On 23th May the big moment has arrived. At a quarter past five in the morning in the pouring rain Annet brings me to the station, where I have to take the train to Brussels at twenty to six with a backpack weighing approximately eleven kilos. By the time we approach Bayonne I am beginning to worry a little because of the train delay. In Bayonne I have only a quarter of an hour to take the train to Saint Jean Pied the Port. Fortunately we are here in the South of France and not in Holland, so the train has waited till we have arrived. The problem is, however, that I have no opportunity to purchase a ticket, because in Holland I could only get a ticket to Bayonne and in France they use the train tariff just like Holland. Fortunately I can persuade the conductress of this case of force majeure and I can buy a ticket from her at the normal price. In this train I meet my first pilgrims, Dirk from Eupen (Belgium) and Nuala from Ireland.  Halfway the track appears to be blocked, so we must travel the last part of the route by bus. Fortunately it is only a small slow train and not a crammed intercity train, so the bus that is waiting for us can contain all passengers. At half past four after a beautiful ride at the foot of the Pyrenees we can get off at the station of Saint Jean. In the meanwhile I feel myself quite worn-down after such a long travel.

 

  Saint Jean Pied de Port

 

Saint Jean Pied the Port is beautiful. It is a fine historical fortified town at the foot of the mountains, carefully polished by the French monument preservators, which also has its disadvantages - many tourists and a lot of kitsch in the shops. Because I have already telephonically reserved a bed in a gîte d'étape I do not have to look for lodging. I arrive in an old house. In a small corridor there are two bunkbeds.  Three of them are empty. A Frenchman, called Christian already occupies one of the bottom beds. He comes from Picardy and is a specialist in the field of mobile telephony. He wants to start his retirement by walking the camino to think about what to do with the next years to come. He is a real 'grand pelerin' which means that he started his pilgrimage from his own front door in the North of France. We hit it off immediately and my French appears to be sufficient for a conversation. Christian helps me by not speaking too rapidly and by avoiding words he thinks I might not understand. The beds in the other rooms of the refugio appear to be occupied by a group from Aix and Provence, who also walk the Camino. They started their pilgrimage in Le Puy, like most french who are my companions on this pilgrimage.

One of the first things I have to do here today is to register as a pilgrim at the office of the camino and have a first stamp in the certificate I got from of the Dutch fraternity of Saint James. The legendary madame Debril, who conducted the sceptre here for many years died a few years ago and has been succeeded by three nice elderly gentlemen, who let me fill in a form. It is from these gentlemen I get the first stamp in my certificate.

I do not like to eat alone in a restaurant and for this reason I buy a can of lentils with sausage, some fresh tomatoes and a cup of (Bulgarian) yoghurt in the local supermarket. For the first time I use the set of pans I have taken with me. Fortunately the gîte has a kitchen, so I am able to cook. The other occupants also cook for themselves. After dinner the ladies from Aix are making a tisane and Christian and I are also invited to join. It becomes a pleasant evening and I already get a bit of a camino-feeling (whatever that may be).  As we are going to sleep Christian appears to be a firm snorer, but not so terrible as to make it impossible for me to sleep. Unfortunately, when we are almost sleeping, two Flemish cyclists arrive, who only now found a bed. Although they do their best to make as little noise as possible, I am totally awake again and it takes a long time before I can fall asleep.