I forgot to mention the bit of excitement I had yesterday in Paris. In my euphoria of being literally surrounded by ornate, monumented historical sites while motoring up and down the Seine, I failed to watch my phone battery. All of a sudden, the screen went black. O...kay...I'll go back to the apartment and charge it. Now where was that apartment again? I had used my phone to navigate to the river...could I remember how to get back? I'm usually okay with this sort of thing, but Paris streets sort of look the same...there are twists and turns, outdoor cafes, and people walking dogs while they have a conversation with them. I had to backtrack once, but found the apartment then realized I needed the 4 digit code to get into the courtyard. Muscle memory is such an amazing thing...first try. Phew. When I unlocked the apartment I had another hurdle. The outlet adapter I had brought was, I think, one I had bought in Iceland. It's not exactly round, and therefore, doesn't exactly fit. Mychelle had an assortment of leftover outlet gadgets, but none of those were going to work either. Back out into Paris I went, looking for the likes of a "Best Buy" or "Target". Without a phone to tell me the direction any of these might be. I slipped into a men's clothing store and asked a very good looking clerk if he knew of a store that might be able to help me. He pointed me down the street a few blocks to a Carrefour...a sort of grocery store...this particular one very small. They had phone charging cords but no adapters. And then...a miracle. A beautiful young woman in her 20s stepped up to say she knew where I could get one. She pulled out her phone and I tried to file street names and the sequence of turns...left, right, right. Off I went, 9 minutes away from a fix. Monoprix had what I needed and 15 minutes later my phone was happily charging. May that young woman's kindness be returned a hundredfold.
This morning I left the apartment at 6. It was sprinkling a bit after yesterday's sunny afternoon and the streets were empty save for the delivery trucks. I was at Montparnasse station before 6:30, found the platform my train was leaving from, and bought an Americano to go. The protests and strikes in France have disrupted the train service, but the 8531 to Bayonne was on schedule. Yeah...let's call that a miracle.
I spent about 4 hours rolling through drizzly, foggy farmland on the way to the cute coastal town of Bayonne. There are 22 minutes between train changes, which is just enough time to make sure you're not doing something like getting on a train bound for Madrid. The handful of people in hiking pants shouldering backpacks is also a pretty good indication. Big smiles on their faces when our eyes met...I know what you're doing.
I knew from weather forecasts that it was raining in Saint Jean Pied de Port. Would you think that would deter someone from the Pacific Northwest? Of course not. When we made it to St. Jean, I tried to get to the Pilgrim office before the wonderful volunteer staff went to siesta/lunch. Too late. It would be two hours before they came back, but they sure are a helpful, happy bunch, focused on making your Camino a memorable one. With Compostela and some information about available albergues in hand, I made my way through town and stopped to pray at the church along the N river. The miles went by quickly and soon I was at Refuge Orisson. I am tucked into a 9-bed room that is packed with South Koreans. A few of them speak English and they seem very nice. I am off to the Pilgrim meal that Orisson puts on...much love to you all.
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