11.04.19
By the time we arrived in St Jean I was drained. We found our albergue (which we had reserved) relatively easily. It was a very nice and welcoming house. There were eight beds in the room we stayed. Only two other pilgrims. We didn't really speak much that night (my voice was completely gone). The night wasn't great, I could barely breathe and didn't get much sleep.
When I did finally manage to get to sleep the alarm went off (at 6:30).
Needless to say I wasn't in a very good mood. We had breakfast at 7am and set off to the Pilgrim's office at 7:30 to get our first stamp.
Here we were given a list of all albergues on the Camino, along with the advice not to take the Napoleon Route. The weather was cloudy and rainy that morning, making the Napoleon route "too dangerous" to cross. So the Valcarlos route (through the valleys of the Pyrenees) it was.
We split from a lot of the other pilgrims who decided to walk the Napoleon route despite the risks. We had walked about 30 minutes when it started raining. Prepared as I was(n't) the rain cover for my backpack had somehow ended up at the bottom of my pack. A lot of my things, including my sleeping bag got wet in the process of me finding it.
I drank my water very quickly (bearing in mind I still had a fever) since I believed there would be plenty of water taps to refill it.
We stopped for some snacks in Valcarlos but didn't refill our bottles since they were still half full. This would turn out to be an almost deadly mistake.
We walked for hours in the pouring rain and couldn't find any water taps. The path varied from stretches along the road to beautiful wooded areas. We passed a river and (being as dehydrated as I was) I wondered if the water would be safe to drink.
It got to a point where dizziness and exhaustion were so overwhelming that I could only take a couple of steps before having to sit down. On rocks, in mud. I didn't care anymore. Doubt as to why I had persuaded Carolin to come here with me, and why I was even here, started to flood my thoughts.
At one point we sat down on a crash barrier at the side of the road to rest for a few minutes. Another pilgrim (a tall man who looked to be struggling as much as we were) walked past us and did the same a few meters on. Little did we know at the time that this stranger would become one of our closes friends. Perhaps if we had, we would have done things differently that day...
We pushed on. There was no going back.
Then, a ray of hope. I saw a little stream trickle down the side of the mountain. I grabbed my water bottle out of my pack's side pocket and walked over to it as fast as I possibly could. No longer caring if the water would end up making me sick. I needed water. Simple as that.
Thud!
Did I mention that the path was very narrow and that there was a "cliff" edge to the left? No? Well.
I slipped and half of my body was now hanging over the edge of this mountain (literally centimeters away from death).
Strangely enough I wasn't afraid in that moment. I felt a strange calm, peace even.
Carolin grabbed my backpack and pulled me back up.
I sat there, in the stream and pouring rain, for a minute or two. Crying. Exhausted.
We pushed on and, just as I felt my last bit of strength failing, we finally reached Roncesvalles. It took us around 8 hours.
Nothing would prove to be as challenging as this. Nothing would come close. I couldn't believe we had made it! If only just. We made it.
