Pause and Wander

We finally began our Camino de Santiago, stepping onto the Camino Francés with backpacks strapped and hearts buzzing with anticipation. For centuries, pilgrims have set out from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to walk the 800 km to Santiago de Compostela, and now it was our turn.

The first day eased us in with a short but steep 8 km climb to Refuge Orrison. On paper it looked simple enough, but with full packs and two young hikers in tow, it felt like a real challenge. Arya and Finlee shouldered their 4 kg packs with determination, and while we stopped often to catch our breath, we also laughed, soaked in the views, and felt a growing pride in what we were doing together. Arriving at Orrison, tired but exhilarated, gave us the sense that we had truly begun.

The albergue was better than we expected—cozy bunks, good food, and the gift of community. At dinner we joined dozens of other pilgrims around long tables, eating hearty Basque dishes before sharing our names, where we came from, and why we were walking. Some reasons were lighthearted, others deeply personal, but every story reminded us that we are part of something larger than ourselves. That night, we fell asleep already looking forward to the road ahead.

The next morning we rose early and were rewarded with a stunning sunrise. Then we set out across the Pyrenees toward Roncesvalles. What began as a steady climb quickly turned into a battle with the wind. Once above the tree line, gusts whipped around us so fiercely that we pulled jackets tight and pressed into the slope just to keep moving forward. We wouldn’t say the girls never complained, but they certainly dug deep and carried on with the kind of grit that made us burst with pride.  The silver lining of the wind was a lack of fog that oft obscures the incredible vistas—mountains covered in a fuzzy coat of green grass and dotted with grey rocks and white herds of sheep. The legendary Pyrenees did not disappoint. 

At the Pass of Roland, history came alive. According to legend, this was the site of Charlemagne’s fated battle more than a thousand years ago. Standing there, buffeted by the same winds that must have battered armies long ago, it was easy to feel the weight of the past.

The trail then dropped into a hushed beechwood forest, where leaves whispered a welcome break from the storm. One final climb brought us to the high point of the day at 1,430 meters before we descended steeply into Roncesvalles. After 18 km and 925 meters of climbing, we were weary but triumphant.

The large stone Abbey in Roncesvalles has sheltered pilgrims for more than 800 years, and it felt right to join that long line of travelers. Our dinner there was nothing to write home about, but the real nourishment came from knowing we had crossed the Pyrenees together.

Watching Arya and Finlee at the end of this day—still smiling, still proud—was the highlight. At 9 and 10 years old, they had just conquered a mountain pass that humbles many adults. It was a hard, beautiful start to our Camino, and it left us all believing that the journey ahead will be worth every step.