6/38 Singing in the Rain
Where do I begin to tell about all the jewels that rained on me today?
Keen as French mustard I packed my bag. My initial plan of starting my pilgrimage in St. Jean Pied de Port was not practical. Crossing the Pyrenees on the first day would be tough. Not a good idea for someone recovering from fever and jelly legs. No bus runs the short distance across the pass from St. Jean in France to Roncevalle in Spain. I believed that only in those two places the ‘Credencial del Peregrinos’ would be available, the card that gives access to the chain of pilgrim inns or ‘albergues’ along El Camino. After four days of trying, I finally found an alternative way by bus to reach to Roncevalle.
8:35 a.m., gare de Lourdes. Ready to catch the train, but no such thing as an 8:35 train. The next train is not till 11:13 a.m. Hmmm, what now? Co-incidences have been few so far, so I wondered what the purpose of this dis-connection meant. As I contemplated the question an instant answer came: Hitchhike, as in: beg for your passage to Pau. Nice one! Where did that mission come from and why? Not to save money or time, but for the experience of humility was the immediate answer, just as Buddhist monks are required to go beg just like Buddha did. Teo Baba, the man who I am planning to make a documentary about, did the same. I had plenty of time and nothing to loose but my pride, and an 11:13 train as a backup, so… 
Video still: Jaca cathedral
It had rained solidly all night and morning, but as soon as I stood besides the road to Pau it stopped. Many French drivers turned up their noses as they spotted me by the roadside. I did not bother keeping my thumb up for women drivers, not expecting them to pick-up male hitchhikers. I was wrong.
After about half an hour a Spanish woman picked me up. As soon as I got in the car, the heavens opened again. She asked me where I was heading and why. Telling people about El Camino immediately shifts a polite chat into a deep conversation, she in French, me in French-ish. It was a great ride. In Pau I walked the last bit to the station. It still rained but I was singing, elated that my jelly legs were firming up and my backpack was bearable.
Video still: Jaca cathedral
At the station I saw four people talking over a piece of paper, a ‘credencial’. Pilgrims! They had what I still needed before I could start walking. I asked where they got theirs as I knew of only two places, St. Jean and Roncevalle. “Oh l’Office du Tourisme in Lourdes” they said, the very place I went daily to try to find out how to get to Roncevalle.
My first reaction was damn! Why did I not get one! Hmmm, I recognised an old ‘script’ creeping in. I often have such a reaction, which make me feel inferior, inadequate, lagging behind and stupid. As soon as I realised it was a conditioned response it lost its power over me. I was able interpret the event differently and I no longer felt bad. Instead I saw the whole experience a blessing, as one of the many signposts pointing to El Camino? Maybe I had not missed anything. Maybe I was alerted to the possibility of avoiding a 150 KM detour to Roncevalle. An hour-long wait at the next station in Oloron may be just that opportunity to find a ‘credencial’.
Video still: Jaca cathedral
By the time I got to the tiny station of Oloron, I had totally forgotten about the opportunity. I went for a walk into the old town to kill time with backpack and all. It was very cute, even though everything was closed for lunch and it still rained heavily. Back at the station I realised I had misread the timetable. I had a further hour to wait. Good news or bad news?
This time I remembered the need for a ‘credencial’, no time to feel bad, time to head back into the poring rain, but without my backpack. A station employee happily looked after it for me after he asked with a smile on his face if there anything ‘ticking’ in my pack.
Video still: Jaca cathedral
To my surprise I learned that Oloron was a stop along El Camino! There was an ‘albergue’ here that issued ‘credencials’. I was elated, and I was singing in the rain again; ’Boem si li la, qui la lu, on tutu, Mama dit, Papa poe ala lure” (a cheerful quasi French song created by Dutch comedian Toon Hermans).
Oops it was getting late and I had to run the last bit to the station. I might as well have ran without my rain gear. The perspiration saturated me as much as the rain would have. The rain would have probably smelled better. Out of breath I caught the last bus to Spain. I was sure to have blown my fever fuse by running, but no, I was fine. As I was beginning to dry out, the window fogged over. When I cleared condensation with my sleeve I saw a sign with: El Camino De Santiago. Shivers! I was in a bus on El Camino. I was there. I made it, no need to travel any further. I found myself on an alternative route of El Camino from France into Spain. I was getting the notion that maybe I was being guided… by whom or what I don’t know, but not me, that’s for sure. 
Video still: Jaca cathedral
Maybe another cue to practice surrender the need to plan and control my destiny. My mind took little notice and began to figure out where to start walking, knowing that I had ‘lost’ 5 walking days in Lourdes. Then it dawned on me that I could just get off this bus and start walking tomorrow and worry about making up for ‘lost’ time later. My objective was to walk on El Camino, what better time than now to surrender and start.
The bus terminated in Spain still high up in the Pyrenees just across the pass. It was not only still poring with rain but it had become freezing cold too. No way was I going to start here, I would get sick in no time and I had spent enough time in Lourdes. There was a connecting bus a few minutes later to Jaca at the foot of the mountains, hopefully warmer. I did not let that opportunity pass.
Video still: Jaca cathedral
I fell in love with Jaca, so cute, intimate medieval streets and squares with a robust looking roman cathedral. Tapas bars serving small, tasty snacks, were a welcome relief from the tastless ‘tourist menus’ of Lourdes. Tapas are the perfect meal size for a hypoglycaemics like me. Things were cheaper here too, making me feel less poor. The rain stopped and the sun warmed the last few hours of the day.
I sat down near the cathedral to make my first pastel drawing. The interior was equally inspiring. The solid walls and vaulted ceilings had witnessed, captured and radiated a thousand years of people’s desire to connect with the Divine. I took my camera and with the help of my lens I observed and absorbed, what seemed for ages, the essence of this ancient site of worship. Exhausted but very happy I went to sleep in the ‘albergue’. I was ‘home’, ‘home’! Tomorrow I can begin to walk.
