To read more context for the letter below, check out this post here:)

Dear Pilgrim,

There is an invisible threshold between a challenge and a terrible idea. Before crossing the Pyrenees, be honest with yourself about the whereabouts of that line. Have a talk with your knees. Have a talk with your lungs. Have a talk with your amygdala. You do not need rock climbing experience to cross the Pyrenees—there is no actual climbing involved. But you do need to prepare yourself for nearly 17 miles of horizon-blocking inclines, slippery descents, and hours of unprotected exposure to whatever the weather has decided to express that day.

Crossing the Pyrenees is a trial by fire that, when not taken seriously, can lead to a much-too-early end to your trip. Muscles rip, tendonitis flairs, and I’ve known more than one person take a tumble into a bur-filled ditch. Again, the line between a challenge and a terrible idea looks different for everyone, and the line can change as quickly as mountaintop weather. Some people cross without trouble in just a few hours. Others take all day. Some turn back. Some call for help. Some skip ahead to Roncesvalles, or Pamplona, or Burgos by bus. There is no such thing as “doing the whole Camino.” You begin where you begin, and you end where you end.

On a logistical note, you have the option to cross the Pyrenees in one or two days. If you choose to split up the hike in two days, you’ll have to snag one of just a handful of beds at one of the few albergues in the mountains. Crossing in one day takes you to the albergue at Roncesvalles—a 12^th-century monastery and hostel that holds hundreds of mountain-weary souls each night.

There are also two paths when making the journey over the mountain—the Napoleon Route and the Valcalros Route. Think of them as the up-and-over route and the up-and-around routes. They both go up. Don’t be mistaken by the rumors that the Valcalros is easy due to its less severe elevation change. Bikers take the comparatively flatter Valcalros Route to avoid the cliffs and muddy roads of the alternative. Winter months and bad weather send walkers in this direction as well. You can take this route as a walker or biker whenever you please.

If you long to reach the highest elevation, the Napoleon Route waits for you with its 1,200-meter climb in 20 kilometers and then over 200-meter descent in just five. The first three hours force your body to lean so far forward that you can reach out to touch the road in front of you. You will also ascend for longer than feels logical. When you believe you’ve reached the top, you will see other backpack-clad pilgrim silhouettes far ahead of you, somehow still climbing. 

Stop in the pilgrim office in St. Jean before crossing and trust the local advice about taking the risk. Your guides will point out the hard-to-spot markers before the yellow arrows begin in Spain. They will describe how to find the scant places to fill your water bottle and the one place to purchase food. Listen closely and do not ignore their warnings.

When the morning arrives to begin, take your time. Wave to the sheep, rest by the Mary statue, and stop hearty lunch. Your brain will tell you to turn around before you reach the halfway point. Instead, take a seat. Have a sip of water. Breathe.

As daunting as the road may seem at the starting line, you will encounter flickers of triumph. Reaching the top of the next hill, resting your feet in a river, taking shade in a patch of pine trees. The Pyrenees welcome you with a parade of views so remarkable that it may feel sacrilegious to try and capture their beauty on camera.

And just as the road’s welcoming calls morph into a jeering taunt—convincing you that you were never meant to do this in the first place—you will finally descend into the forest and reach the monastery in Roncesvalles. The day will end. And waiting there, are hundreds of new friends with bandages for your blisters, cream for your muscles, and a bottle of red wine.

Hang on to your stories from the Pyrenees—you will share them in the weeks ahead of you.