Day 26.
A Short Walk, a Long Ride, and a Banjo Serenade
Aire-sur-l’Adour to Argagnon
September 8, 2024 | 6.25 miles / 10.06 km walking + 39.72 miles / 63.92 km bus ride
Gîte: Gîte du Cambarrat (€26 B&D)
I woke a little after 6:30 AM, grateful for the chance to sleep in and relieved that today would be light on walking. My hip was finally feeling better, and I didn’t want to push it. After getting ready, I took all my stuff with me to breakfast. I had no intention of hauling anything back up to the fourth floor. I will not miss those stairs.
Breakfast was simple and familiar. Camino French style: bread, jam, coffee. Then I waited downstairs for my ride. They were late. Like, almost an hour late. I was starting to wonder if they were going to show at all when the car finally pulled up at 9:58 AM.
Thankfully, the delay was forgiven the moment I met them, a cheerful husband-and-wife team who drove me from Aire-sur-l’Adour to Arthez-de-Béarn for €30. Both spoke excellent English, and we had a great chat on the way. Worth every penny.
Arrival in Arthez-de-Béarn
The town was quiet, the streets still and sleepy except for the Église Saint-Pierre, where Sunday Mass was in full swing. As I passed the open church doors, I felt the soft hum of reverence and the gentle buzz of voices in prayer. It felt like walking through a blessing.
Since there wasn’t much to explore in town, I rejoined the GR65 under the familiar cover of my raincoat. The path here was noticeably quieter, fewer pilgrims, more open space, more silence. Around mid-morning, I took a short detour to La Chapelle de Caubin, a small Romanesque chapel tucked away in the fields. Once part of a 12th-century Knights Hospitaller commandery, it holds centuries of sacred history in its stone walls. Sadly, it was closed when I arrived, but just being there felt special, like discovering a hidden thread of the old pilgrim paths.
Rain, Wind, and a Welcomed End
By 11:00 AM, the light drizzle turned into pouring rain and wind. I pulled my hood tighter and kept going. The trail eventually led into a long descent toward Argagnon, a quiet, residential town. It’s not the most picturesque place on the Camino, but it gave me what I needed-shelter, warmth, and rest.
At the town’s edge, I met Antoine, who was also heading to Gîte du Cambarrat. He was soaked through. Turns out someone had taken his raincoat. Total bummer. But we had good conversation as we made the short walk together. The gîte was just a bit off-trail, about 100 meters, and run by a friendly couple, Nicolas and Isabelle.
We arrived, checked in, showered, and did our laundry. By then, the rain had passed and the sun had pushed its way through the clouds. I sat outside with my journal, savoring the quiet after the storm and feeling grateful for a light day. The gîte had no WiFi, but Antoine kindly let me use his hotspot. Camino kindness strikes again.
Dinner was shared with nine of us total, and while the food was simple, the company made it meaningful. Afterward, Nicolas pulled out his banjo and played a few tunes. It was such an unexpected joy to hear.
I was in bed by 9:30 PM, content and rested. My hip? So much better. Taking it easy today was exactly what I needed.
🥾 Pilgrim Tip:
Listen to your body. If you’re nursing an injury or feeling worn down, don’t be afraid to modify your day. Take a bus, shorten the walk, or rest more. The Camino isn’t a race; it’s a journey of wisdom, grace, and healing.
Day 27.
Cold Rain, Warm Fellowship, and a Song in the Storm
Argagnon to Navarrenx
September 9, 2024 | 17.41 miles / 28.02 km
Gîte: Le Gîte d’étape Communal L’Arsenal (€20.80 B&B)
Sleepless & Early to Rise
I was up earlier than planned. Sharing a room with Antoine, Julia, and a mother-son duo turned out to be… challenging. They both snored through the night, then decided to hold a full-blown conversation after midnight, as if we weren’t all trying to sleep in a shared space. Antoine and Julia wanted to leave but had paid for breakfast. I hadn’t. So at 5:30 AM, I was out the door. It was still dark, the air was cold, and a light drizzle dusted the morning. I threw on my raincoat and slipped into the quiet.
My hip felt good after yesterday’s shorter walk, and I was glad. I had my sights set on Navarrenx. The first couple of hours were nothing but asphalt in the dark, which was fine. There wasn’t much to see anyway. But as the sun began to rise, the Camino shifted again. The road gave way to muddy trails, rolling green hills, and far-off views of the Pyrenees breaking through the mist. A reminder that beauty waits if you keep walking.
A Church, a Song, and a Psalm
By the time I reached Méritein, the rain was falling hard. I ducked into The Parish Church of Saint-Jean-Baptiste to wait it out. The space was breathtaking. All the lights were on, illuminating the monumental altarpiece that stretches all the way up the apse. It felt holy the moment I stepped inside.
At the back of the church, I was surprised to find more than twenty pilgrims already gathered. They’d started an impromptu Bible study.
The passage was Psalm 30:11–12:
“You turned my mourning into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent.”
After the reading, someone started singing Ron Kenoly’s Mourning Into Dancing. To my second surprise, nearly half the group knew the song and joined in. In that moment, surrounded by soaked backpacks and steaming jackets, we were a choir. Not planned, not rehearsed, just hearts lifted by something higher than the rain.
Reflection: That verse hit me deeply. On the Camino, it’s easy to focus on the hard parts—aches, cold nights, sleepless gîtes. But here was a reminder that even those moments can be transformed. That God is in the business of turning mourning into dancing, sackcloth into joy. And maybe, in a little village church in the middle of a rainstorm, I caught a glimpse of that truth in action.
Stone Bridges & Living History
When we stepped outside, the rain had stopped. The final stretch into Navarrenx was gently uphill, softened by the beauty all around. Just before reaching the town, we crossed the Pont de Navarrenx, a 13th-century stone bridge that felt like a portal to another time.
Navarrenx is stunning. It was the first bastide town in France to be fortified, and its stone ramparts, narrow lanes, and half-timbered houses still carry the weight of that history. The views from the city walls stretched wide, and I let myself slow down and take them in.
A Royal Gîte and Simple Joys
Four of us were staying at the same gîte tonight, but we arrived a bit early. The only bar open was our haven. Coffee, a place to charge our phones, and a bit of warmth. We wandered through town afterward, eventually reaching the Office of Tourism where a kind receptionist helped me make my reservation for tomorrow.
The gîte, L’Arsenal et Les Chemins de Saint-Jacques, is housed in a historic building, the former residence of the kings of Navarre. It’s right in the center of town. The hosts were friendly, the shower was hot, and doing laundry felt like bliss.
After settling in, I explored the ramparts and bastions of the old fortified city. I’d heard the Gave d’Oloron river was impressive, but by then, I was too tired to venture further.
Dinner was humble: bread, canned fish in tomato sauce, and a cup of mixed fruit. I shared with a French couple walking their first Camino and a German man who’s walked nearly every major route in Spain. The stories at the table tonight were many and rich.
🥾 Pilgrim Note:
Today reminded me that the Camino is not just a path across land; it’s a place where God meets us, often in the most unexpected ways. In the echo of a song. In a stranger’s kindness. In a church full of pilgrims who came in out of the rain and found something sacred waiting.
Let your heart sing. Don’t be silent.
Day 28.
From Rain to Red Shutters
Navarrenx to Aroue
September 10, 2024 | 13.46 miles / 21.66 km
Gîte: Gîte Communal d’Aroue (€22 B&B)
Peaceful Sleep & A Midnight Scare
Last night was bliss. I shared the room with two elderly German ladies on their way to Santiago, and not a single snore broke the silence. It was exactly the kind of quiet, restful night I’d been hoping for. I did wake up twice, though; both times my Apple watch showed my heart rate had dropped alarmingly low: 28 and 31 BPM. That scared me a bit. I got up and did some jumping jacks in the kitchen each time to get my heart going again. Strange, but it worked.
Breakfast was served at 6:30 AM, and by 7:00, I was booking my post-Camino tickets to Leeds and Philadelphia. A surreal feeling to have a known end date now.
Into the Rain, Into the Woods
I left Navarrenx just before 8:00 AM under a light rain. It wasn’t unpleasant. I stopped to put on my raincoat and carried on through serene woodlands and quiet stretches of countryside. There’s something comforting about walking in the rain while your boots crunch forward. Steady and unhurried.
When I reached Lichos, I was told I’d officially entered French Basque Country. That felt like a milestone. The landscape was changing: hills grew rounder, rooftops steeper, and the houses began wearing their traditional white and red proudly.
A Castle, a Chat & a Choice
I paused to visit the Château de Mongaston, a 13th-century fortress originally built by Gaston VII of Moncade. It was restored in the 16th century and still holds its medieval presence. A little slice of history along the path.
After Castetnau-Camblong, I ran into two familiar pilgrims I’d seen off and on the past few days. We walked together for a bit, talking about everything and nothing. Then, as often happens on the Camino, we gently separated—each falling back into our own rhythm as the trail narrowed into woodland.
This is what I love: the Camino gives you company when you crave it and solitude when your soul needs space.
Basque Crosses & a Gentle Arrival
The last part of the walk into Aroue felt like stepping into a postcard. Green hills rolled on endlessly, broken by whitewashed farmhouses with deep red shutters. I spotted my first Basque cross carved into an old gatepost, and it felt like a quiet welcome from a new culture.
I made it to Aroue before 1:00 PM. Faster than usual, averaging 3 to 4 mph. I was proud of that. The pain in my hip is persistent, but manageable when I walk light. I’m now sending my backpack ahead and it’ll make a huge difference.
Hospitality, History & Hot Tea
The Gîte Communal d’Aroue was a lovely surprise. Simple, clean, and warmly run by Mélanie and François. Mélanie helped arrange transport for my bag, and François later gave us a guided historical tour of the hamlet and the Romanesque Church of Saint Etienne. His pride in the village was contagious. We all loved it.
The garden behind the gîte was my favorite spot; peaceful and lush, with an endless supply of hot tea for pilgrims who’d walked in wet. There were no shops or cafés in Aroue, just stillness. It suited the day perfectly.
Later, Antoine bought a couple of bottles of wine to share, and we all gathered for a delicious dinner. The food was great, but it was the laughter and stories that really made the meal. It’s always the people.
🥾 Pilgrim Note:
There are days on the Camino that feel loud with insight and motion. Then there are days like today. Gentle, grounding, and content. No epiphany, no crisis. Just rain, hot tea, red shutters, and good people. Sometimes, that’s all the revelation you need.
Day 29.
Almost There
Aroue to Larceveau
September 11, 2024 | 16.75 miles / 26.96 km
Gîte: Gîte Hego Alde (€24 B&B)
Soft Light & Shifting Culture
I was up by 5:30 AM, and by the time breakfast was served, the gîte was already stirring. It was a solid breakfast, and I left Aroue at 6:30 AM just as light began to pour through the trees. There’s a particular peace that settles in during these final days on the Via Podiensis. The trail is quieter now—most pilgrims still walking are headed to the same place: the Pyrenees. We all feel it. The quiet sense of something about to end.
The path wound through meadows and narrow wooded sections. Basque country is unmistakable. The white-and-red homes standing bold against green hills, the road signs switching between French and Euskara, and town names that twist your tongue. The landscape is evolving, and so am I.
Waves from Strangers, Memories for Life
Somewhere before Larribar-Sorhapuru, I stopped beside a small stone chapel to rest and take in the stillness. A farmer rolled by on a bicycle, gave me the biggest wave, and shouted, “Bon chemin!” I waved back, smiling. It’s one of the things I love most about the Camino. How the locals, with their kindness and quiet encouragement, weave themselves into your story without ever fully realizing it.
Rain, Tea & a Bittersweet Meal
The final stretch into Larceveau followed peaceful farm roads, the kind that lull you into thought. About 45 minutes before I reached the gîte, the skies opened up. Cold and soaked through, I arrived hoping for warmth and got it, sort of. Guillaume, our kind host, welcomed me warmly, but my backpack hadn’t arrived yet. So, I sat with steaming cups of tea, wrapped in damp layers, waiting. It finally showed up just after 6:30 PM. Longest delay so far.
I did the usual pilgrim routine-shower, laundry, phone calls and then joined the others for dinner. The food was good, and the company even better. Still, I felt a quiet ache under the surface. This was my second-to-last night on the Camino. The Pyrenees are close now. So close I can see them, feel them rising with every step. And with that nearness comes the ache of parting. I want to hold onto this rhythm, this stillness, this strange and beautiful way of living.
🥾 Pilgrim Note:
As this journey nears its end, I’m holding Psalm 84:5 in my heart:
“Blessed are those whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.”
I’ve walked through more than just landscapes. Through joy, fear, pain, and wonder. My feet ache, my heart is full, and my spirit is stronger than it was when I began. The road will end soon, but what it’s given me won’t.
Day 30.
Where It Ends—and Begins Again
Larceveau to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port
September 12, 2024 | 14.73 miles / 23.71 km
Gîte: Accueil Pèlerin Pilgrims Hostel (€13 Bed)
A Morning Wrapped in Cold & Anticipation
I didn’t sleep much last night. It was bitterly cold, and my room even colder. My toes were freezing. I couldn’t wait for breakfast, if only for the warmth of a hot cup of tea. I was up and dressed by 6:45 AM, and out the door by 7:45 with a strange energy buzzing in my chest. It was my final day walking the Chemin du Puy. Anticipation, nostalgia, gratitude; all of it swirled beneath the gray skies.
The rain came early and stayed, but I didn’t mind. Not today. The road out of Larceveau was soft and winding, passing farms where sheep grazed peacefully, and bold red-shuttered Basque houses stood tall against green hills. Everything felt heightened. The smell of wet earth, the pause between birdcalls, the distant clang of cowbells echoing through the valleys.
A Journey in Vivid Detail
I stopped in Gamarthe to take in the view: the Pyrenees no longer a distant promise, but fully present, standing firm and familiar. They brought back memories of last year’s Camino Francés.
The trail passed through villages with names like Xoko, Utxiat, and Bussunaritz. Each one distinctively Basque. I walked through a series of gates that reminded me of my early Camino days. Along the way, I feasted on figs and peaches plucked fresh. I paused at a large stone cross of Christ, and something in its solemnity moved me deeply. I wept quietly beneath a nearby chestnut tree, remembering Monika from the Camino Francés. The Camino gives you those moments; unexpected and unexplainable, but unforgettable.
Into the Heart of Saint-Jean
I passed a handful of pilgrims. Some strangers, some familiar faces I’d seen on and off for days. We exchanged knowing smiles and nods. Sometimes words aren’t needed. I walked most of today alone, and that felt right. The final descent into Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port felt surreal. One moment I was deep in the countryside, the next I was stepping through the Porte Saint-Jacques, the famous gate into the old town.
And just like that, at 12:29 PM, my Camino came to an end. I had walked more than 750 kilometers from Le Puy-en-Velay, step by step, through every kind of weather, joy, and ache. I made my way to the Église Notre-Dame-du-Bout-du-Pont, sat quietly, and let it all wash over me. I did it. Even on the days when my hip forced me onto four wheels instead of two feet, I kept going.
Bienvenue à Saint-Jean
Checking into my gîte felt like exhaling. I dropped my backpack and walked to the Pilgrim Office to get my final stamp. The volunteer smiled and said, “Bienvenue à Saint-Jean.” I almost cried.
While this town is the beginning for many, for me, it was the end, or maybe a turning point. I gathered information for tomorrow’s early morning train and wandered through town. I even found a bread vending machine. Bless this place.
Rue de la Citadelle’s cobbled charm, the red-shuttered houses, and the Nive River flowing through its center. It’s impossibly picturesque. At the top, the old Vauban-built citadel offered sweeping views of the path behind me and the road ahead for others. I watched pilgrims setting out with fresh shells and full hearts. I remembered how that felt.
Final Thoughts & Farewell
This stage may have been short in distance, but it overflowed with meaning.
I’m grateful for every muddy track, every hilltop view, every blister and blessing. The Chemin du Puy has held me, taught me, carried me. It ends here, but something deeper begins.
“The Lord will watch over your coming and going, both now and forevermore.”
— Psalm 121:8
Tomorrow, I catch the 5 AM train toward Leeds, then Reading, PA, and finally home to California. But part of me will always remain on this trail; in a fig tree’s shade, under a chestnut’s watchful branches, and in the quiet echo of every “Bon chemin” along the way.
🥾 Pilgrim Tip:
Don’t rush your final day. Let it sink in. Walk slowly. Eat figs. Touch the gates. Look back. The end is sacred, too.
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