I seriously do not know where to begin in telling you all about my experience in the Pyrenees.  I feel like a badass after surviving the day we had.  To help explain the seriousness of this post, there were a handful of moments that I was legitimately scared for my life and my mom’s.  I was planning, in my mind, the possibility of life flighting us out or how to some how catapult my mom over the mountain and into a bed safely.

We had two options of routes.  There was an easier route that went around the mountain and there was a harder route that goes up and over the top.  Ever since my mom became aware of this fact, she was planning on walking the one that went around the mountain, the easier one.  I, however, tried to convince her the entire time that she could totally do it!  Just to make sure everyone knows, I was not the one who finally convinced her into it.  The night before we started, we were talking to a man who was giving us our passport and he automatically assumed that we were doing the harder one, Napoleon’s route.  This gave my mom the confidence.  I know anyone who knew the story before hand, will think that I pressured my mom into the harder hike and try to blame me for the outcome but that isn’t the case, I swear.

We started the trek normally-ish.  We got up at the crack of dawn and left before the sun came out and for the first hour or so, there was no sunlight.  We were walking in complete darkness, I couldn’t even read the map.

By the time it started to lighten up, we were sure we had missed the first source of water, that literally looked like a fountain, but we hadn’t.  We ended up not getting lost once!  I’m very proud of this fact because even though they say the Camino is marked really well, sometimes it’s just plain contradictory.  I kid you not, one sign had two arrows for our route and they pointed opposite directions.

The first part of the hike, which was the uphill climb, was hard!  We were both out of breath.  My mom was definitely having a harder time than I but she kept up, sort of.  The elevation mixed with the incline mixed with a 25 pound back pack on my back mixed with a tired mom straggling behind me…. I was already thinking maybe we should have started with the easier route.  As the trek got longer and steeper, we started to lose enthusiasm.  But the road from Saint Jean to Roncsevalles is unbelievably stunningly breathtakingly gorgeous.  The entire route was covered with rolling hills of horses, cattle and sheep grazing calmly and just watching us walk on by.

It was extremely foggy when we got near the top which made everything even more beautiful.

It started to sprinkle at one point but nothing we couldn’t handle.  Once we were on the top, we were quite literally above the clouds.  It was postcard worthy.

They had a little van parked in the middle of no where (super sketch if stumbled across in the states) that sold hard boiled eggs, bananas and tea.  I thought it was the cutest thing ever.

We really enjoyed ourselves for a couple of hours when we leveled out on the trail. It seemed like we were almost alone for a while which was nice just walking in silence.

Then it got serious.. And by serious I mean deadly.  We approach a crossroad (The sign that pointed two different directions simultaneously) and the map in my hand said DON’T go this way, the sign on the road said go both ways and panic sort of set in.  We were standing with a group of people and we tried to convince everyone that maybe we should go by the map that has a picture of that specific crossroad telling us with a huge X not to go left but nobody listened.  So we start down the map’s choice of path alone and it begins to rain.  About 20 steps down a vision of my mom slipping and me having to leave her to get help ran through my mind so we walked back to go with the group of people.  About 20 steps into this decision, the rain really starts in on us.. And by really I mean pouring rainstorm, lightning storm, thunderstorm, HAILSTORM.  Hail starts shooting us in the face and covering the ground under our feet.  Getting smacked in the face with hail after hiking for eight hours is not nice of Mother Nature.

Because we were up so high in elevation, the thunder was so close it sounded like it was IN my eardrum.  Hands down the loudest and closest thunder I’ve ever experienced.  Mind you, I love thunder storms.  Growing up in the mountains, thunderstorms were like movie night in our house.  We would all watch from the living room window snuggled next to the fire.  Never have I been literally caught in a hailstorm on a mountain range that I’m completely unfamiliar with.

We are in ponchos and still sopping wet.  The trail then begins the downhill climb, or should I say slide.  Our shoes are completely soaked, people are falling, lightening is flashing so close to my face I think it singed off an eyelash,  the water is getting so heavy and the incline is so steep that were basically walking down a flowing waterfall… With all of our belongings on our backs… So dangerous.

Mind you, my mom was exhausted 10 miles ago.  Now she’s soaking wet and slipping down a rock slide in The French Pyrenees.  She’s literally holding on to her walking sticks for dear life and hoping that the grip stays through the mud.  My mom is no wuss, but she was constantly taking breaks during the beginning of the trek. There were no breaks during this part.  If she took a break, I seriously think we wouldn’t have made it out.

In a normal hike, rain can be kind of nice, slippery but nice.  Cooling you off, almost like a refreshing mist.  But not hail beating down on me and thunder cracking so loud that each time it sounds like a tree has been struck and it is coming down on me.

Now a tiring three hours later, and a total of 11 hours hiking all together, we have finally reached a hostel and we are safe and sound in our tiny twin beds.   We met two of the sweetest Englishmen at dinner who heard our story and tipped their hats to us.  They were two young in-shape big guys, one an ex soldier, and they took the easier route route that day.  We felt pretty impressive.

Maybe for avid backpackers this story seems regular and hailstorms, rock slides and walking on waterfalls all sound like no big deal.  That makes me think two things..

1. I have SERIOUS respect for backpackers and campers because it is no easy task.  I’m not talking about people who camp out in RV’s or enjoy a nice long hard hike.  I’m talking about the people who sleep in tents in the deep mountains and fend for themselves in hailstorms.  You can’t control Mother Nature and she is one powerful merciless b—-.

2. It honestly made my mom and I want to quit.  Before the hike got crazy we started to lose our focus and then the last hour of the trek ended up turning into a three hour long fight to stay on our feet.  It just didn’t seem worth it.  Doing this day in and day out is seriously hard physically and mentally.  I already have a couple blisters that I had to cover with some piece of fabric in my mom’s backpack and my lower back feels like its bruised from my wearing my backpack for 11 hours straight.  What is 40 days straight of this going to do to my body?

The silver lining in this is my mom.  The old mom I knew as a child came out in the end of our experience.  For so long, my mom has been focusing all of her strength towards my dad’s fight, she hasn’t had a moment in the past six years to fight for herself.  I remember as a child, it felt like with her in my corner, I could take on anyone.  She’s such a strong and independent person, but she wasn’t able able to exercise these traits while my dad was sick.  She’s been fighting his disease right along side him and putting all of her efforts into nurturing him back to health.  This is a different kind of strength, being strong for someone else and it is commendable.  Today was almost like seeing her stand on her own two feet again (with the help of walking sticks).  Watching all the strength inside her come out was really inspiring.  She complained a bit in the beginning, when it was hard work climbing the mountain but when it got serious, she didn’t complain once.  She didn’t stop even though her legs were shaking and she felt weak. I was really proud.

I’m 23 years old and in good shape, my body is meant to endure these kinds of situations and I was barely making it down that mountain.  If I can survive a day like today when I’m 63,  that is something I’ll very be proud of.

Moral of the story, these past couple days have been some of the most intense days of my life.  The weirdest part is that I anticipated that being the case, and it still surprised me.  We are taking a day off tomorrow for the sake of our legs and for the health of my back.  The wifi or “wee fee” is horrible everywhere so I’m trying my best to write and upload in the small amount of time that our wifi actually works.