Thursday 11 September

Up at 6am, finish breakfast and on the road by 7.30. The sun has not risen, the town is shrouded in mist. We walk to the beginning of the Camino thinking no-one else is up this early. Wrong, we are joined by other pilgrims and we embark on the Camino ... immediately it is uphill and we are in a jolly spirit, walking confidently through the mist shrouded hills of the Pyrenees (hopefully the pics will tell all). We pass the Auberge at Huonto without a stop, some time on we continue to climb in the mist and pass another auberge at Orbisson (I think) where our fellow travelers are taking their rest and sustenance.

We push on and the “hill” becomes relentless, pilgrims are finding their comfort zones, there are none. The sweat pours, the legs ache and often the 1 in 2 grade becomes too much and, leaning on sticks, gasping for breath, heart rate above safe, you pull yourself together and take another step in the hope that the Col Ronceveux will appear soon.

We breech the cloudbase and stop to take photos, eat jelly beans and chocolate (we didn't bring other food...big mistake). A quick stretch, Dee massages and pokes my aching upper back. Up and on to the top but it is becoming more difficult by the step. You quickly realise that this is the greatest challenge you have undertaken and 783kms is a BIG walk.

Finally we reach the Col Roncevaux but we are in a white out with visibility 30 – 50 m and,, #*+^, we have to leave the main road to follow the ancient tracks of sheep, goats and horses. It's cold and wet, our bodies seem to be at their limit of endurance, each step becomes torture, and we have entered that part of the Camino Frances or route Napoleon, where a day's walk becomes a test of physical and emotional strength. The Camino is a walk shared by many yet ultimately it is a test of who you are, of body and mind, and yes, dare I say it, a test of faith. Perhaps it is as simple as faith in yourself and your companion. In this case, the woman I love with all my heart. I hope that Dee gets the writer's bug because at the moment, I am telling the story. Dee of course has reserved the right to edit and veto.

We reach the top where people are huddled, sheltering from the cold and wet, taking on sustenance. We have none, and decide to continue, our fellow pilgrims suggest we rest. What for? The sooner we get to a shower the better. Shit, it is 3.6 km downhill. This is greater than a 45 degree grade (and often 30 degrees or less) and sticks are essential, muscles are burning, tethers have been reached, seemingly. We push on. Dee says she might forgive me, but not in this lifetime.

Through mud and forest of Hazel, Beech and Linden, down and down in the mist, the damp, the pain. I have never felt such pain. Every joint, every muscle, every neuron screams...”lie down you fool”. Everything passes and we limp into Ronscevalles, past the great monastery, falling into the front door of La Posada, a double bed, a long bath and a bottle of red. I had the obligatory beer just because I'm Aussie (bullshit I'm over it and Goddam thirsty). We finish the day reflecting on our labours and allowing alcohol to do the rest. Dinner soon and bed awaits. Holy shit, it is only day one. We have walked 28 km through terrain that reminds of the steepness we found in the Warrumbungles, however, the Pyrenees seemed long and relentless by comparison. I think it was the distance that ultimately took it;s toll.

The Camino de Santiago de Compostela is Heritage listed and reknowned as the greatest test of stamina and faith of any pilgrimmage. If day 1 is an example, the furnace of the annealed soul, then I can only wonder at what ancient pilgrims endured for their faith.

From Dee – after that bottle of red. Our dinner awaits, 7pm (a pilgrims dinner for 9 euro). The walk was, to say the least, arduous but I guess my trips to the gym paid off somewhat because I can still walk up the stairs to our room on the 2nd floor whilst Pete limps. My attempt at connecting to the internet here fails ... there was a lot of arm waving and the hotelier turned the keyboards upside down. 45 minutes to dinner ... can't wait. Dee xxx

Wednesday 10 September

We wake early for our train trip from Montparnasse to Bayonne and then onto St -John Pied- de- Port. Catherine and Denise are our traveling companions. Canadians or should I say “Knucks” ( I hope that I spelt it correctly and there is not an “f” in there). I must say they were delightful company on an otherwise unremarkable trip with a constant view of plantation pine sporadically punctuated by an interesting farm house or village. Au revoir girls and bon voyage as you traverse Spain, Italy and look in on Geneva. You have our contact in Australia and so we expect a visit soon.


Bayonne looks interesting but we only have a couple of hours so we decide on lunch: a salad, jambon, emmenthal, baguette and coffee/water. The coffee in France is great so far, such a clean finish and no bitterness ... just the way we like it.

The trip to St JpdP ( capital of Basse - Navarre) lasts 90minutes through beautiful valleys, flowing rivers and communities that appear and disappear behind copses of trees or small hills. We climb, the temperature climbs to the high 20's, we arrive. The station is 300-400m out of town and we sweat our way to the nearest bar for a beer, water and directions. The owner grins at us with a mouth that looks more like a stacked rock wall in a field, but he is very friendly, speaks a little English (they all say they speak a petit peu) and helps us find the information centre and the Pilgrims centre where we obtain our Credencial del Peregrino.


So its off to Hotel des Remparts ( St J P d P was originally a walled town (see pics I hope as we are having trouble uploading, but all will be resolved). We have the obligatory SSS and off for a walk around this beautiful town, finally settling down for a fantastic Blanc Sauvignon followed by a salad, fish and duck neck. We are getting the hang of food and ordering and the meals are just fantastic. Tomorrow we begin the Camino ... bon camino and everyone seems at once eager and fearful.

Tuesday 9 September

As usual the body -clock- gone- wrong sounded the alarm at the ungodly hour of 3am. The air had chilled slightly and we slept fitfully until 6am when we could no longer stand to be still. The clock was running, however, the rest of Paris wasn't ready for us and so we have to kick back until 8am. Head to the Le Buci for deux complete. Uploading photographs, typing text, trying to keep you all entertained whilst we soak up the continent. Aren't we mean, and as they say in the classics its a tough job but someone has to do it.

And so it is across the Pont Neuf and turn left towards the Louvre. The Louvre, one cannot imagine architecture or building on such a grand scale. Standing outside you wonder what would possess a person to take on such a project, what imagination could design it and who the hell could possibly build it. No picture could ever express the magnitude and magnificence. We haven't got time to linger so we avoid entering knowing that to do so may in fact mean the end of the Camino. Focus. Our objective is the walk and so we walk through the Jardin des Tuilleries and on to the Place de la Concorde and the Obelisque. We take time out to have un hotdog fromage. Dee passes up the offer of the hotdog and upon seeing what was presented proceeds to consume the greater portion. Hotdog in French takes on a whole new meaning, It was absoulutely delicious. However, no time to waste. The Avenue de Champs Elysees beckons with its strange mix of locals and those en vacance. The place is packed and every brand name is represented. It's a bloody long walk to the Arc de Triomphe. it's warm and up 285 stairs to the top and the commanding view from Montparnasse to Sacre Coeur. Paris is on show. We wish we could see it by night. The skyline is dominated by the iconic framework of la Tour Eiffel. No time to waste. Down 285 bloody steps along the Ave d'Iena to the Seine and the tower. Black guys with models of the tower, paraphenalia and attitude languidly lope about the place hoping for a sale. 3 pieces for 1 euro. Get a real job. Under the tower, on through the garden of Mars, street vendor for fruit and lunch at Cafe Central (ripped off). On toward St Germain des Pres but it's starting to rain (thank god) so we hit le Metro to station Odeon and back to Nesle. Hot, sweaty and in need of hydration and I'm not talking water. A quick triple S and in a more relaxed state of mind we head towards the galleries and crowds of St Germain des Pres on Tuesday evening.

Hundreds of people are out an about, splendidly dressed and finally we settle down to fish, salad, and beef carpaccio. The waitress asks if we are really eating because we aren't dressed for it. I order the best Medoc in the house and she smiles approvingly and somehow we are accepted into the fold of Parisian society.

Dinner was fantastic but the walk along the Seine, across Pont Neuf, down Ile de la Cite to Notre Dame is the climax of the day. It stands before us in ghostly beauty, towering above the square, memories of Lon Chaney and the bells are vivid in my mind. We circumnavigate the cathedral taking in buttresses, gargoyles, and marvel at the beauty that lies where symmetry doesn't. Embrace after embrace along the romantic banks with history the backdrop. Arm in arm we return to Nesle marvelling at just how lucky we are.

Superlatives cannot describe the day but fatigue has set in (again) and we are off to bed. Tomorrow the train leaves at 7.15am and in spite of our stalling the Camino calls.

Monday 8 September

Started the day with a petit dejeuner complete (coffee, bread stick, croissant and jam). Perfect. Full of anticipation we set of for the Maison et Objet Trade Show that will occupy 2 of our days in Paris, Yesterday at the show was strange mix of WOW factor and interior bric a brac that we found a bit repetitive, but overall some really great business ideas and two artists especially stood out. More of that later and we will be purchasing some of the art works for home as we get them at trade prices.

So off we go after breakfast for the metro. We miss a turn and find ourselves somewhere we shouldn't be. One hour later and several wrong turns we finally get to the metro and the Parc des Expositions which is 30 minutes out of Paris. A lot of great interior designs yet we still haven't found something that really stands out. Then we end up in Hall 5b. WOW. Blown and fused glass, amazing tile and floor concepts, outstanding marble bathrooms, timber products and great photography concepts to bring home. As is often the case the best came last and by then our constitutions had run low so we cut out full of wonder at what might come of all this amazing design imagery. Our creative souls bursting with and confused by the great halls (covering 10's of acres and needing at least a week to see and digest). Plans are afoot to visit next year and stay a little longer. I would like to see more of the glass artists at work.

The day almost gone we arrive home pretty well spent. Dee has a hair appointment and I have to get to Gare Montparnasse to book our seats for Bayonne, St-Jean-Pied-de-Port and the foothills of the Pyrenees. Finally it is sinking in. The reason for our trip and the Camino that lies ahead. Booking tickets takes for ever as my limited French has reached the limits of its delivery and reception. I arrive back to Rm 8 absolutely buggered to be confronted by a gorgeous woman and her very Parisian look. We head off to hydrate after an exhausting day. Four hours and 100 Euro later we hit the sack.

Sunday 7 September

Awoke early to the sound of heavy rain and the alarm of a body clock misaligned. I want to get up and have coffee and baguettes, the clock shows 4a.m. Back into dreams and fits of sleep. It's 6.45 when we kick of the day and 8 a.m. by the time we hit the street. Breakfast at La Gentilhommiere in la place Saint-Andres-des-Arts. Omelette, coffee, bread, orange juice... I am sure this is why we were put on this earth. The overnight rain brings a cool crispness to the streets as Paris stretches lazily and yawns widely, Paris, the most “lived in” city in the world lumbers into the day. You might think that I am a tad over the top, I can assure you Paris inspires. (Pete)

Pete's been taking photos and there's one for you Di of me pointing. If you want that postcard you'll have to email, text or blog me with your postal address. We're just finishing our second espresso and then we're off to a trade show for the day. (Dee)

Just taking a chance to say hello to Oliver and Kate. Missing you heaps and wish you could share this adventure. Already planning the next one and this time you ARE coming. All our love.

p.s. hi to Les and Shirley and the girls, and yes to Spike.

September 6

Later that day 'arrive a Charles de Gaulle a une heure apres midi. Along walk finds us at the start of le Metro and 20 minutes later we alight at St Michel without a map or phone number of l'hotel de Nesle. Paris caters well for people such as us , en vanances, and we soon find a large map and set off along the Blvd St Michel to la Rive Gauche and east to the Rue Dauphine and Rue de Nesle. We have traversed part of the Latin Quarter through St Michel and St Germaine des Pres and every angle is a visual feast The spurting intonation of French like theme music to our dream and it is with great relief that we find our reservations intact and our 10 sq m room available. I sit squirming with anticipation, serenaded by Dee's squeals of delight, my expectations exceeded to the nth degree, no shower ever felt this good.

So polished up we set off in search of “culture” and the sights, criss crossing the Seine, the Louvre to out left, Notre Dame to our right. Past La Palais de Justice, La Place de Chatelet, inundated with stimuli at every turn. It's Saturday and the Parisians are in promenade mode. these French, so well dressed, deep in conversation with a look of purpose as they strut their stuff. From my perspective it's pretty attractive stuff.

Sanity prevails and fatigue dictates it is time to nourish and hydrate. We find the obligatory sidewalk cafe and I proceed to order in my fractionated French. Pity there is no food available at this time so we go for fluids instead. Beer, sauvignon blanc and mineral water. An hour later we totter of to our room ,a change and off for dinner. We find Gabriel spruking from the doorway of a tiny eatery and I suggest he orders for us. Fatigue has set in and we are at his mercy. The beef and lamb are good,mussels plentiful if not small and slightly rubbery, and the veg and chips stay on the plate. The Medoc goes down easily. Too easily and our previous totter shows signs of declining into a stagger. Around and around we go, where we are nobody knows. We hasten back to our room and fall into a languid if not fitful sleep.

September 5 and 6

Friday morning, it's early, about 6.30 a.m. and the weather is bleak. The wind is from the NE,90 kmph, the rain is driving down in great gusty sheets as we sit brewing over our coffee. Will we fly or not. Our day has kicked off with a mix of building excitement and dread that we may not even get off the ground. Panda is not happy. She knows that something is afoot, the bags have been packed and this means it is not all about her. Ever seen a dog sulk? Dee says she will spend the next two days in bed. Bonnie has no idea and Spike thinks it's heaven. His benefactor, Shirley, will be in charge. That means copious amounts of love and affection. Bullshit! It just means more food.

All fear and trepidation dissolves away like a fruit tingle on the tongue as we board the Dash 8, that miraculous creation of “modern” technology. Miraculous only in that it has the capacity to leave the ground and navigate south to eventually get us to Mascot. It takes us an hour to get through baggage check red tape, Domestic to International via the machinations of Qantas staffers that either don't care or don't know how to get our packs through efficiently. We eventually get a trolley. Four dollars to go 50m as it turns out.

So eventually we board Flight BA 306 or QF 319, that unusual hybrid that results from international cooperation between airlines which means it doesn't matter who you book with it's where they want you to go that matters. Cattle class British Airways and the best of British luck to you. The poms behind us gave a running commentary of every inane subject that came to mind, and some that most wouldn't think of in their most tedious boredom. My prattle of course may be the result of that unexpected diversion to Singapore and subsequent 1 hour stopover that would see us at Heathrow some 29 hours after leaving home. And next it's the bloody French!! What have I got myself into?

No really, we are in Heathrow awaiting our French Connection, looking forward to our adventure and life isn't really that bad (except after the interminable joys of long distance flight). I am sure Dee will put her usual positive spin on all and much more succinctly I expect. So it's au revoir and buenas noches from me for tomorrow it is “gay” Paris.

From Dee

Well for starters, it's not a spin but reality ... well mine anyway. Yes the flight was arduous but the end is nigh. Hopefully we'll have this much to say about the places we see, but at the moment we're in the airport, killing time. We both just had a double shot of coffee and sandwich for $30 – a bargain here. Gordon Ramsay has a restaurant at terminal 5 in Heathrow (where we are) but we couldn't come at $10 for a coffee.