgrims.

There were only about 8 people on the coach. Ken was envious of the guy across the aisle drinking a beer.

Blurry photo of my first storks taken out of the bus window

Blurry photo of egrets taken out of the bus window.

The regional crop in this valley is hot peppers. I caught sight of this store, also from the bus window, and since we are coming back this way with the car, I plan on stopping here. Spoiler alert: when we came back it was closed for their two hour lunch. Grrrrrr.

I’m not sure I’ve mentioned this before but every apartment-type place we’ve stayed in has been furnished courtesy of IKEA, from Scott’s couch to the dishes.

We have 5 hours to spend in Bayonne.  Scott presumes the Ste. Cluque is the patron saint of chickens.

This Christmas ride looks like fun.  Maybe.

The confluence of the Adour River (which we crossed in St Sever) and the Nive, which we crossed in SJPDP.  The river is on its way to the ocean, only a few kilometers away.

Scott and I visited the Basque museum. We’ve commented that we have seen so many more men wearing berets here – turns out that berets are an Basque item. Still can’t convince Ken to wear one.

Speaking of scruffy Ken…

They shaved off his mustache. The jury is out.

Feed one.

Feed them all.

Waiting for the train. Scott had reserved us 3 seats together facing each other…and when we get there, there were three people in our seats and boo hoo can you take our seats instead? They whipped out two tickets with their seat numbers. I said there’s three of us and the third guy whipped out his ticket. I wasn’t feeling all that charitable but the train was packed and people were piling on. So Scott agreed and took off to seat 126 and Ken and I went to 95 and 96, only to find a lady there. But she was good, saw that she was in the wrong seat and moved. But pretty nervy to take someone else’s reserved seats. 

Bordeaux is a huge station and very impressive.

We had a very long 5 minute walk to our Ibis Budget Hotel, which gives us this configuration of a bunk looming threateningly over the two beds below. But it’s cheaper than two rooms. Ken needs to keep a wary eye out for flying objects from above.

Tomorrow we pick up the car. This walk, this pilgrimage, has been so disjointed. We’ve had great adventures but I hope next week’s last bit of walking will bring back the pilgrim feeling.

Ken decided he wanted to walk the beginning of the Camino France, retracung our rookie steps from 2019. This route begins with a fairly arduous climb over the Pyrenees on a track called the Route Napoleon. You can do the full 25 km to get to Roncesvalles on the Spain side, or stay in an albergue at Orisson about 8 km up to shorten the journey. My good friend Nancy who had done the Camino 2 years earlier recommended staying at Orisson, which we did  (we were so thankful for that advice). Ken has good memories of the beer he had upon arrival and not so good memories of sleeping in a dorm room with 7 ladies, all of whom gave him the death stare in the morning because of his snoring. (We stayed in private rooms after that).

In 2019 we naively set off from SJPDP on our first walking adventure.  Ken was in a bit of denial and instead of using a hiking backpack, he took the gray bag we use on Rawley the Trolley, which is more of a suitcase with backpack straps. So too big and too heavy, coupled with not knowing what to expect. 

The walk out of town is hilly but the climbs are short to start. We are faced with an elevation gain of almost 700 m. However we both clearly remember a spot where the road turns sharply to the left and the climb from there is steep and  relentless, 400 m gain over 3 km. This turn is where Ken was headed, walking as fast as if that beer was still waiting for him at Orisson.

Finally a few photos with no people. As Tuesday was a holiday, there were quite a few tourists in town. And we’ve seen perhaps a handful of pilgrims starting out on their 800 km voyage to Santiago. We understand how they feel – excited, nervous, will I make it, did I remember my phone charger…

Trinquet is a building in which pelote is played, while a fronton is the wall which the ball is thrown against. Most of the towns have the outdoor fronton and I even saw a house with its own, like having a basketball hoop in your driveway.

How do you get a speeding ticket in a VW van?!? I have one and it only goes like 20 km/hour. (Well, right now it goes zero km/hr…hint hint, Ken.)

There 2 routes out of SJPDP to Roncesvalles ” the more popular and more difficult Route de Napoleon, which is closed from November 1 to April 1) or the ValCarlos route, which doesn’t climb as high and is the safer way to cross in winter.

Zazpiak Bat is the gite we stayed at in 2019 but it is also the name of the Basque coat of arms, which I just recently learned.

This used to be a vending machine stop before more services were added in SJPDP. Closed for the season or for good, not sure. Where’s a Twix bar when you need it?

We’re not impressed with this recent desire to plaster stickers on the signs.

This looks exactly like our forest tent caterpillars except it is brown instead of blue.

Here’s the turn. Part of me wanted to continue the 3 km…but my brain and legs flat out refused. Plus we still need to walk back. Hard to think the pass is closed when I’m walking in a tshirt but the weather up there is unpredictable and can change very quickly.

The beginning of the unforgiving ascent.

As usual the 2 dimensional picture does not at all show the actual slope which was a real wake up call of reality as we recall. Good thing we have the choice to turn around this time.

Spotted dead nettles. They’re not dead, that’s just the name. Lovely flowers on a nasty plant. Nettles have been our one constant companion on this walk, starting in England.

Oof. I think I can make it up. I think.

And here they come, looking for a handout. Sorry, babies. I have nothing and we shouldn’t feed you anyway.

Passion fruit. They have the most beautiful blossoms when in bloom but I don’t think this fruit is edible.

I would absolutely get this for Scott if I could. A cheese Advent calendar! 24 days of different local cheeses.

It’s not the real thing. Euskola! 🎼🎵🎶 but Scott says it tastes good.

Turns out our first train for tomorrow is cancelled…because it’s France and we decide not to run trains or not open a store when we say we are going to because…well, just because. The boys get pretty frustrated. We’ll have to see if the pilgrim office can help with an alternate way to get to Bayonne.

I also talked to the pilgrim office today about the cat, and I can drop off the cat food and bowls I’ve bought there and they will feed my kitty. I told them that she is a pilgrim too. The one lady said she feeds it also. The volunteers switch out every week but I prefer to think they will continue to care for her. I left enough food for a few weeks.

Time to wrap our heads around the fact that the majority of our walking is over. We are going to be tourist for a couple of days, rent a car and drive along the Camino to Santiago to pick up Antonio. We’ll begin walking again on the 125 km extension from Santiago to the Atlantic.

We sent Ken off to find a baguette for breakfast while Scott scrambled eggs and made home fries. Ken also came back happily with a take out coffee which is very hard to find here.

First order of the day was to attend the Remembrance Day ceremony.   The ceremony was quite a bit different than at home.  There was no 2 minutes of silence and only one very short speech by the mayor who hoped for peace in the future. There were trumpets as the French flag was raised but no Last Post. The most poignant part was having local school children read out the names of the fallen soldiers – from the two World Wars, Algeria and Indochina.  They finished with the French National Anthem Le Marseillaise.    Before the ceremony I planted a small Canadian flag with a poppy. 

Ken struck up a conversation with a local named Christian who guided him through the ceremony plus suggested Ken read a book about 2 Resistance heroes – he emailed the name to Ken later, which was very good of him.

I was proud of myself for walking by this interesting looking store several times and never once going in. Heavy sigh.

We finally get some crepes – i sent mine back for Chantilly (whipped cream) when I saw Scott had some on his.  Ken had choco-orange and I had salted caramel and Scott had chocolate almond. Vive le Nutella!Ken says I was envious of Scott’s chantilly and that I actually whined at the waiter for some whipped cream. This is very untrue.

Whale beer. They had its story in English on the label – Newfoundland is portrayed as a legendary island on the Canadian coast, the sacred land of Basque fisherman. I’ll have to research that a little more. So interesting to find these unexpected snippets of connection to Canada.

The look of a man who has just levied a zinger of an insult on his wife and has yet to realize that retribution will follow shortly.

A walk along the river where we saw European kingfishers, which are half the size of the ones at home and the most beautiful metallic turquoisey-green colour.

Back up the steep hill to home.

A different cat on the stairs but you can’t approach it.  Ken decided to go up these stairs, despite the fact they were gated, convinced he could access the Citadel above.   Almost but no cigar. He said there was about 10 feet of brambles and roses and nettles you would have to crawl through. In the meantime,  he chased the cat up. You can barely make it out at the top of the stairs.

Very friendly and helpful volunteers in the pilgrim office. The office is open all year and in peak times they help as many as 2500 pilgrims in a week. They had 32000 in 2024. More than 500000 pilgrims have been arriving in Santiago in the last few years, but most people only do the last 100 kilometers to get their Compestelle certificate.

Ken says I fit right in with this tour group of older people.

The municipal refuge for pilgrims. 15 euro a night for a bed in a dorm (bring your own sleeping bag) and access to a kitchen.

That’s our place below with the brown walkway. Ken climbed the stairs beside the fence.

We’ve walked up to the citadel which has a long 1000 year history of castle, military base at various times, refuge for 600 Basque children from Spain during Spain’s civil war, and currently a secondary school.

Ken checking out the top of the stairs he had climbed.

European robins are sooooo much cuter than North American robins.  Little chirping fluffballs. Their singing has brightened up many of our walking days.

Squinting into the sun.

Leftover bolognese sauce on rice with a salad. I have to say Ken and I have eaten far better on this trip than we normally would have by having Scott the Chef along. Ken is actually happy despite what it looks like.

I’ve used up all the cat food I had so I have to make a run to the grocery store first thing in the morning.  This little cat is very demanding and sleeps in the grass outside the door.  Many stores were closed today as Remembrance Day is a public holiday here – although I have to say the crowd was very tiny at the ceremony. But there was a church service a few kilometers away so maybe more people went to that.

Mom! Ken cursed me and wished 10000 years of darkness on my bloodline.

Ken says he spent a lot of time muttering to himself on this walk.

Scott:  Ken spent a lot of time muttering “waaah” to himself.

Scott accusing Ken of going “waaaaaah” has been a running joke on this walk.

Will it ever end?

I had originally booked an apartment for 3 days but we got here a day early and the apartment was not available. We stayed somewhere else, had to be out by 930, then had to kick our heels with our packs until we could get into the next place at 300 pm.

The view from our window the first night.

The dramatic end to a very long walk!

After getting a coffee about 0.08 m (ie right next door) from our hotel, because we have learned coffee keeps Ken happy, we sat Ken on a park bench and headed next door to the market.  Monday is market day here and then the vendors move to a new town each day during the week.

I admit to buying a lot of this very expensive nougat to bring home. It is so good. He’s cutting up the salted caramel but we also got the mandarin orange and pistachio one.

Um???

We also bought a chunk of sheep cheese. Very yummy. You could get fat just visiting all the cheese vendors and eating their free samples.  And apparently berets are an actual thing in Basque country as we saw many men wearing them. They weren’t very common elsewhere in France anymore. Ken refuses to get one even though he’s half French.

Just loved watching this little girl playing while waiting in line to pay for my bag of apples and one turnip. Hey, Ken likes raw turnips. I hafta get veggies into him somehow!

Scott hit the cider stand.

Ken amused himself on the merry-go-round, much to the chagrin of this little girl who was waiting for it.  I took a turn too.

This gate is the official start of the Camino Frances to Santiago.

For Ethel.

Every pilgrim on the Camino recognizes this bridge.

La Porte d’Espagne – you walk through here to begin your Camino.

Pelote court.

She is our new little friend, a stray who showed up a couple weeks ago, according to the neighbour. We are literally across the street from the Pilgrim office and I asked about it there, as she seems to hang around the street by it. They said she was a stray and they feed her sometimes because she is so skinny. I contacted the local shelter but haven’t heard back yet. I’ve been feeding her (of course).

We watched these three planes race each other. One of them is decidedly faster than the others, then a fourth showed up. All likely heading to the south coast of Spain.

The pilgrim office.

Eggs are not refrigerated in France (as they are unwashed so don’t need to be) and you have to search the store to find them. Sometimes they are by the sugar, or maybe the milk, most of which is not refrigerated either as its UHT processed. They come in packs of 6 and in this store there was also the option of choosing your own eggs… From a wide selection of the same sized same colour eggs. Go figure.

It’s Christmas season already here.

Back home to our apartment we go with our load of groceries (and more cat food). Scott has been doing all the cooking on this trip whenever we have a kitchen.  And I am not complaining. Tonight was fresh pasta with a red wine bolognese sauce and a cucumber-onion salsa. But first we have to make it past the speed signs.

A quiet evening with the luxury of a washing machine but also an actual dryer, the first we’ve seen. Time to catch up on the blog!

Well. This will be our last day of walking in France as we are set to arrive in St Jean Pied de Port, the end of our French pilgrimage, with one more stage in Spain to come.

This is the earliest we’ve gotten on the road in the morning, before 830 am.  Since Richard was having brekkie at 730 am, we felt we had to as well. Heavy sigh.  But the day promised to be sunny and warm, not a raindrop in sight.

The view from the dining room was not too shabby.

Backpacks are often left in a separate room and if you can take them into the bedroom, you never put them on the beds. We’ve never had an issue with bed bugs but they can be a problem on the Camino in Spain when thousands of pilgrims are walking and staying in the same albergues and carrying the bugs with them.

Ken and Richard, our #2 pulgrim. He was walking from his house about 50 km from Le Puy, which is the start of the Camino we joined yesterday. He’s on his way to Santiago, so only another 820 km to go for him.

Our pilgrim hosts for the night.Guillaume prepares and eats dinner with the pilgrims and serves ice cream and compote for dessert…which he says he no longer eats after the 200th time. They have room for 8 pilgrims and he serves hundreds over the course of a year.

The house where we slept.

We couldn’t believe the number of airplane contrails in the sky. Well, I guess, where else would they be but in the sky?!? But so many.

Don’t we look tall and skinny?

The trail took us through someone’s yard.

Ken figured I would be too frightened to go over this little bridge. That’s a little insulting.

At first we thought Ossy had followed us but then realized it was a different but identical looking dog. We saw many similar dogs….turns out Ossy is an Icelandic sheepdog but most of the Basque dogs we’ve been seeing are skinnier versions of our border collies (according to Guillaume).

Hello, hill. I see you. You don’t frighten me…much.

The boys were going to walk right by this place but I read the signs and realized this was a basic pilgrim refuge (used to be part of an old mill).  It contained 4 bunks, a table and a clothes drying rack. No running water that I could see but we didn’t go around the back to check and, given that it’s on a highway with houses around, there is likely a washroom/outhouse in the back.

Not the best picture but all the sheep in this field had very curly horns.

Rescuing another gigantic worm from certain death by car and / or dehydration by sun. The small things become important on these walks and everyone deserves a chance, even an ugly worm.

A small town with a pelote court.

I’m very cute. Give me food. No? Well, phlbbbt to you.

What are you looking at?

This group of walkers, five married couples, overtook us.

The roots on this tree were huge but I also liked the sheep wool stuck to the fence.

Almost two and a half months of walking. Only 7.1 km to go. Bittersweet and I am trying to make the day last. This intersection is where the trail from Lourdes joins up.

I asked Ken to stop so I could take his picture. Not sure he noticed the cattle crossing sign. Hee hee.

No cattle on the road but a small herd of ponies going for a stroll.

The animals come to say hello and Scott obliges.

Bus shelter? Pilgrim shelter? Ken says it’s a beautiful view and it was from where he was sitting. But this is what I saw.

Just having a conversation in the road, sitting on my lawnmower.

Aaawww! Look at the little black-headed lambs! Adorable.

The Basque apparently love their chili peppers as I saw them on a lot of the souvenirs (in St Jean when we arrived).

When we first were going into this hotel/bar/restaurant, this gentleman said if I was hungry the restaurant was open. We only had drinks but when we left, he was snoring loudly and happily in the warm sunshine.

Ken kind of admired the old fellow who was humming a tune as he slowly made his way across the street. Could be him in a few years, he figures.

We haven’t seen a lot of the green, which apparently is the only other colour besides red to use on your house. I do prefer the red.

3.5 km to go!

The very rare blue-butted Pyrannean sheep that we first saw on the Camino Frances in 2019.

The Basque flag.

He’s at least an inch long.

The Snax and teensy out for their photo op on a giant agave.

Poor little DeuxCheveux Dyanne.

They passed us again.

Most of the plane trees we see have been “pollarded” for the winter.  The theory is that it encourages new growth but keeps the size of the tree from getting too big.  In this picture they have grafted branches from two separate trees together to form an arbour.

I was right in front of the church when it’s VERY loud bell rang out and made jump. Having a hear attack caused by church bells was not in the plan!

The walkers would not give me a chance with the burrows.  Grrrr.

How lovely.

Free ducks not destined to be foie gras pate (I hope).

More grafting to join two trees together.

Piglets! Keep in mind we’re in town.  Sad to think they are going to be the “lardon” (type of bacon) that Scott likes so much.

300 metres!

Through 2 1/2 months and about 900 kilometers of laughs and mud and determination and hills and whyarewedoingthis-es and rain and maybe a wee tiny bit of waaahing and sun and more hills, we stand at the Gate of St. Jacques.  Still smiling, still family, still friends, still talking to each other.

We make our way to the Pilgrim Office for our last pilgrim stamp (tampon de Pelerin in France) and explain that no, we are not beginning our Camino like everyone else, but are finishing here, having walked the Francigena Britannica, the Via Campaniensis, and the Voie de Vezelay.  We received many congratulations.

We also met Richard the Pilgrim again at the Pilgrim Office. He needed a place to stay, which the pilgrim office helps with, especially as so many albergues close November 1st. We had an extra bed and offered it to him if he could not find anything.  But he didn’t contact us so presumably he found a bed and is now well on his way to Santiago.

There is more to come. We’ve arrived in SJPDP a little early so are doing some exploring. Then on the 13th we take the train to Bordeaux, pick up a car, then drive to Santiago. We’ll meet Antonio, with whom we will walk the final chapter of the Camino de Santiago – to Muxia and Finisterre, land’s end at the Atlantic.  Ken was too sick to walk this section in 2019 and we drove it but it’s not the same as earning it by walking.  And we will become “peregrinos” instead of “pelerins”.

The morning starts in its usual manner with the usual flurry of insults and bad jokes.

We also left really late, at 1030 am, to avoid the heavy downpour, which in turn makes us come in pretty late to our next bed for the night.

Ken’s fondest wish – do not disturb.

The artisans boulangerie where we pick up our daily baguette. Most older people here still show up in the morning for their daily dose of bread. This place is so popular they had to create a side exit door to manage people and Ken flow.

Our little hole-in-the-wall Chinese food restaurant. Run by one man. He has everything pre-packaged, you choose the items you want, and you either take it home to heat  it up or he microwaves it for you.  It was much better than it sounds and is a popular place in town.

Still raining but not so hard now.

Turn here for your first big climb of the day. Good luck.

They kindly labeled the trees and had little signs along the way…but can’t say I stopped for many of them.

I was only about 15 feet away when this branch came down in front of me.  That would have been an ouchie on the old noggin!

The metal ramp is for bikes. Hikers squish through a narrow “kissing gate” which cows are too big for and sheep are too dumb to figure out.

A wet optimal bench thoughtfully provided about a quarter of the way up.

Curse-worthy mud, but only for a very short section.

We arrive at the top to more lovely views and similar statues to the ones we we saw in the museum in Saint-Palais.   They were titled “reflection of the sky”.  Aptly so as we watched these black clouds slowly roll by in front of us.  Blue sky behind.

That shiny silvery road in the middle of the next hill is where we are climbing next. But first we have to go down.

We’re not in Lac La Biche anymore, Toto.

Don’t worry, Kenny. That hill doesn’t look so bad!

The Stele of Gibraltar represents the junction of three of France’s “grand pilgrimage routes” – Via Lemovicensis  (which we are walking), the Via Turonensis, and the Via Podiensis (the most popular one).

This house is across the street from the stele. What a lovely gesture to have this heartening mural, with the word “ultreia” included. Ultreia is Latin for “further” or “beyond” and is used on the Camino as encouragement. A Latin form of “you can do it, yes, you can”!

And the rain begins again as we start our second climb, but it stops after a few minutes.

Now we know why the road appeared so silvery and shiny from the other hill. It was pure slate almost all the way.

We came down from the top of the hill.

We are heading up to a small chapel on the top of the hill, which i remember from some ofvthe videos I watch about the Voie de Vezelay.   But in those videos there were always a few other pilgrims. I figured it would just be the three of us. But I was wrong.

There was a man from Sweden in the shelter but not a pilgrim. He had obviously been sleeping there. He had a big suitcase, backpack, sleeping bag and what appeared to be a lot of map books.  scott got there first and they had a conversation about hockey and hockey fights and thevfact rhat fans lived the fights. The conversation did get a bit disjointed – he spoke English very well but it went from his plans to go to Barcelona or Madrid to who was the prime minister of canada, whose name he wrote down. I got the impression he was a writer but couldn’t find people with good enough English to review his work. He let me take his picture but didn’t want it out on social media so i am respectingvthat. Ken noticed he had 2 different shoes. At any rate, we gave him all of our fruit, some chocolate, both hard boiled eggs and half our baguette, which he immediately devoured. Good luck and good way, sir. I think you will need it.

This is the Basque cross or “lauburu”. It is an ancient swastika, not to be confused woth the Nazi one. We see it everywhere, especially on their souvenirs.

And now we go down again.

Funeral stone.

I am going to have nightmares about giant worms.

Ken and I were trying to figure out what this is. Maybe a racing pigeon release?

Poor geese, destined for foie gras.

As soon as they saw me, these sheep panicked and escaped their field and ran across the road. But two got left behind and didn’t know how to get out.  They cried and cried and cried very loudly and non-stop. So loudly that a little old man in a tiny old white car came from the village yo see what the pilgrims had done to his sheep.

Morning glories in November! I want to live here.

He was a stealth dog. They wait in hiding until you are right beside them and then they attack. I wonder how many pilgrims he has given heart attacks to.

Our destination for the night.

Ken and Scott had to stop to look at the truck and noticed the pro-Palestine stickers on the van.

I was expecting a traditional chambre d’hotes but our place for the night was geared for pilgrims. There was an actual real live pilgrim staying there as well – Richard. Only the second we’ve seen since we left Reims two months ago.  Luckily, there were enough rooms that we could all have privacy.  

The place is run by a young guy who walked out of his golf course manager job to open up a pilgrim gite.  We were served excellent sausages (luckily they weren’t the dreaded duck), potatoes roasted in duck fat, and a mixture of cabbage and mushrooms (which I politely declined) – Ken loved it.

And best of all, it came with a dog!

We talked a bit about the homeless man in the chapel. Richard said he talked with him a bit but after a while the man (I would guess early 30s) began talking to himself so Richard left him to it. A dose of other people’s difficult realities superimposed over our glib “will we make it over the next hill” reality.  These encounters remind us of how fortunate we are.

After walking almost a straight week on what is becoming increasingly hilly and difficult terrain, it was time for a rest day to give the old tootsies a break.  Scott and I took the opportunity to do a walking tour of the town, which is actually fairly small.

We get plain yogurt at every breakfast so I was pleasantly surprised when mine turned out to be strawberry. Scott was not pleasantly surprised to find was the usual plain yogurt. There was nothing on the packaging to suggest a flavor. Some of the yogurt here has an unpleasant stringy texture which we disguise with too much jam.

The Basque architecture is becoming very prominent but mostly i was taking a picture of the guys from the fish place outside with their huge pans. I managed to get closer on my way to do laundry.

Looked like paella. They were also cooking up mussels and a third pan of something unidentifiable.

He lives on the corner of a very busy intersection but somehow knew to stay off the road. An attention seeker, which Scott was happy to provide.

Never turn down a chichi / churro. But the dont use cinnamon here, only sugar…and the ubiquitous Nutella for dipping.

Today, I learned about a game called pelota born here in the Basque country and equivalent to hockey in Canada as a cultural game. The game itself is similar to racquetball but the racket is not flat but is curved so that it can cup the ball. The playing space is called a trinquet and the wall where you smash your ball is called a fronton. If you’ve heard of jai alai, it grew out of pelota.

Every large river had a series of mills along the river…the buildings on the right.  They’ve now had apartments built on top.

I saw these pink pigeons painted all over town but I never learned the significance of them, unless they were for October Rose month?

This area changed hands many times and for about 300 years, this was the seat of kings and thus there was a mint here.  I always appreciate the signage in English even in the small towns. They want to reach as many people as possible in sharing their history.. Pisses me off that Quebec refuses to use any English even in their museums.

I’ve happily crashed weddings before but this time I inadvertently went into the church just before a funeral.  There were a few people talking around the gate but my first clue was the guest book by the door.   But they were just opening up the church so I went in anyway to light my candle.  The church altar area was beautifully painted with a gilt design that I had never seen before.

I thought it best that I light this candle for the Maman for whom the funeral was.  As a note, we happened to be walking by after the service and the bells began rolling, so slowly…and so melancholy. I just had to record them but pointed away from the church.

Close by was a black pilgrim statue, similar to one we’d seen in La Coquille.

I told Scott that his Christmas gift to me would be to help Ruth and me build these insect homes for our yards. But don’t tell Ruth – it’s a surprise!

The tourist office is also the entrance to a garden, museum and the 30-bed pilgrim refuge (closed for the season).

These prints by a local artist were all from dried plant parts.

Not the best photo but we saw a lot of these European robins. Much cuter than our robins.  He was in the garden courtyard of the museum.

I wish I could have captured this better. In all my years of visiting museums I have never seen a more beautiful mural depiction of a timeline of history. It wraps around the walls of a long rectangular room and start with pre-man and ends with modern pilgrims and “time yet to come”.

The World War 2 section represents people escaping over the Pyrenees into Spain.

Wooden pilgrim statues. The towns we are passing through have been important stopping routes for pilgrims for centuries.

Typically walking stick for support and warding off wild animals and brigands plus gourds for water.

The grocery store has photos of the local producers who supply their goods. Great idea for supporting local.

There are still signs of Basque tensions, with the French name of Saint Palais painted over, leaving only the Basque.

We had walked to the grocery store the night before in torrential rain and along a very busy road, and I was the recipient of a lovely big splash of muddy water on my newly washed pants.  Yay. At least tonight it was only mildly damp.

A Compestelle brass plaque embedded in the road. Two Caminos meet in this town.

Le poisson shop…

Two of these greyhounds live in the hotel. They were extremely interested in our bag of Chinese food.

The view from our room.  Tomorrow we walk again. What hills will Scott predict for us???

Jeremy stamped our passports for us. He works from home and actually delayed his morning ZOOM meeting so we wouldn’t have to be so rushed in the morning. Every place has their own unique pilgrim stamp – Jeremy’s is based on the palm tree in his yard.

Go left then right then down. Then you can walk around on the road or take the stairs.  Or…wait across the street for a while and a bus will take you straight to Saint’Palais.  I think Ken actually considered it for a minute!  Or maybe 2.

This is one of the saddest most poignant war memorials we’ve ever seen, comparable to Vimy Ridge, both with heart-rending depuctions of a woman’s grief. The other is in Jougne, France, which we saw on the Via Francigena, which included grieving children – the only with children I have ever seen.. Mostly, the cenotaphs are just tall pillars with the names of the soldiers, and with no recognition of the lives left behind that are changed forever.

Sauveterre is on the edge of a ridge -we are starting to get into the hills. The views are…indescribable.

Which way do we go?

I thought these were the scary stairs Jeremy was referring to…but no…

These bananas are starting to bear fruit. Oh, to live in a land where bananas grow!

The legend is that back in thec1300s the queen was accused of murdering her husband the king, or maybe it was her son she murdered. In anger, the villagers tied her up with stones and threw her in the river. But magically she turned up alive three arrow shots away from what used to be the drawbridge and was forgiven and lived happily ever after.

There’s a cafe now built on top of the castle. Not sure if the queens ghost is still living there happily ever after.

Many of their campgrounds have somewhat permanent trailers on them. This park seemed particularly well kept.

Turns out these are the scary stairs (or lack therof) that we were warned about. But as we are always happy to save a few steps androgen handrail was sturdy, up we went.

My friend Kendra will appreciate these guys.

Our first sighting of a road sign pointing to St Jean Pied de Port   our end point.

We are starting to see more farmer protest upside down signs again.  We walked first through champagne vineyard country, then cows, then wine vineyards and from Limoges it was all corn and nothing but corn for several days.  These upside signs were not in vineyard country, only farming villages.

The red line means you have left town. In case you couldn’t figure that out for yourself when the town disappeared behind you.

Flat. Corn. Nuff said.

Early rest in a church foyer.  Bit of a break from the grinder walking.

Jeremy told us this river is the contemporary boundary of the Basque region. We would see different architecture of houses white with either red or green shutters.  The Basque region straddles the border between France and Spain. The Basque people have their own very distinct language and culture and historically there has been much tension between the Basque and their neighbours. Signs here are posted both in French and Basque.

Every once in a while, at least once a day, we come across a handful of fruit trees which have been planted by the regional Pilgrim Association. The intent is that the trees will provide fruit for passing pilgrims in the future. Now that’s progressive thinking and is reminiscent of the greatness of men who plant trees that they know they will never sit in the shade of (or something similar – I’m too lazy to Google it!)

The trees are all labeled and are heritage varieties of apples, plums and pears.

Cheery decided to hang out with this cute little ladybug. But alas, these holiday romances never last and we had to move on.

Are you coming or what?

Plants are so tenacious, growing right out of the walls.

I am always rescuing snails and worms and slugs from the dangers of the road. I also pick up empty snail shells and bring them home because I am just weird that way. I thought this shell was empty because it was upside-down but he was still alive. So I set him right-side up and sent him on his merry way. Once snails are tipped over they will die unless some Canadian pilgrim takes pity on them as they cannot right themselves.

We’re not going over that hill, right?

The worm castings are huge here, as are the worms that made them. Some of the worms are over a foot long. Scott says they are annelid worms as opposed to nematodes – always a lesson from that.

Lunch time. And a much needed rest as we had just climbed down and up a very steep slipper slope – it’s pretty tiring, although you don’t notice the length or pitch of the hill so much when you are concentrating on not losing your footing.  This wasn’t quite as bad as yesterday, though, when the trails was deeply rusted, muddy and slippery and generated many curse words on my part!

This marks the original boundary where 3 kings met to decide on boundaries 100s of years ago. It is difficult to keep all the history straight and violent remember these lands were fought over and disputed for centuries.

Ken insisted that I insert this picture of a snake.  No longer alive. Actually, never alive.

Houses are changing but while they may differ a little in size or shape, they are all definitely made in the same colour scheme.

This pony (?) came running across the field and complaining very VERY loudly. We then realized all 3 of his buddies had escaped and he was left behind with the boring sheep.

This guy was also braying very loudly. The house was right there but I doubt anyone was home or they would have come out to see what all the noise was about.

Hi.

Aw, they were rubbing noses! 

While I was petting one, the other was nibbling at my pack, probably sniffing out the apples and carrot that I had. Very typical pickpocket strategy – one distracts while the other grabs and runs.

Cemetery kitty. I carry a can of cat food for strays. This guy looked a little too sleek to be a stray but I would have fed him anyway. Except the can was buried in Scott’s bag so…no food for the kitty. But there is a house beside the church and a farm across the road so I’m sure he’s taken care of.

We always carry apples and oranges and sometimes carrot, which I peel / cut up before we leave in the morning for easy access during the day. Plus baguette, chocolate, cheese if we can, and waffles and Milka wafers.

Sometimes the history here is only a few decades ago, not centuries.  A highly decorated soldier / parachutist who died in the French Indochina war in Vietnam  (long before the United States got involved).

We see a lot of these round markers protected inside church entry ways. They are funeral stones, but whose grave they were marking has been lost to time.

Coming into Saint Palais our track turns into flat trail built on a misused railway line.

The old train station.

Vehicles don’t slow down just because they are in a town.

Always happy to arrive and tomorrow is a rest day. Yay!