Today was the toughest day of the Camino. On day 1, you hike about 25 km and climb 1,429 meters.

I woke up speaking French in St. Paul Pied de Port, and went to bed speaking Spanish in Roncesvalles. (They would have preferred Basque, but more on this later).

About 5 hours in, you reach the auberge de Orisson. You’ve climbed perhaps half of the altitude at that point. The auberge has beds for about 40 people, which book up fast. Staying overnight there, or at the small auberge in Borda a few km up the road, is by far the most practical strategy.

The full hike to the summit took me a total of 10 hours. I put a lot of weight into being “reasonably fit.” After all, lepers, amputees, and gravely ill people have been doing this hike for 1,000 years! I’ve run a bit, 15 or so 10 or 12ks a year, couple of half marathons, a 100-mile bike race a few years ago—not an athlete by any means, but no slouch, either.

But I’m quite sure today’s hike was the most physically demanding thing I’ve ever done. I wanted to throw in the towel many times, if there had been any way to do so.

Breakfast was a slice of tortilla, the saltiest I’ve ever had (but I was thankful for the salt). A gentlemen in his 70s from Ireland sitting next to me chased his with a brandy.

At the summit, called Lepoeder, both Napoleon and Charlemagne lost their armies (and, arguably, Europe) in the ninth and nineteenth centuries, respectively. The pass over the mountain is called La Route Napoleon, but there are references to Charlemagne’s general, Roland, along the way as well.

Do the Route Napoleon, they said. The view is incredible, they said. But by the time I reached the summit, the last thing I was thinking about was the view.

The last few km are a 1,000 m descent into Roncevalles, largely in a very rough, very steep gully. The hiking poles came in handy. Falling downhill with a heavy backpack is, as outdoorsmen say, a very bad thing.

On the other hand, there is a great feeling of accomplishment at the end of the day. I missed my blog posing in the evening, because I simply could not move my thumbs.