Another day of flurried transferring from one place to another, but one that sees me finally in St-Jean-Pied-de-Port, a pretty little town nestling in the shadow of the Pyrenees, and the starting gate for the Camino Francés, the French Way to Santiago.

Despite an unfortunate contretemps this morning with a shower door at my Airbnb in Biarritz, I’m happy to report that Left Foot is fine and looking forward to the challenge ahead.

Right Foot also agrees and is being slightly superior about it too.

Meanwhile, Bayonne proved to be well worthy of a four-hour layover en route, with a splendid cathedral to visit, impressive street art and a reasonably priced chicken salad.

Then it was time to join many other expectant peregrinos at Bayonne’s train station for a scenic journey up into the foothills of the Pyrenees.

Interestingly, the driver let his children wander in and out of the cab and sound the horn at will. That was unusual…

So it was a pleasure to survive the journey to St-Jean, able to wander its cobbled streets and soak up the anticipatory atmosphere with dozens more just like me.

The first act of Camino kindness came straight away at the train station when I was offered directions into town by another passenger, who clearly knew her way around.

St-Jean’s street markets and shops offered many opportunities to reassess my Camino kit. As a result, I now have a Nik Kershaw-type snood (for UV protection, of course). I later learned that it’s actually called a buff, or even a neck gaiter. Who knew?

I also bought a Camino wristband featuring the scallop shell. Its converging lines symbolise the varied routes that pilgrims take to reach Santiago de Compostela.

Most important of all the final tasks, I went to the Pilgrim Welcome Office to get my credencial authorised and stamped with St-Jean as the starting point of my Camino.

The credencial is my passport on this path, a daily record of my efforts to walk the Way of St James, stamped at each albergue or pilgrim hostel along the route.

Holding it in my hand was quite a moment.

Checking in at Beilari, my first albergue, made it feel more real too.

The hostel staff were wonderfully warm, reassuring and friendly, my first encounter with the people who would provide a safe haven for us as we walked the route.

I’ve just had an excellent meal with 20 fellow Pilgrims, which saw me actually consume and enjoy lentil soup.

If that’s not evidence of this already being a life-changing experience, I don’t know what to tell you.

Night night.

PS: Guess what? The helpful train passenger turned out to be the chef who cooked our meal here at Beilari. Coincidence?