It's taken me two trains and a bus to get to Saint Jean Pied-de-Port, the starting point of my bicycle journey. The double-deck TGV is a novelty; the upper deck in First Class is an island of serenity, giving me a bit of quiet time to reflect on the journey I am about to embark on. Oddly, First Class is essentially the same price as Second Class and while I've never really understood why that is, I've never let that stop me going First Class!
A bit of luxury before setting off on the Camino de Santiago by bike, why not? From here on it's going to be days spent riding a bicycle, and nights spent in dormitories. Well, once I have set off that is; I've treated myself to two nights of luxury in a nice B&B at the start, while I prepare myself and the bike for the trip.
The waiting room in the station at Bordeaux is an impressively wood-panelled space with an enormous fireplace with a carved wooden mantelpiece. The parquetry floor is in very good condition considering how many feet must have walked on it over the decades. The ceiling must be 15m high. Am I the only person who notices all this? Everyone else seems to be going about their business without so much as a glance at their surroundings.
A couple of hours later and I have arrived in Bayonne. At the station people with backpacks are everywhere. Looks like there's a wide variety of countries, ages, and languages. I may not be the only one here for the Camino after all.
The train I've booked to take me to St. Jean Pied de Port turns out to be a bus. The driver looks at the shopping bags I am carrying and asks - in a sing-song southern French accent - whether I am sure I want to go to St. Jean? When he opens the baggage hold to reveal nothing but backpacks I understand the implied comment: "You're going on the Camino with those bags? "
On the drive to St. Jean I look at the mountains in the distance. I'm going to have to ride over them soon and suddenly they appear very high and it's a bit daunting. Actually, it's very daunting.
The bus arrives in St. Jean, frustratingly driving almost past my B&B on the way to the railway station, where we are dropped off (we are, after all, a "train"). So I get to walk 1 1/2 km carrying my shopping bags while the backpackers I am walking alongside must be wondering what I am going to do with those bags on the trip.
My home for the next two days is a charming old place right on the river, the sounds of which I will go to sleep with.
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| Maison Donamaria, my home for the next two days |
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| My shopping bags somehow look out of place amongst all those backpacks! |
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