Camino de Santiago | The first impressions
After the first 15 stages on the Camino Francés, Vera and I had already covered 300 kilometers—244.5 on foot and 55.5 by bus and car—and had the chance to experience quite a lot.
Source: Conrad Stein Verlag
The daily stages
Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port - Valcarlos, 21,0 km
Valcarlos - Roncesvalles, 14,0 km
Roncesvalles - Zubiri, 22,7 km
Zubiri - Villava, 16,5 km
Villava - Pamplona, 3,8 km
Pamplona - Puente la Reina, 24,6 km
Puente la Reina - Estella, 22,2 km
Estella - Los Arcos, 22,0 km
Los Arcos - Viana, 19,0 km
Viana - Navarrete, 9,8 km zu Fuß, 12,5 km by bus
Navarrete - Nájera, 17,2 km
Nájera - Santo Domingo de la Calzada, 21,7 km
Santo Domingo de la Calzada - Castildelgado, 12,3 km
Castildelgado - Villambistia, 17,7 km
Villambistia - Burgos, 43,0 km by car
At the end of the first stage, just before Valcarlos, we had already crossed the border between France and Spain. The crossing went completely unnoticed, so we only realized we were in Spain when we saw the road signs in Valcarlos.
Hiking and the routes
Starting from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port through—or rather over—the Pyrenees was unexpectedly tough for both of us. 1,400 meters of ascent and descent, the scorching late-summer heat, and the rather heavy hiking backpacks made the first stages extremely challenging. It was difficult to find a steady pace and figure out how to carry the backpack comfortably for several hours. On the evening of the first day, we had to climb down several meters over sheep pastures and rocky paths because there were no free beds available in the albergues at the top.
The stages in the following days were still tough, featuring climbs up to about 1,200 meters, steep and narrow trails, and mostly unpaved gravel paths. While hiking, I kept asking myself why these routes were so rugged and who had decided that these could be good pilgrim paths. So far, I haven’t found any answers to these questions.
From the fourth stage onwards, the routes became significantly easier to walk and flatter in elevation. We slowly got used to the physical strain. This allowed us to increasingly notice and enjoy the beautiful and varied landscapes around us. Using our guidebook, we learned to assess the upcoming stretches so that we wouldn’t overexert ourselves. Depending on the terrain and weather, we usually planned and completed daily stages between 15 and 20 kilometers. Since we enjoyed planning these trips and were increasingly fond of hiking, we soon looked forward to starting again each morning.
After ten days of walking exclusively on foot, we took a partial stage from Logroño to Navarrete by bus. It felt incredibly strange to suddenly travel in a way other than on foot. The bus driver’s rapid driving style didn’t help either. Afterwards, we were both happy to have solid ground under our hiking boots again and to set our own pace.
By the way, contrary to our previous thoughts, we walked every stage together. We quickly found a good pace between Vera’s relaxed strolling and my brisk walking. Only when hunger strikes and moods drop does the “safety distance” between us increase. ;)
The landscape and the pilgrimage towns
From the dark green mountainous landscape of the French Basque Country, we crossed the Spanish province of Navarra and continued through the wine region of La Rioja into the desert-like landscapes of Castile. The first two weeks were an absolute feast for the eyes. From mountain ranges and vineyards to endless panoramic views of the surrounding countryside and dry, dusty grasslands—everything was there and constantly fascinating to behold. Whenever we stopped, turned around, and saw how vast the land around us was and how far we had already come, we felt especially proud and deeply moved.
In the beautiful but bustling city of Pamplona, we quickly realized that the hustle and bustle of a big city overwhelmed us. After just a few days, we felt much more comfortable in the calm and openness of nature. Soon after, we enjoyed the stunning view over Pamplona from high up on the Alto del Perdón, next to intricately crafted steel sculptures—only to later climb back down a rugged, rocky path…
At some point, we arrived in the small town of Viana. On our way to the supermarket, we unexpectedly stumbled into the local festival celebrating the town’s bull run. All the residents were dressed in white with red scarves as a splash of color, drinking wine and celebrating exuberantly. The arena in the town square and the young bulls being driven through the narrow streets left me speechless and stunned.
The route to Santo Domingo de la Calzada eventually took us through the tiny village of Cirueña. Fewer than 100 people live in this ghost town, even though the houses and apartment complexes were built to accommodate over 10,000 residents. The town fell victim to the real estate boom and the global financial crisis of 2008. Countless never-inhabited buildings now stand empty, creating an eerie atmosphere. Some apartments have since been converted into pilgrim accommodations, but we were relieved not to have to spend the night there and could continue on our way.
The pilgrim accommodations
Originally, we had planned to decide each morning how far we would walk and where we would stay that evening. Unfortunately, that didn’t work out on the very first stage. The beds in the only two hostels at the top of the Pyrenees were apparently fully booked months in advance. After deciding against wild camping, we were therefore forced to take a 10-kilometer detour to the next available accommodation. At the end of the first day, we decided to pre-book hostels for the following days whenever possible. This also meant we had to preplan the length of each day’s stage. In the opinion of some pilgrims, this approach doesn’t reflect the true spirit of pilgrimage and, of course, takes away spontaneity. For the beginning, however, we preferred the security of having a guaranteed place to sleep. After all, it was already far too cold at night for wild camping.
The hostels, called albergues in Spanish, vary greatly. There are small, privately run accommodations. In terms of cleanliness and quality of facilities, these range from what you might expect “under Hempel’s sofa” to a boutique hotel.
Additionally, there are larger, less comfortable public and church-run hostels. The latter are usually attached to a monastery or church, fairly simple but kept clean. The diligent clergy and volunteer helpers do a great job here.
In these accommodations, there are usually about twenty bunk beds, more or less stable and creaking accordingly, all in one large dormitory. There are no blankets—only a mattress and pillow, which you have to cover yourself with a very thin disposable sheet. Once you get used to the wobbly beds and, thanks to earplugs, the nighttime noises, the whole experience takes on the charm of a school trip. The toilets and showers are reasonably clean, but flip-flops are definitely a must. Personal lockers for storing your backpack and few belongings are rare. More often, we only take our valuables and documents with us and leave the rest at the bed. Besides worn hiking clothes, there’s nothing worth stealing anyway. And anyone who wants to take that probably has much bigger problems…
A bed in these pilgrim accommodations costs between 6 and 14 euros per night per person.
The daily routine
After a few days of settling in, we were able to establish a well-functioning daily routine. Our day begins early, usually at around 6 a.m. Some pilgrims even start earlier and set off in the dark if they are especially motivated or want to arrive at their destination early. We, on the other hand, need our sleep and prefer to start only when it’s reasonably light outside.
After getting up, the big packing begins for everyone, as clothes and sleeping bags need to be packed away properly into the backpack, and the albergues need to be vacated promptly.
Some albergues offer a small continental breakfast for 3 to 4 euros, including baguette, jam, coffee, and orange juice, allowing you to fuel up before starting the day. If that’s not available, we sit outside the albergue with some bread, fruit, and vegetables and watch the sunrise. Without breakfast, I get quite grumpy and don’t feel ready to start.
We set off between 7:30 and 8 a.m., putting one step in front of the other. The start is usually a bit sluggish, but after a few kilometers, we find a comfortable pace together. We take breaks between 9 and 10 a.m., and again around noon. Hunger and tired feet then make themselves heard. We sit in a shady spot and snack on prepared treats. Small cafés or bars that cater specifically to pilgrims serve sandwiches, tortillas, and cold drinks. Vegan options are almost nonexistent, but there is usually at least one vegetarian dish available.
By midday, we have often already completed about two-thirds of the planned daily stage. This strategy proved especially useful on days with 35°C and blazing sun, as the heat quickly made us tired and careless.
Tired but proud of ourselves, we arrive at the next albergue in the afternoon and end each stage with a high five. Once the sleeping space is assigned, the unpacking begins again: preparing the bed, taking a shower, changing into fresh clothes and heading back outside for fresh air. Relaxing yoga and a calf massage quickly became part of our evening ritual. Afterwards, we have dinner, sit with other pilgrims, chat, and write in our journal. The lights in the albergues go out promptly at 10 p.m., and everyone tries to fall asleep quickly to be ready for the next day.
The sense of time and space
We quickly fell into a routine where time and space became increasingly vague and irrelevant. Regardless of where we were or where we were headed, the same activities took place every day. Hiking was the most important part of the day, whether it lasted two hours or eight. Our sense of locations, distances, time periods, dates, weekdays, and clock times completely disappeared. We had definitely entered a bubble, our own little world, where almost nothing else mattered except of moving forward.
There were even moments when, on a Sunday afternoon, we stood confused and hungry in front of a closed supermarket, not even knowing what was going on.
In conclusion
Even though so much has already been written, I feel like I’ve only described a fraction of what we’ve experienced so far. After just the first two weeks, I could already fill an entire book with everything we’ve done and seen.
One thing I can say: we enjoy hiking, laugh a lot, and grow a little more each day. We achieve more than we set out to, and we are incredibly proud of ourselves, our perseverance, and our bodies.
I had written most of this blog post before our health-related forced break in Burgos. In particular, the last lines of this article have since taken on a completely different significance for me. I’ll share more about that in the upcoming blog posts.
If you’d like to know more about how and why we actually went on the camino, read my previous blog post.
