A short walk from the Estacion Tren took me across a river - or a what looks to be a river but could be a man-made waterway to the sea. The bridge was breathtaking as was all of the architecture. Sadly, not so much of it shows up in photos at night, so you're going to have to Google it for yourselves.
I headed straight for the Hotel Maria Christina - huge and imposing on the seawall. Sort of like marching into the Banff Springs at midnight, as it turns out. I had the presence of mind to ask how much a room would be, and was saved the embarassment of turning away in shock when the kind senorita told me that they were completo for the night. No room in that inn. I asked if she could direct me elsewhere and she marked some relatively nearby streets on a tear-away map that had other hotels. No rooms. Sorry, senora. No room for you. Complet. Completo. Full for the Anglais too stupid to figure out the first two words. After about 10 I decided that the trend was pretty well all over.
The reason: The Donastio San Sebastián International Film Festival. My Nordlys friends might want to look that one up. Just down from the Maria Christina another imposing building had the red carpet all rolled out. Very impressive. A lot of well dressed people walking the streets. A lot. Young, middle aged and slightly passed middle aged. If Spain has a depressed economy, it was not evident in San Sebastián last night.
So, what to do? As there were no stables at hand, I did what any person who has learned to do hard things would do. I walked around. And around. There were about 5 well lit bridges which I got to know fairly intimately over the course of six hours, and the waterway that they crossed. People were fishing in the waterway as the tide came in and the water level rose. Festival goers switched from movies to dancing at clubs. Polizia set up a check stop. (I saw the police twice - always in huge groups of 10-12; I personally would have felt a bit safer had they been sprinkled around a bit more.
I watched a photographer do some wedding shots on the wall near to the beach and the 'big' building that may have housed the majority of the cinema goers.
The far side of this bright thing proclaimed the 61st Festival de San Sebastián (it took me awhile to clue in that it was a film festival).
The first couple of hours I had a lot of architecture to take in. The second couple of hours I was kind of preoccupied with thinking I'd like to rest but not really discovering any good or relatively 'safe feeling' place to do so. The last couple of hours were just an endurance thing to keep moving, stay warm (it was about 15 C and damp) and make it to 6 ish when I hoped some cafe might open up. My most serious issue was needing to pee.
I made another loop (about the sixth) back to the train station and lo and behold, they were opening it for automated ticket sales. I paid 1,60 for a ride to the end of that line, which is Irun, and hoped for the best.
The result of that decision was determined about 15 minutes later. A ten minute ride and a 10 minute best coffee, orange juice and pastry I think I've had for some time after my night as a homeless vagrant. Then the ticket office opened and the kind Spanish Senor did his best to explain to me that if I wanted to go to Bayonne, I needed to walk about 3 blocks to a different station with a different line. To Hendaye. Or Hendaia. Spelled both ways, and pronounced two different ways, depending if you are French or Spanish. Just more confusion for one sleepy Anglo. But it got figured out after all - I hadn't walked to Hendaye.aia ... I had just walked to the station that would take me there. Once that was made clear by the less patient Spanish fellow at this station, I boarded another train for another short ride. Then I tried to buy my ticket to Bayonne. Wrong again. Walk off of that platform and to the Garde - now I am in France. Immediately shift gears into bonjour and merci ... and that's about it, although I can usually hear and figure out a bit better the gist of what is being said to me in French.
[As I write this, I am stunned to think that that all took place about 12 hours ago. It's been a full day.] In the French station, a woman wearing a backpack was in front of me in the ticket line and also an older one behind me - same gear. I got the sense that I was getting closer to the Camino, Turns out the one in front was just done doing a different Camino route (she'd done St. James more than once in the last few years) ... the best thing, though, was that she was from Perth and for the first time since I left Heathrow airport, I relaxed into a conversation with only one miscommunication - when she asked me if I had any pigs. My clueless look caused her to clarify - "clothes pigs". Pegs. Well, I had a couple, but she gave me her little bag with 3 more and some new earplugs (part of my lost luggage) so I was very grateful for those.
Trip to Bayonne fairly straightforward, nice to be traveling in the day and beautiful countryside. I found is striking how the French boarding the train looked so stereotypically French, as the Spanish, for the most part, had looked stereotypically Spanish. Yet, a distance of a very few miles created this distinction. Most prevalent in the over 40 set, now that I reflect upon it. I wish I had a way to take some good candid shots of these characters; photographing with the iPad is not discreet, and the little camera is tempermental and not quick. A little like me.
About 35 minutes to Bayonne on a very nice train - maybe because it's France? Who knows. Then at Bayonne discover that the train for St. Jean Pied-de-Port is leaving immediately! Ticket person says run and just pay on the train, so 2 other women and me do so - board with all the other pilgrims and day trippers ... and I never pay. Guess that happens quite a lot on this little run and they aren't too worried about it.
Beautiful ride to St Jean chatting with two young Korean guys and then we were joined by a young woman from Montreal; studying at McGill to be an occupational therapist and doing a practicum in France. She was delightful and was just checking out St. Jean for the day.
Also met two sisters, one from Surrey, one from Australia, and the 19 year old son of the Surrey sister. Trish, Betsy and Dylan. Very friendly and chatty, but Trish kind of wants to adopt me and I am not really looking for a dysfunctional family to slide into. Saw Betsy on her own and she was griping about Dylan. Later Dylan was griping about his Aunt. And I think Trish would like me along so she could do something other than referee. They are only planning on going about two hours tomorrow, though, and although 5 would be nice for me, I think I will make the 7 to Roncevalles (also spelled Ronceveaux) If only to escape the family fun. I REALLY do hope I'll find some wifi in Roncevalles. Then there'll be a lot of stuff to read all at once ... but only if you want to, remember. There isn't any test.
Outside of the interesting characters, the place is a marvel of ancient. The Citadelle is a massive fortified wall with the slits for the archers to fire at and watch the enemy through. Lots of amazing stone work in walls, in the streets. Brilliant blue sunshine too, but recent evidence of rain. According to the girl from Montreal, the next few days is to be sunny and hot. What luck I have when I hike :) I guess a couple of days ago they weren't allowing people over the pass because of the weather.
This is looking up towards the citadelle, through the church 'gate'. The person walking towards me is at the traditional starting point of the Camino St. James.
One of the "peek-a-boo-I-got-you" holes is visible to the left of this door way.
There are a number of pilgrim hostels here, or albergues. But I am at the Hotel Continental treating myself to a night in a bed (!) with no snoring cohorts around me. It also has a fully pink bathroom that reminds me of Grandma Harder (maybe don't tell her the San Sebastián story, BTW).
I am ready to go. Purchased one cheap walking stick and a cheaper pocket knife. Have enough grub for a quick breakfast and lunch and snacks on the way. None of it dehydrated. Have a map of tomorrow's pass ascent, have my credential stamped. Buen Camino to me!
[Sorry this post is so long ... but that's what happens when you stay up all night, I guess.]
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