Day Two: Speak for your supper at Orisson

DAY TWO – 17th May – At Orisson

P in a reflective mood in the open air restaurant at Orisson.

Nothing quite divided opinion as our stay at Orisson. I thought the location sublime. The photo does not justice to the beauty of the hills and mountains that separate or try to separate France from Spain. On walking these marvellous mountains one can see the logic of the Pyrenees being one Province, or Kingdom (of Navarre/Navarra, as it was) without the artificial national border-lines drawn across its lovely hills.

Supper was served at 6.30pm to the entire community. Vegetable soup, followed by some sort of meat and beans, finished off with the most wonderful almond tart that was freshly baked. After dinner we were invited to say who we were and why we were walking the camino. We felt as if we were back in the boy scouts. Which was odd. I had never been in the boy scouts. We met two pilgrims from Ontario Canada who had married two sisters, the O Connors who hailed from Dun Laoghaire – two of a family of seven girls who emigrated to Canada thirty years past.

The overflow of pilgrims was catered for by a tented village behind the main building. Our roommate was an unfortunate German whose face said it all when we invaded his space while he was enjoying his siesta.

For a second night in a row it was lights out at 10.00 pm despite Barry’s best efforts to get some additional wine and start a party

Day Two - The Pyrenees

DAY TWO - 17th May - In the Pyrenees.

Daniel admiring the view back towards St Jean

We climbed for the next three hours, and climbed, and climbed. Daniel was simply obeying his mother when he chose to look after me – the straggler. Five years older than in 2006 and four daily tablets more, so I was determined to climb the Pyrenees and to walk the Camino – at my pace. Others, some younger and some older arrived a full hour ahead of me.

On our way we met and tried to assist Enrique (was it Enrique?) – Well I am sure he was from Venezuela and he was certainly riding a bicycle until he took the sensible decision to get down off the bike and walk up like everyone else.

We had heard of frightening stories of people getting lost in the list the mists of the Pyrenees; of pilgrims falling to their death when taking the wrong turn. Had we not seen The Way starring Martin Sheen?

But today the mountain was to be a pussycat; clothed in emerald green and looking staggeringly beautiful. A German pilgrim asked me if Ireland was not like that? Yes, Ireland is beautiful, I replied, but the Pyrenees are uber beautiful.

Day Two - St Jean to Orisson

DAY TWO - 17TH May – Early Morning in St Jean Pied to Port

Day two - Stage one of eight - only 8km through pleasant countryside - but rising over 2,000 ft - it may be less when measured in metres but we were walking with our feet...

St. Jean Pied de Port in the early morning. The dawn mist slumbers beyond the river Nive.

I rose early – around 6.00 pm and crept out of the hostel. I needn’t have bothered creeping. There were pilgrims already washing, rolling up sleeping bags and packing rucksacks. I walked down the Rue de la Citadelle to find pilgrims already on the march in the early light. St Jean had a magical, almost mystical feel to it. Full of suspense and pious romance.

We had a modest breakfast of coffee au lait and croissants. We left our ruck sacks in the entrance of the hostel at the tender mercies of Jacotrans, the taxi service that would bring our rucksacks ahead every day to our evening destination.

We spent the morning visiting the charming town of St. Jean. People killed time in different ways. Fraser bought a pair of shorts and others bought other essentials – sun cream and toothpaste.

We tried to spread our custom as wide as possible...

We had a simple lunch in a bar across from the Hotel de Ville. People were getting anxious at this stage to be started so we headed off through the Porte D’Espagne and into the foothills of the Pyrenees.

Porte D'Espagne leading out of town and into the Pyrenees, the real start of the Camino Frances. Left at the top of the street and just keep going straight for 800km.

The Murrays arrive at Orisson - eventually!

Supper under the Citadelle Wall

DAY ONE – March 16th – An army marches on its stomach



Barry, Fraser, P and Pat enjoying the first supper.

Before checking into Gite Ultreïa we popped into the local tourist/camino office. The staff were mostly volunteers and could not be more helpful. I decided to get a new pilgrim passport – or ‘Credencial’. Barry decided that his original Credencial would be more authentic. As a result I tried to get a stamp wherever I could and Barry reserved his passport for only the 'more important' stops.

Armed with our camino paraphernalia we checked into Gite Ultreïa – our hostel – situated conveniently on the main street – Rue de la Citadelle where the staff recommended the restaurant across the street. Afraid of nepotism we wandered the cobbled streets of St Jean to find that indeed the restaurant closest to us was probably the best.
We found a trestle table in the Garden which had the Citadelle as its back wall. The odd tourist walked along the walls and inspected our supper.
I had a decision to make – would I stay ‘dry’ for the 11 days? I decided I would and promptly regretted my decision when the waiter brought out a bottle of the local cider followed by a bottle of the local wine which Barry declared as ‘acceptable’. We met a couple dining in the garden who were finishing their camino in St Jean having walked from Switzerland. As we were to discover, there are many ways to cover the camino.

Camino Curfew

DAY ONE 16th March – ‘Time for bed’ – attributed to Zebedee in the Magic Roundabout.



Barry and Pat supporting P in our five star sleeping quarters

Fortunately the photo is silent on what exactly was happening. It may have been punishment for P for his taking the bunk with the highest headroom notwithstanding he was the shortest by quite a considerable margin..

We reckoned it was the first time Daniel had been in bed with lights out at 10.00 since he was 4. It was a strange experience for all of us. One by one we fell off to a gently snoring sleep. We all claim to have been the last to sleep. So at least 3 of us are wrong.

DAY ONE - In the beginning...

Monday 16th May – DAY ONE – the arrival



The photograph shows Pat, Barry, Daniel and Fraser standing at the Porte St. Jacques in St. Pied de Port. Our Camino ‘moment’ of the day arrived when we landed at Biarritz airport to be told that suspicious luggage found in the airport hall had forced the evacuation of the building. We spent an hour on the plane waiting for news. We felt that Mr. O’Leary would not be happy with this.
Fraser, who had arrived 30 minutes ahead of us, was wearing an emerald green top. With great enterprise he had organised a taxi to bring us to Bayonne which would allow us to take the train we had booked to St. Jean Pied de Port. In the chaos our taxi had disappeared. (Zeeze crazy French taxis, non?!). In any event we found another taxi who agreed to take us the whole way to St Jean. In that manner we arrived in daylight and about two precious hours ahead of the train.
Bad luck had turned into good. Could this be an omen?

Way to Easter

I attended a unique and engaging book launch two weeks ago. The Spanish Cultural Institute – El Instituto Cervantes – in Dublin hosted the launch of the book “Buen Camino” by father and daughter team, Peter and Natasha Murtagh. Natasha and her father walked three hundred km of the Camino previously before deciding on walking the whole route last summer.

The journey began fittingly enough at Dawn on the last Sunday in July on Croagh Patrick. They had climbed the stony mountain during the night to be able to watch the dawn rise in the East and light up the Reek and the islands in Clew Bay. They made their way down the mountain and over to Knock Airport where they caught the plane to Bordeaux, the TGV to Bayonne and the little puff puff train to St Jean Pied de Port (the one we hope to take).

Then began an epic 800km journey across the north of Spain. Not content with that epic walk they then walked the further 95km to Finisterre. The book launch comprised the reading of extracts from the book by father and daughter. Peter is a managing editor with the Irish Times and so it cam as no surprise that his pieces were well composed. The surprise was the maturity and poise of Natasha, who was only 18 last year and was awaiting her Leaving Cert results. I was delighted that many of the pieces they read dealt with towns known to Barry and myself from our trip in 2006 – Pamplona, Los Arcos, Estella, Puente la Reina. We are looking forward to meeting them again next month.

I had not intended to buy a book. My house is full of books I buy and have never read. I was so impressed by the father/daughter performance that I bought a book and asked Natasha to dedicate to my daughter Lucy. The chances of Lucy and I completing a Camino are slim but hopefully we will get in some good walks together, beginning this summer in Tenerife.

I had never made the connection between Croagh Patrick and the Camino. I climbed Croagh Patrick in 2009 for the first time. The main day to climb the Reek is on the last Sunday in July which is also the feast day of St James, (Santiago), and the major day of celebration in Santiago de Compostela. My birthplace is Murrisk which is at the foot of Croagh Patrick on the Eve of Reek Sunday which might partly explain my fascination with the Camino.

Last Sunday saw some serious preparation for the Camino. A group of us walked the half marathon from Leenaun in Galway to Maam Cross as part of the Connemarathon. I sported a tee shirt with Haven Logos. It might explain why I got some very nice words of encouragement on the walk.

We left Leenaun just after 11.00 – a few minutes late. Our bus first broke down and then took the wrong route – but that is all part of the fun. With an hour head start over the runners, it was about 12.30 before the first runners started catching up and passing us. One of the first to pass us was a slim African runner – he was completing the ultra marathon 40 miles – we had completed about 4 miles at this stage and he had competed 31! The locals were marvelous. There were teams of local people offering us water every few km. I couldn’t quite reconcile the green credentials of running with many participants throwing nearly full bottles of water to the side of the road.

We had heard horror stories of walkers being pushed aside by impatient runners, tales of spitting and peeing all over the place, none of which materialized. 99% of athletes were perfect ladies and gentlemen. 95% of athletes seemed to be enjoying themselves – the other 5% who were dragging tortured bodies along the asphalt should have been doing something else with their time.

I don’t believe I have ever seen so much Lycra before in my life. The runners came in all shapes and sizes. I had no idea God had so many designs for bums, legs, arms and shoulders. Clearly God had a different mould for every one of us.

In preparation for the walk I gave up the booze 29 days ago. I count the days – I can even tell you the hours. I cannot remember last when I went without drink for four weeks – on Monday it will be a full month. To advance the beatification process I have given up eating meat – for 4 days so far. I have been reading some Buddhist writings recently. I am not sure about the morality of eating another of Gods creatures. This fad will not last long however. I can eat just so much of Cadburys chocolate as a substitute. I think the Buddhists have it right in so many ways – if we leave aside the dubious theology.

All paths lead to St. Jean pied de Port. We are having our first formal planning meeting on Monday chez nous when I hope to conjure up some Spanish food and wine for my fellow pilgrims. Providing wine and meat which I will not share myself – is it heroism or bad manners, hypocrisy or sanctity – or just plain mad?