St-Jean-Pied-de-Port

"Vous voulez une boule ou une corne?" Asked the gray-haired French woman at the ice cream shop. Who knew they had waffle cones in small town Basque France? 

      Lauren and I chose the cones out of desperation for calories, and I ate chocolate  ice cream so dark I could only be in Europe. 

We watched two beggars by the church, a cramped little brick building with some charming pilgrim gargoyles in the tympanum and inside an astonishingly airy gothic apse that was probably added later. 

The stained glass was very bright but modern. Lauren and I would light a candle there and say a prayer the next morning as we set off on our grand adventure.

Having refreshed ourselves and bantered a little in my sometimes-passing-sonetimes-nonsense French with the ice cream woman, we stamped up the stony pilgrim's road, past our lovely and completely batty hostel Beilari to the pilgrim's office to get our carnet ( here my French failed me and Lauren had to come to the rescue with her casual, speedy Spanish) 

        At the top of St Jean sits a 19th c citadel amidst medieval ruins of the city walls. I positioned Lauren on a bench and then bounded up and down the hill to admire the hill and the stunning view of the valley. 

"C'est trop dûr?" A basque Frenchman in their classic cap coming down the steep, uneven stairs. 

       "Un peu," I admitted, panting and already dreading the high mountain roads of the next day. The French here are very friendly. 

       Dinner was quite the affair at Beilari. The hospitalero Joxelu is a Basque, cosmic hippy and began the festivities with an apéritif and a game of invisible paleta where we mimed throwing a ball and introduced ourselves. Lots of Americans but also Connor, a Dublinrr walking for a charity for cancer and people whose skin "doesn't work right," Albert and Kirsten, a duo of German friends who began in Frankfurt as well as a French woman, an Austrian, etc. many of these we would encounter again and again in the days to come. Only one person in our group could speak only English. 

        Dinner was expansive with potato and leek soup, carrot and tuna salad, veggie lasagna, and a Basque dessert a little like cream and yoghurt with sprigs of mint. I got to practice my German mit Albert, who was sassy. 

        After this very long dinner we had only s short time until the doors closed, and we were so desperately exhausted we went right to sleep.