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    • 1 ) Darty Mountain Walk
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    • Collooney - Slieve Daeane - Lough Gill - Holy Well. 18th June 2017
    • Circular walk Knocknarea
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  • About Me
17/09/2023
Orisson to Ronscesvalles

An Italian & an Irishman 
and where's me toothpaste?
​
16.9 Km. 819 m elevation gain 4hours 44minutes walking time.

 
Morning time.
I got a fairly decent nights sleep, if there was a snorer in the room I was blissfully unaware. According to my Garmin watch I managed 7 hours and 4 minutes which is very good for me and yet my watch is giving a score of 44 out of 100 tells me the quality was poor….well let me tell you Mr Garmin I feel great and well rested, stick to telling time I tell it. 
 
As the room was small enough and the other 5 occupants all seemed to be a bit more of a rush than myself to get on it with I lay on for a few minutes. By the time I got everything bagged and down to breakfast I’d say half of the residents were either finished or had already headed on up to Roncesvalles. That’s okay, let there be no panic, I’m pretty sure the Monastery will be there no matter what time I arrive. Breakfast was basic but more than adequate , plenty of orange juice, cereal was just about gone, I got half a bowl, and buckets of bread and a decent bowl ( and I do mean bowl ) of strong coffee. Just what a growing boy needs.  ( more horizontally these days )
I set off about 8:40. I timed it so that I set off on my own, I am not the best talker first thing in the morning, but you know what: I more than make up for it at the day progresses. Sher yea have to give your mouth a rest sometime. I had seen Marie and her party and the couple from South Africa but don’t recall seeing the 3 Crazy Spanish Ladies. Not sure if I could handle their energy first thing in the morning.
 
​
​The initial climb out of Orisson is pretty steep, by the time you have gone 1 km you are up 70 meters, never mind not talking….I was struggling to breath and stay alive here….I remember Neil Morrissey passing a comment in a documentary about the Camino somewhere along this stretch of road “ I don’t know about feeling closer to God but I definitely feel closer to death”. I tend to agree with him.
 
Mind you once you have that first km over you it does ease off, you still have to ascend another 750 meters but I don’t recall anything as steep again. Or if there was my legs were possibly too numb and dumb to realise it.
 
Somewhere early in the walk I got talking to the first American Josh I was to meet. We walked together for about 5 km. He had recently finished the Appalachia Trail…..that’s pretty long and a tough enough nut to crack I imagine. An interesting lad but I had to insist he go ahead, I was too slow, he was continuously pausing for me and I being Irish felt unnecessary guilt so tried to keep up with him and by doing so found I was putting myself under needless pressure and it was making the walk uncomfortable. Neil Morrissey’s quote kept coming back to me…...I believe that after about the 7th time of suggesting he go ahead he did so. I was to encounter Josh several times over the next few days.
 
​Just under 8km in there is a food truck: I still had, like most people I image, my sandwich and plenty of water…...however the truck offers coffee and fruit and a chance to sit down and take off the boots for 15 minutes or so, at least that’s what I did. A couple but not many others were doing the same. Here I sat down on a log and  exchanged a few words with a fellow Irishman and an Italian, the latter seemed a bit familiar to me. Time will tell or maybe not. The truck had a hand drawn map of what’s ahead, very doable and less than I thought…...not like there was somewhere else to stop in between here and the monastery anyways. So it had to be done so definitely doable.
So a bit later  with cooled feet and coffeed up I set off again on this beautiful but seriously windy day…..what…..where did this massive wind come from all of a sudden. Now being from the North West of Ireland well wind is part of it all and we are well used to them but this one well let me tell you that when you turned a corner it was strong enough that it threatened to send you back to St. Jean. Maybe Spain did not want anymore visitors from France??????
Mind you the strong wind did not last too long, the closer we got to Spain the more it seemed to relent and let us mosey on…...though….on the other hand (foot) the weather did have another twist in store for us today….but that’s up and then later down the road a bit.
Not much further on, just before I enter Spain, I meet up with the Italian man I mentioned above, his name is Antonio. We sat and chatted for a bit at the last fresh water tap / pump for a bit before moving on. He had been walking with another Irishman, Paul, that we met up with a short time later…..in Spain. I got a very unusual, but good, feeling as I crossed the border: To me it said so many things at the one time. More borders should be like this; no check points, no security guards, no guns, no questions, but people taking photographs of each other and sharing laughs and smiles as they do so. ( I appreciate that that is not the world we live in but wouldn't it be so much better if it was ). I also got another insight into this walk; there is no way I can explain it but as I walked a bit ahead, perhaps for just 10 meters on my own, and in that short space of time I started to feel lighter. Also making the crossing as I am making new friends that brought with it another unexpected but very pleasant feeling, so strange and wonderful at the same time. I say friends because Paul caught up with us soon after my 10 meter alone time. Antonio, Paul and myself shared a bit of the road together as if we were old friends ( yes German, I know I am old. This is a personal aside to a weird friend ).
 
​Somewhere along the way we got separated from Paul, I think he got ahead of us or maybe he was chatting to someone behind us, as you do on this walk. Be that as it may somewhere in that time I got talking to a young lady from Alaska by the name of Crystal and lost Antonio. As we reached the highest point Antonio reappeared, which was nice timing. We had just started the ascent and got the first glimpse of the roof of Roncesvalles Monastery. So as Antonio had done this walk a couple of years back I was able to ask how long until we reached there, about one hour he says. And as Antonio has a few years on me I thought it safe to ask of him how far away the storm was, which was not too far from the Monastery; about one hour he says. Great I thought. Crystal seemed a bit sceptical so decided to stop and put on her rain gear; I trusted that with Antonio’s age came wisdom.
About two minutes later before I could say “how do you put a poncho on in a storm” we were soaked. We had wind, rain and hail by the bucket full ( much like the song I’ll tell me Ma when I get home.)
 
​About two minutes later before I could say “how do you put a poncho on in a storm” we were soaked. We had wind, rain and hail by the bucket full ( much like the song I’ll tell me Ma when I get home.) When I had reached the highest point  which was just a few minutes back I had loosened my boots at the top…..oh no…..as I was struggling to hold onto a poncho that seemed to want to go flying of into the wind I looked down to see over a centimetre of hail wedged in them. By the time I had my poncho issues sorted the inside of my boots were thoroughly soaked…..not just wet but squelch, squelch wet. Last time my boots were so wet I went 2ft into a bog on Achill Head. A friend of mine went into the bog first, I said I’ll help, instead I just joined in her bogged down dilemma….on the plus side we enjoyed a bit of swim in stormy waters accompanied by wind and rain.
A bit like the present: a few steps in soaked boots and yea forget about them and just wander on. The wind and rain didn’t allow for much conversation but I can still see the smiles on Antonio’s and Crystal’s wet faces; what else can you do but smile back.
Another plus side to this situation is that if it’s raining on us it is mostly likely that the sun is shining on someone else.
Ye know what, my Italian friend might have got the timing of the storm wrong; by about an hour or so, he did however get the timing to Roncesvalles spot on; one hour.
Ye win one ye lose one.
 
​I arrived into the Monastery shortly after Crystal and as we joined a nice sized queue to check in we met Oliver, a Monk from France. He had set out on a Pilgrimage from deep within France and it turns out this was his destination, tomorrow he would start to make the return. We chatted for a bit and as we neared the desk got separated into two lines. Fortunately Oliver and myself were checked in at the same time and I could overhear that his chance of getting a bed and meal was not so straight forward. What do you know: it turns out I could solve the problem and managed to help in doing so. As I left the foyer heading to the boot deposit room (it’s a thing in the Alburgues, usually an area though rather than an entire room as the case is here ) Oliver asks me if there is anything he can do for me to which I reply of course not and started to continue on my merry way…….oh wait…..after a few steps I done an about turn. I asked Oliver if he could perhaps say a few words in his own time for Jennie and maybe light a candle. Of course he said he would, I was a bit annoyed at myself; I cannot believe I forgot for a moment why I was here.
 
​So now to deposit some wet boots and search for paper of any description to help them dry. Of course all the same was gone but not to worry, tomorrows wet boots are a worry that can wait until tomorrow.
I must say I am seriously impressed with Roncesvalles Orreaga Pilgrim’s Hostel. Not sure of the exact number of bodies that they can accommodate but I think it may be around 260 on three floors. Most of these are on the first and second floors and the bunks are in units of four: two up to down while I was told the basement is more open. The units themselves are open and small but very suitable and well organised with a decent size locker for each bunk, you could easily fit in two 35lt rucksacks, on check in you are supplied with a disposable sheet and pillowcase, and the I found the bunk itself very comfortable. I’ll note here that I did not have a bad nights sleep on this walk, and I am not the best sleeper.
As I walk towards what it turns out is not my bunk on the second floor I find everything so clean, including the hallways, staircases and bathrooms, and they have to turn over this place every day, week in week out. Very nice. So I arrive at my bottom bumk that I claim but is not mine, I am the first of the four bodies, ten minutes later as the other bodies arrive I am made aware of the fact that I am part of the quartet next door. So as I move I find that the bunk above me contains Paul that I met earlier in the day…...another ten minutes on I find this extremely handy as I now do not have to ask a total stranger for some of their toothpaste…..must of left it on top of my camera.
Teeth pasted, showered up and dry clothes I head out. I was on a two part mission.
 
Mission Part 1)
My first port of call was to the Church. I wanted to light a candle for Jennie and say a few words. It was very quiet when I called in, not just because it was empty of people, but it had that comforting stillness that can be found in places of worship, though I should add is not necessarily found in all churches.
Since she had told me her news a little less than 2 years ago I had kept my emotions in check, I had then and still have reasons for doing so, these reasons have absolutely nothing got to do with machoism, bravery, denial or anything similar, I just feel not releasing them was necessary then and for now continue to do so as I am now back home writing this.
 
I feel it is different on this walk.
Back in St. Jean I had experienced a trickle that I very quickly put a stop to…….well there was no putting a stop to what happened in the church, I usually tend to go back a few pews but stayed in the front, after all I had the church to myself, lit my candle and to put it simply: Balled like a child. The release was overwhelming, there is no other way to say it, that is the way it happened and that is what I done. About two minutes after I started I felt rather than heard someone enter, so I slowed myself down, gulped a lot of the still air into me and wiped my eyes.
I genuflected and made my way out of the church: to say I felt so much lighter or relieved is an understatement.  Well onto the second part or the mission.

 
​Mission Part 2)
Which bar to go to. It was an easy choice. As I walked out of the Monastery I made for the one in my line of vision. I ordered a brandy and beer and sat outside, usually I enjoy my drink but in this case my head was elsewhere and do not remember tasting anything. Half way through my wandering mind the rain returned ( might as well be back home ) so finished up and made my way back to the Albergue to relax for a bit before dinner.
 
The rain had other ideas. It got so heavy so fast I had to seek shelter beneath the entrance to the Monastery. As I waited there I was joined by two other Irish lads. We chatted for a bit ( the heavy rain lasted close on 10 minutes ). During the conversation they asked me if I knew the lad in the Mayo jersey sheltering in the next archway? I did not. His name was Patrick and was at that stage of life where while no longer a teenager was struggling with being an adult. I did meet him later; a nice genuine chap.
The lads told me that he had hurt himself on the walk down to Roncesvalles; he had chosen the left path. He had been walking with a young woman who he had met earlier and she was determined to take the more difficult path ( the thing is she is a super fit cross county, mountain, fell runner ), like any red blooded young man, Patrick obviously thought if you can do it so can I.  Well he was right, he could do it and did, unfortunately not without consequences which in his case was straining his groin or dislocating a hip in the process. I am not sure for him it is the and hope for his sake it is not the latter; been there, done that, got the T-shirt, and after 2 years of slight dislocation threw the T-shirt away and hopefully will never see it again.
 
​Between rain showers I eventually got back to the shelter of my bunk, I remember checking my watch: just over an hour and a half to dinner time.  Off with the sandals lay on the bunk and closed my eyes,…... wasn’t working, twiddled my toes…...three minutes later and I gave up….time to perhaps try the other bar. Wait…...I hadn’t tried twiddling my fingers, gave it a go…..yep the bar was looking like the best option.
Not long later and I’m ensconced in the corner of the bar, Casa Sabina, it’s pretty comfortable, not what we would be used to in Ireland but it is a corner seat and it’s a bar….go figure….. I order a beer and when I go to pay for it…..Patrick of the Mayo jersey….it turns out he is from Cork, has already paid for it. The company of around 6 bodies that he is in invite me to join them, I politely decline, my head is not in the mood for so much new company at this moment in time.  We talk from bar corner to their booth and break off the conversation as the bar gets busier.
It is then that I get chatting to Orla from the North West of Ireland as she is calling her drink. I leave the comfort of the bar corner and join herself and her friend on the patio, to me that is a bit of a deal, I do love the corner of a Bar. As we are chatting I call for another drink……I go to pay for it but who has already done so but Patrick with the Mayo jersey who is from Kerry; or is it Cork? Then again does it matter where any of us are from?  Though being from Sligo I do struggle with the concept of anyone wearing a Mayo jersey that is not from the county…...seriously …..why?
Patrick joins us for a bit, as I mentioned earlier he is a genuine chap. I am looking at the way he his holding himself and am further convinced that he may have done damage to his hip ( that said the only doctorate or certificate I possess is in Whisky tasting; that is a fact ).
If it is, while he may be able to walk, the longer he does so without getting it relocated the more nerve damage he will likely cause.  Haven’t got a certificate for that but still have the memories.
After chatting for a while we go our separate ways for dinner. When you check in you are given the option of getting a pilgrims dinner and / or breakfast. I had simplified life and gone for both. There is no shop to speak of here so it made sense. I had taken a 7pm dinner and was given a card for La Posada de Roncesvalles where I had my drink earlier while I was having breakfast in Hotel de Roncesvalles.
Dinner was good, for the life of me I cannot remember what I had but it obviously done the trick as I am still alive several weeks later. Once ( thank you Crazy Spanish Ladies ) I mentioned “No Como Carne” the lady serving me said something that sounded similar to a speeding train that was not slowing down until it passed itself.  I just answered Si, Gracias. As you can gather I am not a foodie but I do tend to remember what I drink, at least at the beginning of the night anyways. In this case it was a very pleasant clear liquid that we will call water and un vino tinto, muy buen.
I was seated at a round table of perhaps 11 or 12 bodies. To my left was Sarah and her partner Brian from the U.K. and to my right Joan and Mike from the U.S.
I reckon there was 120+ diners and with everybody talking, eating, clinking glasses there was not general conversation at most tables but rather 3 or 4 separate ones, very much like Orisson last night. For the hour and a half I was there I chatted separately to Sarah and Brian and at different stages with Joan and Mike.
Sarah was here as she felt it was the right thing to do, I met so many people of this walk, every day I spoke to at least 5-6 people, as in had conversations. I never asked why they were here, for the short length of time I spent in Sarah’s company I felt she was here as a pilgrim. Brian made no bones about it: walking not really my thing and neither is religion, however Sarah wants to do it and asked me along. At the end of the meal as we are having coffee I shared in part why I was here. She pulled me in close and said what came across as a very personal prayer, I was pretty touched. Although there was 100+ people around us what Sarah said and the way she imparted the prayer to me we might as well have been in a church or an empty field. I’ll never forget that feeling.
Obviously I welled up again, however somethings I can control so I put that on hold for now.

​Earlier I had chatted to Joan and Mike. He was doing okay but she felt she may have done something to her knee. She thought she may have twisted it somewhat and while it wasn’t too painful she was worried about it becoming an issue as the days went by. Obviously she did not have a knee brace and most likely it would be Pamplona before she could get one which was 2 days hike away. It turns out I had one and had worn it for perhaps a day and half maybe 6 years ago. I offered it to her and would catch up with them in the monastery. Joan was worried about how she could return it to me if she took it: no need; if it works for you use it as long as necessary and then if she felt it was not longer needed  perhaps leave it in a reception in an Albergue down the road, someone else may benefit from it.
Two days ago, about 2 or 3 hours before getting the bus from Sligo I packed my gear. As I was going through the chest of drawers I came across this knee brace which I had forgotten about, I also had an ankle brace that was definitely coming along as I had done a bit of damage to mine in Galway recently. The knee brace though….don’t need it…..back in the drawer it went. A minute later and I have it back on the bed again….30 seconds later it was back in the drawer…...then it dawned on me; ye know I’m thinking I took it out for a reason; if I don’t need it then there is a chance I could come across someone who will and what do you know, 2 days later along came Joan.
After the meal was over I joined Sarah and Mike for a drink in the hotel bar, they left for the land of nod and I decided to indulge in another.
Back in the monastery I met up with Oliver, took a bad selfie of us for Jennie, and tracked down Joan to pass her on the knee brace.
As I made my way towards my bunk I realised I had an hour before lights out. Time for a final drink so back to Casa Sabina. I have been in this hamlet for a few hours and already feel that the corner in this bar was in part moulded for me. I manage a couple of beers and a regular brandy, of the latter they are very generous with, so much so that it just called for a second.
With ten minutes to spare I head back, as I enter I notice a lot of activity in the boot room. Apparently a group of Americans had raided the toilets for the loo rolls and were in the process of stuffing their soaked boots with same…..it was a strange way to end the night but I felt compelled to join in.
What a day, what a night, sleep tight folks.
 
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