Joe and I walked into town and grabbed some early lunch, then stopped by the Camino counseling office (or whatever it is officially called).   It was cool.   Our dude talked in detail about the first 3 days of the route over the mountain and shared some good general advice about the route.   We also got our stamps and each a shell that I guess we hang from our packs.   

A short walk back up the hill and we are off on the “trail” which is really just a long road walk for the most part, with some steep dirt double track in spots.  This trail is much steeper than the PCT, so pacing is key.  Our destination is Refuge Orisson, which is 8km and 600 meter climb.  

When we arrive we are shown a room with 3 bunk beds of which all are occupied except for 2 top bunks.   That is home for the night.  It is Sunday and this place seems to be a stop for motorcyclist who show up, hang for an hour or two, then ride off.   It looks like a fun road to ride.   

At 6:30, we all gather at 3 long tables and are served by a couple of personable French dudes.   First comes water and wine bottles, then a pot of soup is dropped on the table which we serve to each other. The soup pot gets pulled and a plate of thinly cut beef falls on the table, finally some kind of bean/vegi combo, and a basket of bread.  Some poor Asian dude is closest to the food drops on our table, so he gets the ladling job.  After we finish, we stack our plates and put the silverware into a little box that is passed around.  All this happens quickly and efficiently.  2 guys serving 45 people.  

Over desert, each of us stands, introduces ourselves to the crowd.  Who we are, where we are from, why do the Camino.  Then, with the wine bottles empty, the boss says it is time to go to bed so the can finish cleaning up.   

Our dining companions, meaning people close enough to hear our shouted conversation, were a couple from Utah, two older Australian gals, and a pair of retired Canadians.   Over dinner, I learned the Canadians don’t like the Trumper and thought Trudeau was a pussy.  They love their new PM.  Haha.                

So, the about that night with 6 peeps in a small room.   Well, someone closed the window.  I couldn’t sleep due to jet lag.  The room became hot, humid, and noisy.   Turns out that all the guys snore….  The top snorer was a chubby German guy under my bunk.  I jumped down to take a piss at 3am, returning to the room felt like I was entering a loud hot smelly sauna.   Finally fell asleep and awoke when Joe hit the lights and smacked my leg.   Everyone but he and I had already packed and left for breakfast.  Jet lag is a weird thing. 

The plan was flight from LAX to Newark, wait an hour or two, then on to Madrid.   A train to Pamplona, then a bus/taxi to the start in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port.   Lot of stops and transfers.  Joe had us pre-booked for places to stay from April 24 through April 30 (I think).  

We made it to Newark.   Our flight to Madrid left the gate around 9pm, taxied to take-off, then returned to the gate and dumped us off.   Engine trouble.  We watched them working on the plane until midnight, then they announced the flight was canceled.  

Newark.  When I was traveling for business, I would sacrifice hours of travel to avoid that airport.   Delays and cancelations are common there.  Well, arguably, a busted plane should not be the fault of Newark International Airport, but their reputation remains intact.  

Delays and cancelations are a common feature of air travel.  Happens all the time.  Happened to me all the time.   This time I am going to document it. 

.Flight is canceled and the only folks in the airport are 2 people working the boarding gate and 250 people with nowhere to go.  The gate people suggest we scan a QR code on the monitor for help.   Help comes in the form of an online app where you enter a bunch of stuff about your flight and do-it-yourself rebooking.  Gave up on that and called.   

Calls were routed to a call center, likely located in the Philippines, where I actually got a gal who was competent.  Joe was not so lucky.   Eventually, I use competent girl to take care of both of us. A room at Holiday inn for the night, a flight to Barcelona at 10:00.  So we taxi there, fall asleep at 2am, the alarm goes off at 7am, back to the airport and board the first leg of the flight to Dulles.  

It is a small airplane and I get seated next to a fat guy who scrolls through TikTok videos about food preparation the entire flight.  Next we cool our heals at Dulles for 4 hours, then board the Barcelona which lands at ~8am.  2 hours waiting in the customs line, two *somewhat* high speed trains, a barf-tastic 1.5 hour taxi ride over the Pyrenees mountains, and we finally check into our little condo in Saint Jean Pied de Port at 7ish.  Joe and I collapse on our beds and sleep for 12 hours.

I suppose most folks have bad travel days and this is not the first for me.   However I wanted to document it while fresh in my mind. It SUUUUUCCCKKKKEED.  We were walking zombies last night still queasy from that cab ride.   I found out later that the bus takes the same route.   The couple we spoke with said folks were using the barf bags during their trip.  Buen Camino bitches.