Here in this first pic is the cliff that may have been the end for me! And the kind, fellow pilgrim who became my guide.
I know its kind of hard to tell from this pic below but this is the side of the white van that suddenly appeared out of the fog on the hillside when we were approaching the French/Spanish border. I was so cold at that point and probably a little discouraged at how hard the climb was and how much longer we still had to go. Then these crazy French men are suddenly there, parked on this grassy knoll alongside the trail, serving hot coffee and manchego cheese and snacks right out of their van. As you can see, they were also keeping a tally of the demographics of the pilgrims coming through that day. By country. It appears I was the 15th American seen that day, but the French and the Spanish outnumbered all the others...
Below is the alburgue (pilgrim hostel) in Roncevalles, which is the destination of Stage 1 when you start the Camino in France. This alburgue is the old one, there is also a brand new one which many prefer, but I liked this old monastery. Like all of the municipal alburgues, you have to carry a pilgrim credential to enter, you have curfews and exit hours and house rules you need to abide by and you get woken at 6am by the lovely sounds of priests chanting (not all of them have this, but Roncevalles did).
I was gifted (another gift) by the house host with a towel (a highly valued commodity) since I had forgotten my travel towel at the last alburgue where I had stayed the night before. The hosts learned of my unfortunate situation and later came to me with the prized gift, telling me it was mine to keep.
I tell you, these very special things happened EVERY day of the Camino. Magic!
