They tell you that the Camino de Santiago begins before you start walking. For me this was definitely true.
I started training in November, with the help of the services of the lovely June, from Nordic Kiwi. I resisted training. Things came up. I got busy. I got bored. I got sick. Life is hectic…I struggled trying to find enough hours in the day. But soon enough I was on a place heading towards San Jean Pied de Port, the start of the 800km journey.
I left an unusually sunny London, plane booked in advanced, transfers booked in advance. I was winning at being a grown up traveller. Alas, it was not to be. My time to grow up was not now. It was the day after the Manchester bombing. Apparently London police, understandably on high alert, found a package on my route and took the only course of action. Massive road closures. My four hour transit time left me 5 minutes late for check in. For the only flight that week.
No amount of frustration crying would get me on that plane.
So, all that could be done was to book a much more expensive flight to a new location. Then get a bus. Find a hostel and then get two more buses. I arrived a day later than planned, which in the scheme of things doesn’t matter.