Love at Spain's Iron Cross

19 - Pyrenees

19

Pyrenees

Tuesday, June 1

Makena, Delta, and Bayou woke up early. They were ready to leave just after seven, beginning their first day of hiking at sunrise. St. Jean was socked in by fog. It would be a long day over the mountains but they were prepared for this. As they left their albergue, they saw a woman going in the opposite direction. They remembered her, a Japanese pilgrim with limited English and nonexistent Spanish. Makena spoke slowly, "Are...you...going...to...Roncesvalles?" She nodded. Makena pointed in the opposite direction, the correct way for the day's destination on the other side of the Pyrenees.

The other woman said, "Arigato. Thank....you." The trio began to climb, outpacing her. They passed many but all moved slowly. The fog became mist, then turned into rain. They put their ponchos on over their packs. Visibility was poor, only ten feet. Their only views were where to put each next step up the dirt road.

A little after nine, the friends arrived at the village of Orisson, five miles along the trail. They had already climbed over 2000 feet from St. Jean and felt it. Delta pointed to an open restaurant. "Coffee?" The others nodded. They went inside and took off their packs and ponchos.

Makena pulled out her backpacker's quick-drying towel and wiped off her face. Then she moved to the counter and ordered for all three of them, "Tres cafes con leche, por favor, y tres tortillas Espanolas." When served, they each grabbed an order and took it to the table where they had dropped their stuff. A small puddle of water surrounded their wet belongings.

Bayou said, "A little protein and a shot of caffeine makes Americans three all very happy."

"A little tortured grammatically, sis," said Delta. 'But I have to agree with the sentiment and effort!"

Makena smiled.

This is so much better than staying in Seattle and dealing with my feelings alone.

"Thanks, you two. There's nothing that I'd rather be doing right now than being here with my sisters."

All three grinned and clinked coffee cups. In taking stock of their current status, the friends felt okay. Packs had stayed dry and boots seemed wet outside but not inside. Their socks were damp on top but not soaked. So all in all, not bad. They ate, drank, used the restroom, then hefted their packs again. Each carried around twenty-five pounds, including water. Makena felt the weight when first lifting it, but while walking, didn't notice it much.

There were more pilgrims on the trail, and the rain began to ease. Maybe an hour later the clouds began to break up, and in two hours the weather completely cleared. The sun warmed them as they neared the summit and began to walk on level ground at the top. Instead of fog, the view was maybe fifty miles. The Pyrenees stretched far along the border between France and Spain, and rose much higher in the distance. Makena could see snow-covered peaks far away. They got out their cell phones and took several pictures of each other, plus some selfies. They even got two new acquaintances to trade with them, taking shots of each others' groups.

Back on the trail, drier and excited, they felt more social. The twins' reminded Makena she was now their primary translator. So as they came upon others, Makena asked questions. She sort of guessed which language to use first, English or Spanish, depending on their look.

Tourist or local? Kind of my style of profiling, but for a good reason.

They met some pilgrims from France, a couple who resided in Madrid, and a pair of Bulgarians who had almost no ability to communicate internationally. The two Bulgarians often touched the crosses hanging down from their necks. Catholicism was important to them, so much so that they would probably walk for weeks using only the language of gestures and smiles, but they would make it to Santiago.