The setting is two lard asses going from Edinburgh to walk 500 miles across the camino to Santiago de Compostela having never walked further than their local or a bus stop on work days....
Arrival at the airport...September 2007
We made it up the stairs before our first lapse of concentration.
I was first – I put the rucsac in the box for the scanner – it tilted sideways and the handy 72 different buckles caught in the xray machine and jammed the blighter. This then involved 9 security people advising how best to approach it. Where's John Smeaton when you need him.
Si then decided to omit all the toiletries advice and offers of poly bags. Something must've registered as he took out his suntan cream – I guessed it was an offering – and placed it with his phone and assorted trinkets.
"Who does this sunscreen cream belong to?" Bellowed our man whose day was destined to be hell and was only 15 minutes old.
"Just bin it" cried Si as the offering was duly sacrificed.
"Hoi, are you the rucsac with the toiletries? Toothpaste, shower gel, shampoo, mouthwash and assorted foot creams" sighed mister day from hell and its only 16 minutes old.
"Duh, yup" said Homer Si
"Sod it just go on", whaurs smeato when you need him, he thought. It'd be handy if he could fly in and banjo a few of these clowns that are spoiling my day.
"Look" says si pointing at a big sign, "we can buy liquids here to take on the plane".
"Aye and bin them at Stansted!"
"Aye, a fair point. Go through three tubs of the stuff and we've no even left the great UK port"
===
Alors – nous sommes en France.
Biarritz ya dancer.
Please don't snigger – these hills are looking bigger!
I've finished chapter 4 in my head of 1000 reasons why I love smoking.
You see, people grump more when they don't have a fag to take away the strain – and today – on the plane – how topical – as we get ourselves into position for the starting gate and our "one penny a step" for the children's charity – there's parents abusing their children on the plane.
Give the kid a dummy – I'm hearing my ears pop – I'm watching the water bottle contract – I'm thinking this is the pressure building in the kids head – SCREEEEEEAAAMMMMMMMMM! – that's better a full 12 minutes until we bump land the bus.
Parents eh? Who'd be one. Well we have good news and bad news on the trek front. The Bayonne train leaves at 9pm and its currently 3pm
Do we
Or
C. Walk it and see how long it takes to get lost in SW France!
Its France – we've got loads of time!
===
And now we've arrived at St Jean – we've just taken another look and already Simon is starting to agree with the Irish women Aileen who's going to walk to hunto tonight so its 2 hours less tomorrow,
"Oh so why not when I said it last july!"
Let the battles continue – fair play though he climbed the hill and found the shop that gave us the guide and passport (credencial) and also sells b and b for 7 euro.
Now all we need is to find a shop selling suncream!
The problem is, we're sitting in the shade, with our credencial which gives you discount at the restaurants on tour and already wondering if they hire golf buggies!
Good news is we've got a bed and the clothes are still clean!
Cheers from Simon and Al
Roncesvalles, Spain – a look back at the start
16 09 2010
Monday night found us in the largest albergue we're likely to sleep in.
Think of a giant five a side football hall then put 60 bunk beds in it, with 1 meter seperating "twin" bunk beds. If you got in first the row at the end of the hall was just bunk beds but then they became doubles – which would be good if it was empty, it wasn't.
It reminded me of the way Iain did the floor plan for George Street – except there was more room between the desk there!
I was thinking the home office could learn a thing or two from the monks and the pilgrims. Or maybe that's what the french modelled their wee village, sansgat, or whatever on.
Either way you turn up show your passport pay your 5 euro, get handed a pillow and follow your heart to the bunk of your choice.
If you were on your own you'd no idea who's face you'd wake up to which is probably why there are so many swingers here. No problem for me I knew it'd be the Ribena boy wonder Si – which is Navarro for "face been in sun too long – hill was too high".
So we threw our pillows down on the bunk unfurled our flags and went off on the pub crawl. We'd ordered the pilgrims meal – they charge you 8 euro for it and give you a ticket, which you put in your pocket somewhere – and then you turn up at the pre-appointed time of 7pm and your ushered through to the restaurant.
There on the tables are wine and water and a big terrine of soup. Fill yer boots we said and we still couldn't finish it, then the trout with chips and a full head staring at you. Si was feeling brave so decreed "you can eat the head I think". I tried to remind him that the one thing he proved conclusively on a daily basis was that thinking was for wimps and he was no wimp. Within 5 minutes he'd retreated behind that tried and tested mantra – "you know I don't do thinking".
The wine was that why be 11% and drinkable when we could make it 13% and leave you gasping for air.
With a yoghurt to finish with it seemed good fair for a fiver. I thought we could get this lot in to do the prison catering instead of Group 4 or Reliance.
As we tottered back to the ranch, we discovered the beauty of the camino and as I lay on my bed all my prayers were answered. Si said there was nobody above us so he would take the double upper. I suggested waiting until the prison lights went out at 10 but he felt confident.
I later gave the following statement to the local police.
"I was rudely awoken at 9.38pm by these two gentlemen who were shaking Simon. They said they had booked the beds and put there pillows on them in the time honoured way. Simon in his defence had mentioned that he'd seen the pillows but thought he'd just got lucky that he had 3 pillows he could dribble on. He duly to the driest one and returned to his previous bunk. It was then at 2.46am that he snorted, I need the torch, I need the toilet. I duly awoke and reminded him of the place where the torch was and he went to the toilet. I of course then needed to go as well but having been blessed by a father who grew many carrots, I had no need for a torch. The latter was just as well for he duly hid it in a different place. Luckily it was dark out in the morning so we discovered straightaway that he hadn't put it back in the bag."
We were find 10 euro for wasting pilgrim police time and told to get on with falling out.
Next up the tale of 2 trews. Tracky bottoms that never ripped and fancy dan detachables – that did. Guarding against impatience is one of the primary teachings in the way of the Pilgrim. We will never learn more easily that a stitch in time saves nine – or act in haste repent in leisure.
