The Spirit of the Camino


Roger Mechan walked the 480 miles along the Camino Frances to Santiago de Compostela in aid of Help for Heroes in exactly 22 days, walking hard, long and alone; but on his first day he thought he would never make it.


It started out well at 7am through the deserted cobbled streets of St John Pied de Port, out through the old town gates and up the gently rising route Napoleon for the 15 mile trek over the mountain. The road eventually narrowed to the width of a Devon country lane. As I rose higher so did the sun, until several hours later, I was sweltering in thirty degree heat with the town I had left hidden far below by the valley mist. Eventually the road gave way to mountain track and I was bent double with sweat pooling in my glasses, and dripping down onto my shorts. As I hauled myself, exhausted, up the last of the 1440 metres to the top of the Col de Lepoeder I could see the abbey at Roncesvalles nestling in the trees some way below. I knew, having reached the abbey, and put my boots into the specially constructed boot depository that smelled like a dump for rotten Camembert, that I would make the remainder of the way to Santiago de Compostela. Roncesvalles set the tone for the days to come. Up early, walk and buy food for lunch. I quickly learned that taking a rucksack into a small shop in an isolated village was not a good idea as when turning to look at what was on offer I invariably set about demolishing shelves stacked with tinned food. Comments were made but I don’t think any of them were, ‘Good morning, how are you?‘ I would then complete the morning’s walk and have lunch before walking long into the afternoon to later stop at a hostel for the night. It was important that I remembered to get the prized stamp on my passport. I would need one from each place I stayed on route to show to the church authorities at Santiago de Compostela in order to get my certificate for completing the journey. Then it was set to and


26


Resting on the trail up the Pyrenees


wash that day’s clothes, complete my journal, check the photos and bed at 9pm, hoping to get to sleep before the snoring started. Rows of bunk beds were the order of the day and, believe me, there were seismic grunts coming from many nostrils that made me mighty glad I had opted to take earplugs. There is no discrimination, men and women share the same space and those that are unmarried get a taste of things to come.


The Basque country quickly gave


way to the vineyards of Rioja and the wide gravel paths that meandered through them. I breakfasted on grapes straight from the vine, a deliciously sweet and juicy start to each day. I was soon to pass through the cathedral cities of Pamplona and Burgos where the trudge through the latter’s seemingly endless industrial suburbs proved a daunting task. It was worth it, though, as I later


Roger arrives at Santiago de Compostela


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