Well, the strange, long, wonderful road to Santiago ended on November 26. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write about the last part of the journey - i think I needed some time to put it into perspective first. I will write about reflections in another post, I think, but here is the final chapter...
I last wrote from Melide, where we believed ourselves to be 2 days from our destination. We went out that night to try pulpo (octopus, a local speciality) and I have to say that I prefer greek-style. It was ok but I couldn't have eaten a whole plate! The albergue that night was the usual Galician style (ie crappy) and we were all a bit run-down and over bad showers (again, communal, no doors!) and tiny dormitories with no room to swing even the smallest of kittens. The next morning Jerome and I both woke up a little sick - Tobias had been fighting a cold for a few days and Eric and Nancy were also a bit sniffly. We headed out with a plan to walk 34kms to Santa Irene, a big day by any standards but especially when you're physically and meteorologically 'under the weather', because Galicia decided to really give us a taste of her nasty side. As the black clouds swept over the sky we considered putting on our rain gear. A moment later that thought became redundant as we got pelted with small balls of ice. Yes, it was hailing. We ran for the cover of a pedestrian tunnel and covered up, and luckily for us the hail turned to normal drenching rain. Oh goody! We pushed on to the next town and stopped for lunch. One of my shoes had decided it had had enough of being waterproof and had welcomed in the rain like an old friend. Jerome was looking terrible and feeling worse and one by one the rest of the family arrived in various states of fatigue and saturation. Not long after that we made the decision to stay the night. THe problem was I'd done food shopping and the albergue nearby had no kitchen. We'd eaten out a lot recently and none of us felt like spending more money than was necessary. We shouldered our bags and went searching for another option. We called numbers and got no answer, knocked on doors that no-one answered and it was all a bit depressing. That's when my AD spirit kicked in and I remembered why I was so damn good at that job. Within five minutes I'd tracked down a private albergue, called and negotiated (in Spanish!) and was leading the group to the entrance. It was a new place and the man gave us a discount because we were a group. It was so luxurious we almost fell over. Lovely dormitories, even better showers with plenty of hot water and a real kitchen with oil, salt, spices and pans. We'd been dreaming of a place like this. The only problem was that Eric had left early that morning and didn't knw we weren't going to Santa Irene. We had no way to get a message to him and therefore he'd be a day ahead of us. So the eight became seven, but we knew that the pilgrim instinct that had kept us together for so long would bring him to us in Santiago. We ate dinner by candlelight and slept so well that it was about 9am when we finally woke up. Oops! But the hospitalero didn't mind and we left in much better spirits and better weather - while not sunny it was at least not raining yet!
By this point we were about 40kms away from Santiago and getting closer with every step, as small stones announced at 500m intervals. It was nice to see progress but frankly they made me a little bit nervous - a constant reminder that this amazing time was drawing to an end with a speed I couldn't quite believe. It was difficult for Jerome and I because Santiago was an end of our time too, and watching those numbers fall brought a lot of sadness in amongst the excitement of completing the Camino. But there was no way back (ok, not strictly true, but really, are you going to turn around before you reach your destination after coming that bloody far? I don't think so...) so on we walked. That night we headed to Arco do Pino for our last night before Santiago. Another tiny, narrow, communally showered albergue - how much do I NOT miss them? - so Jerome kindly stood guard at the bathroom door so I could have a shower. Olaf and Tobias had announced that day that they were going to make pancakes for dinner. I think maybe this is a Dutch thing, because Olaf did this once in France and Tobias was very keen on the idea this night. So they made more batter than I thought was humanly possible and annoyed all the other pilgrims by using all the hotplates and most of the frying pans to cook mounds of cheese and apple pancakes (separate, not mixed) and we all sat down to breakfast at 8pm.
At 5 or 6am the next morning all the other pilgrims woke up and with much excited rustling of bags left in darkness to walk the last day to Santiago. We didn't. When we woke up (at about 8:30, long gone were the days when Jerome, Eric and I were up at 5:30) the whole place was empty except for our corridor of bunks. The other pilgrims probably wanted to get to the pilgrim mass at 1pm but since we were staying a few days we weren't that fussed. Luckily we got dressed, breakfasted (more pancakes) and packed just in time. The lady came in to clean and wasn't very happy that we had overstayed the 8am check-out rule.
And so we began the final 20km walk to our destination for all these long months. It didn't fit in my brain that I would actually arrive, that i would enter the cathedral, that day. How, when it truly is all about the journey, do you deal with the destination when it comes? The first part of the day was through beautiful forests- so many eucalypts! - but it slowly grew more and more urban as we approached Monte do Gozo. Traditionally, this town 5kms away from Santiago was where pilgrims stayed the night to wash, shave, and change clothes so as to arrive clean and presentable to mass the next day. Nowadays there is an 800-bed albergue there offering accommodation to pilgrims, students and sports teams. We had agreed to meet in Monte do Gozo (since we often separated on the road) and enter Santiago together. Of course there was no meeting place arranged and when Jerome and I arrived it was lunch time so we decided to go to a cafe. As we got closer I saw Tobias' walking staff leaning against the wall. The three of us had lunch and then Jerome went outside for a cigarette. As he stepped outside the others came around the corner, so once again without any need to plan we all found each other at the perfect time in the perfect place - pilgrim radio.
The seven of us dropped down the hill and there lay Santiago. We couldn't see the cathedral yet but as we crossed the bridge and passed the official boundary sign I could feel the excitement and nervous tension start to build. We walked on and on through fairly dull parts of the city, following signs that weren't always easy to spot. I tialked to other pilgrims who arrived on their own or wit one other person and many of them reported feeling disappointed and frustrated with their arrival, because no-one wished them a good camino, or smiled, or even acknowledged their existence. I guess for a city that sees 80 000 pilgrims a year that's normal, but I felt very fortunate to be part of a group, to have these wonderful people to share this moment with. Since Jerome had done the Camino before and has an excellent sense of direction he led us easily through to the old city. As we wound up the paved streets with souvenier shops flogging pilgrim-inspired trinkets we caught our first glimpse of the cathedral. We turned a corner and suddenly we were standing on the right-hand side of it. This is another strange thing about the path - it brings you to a side door through which you can enter and many people do, but Jerome knew better and led us around to the square in front where we could take in the huge gothic facade of our destination. We stood in the square - the only pilgrims at that point - and hugged, cheered, maybe cried a little and tried to take in the fact that we had done it. Together we climbed the stairs and entered the cathedral.
My first impression on seeing the alter was "hmm, that's very glitzy". Gold, gold and more gold, with a rather disturbing gold statue of St James (which you can hug, and I did) and just for good measure other (gold) statues of angels and maybe a cherub. The whole thing was a bit of an assault on the senses - subtlety was clearly not what the designer had in mind. But the most important place in the cathedral is the crypt, where the relic of St James - a silver coffin with his remains - is kept. Jerome and I made our way down into the small stome chamber with only a prayer stand in front of the relic (behind glass of course) and a bench to sit on. I have said before that I'm not christian, but was doing this pilgrimage for spiritual reasons. So really the supposed bones of an apostle shouldn't have meant that much. But the power of that place was undeniable. I don't know if it was because we had been through so much to kneel before that silver box, or because so many people had ben through so much for so long to do the same, but that crypt hummed with something sacred. We kelt and said a prayer and then moved to the bench at the back of the crypt and just held each other, in silence and in love and I swear if the earth had cracked open beneath our feet we couldn't have moved from that place. It was half an hour before we were able to rise to our feet, remembering that there were people waiting for us. When we emerged intothe sunshine in the square - yes, Galicia brought out blue sky and sunlight for our arrival and the day after, the only occasions in all our time there - and saw the others gathered together, but six instead of five - Eric had found us. He'd come to the square around the time he figured we'd arrive and we all went and booked in to the private pension he was staying at. No more albergues for me, that night we had a bed with sheets and a towel provided.
Now, of course the personal sense of completion is really reward enough, but traditionally, when the pilgrimage was still a dangerous prospect and many people didn't make it, you wanted to have something to prove you'd done it when you arrived home after all those months and hardships. For this reason the church issues a Compostela, an official document that states (in latin) that you have fulfilled the requirements of the pilgrimage (you've come a sufficiently long way, you've walked or ridden, and you've gotten the necessary stamps in your credential). If you haven't walked the route for religious (or spiritual) reasons you get a certificate in English, I think. The people at the pilgrims office check your credential and ask you some questions. My lady was very smiley and friendly, but one of the men was quite interogatory, almost like he suspected us of cheating along the way. But we all met the requirements and received our compostelas - my name in latin is Rosam Marium, just in case anyone was wondering!
That night we went out for amazing pizza, a little too much red wine and a general sense of accomplishment. We were all pretty tired after the day's events, but so happy to be there, to be together to savour this moment and for me at least, wondering what exactly was going to happen next. That's th funny thing about finishing something big, I guess. After so long concentrating on one thing, you're never quite sure which door to open when that one swings shut.
We all hung around Santiago the next day and attended mass together at 1pm. It was great because pilgrims we'd all met along the way but lost contact with began to arrive. So I found Christof, Annie, and Phillipe again. The priest read out how many pilgrims had arrived from which countries the day before and we were on the list - only one from Australia, so I got to feel special! When it came time to turn to your neighbour and shake their hand, we took off around the church, hugging the pilgrims we knew and sharing in that moment an understanding that you cannot put into words. People, virutal strangers some, who were more real than family right then, who knew how far you'd come because they'd done it themselves. No matter that our roads and experiences were different, that we saw different meaning in events and sights and felt differently about the time on the camino. The road to Santiago weaves a strange web between us all, and those bonds are stronger than they first appear.
That night about thirty pilgrims (including us) gathered in a restaurant for very disappointing food and the joy of catching up with each other. Many of them had arrived that day and while it was nice to see some people there were many I didn't know and it felt too big and noisy. Daniel and Renata from Brazil were there and that completed my list of people I'd hoped to see again. On the road, after a particularly fun day of singing together, I'd suggested to Jerome that we find karaoke in Santaigo. He'd said there definitely wouldn't be a place there and went so far as to promise that if I could find one, he'd sing. Well, what do you know, there were 2 karaoke bars in Santiago, and under much sufferance I dragged him along with a few others to Makumba. He wanted nothing to do with it until he sang his first song then he wouldn't let go of the song book. Etienne impressed us all with unexpected karaoke talents and Daniel and Renata took all night to choose one Portuguese song which, when it came on, wasn't the song they thought it was so they couldn't sing it. I love karaoke!
The next day the rest of the group started the three or four day walk to Finisterre on the coast of Spain. I stayed behind with Jerome and we drifted quietly around Santigo together, knowing that the time was drawing very near when we would have to say good-bye. I bought some 'normal' clothes and barely recognised myself in the mirror - what? no hiking pants? - and I could feel the rhythm of everyday life seeping back in. Strange to put down my pack, to stay in one place for a few days running, to slip into a routine that didn't involve walking. After so long on the road I was at a bit of a loss of what to do with all these hours in the day, but it's amazing how fast they fill up.
I'll sign off this post now because I know it's VERY long. Thank-you all for following my adventures, I have so enjoyed keeping this blog and sharing my time on the road. So thank-you, thank-you and see you all soon.
Sunday 30 November 2008
Sunday 23 November 2008
The family
A quick overview of the people I am curently travelling with, since they have become my new camino family and are wonderful:
Jo and Nancy from Quebec: I met these two in France and we kept bumping into each other along the way. In Leon we saw them again and have been together ever since. They are fabulous, funny, and insightful, but sometimes Quebec French is incomprehensible to me.
Tobias: Tobias is from Holland and has walked from his home to Spain. He is tall, has shoulder-length white blond hair, carries a wooden staff with a scallop shell and has a sixth sense-ability to find us even if we haven't seen him all day. For these reasons we have christened him Legola, or just "the elf". He is an old, wise spirit in a young man's body and is a blesing to walk with.
Olaf: Also from Holland, also walked from his house, but has worked in France along the way so has been on the road for a bout two and half years. He's even taller than Tobias and for this reason we call him the giant or the Ent (yes, we're Lord of the Rings fans)
Jerome: I have already mentioned him, but we have shared som much of this road and talked about every subject under the sun. We think the same things at the same time, challenge each other, heal each other and he has been a big part of my road.
Eric: eric is like a little ray of sunshine wrapped up in human form. he wants to be a sheperd and has the calmest and funniest spirit. nothing seems to shake him.
Etienne: another Quebec recruit, relaxed and friendly. He shrunk his zip-off pants bottoms, so now he walks in shorts and tights. Funny.
Jo and Nancy from Quebec: I met these two in France and we kept bumping into each other along the way. In Leon we saw them again and have been together ever since. They are fabulous, funny, and insightful, but sometimes Quebec French is incomprehensible to me.
Tobias: Tobias is from Holland and has walked from his home to Spain. He is tall, has shoulder-length white blond hair, carries a wooden staff with a scallop shell and has a sixth sense-ability to find us even if we haven't seen him all day. For these reasons we have christened him Legola, or just "the elf". He is an old, wise spirit in a young man's body and is a blesing to walk with.
Olaf: Also from Holland, also walked from his house, but has worked in France along the way so has been on the road for a bout two and half years. He's even taller than Tobias and for this reason we call him the giant or the Ent (yes, we're Lord of the Rings fans)
Jerome: I have already mentioned him, but we have shared som much of this road and talked about every subject under the sun. We think the same things at the same time, challenge each other, heal each other and he has been a big part of my road.
Eric: eric is like a little ray of sunshine wrapped up in human form. he wants to be a sheperd and has the calmest and funniest spirit. nothing seems to shake him.
Etienne: another Quebec recruit, relaxed and friendly. He shrunk his zip-off pants bottoms, so now he walks in shorts and tights. Funny.
snapshots from the road
ok, apologies for the really long absence from my blog - I'm blaming a total lack of computers, being in the middle of bloody nowhere, long days and late starts and other distractions that will become clear...
anyway, I am two days (count them TWO!) from Santiago de Compostela and I can't quite fit that fact into my brain. I don't know where two months went (it's two months tomorrow since I set out from Le Puy)or 1550kms, which is apparently how far I've walked. Snce I can't possibly blog ALL the moments since I last wrote, I thought I'd cut it down to the highlights, so here goes!
he last of the Meseta
I think I last blogged from the middle of the Meseta, the desert of the Camino. This was an amazing place - I began to understand why people go to the desert to seek knowledge and mystical experiences, because you really do find them there. Jerome told us that the desert would ask us a question, and at a certain point there was a choice between two roads. Our choice of the road was a symbolic answer, to accept a new beginning or stay in the old way of life. Our group chose the new beginning, or the Roman road, which leads through one of the most isolated parts of Spain where there is nothing except for the town in which we would sleep. The meseta was a big experience for all of us, and I watched the changes in the people around me, knowing that they were probably seeing the same in me.
The angel of Reliegos
Our second last day we headed from the remote and tiny town of Calzadilla de los Hermanillos to Mansilla de los Mulas. THe first 18kms were across an empty plain - nothing, no houses, no farms barely any trees, and it was cold and rainy. Jerome and I walked and talked, squelching through mud and water and praying that somewhere there would be a cafe. When we reached Reliegos, the only bar had a sign on the door saying it was shut. It was another 10kms or so to the next town. But the curtains moved and we heard a man shout out, askeing us to wait a moment. He opened the door and gestured us in, talking in the most rapid-fire Spanish I'd heard yet. Essentially he'd been having a day off, but saw us and decided to open so we could rest. We were so grateful and ordered cafe con leches and attempted to order a cheese and ham sandwich. He told me there was no cheese, so I asked what he recommended. Again in incomprehensible Spanish he said something about meat and delicious. I said we'd take two. Hey, it's meant to be an adeventure, right? Since we'd talked about sandwiches I assumed that's what we'd get. Instead we got bowls with hunks of slow-cooked meat (beef? mutton?) with sauce and bread on the side. Not the best thing ever but hot and filling. the other pilgrims of our group filed in, and the music got turned up. It seemed that no matter what people ordered they got whatever he had going in the kitchen. Even when people ordered the same thing it was different! But he was just loving his work and the mood was infectious. We all started singing along and grooving in our chairs. It was such a magic moment after a long hard week. As I watched him I realised what a wonderful thing it is to do something we love, or just simply to do what we do with love.
Leon, Leon
The next day brought us to Leon where we planned to take a rest day. Leon is GORGEOUS and we stayed in a convent in the old town not too far from the Cathedral. The cathedral is one of those amazing gothic churches and it defies description. THe stained-glass windows inside were so beautiful I almost cried. That night Eric, Jerome and I decided to go out for dinner, and Olaf and Tobias said they might join us, but since we didn't know where we were going we figured it wouldn't work out. After wandering around fro 15 minutes (it was 7:30 and nothing opens for dinner here before 8pm) we found a pizza restaurant that was open and strangely the onñy place in Spain where you can't smoke. Since the other two are smokers this was deeply disappointing to them, but something of a relief to me. We ordered wine and food and everything was really good. Just as our pizzas arrived, the door opened and in walked Tobias, just as if we'd planned the rendevous. He really is an elf. We got a bit drunk and ate too much and headed back to the convent just in time to see the other pilgrims returning from evening prayers and for me to get in trouble (a little) from the hospitalero for not attending. Now, there were three other people with me, but why I got the attention is still a mystery. Maybe I look like I need the help?
The next day we walked (yes, it was supposed to be a rest day, but what else do you do?) around Leon, visiting places, buying me a ski jacket, having coffee and finally churros (spanish donuts) with thick thick hot chocolate. We went to the evening prayers where the nuns sang the prayers with voices like angels. All in all, a really lovely day. Then we went to sleep.... well, we tried. The man next to us started up a symphony of snoring and after two hours of pain I moved to the other dormitory, which was empty but open and tried again. Jerome arrived ten minutes later, both of us cursing large Spanish men. Our efforts to sleep were hindered by the party of Spanish people outside or window who seemed to be practicing football chants. Then, around 4am the hospitalero came in, drunk, and demanded to know why we were there. We explained the problem and he said in french something I won't translate because I know my grandmother is reading this! But the basic idea was "Bloody pilgrims, I've had enough". The next morning his foul mood continued and we all hit the road as early as we could, just happy to be out of there.
Indian Summer
We'd spent the whole mesta freezing with wind and rain and cloud, so imagine our sheer joy when the moment we reached Leon the weather cleared and the bluest of blue skies appeared, with glorius sunshine to boot. We were all walking in t-shirts and sweating. It was mid-November and the most wonderful gift from heaven imaginable. I'm now in Galicia, so all that's changed...
The last templar
After Leon comes the Montes of Leon, the steepest and highest part of the camino, and much harder than the Pyrenees, since it's off road and more consistently steep. The goal was to reach Manjarin, an abandoned village on top of the mountain where a man called Thonas has rebuilt some ruins into an albergue and cares for pilgrims in the style of the Knights Templar, the original guardians of the Camino and protectors of pilgrims in medieval times. We passed through Foncebaddon first, hoping to stop at a Celtic restaurant Jerome knows. Foncebaddon is another runied village that is slowly being rebuilt, but seriously, there is NOTHING there. So when we arrived at the restaurant and asked for a table, we were a little surprised to be informed that is was fully booked. It wasn't a small restaurant.
We arrived at Manjarin, which I can only describe as the most fabulous experience I've had along the Camino. No electricty (almost), no showers, pit toilet, freezing outside but warm inside. There were dogs, puppies, cats and kittens everywhere, since all the animals had had litters recently. I almost died of cuteness overload. THe sunset lasted forever, with no other lights to compete, and the stars were the most magnificent thing I've seen in a long, long time. It was just our group there and we were all very, very happy. To anyone thinking about doing the camino - don't believe the guidebooks, STAY HERE!
Cow and Old Lady: 1, Jerome and Rosie: 0
Jerome and I were walking along through tiny hamlets and past farms, figuring we'd be in Sarria for lunch buy 2pm. We came to a small farm and were waved down by an old lady with a plate of pancakes, who sprinkled sugar over them and handed one ot each of us, asking us how our camino was going and how far we'd come. We were so touched by her kindness, as she inquired if there were more pilgrims behind us. As we wentr to leave, thanking her profusely, she siad "Donativo?" (Donation?) We realised we'd just been duped into buying cold pancakes. We gave her a euro for both of us and she had the hide to ask for more! Smiling but shaking our heads we walked away. Later we found out she'd gotten about 4 more from our group...
We kept going and came to another farm where a woman was trying to control a herd of cows, whipping them and yelling. Two of them escaped and came charging up towards us so we jumped out of the wat and waited for her to get it under control. Finally the cows came back down and after what we considered a decent amount of time we followed. Except that one of the cows hadn't followed the herd, and was standing on the camino, mooing loudly and sounding deeply unhappy. We tried to urge her onwards so we could pass, but she decided she'd rather come up towards us again. We backed up pretty fast and cut down a side lane, hoping she didn't break into a run. The problem was, at the bottom of the hill was the rest of the herd and the woamn really didn't care that her cow was blocking the camino. Except her cow wasn't blocking the camino anymore - it had followed us down the path. So we were now stuck between a mad cow and a mad woman with many cows. We jumped a barbed wire fence, cut across a paddock and went behind thwe cow, hiked up the bloody hill and half an hour later were back where we started. However it's always my policy that if something is bigger than you and can do more damage to you than you can to it, back off.
Galicia
Whenever I read anything about Galicia, in the first few lines it says something along the lines of "It rains a lot in Galicia, all the time, every season, and you will definitly get wet" True to form, as we crossed the border from Castilla'Leon to Galicia, dark clouds gathered acros our previously clear skies. Since then it's been grey, white and sometimes blue skies with wind, rain and fog. there's another chance of snow, but who knows. Galicia has eucalypt forests, too, and it's like suddenly walking through Australia. The albergue accommodation is, in a word, crap. Not always, but it's standardised and I think they look at pilgrims and see dollar signs (or euro signs, more accurately). The kitchens are unequiped, the place we're staying in tonight has communal showers with no doors. Sorry, but I'm not showering with strange men. There's a line and that is way, WAY beyond it. The dorms are big too, so if there's a snorer in the midst there's no escape. I think I'm sleeping in the common room tonight...
So there you have, it, 55kms to go and I'll be standing in front of the cathedral in Santiago. All of us are sad to finish this I think - the eternal question of "what next?" is sitting on everyone's lips. But al things must end, and we must finish one journey to begin another. So here goes.
PS: For those wondering about the many mentions of one person in this blog, the answer is yes.
anyway, I am two days (count them TWO!) from Santiago de Compostela and I can't quite fit that fact into my brain. I don't know where two months went (it's two months tomorrow since I set out from Le Puy)or 1550kms, which is apparently how far I've walked. Snce I can't possibly blog ALL the moments since I last wrote, I thought I'd cut it down to the highlights, so here goes!
he last of the Meseta
I think I last blogged from the middle of the Meseta, the desert of the Camino. This was an amazing place - I began to understand why people go to the desert to seek knowledge and mystical experiences, because you really do find them there. Jerome told us that the desert would ask us a question, and at a certain point there was a choice between two roads. Our choice of the road was a symbolic answer, to accept a new beginning or stay in the old way of life. Our group chose the new beginning, or the Roman road, which leads through one of the most isolated parts of Spain where there is nothing except for the town in which we would sleep. The meseta was a big experience for all of us, and I watched the changes in the people around me, knowing that they were probably seeing the same in me.
The angel of Reliegos
Our second last day we headed from the remote and tiny town of Calzadilla de los Hermanillos to Mansilla de los Mulas. THe first 18kms were across an empty plain - nothing, no houses, no farms barely any trees, and it was cold and rainy. Jerome and I walked and talked, squelching through mud and water and praying that somewhere there would be a cafe. When we reached Reliegos, the only bar had a sign on the door saying it was shut. It was another 10kms or so to the next town. But the curtains moved and we heard a man shout out, askeing us to wait a moment. He opened the door and gestured us in, talking in the most rapid-fire Spanish I'd heard yet. Essentially he'd been having a day off, but saw us and decided to open so we could rest. We were so grateful and ordered cafe con leches and attempted to order a cheese and ham sandwich. He told me there was no cheese, so I asked what he recommended. Again in incomprehensible Spanish he said something about meat and delicious. I said we'd take two. Hey, it's meant to be an adeventure, right? Since we'd talked about sandwiches I assumed that's what we'd get. Instead we got bowls with hunks of slow-cooked meat (beef? mutton?) with sauce and bread on the side. Not the best thing ever but hot and filling. the other pilgrims of our group filed in, and the music got turned up. It seemed that no matter what people ordered they got whatever he had going in the kitchen. Even when people ordered the same thing it was different! But he was just loving his work and the mood was infectious. We all started singing along and grooving in our chairs. It was such a magic moment after a long hard week. As I watched him I realised what a wonderful thing it is to do something we love, or just simply to do what we do with love.
Leon, Leon
The next day brought us to Leon where we planned to take a rest day. Leon is GORGEOUS and we stayed in a convent in the old town not too far from the Cathedral. The cathedral is one of those amazing gothic churches and it defies description. THe stained-glass windows inside were so beautiful I almost cried. That night Eric, Jerome and I decided to go out for dinner, and Olaf and Tobias said they might join us, but since we didn't know where we were going we figured it wouldn't work out. After wandering around fro 15 minutes (it was 7:30 and nothing opens for dinner here before 8pm) we found a pizza restaurant that was open and strangely the onñy place in Spain where you can't smoke. Since the other two are smokers this was deeply disappointing to them, but something of a relief to me. We ordered wine and food and everything was really good. Just as our pizzas arrived, the door opened and in walked Tobias, just as if we'd planned the rendevous. He really is an elf. We got a bit drunk and ate too much and headed back to the convent just in time to see the other pilgrims returning from evening prayers and for me to get in trouble (a little) from the hospitalero for not attending. Now, there were three other people with me, but why I got the attention is still a mystery. Maybe I look like I need the help?
The next day we walked (yes, it was supposed to be a rest day, but what else do you do?) around Leon, visiting places, buying me a ski jacket, having coffee and finally churros (spanish donuts) with thick thick hot chocolate. We went to the evening prayers where the nuns sang the prayers with voices like angels. All in all, a really lovely day. Then we went to sleep.... well, we tried. The man next to us started up a symphony of snoring and after two hours of pain I moved to the other dormitory, which was empty but open and tried again. Jerome arrived ten minutes later, both of us cursing large Spanish men. Our efforts to sleep were hindered by the party of Spanish people outside or window who seemed to be practicing football chants. Then, around 4am the hospitalero came in, drunk, and demanded to know why we were there. We explained the problem and he said in french something I won't translate because I know my grandmother is reading this! But the basic idea was "Bloody pilgrims, I've had enough". The next morning his foul mood continued and we all hit the road as early as we could, just happy to be out of there.
Indian Summer
We'd spent the whole mesta freezing with wind and rain and cloud, so imagine our sheer joy when the moment we reached Leon the weather cleared and the bluest of blue skies appeared, with glorius sunshine to boot. We were all walking in t-shirts and sweating. It was mid-November and the most wonderful gift from heaven imaginable. I'm now in Galicia, so all that's changed...
The last templar
After Leon comes the Montes of Leon, the steepest and highest part of the camino, and much harder than the Pyrenees, since it's off road and more consistently steep. The goal was to reach Manjarin, an abandoned village on top of the mountain where a man called Thonas has rebuilt some ruins into an albergue and cares for pilgrims in the style of the Knights Templar, the original guardians of the Camino and protectors of pilgrims in medieval times. We passed through Foncebaddon first, hoping to stop at a Celtic restaurant Jerome knows. Foncebaddon is another runied village that is slowly being rebuilt, but seriously, there is NOTHING there. So when we arrived at the restaurant and asked for a table, we were a little surprised to be informed that is was fully booked. It wasn't a small restaurant.
We arrived at Manjarin, which I can only describe as the most fabulous experience I've had along the Camino. No electricty (almost), no showers, pit toilet, freezing outside but warm inside. There were dogs, puppies, cats and kittens everywhere, since all the animals had had litters recently. I almost died of cuteness overload. THe sunset lasted forever, with no other lights to compete, and the stars were the most magnificent thing I've seen in a long, long time. It was just our group there and we were all very, very happy. To anyone thinking about doing the camino - don't believe the guidebooks, STAY HERE!
Cow and Old Lady: 1, Jerome and Rosie: 0
Jerome and I were walking along through tiny hamlets and past farms, figuring we'd be in Sarria for lunch buy 2pm. We came to a small farm and were waved down by an old lady with a plate of pancakes, who sprinkled sugar over them and handed one ot each of us, asking us how our camino was going and how far we'd come. We were so touched by her kindness, as she inquired if there were more pilgrims behind us. As we wentr to leave, thanking her profusely, she siad "Donativo?" (Donation?) We realised we'd just been duped into buying cold pancakes. We gave her a euro for both of us and she had the hide to ask for more! Smiling but shaking our heads we walked away. Later we found out she'd gotten about 4 more from our group...
We kept going and came to another farm where a woman was trying to control a herd of cows, whipping them and yelling. Two of them escaped and came charging up towards us so we jumped out of the wat and waited for her to get it under control. Finally the cows came back down and after what we considered a decent amount of time we followed. Except that one of the cows hadn't followed the herd, and was standing on the camino, mooing loudly and sounding deeply unhappy. We tried to urge her onwards so we could pass, but she decided she'd rather come up towards us again. We backed up pretty fast and cut down a side lane, hoping she didn't break into a run. The problem was, at the bottom of the hill was the rest of the herd and the woamn really didn't care that her cow was blocking the camino. Except her cow wasn't blocking the camino anymore - it had followed us down the path. So we were now stuck between a mad cow and a mad woman with many cows. We jumped a barbed wire fence, cut across a paddock and went behind thwe cow, hiked up the bloody hill and half an hour later were back where we started. However it's always my policy that if something is bigger than you and can do more damage to you than you can to it, back off.
Galicia
Whenever I read anything about Galicia, in the first few lines it says something along the lines of "It rains a lot in Galicia, all the time, every season, and you will definitly get wet" True to form, as we crossed the border from Castilla'Leon to Galicia, dark clouds gathered acros our previously clear skies. Since then it's been grey, white and sometimes blue skies with wind, rain and fog. there's another chance of snow, but who knows. Galicia has eucalypt forests, too, and it's like suddenly walking through Australia. The albergue accommodation is, in a word, crap. Not always, but it's standardised and I think they look at pilgrims and see dollar signs (or euro signs, more accurately). The kitchens are unequiped, the place we're staying in tonight has communal showers with no doors. Sorry, but I'm not showering with strange men. There's a line and that is way, WAY beyond it. The dorms are big too, so if there's a snorer in the midst there's no escape. I think I'm sleeping in the common room tonight...
So there you have, it, 55kms to go and I'll be standing in front of the cathedral in Santiago. All of us are sad to finish this I think - the eternal question of "what next?" is sitting on everyone's lips. But al things must end, and we must finish one journey to begin another. So here goes.
PS: For those wondering about the many mentions of one person in this blog, the answer is yes.
Sunday 9 November 2008
Without
without TV, DVDs or cinemas
without commercials or billboards
without Vogue and Harpers Bazaar
without mascara, lipgloss, blush
without a choice of what to wear each day
without labels
without starbucks or Dean and Deluca or Jeds
without my laptop
without itunes, ipods or music
without facebook, email, google
without a car
without an address, a job, a home
without any of the things I used to think I needed
i am happy
without commercials or billboards
without Vogue and Harpers Bazaar
without mascara, lipgloss, blush
without a choice of what to wear each day
without labels
without starbucks or Dean and Deluca or Jeds
without my laptop
without itunes, ipods or music
without facebook, email, google
without a car
without an address, a job, a home
without any of the things I used to think I needed
i am happy
Logrono to Burgos - the abridged version
ok, so I've been very slack with ny posts for the last week or so, mainly due to a total lack of computer facilities. but here is the brief run down of my adventures...
I last posted in Logrono, where I met up with Olaf, a guy who has walked from his house in the Netherlands. We decided to cook dinner together and had grand adventures trying to find basic stir-fry ingredients in the world's largest supermarket. I couldn't buy carrots because they only came in 1kg bags, I couldn't buy soap because I didn't need 4 bars. When we got back to the albergue, Jerome and Eric had arrived. I had met Jerome a few times in France and the three of us had eaten lunch together that day. He suggested we all eat dinner together and so my stir-fry joined forces with a provencal egg and tomato dish followed by some egg custard dessert things. Happily fed we went to the dormitory to sleep. Well, we tried.
There were about 24 bunks in the dormitory and I was on a top bunk in a group of 8 beds separated by a wall. The man below me started to snore. And I do mean SNORE. It was deafening. At one point I leaned over the edge and looked down at him to make sure it was real. The other people in my group of bunks were all awake and every time one of them turned over all the beds shook. Then one of the guys started kicking the wall to try and wake up the snoring guy. At about 5am I gave up and went out to the kitchen to find Jerome who'd been there since 4am. One by one, bleary eyed pilgrims emerged.
I headed off intending to walk around 28kms. I gave up from exhaustion after 17 at a place called Ventosa. It was cold and a bit rainy and time to stop. The albergue was lovely, with a fire and an Italian hospitaliara called Romina. I slept, ddi laundry and recovered. A few hours later, Jerome and Eric arrived. This was the beginning of my new Camino family. We cooked dinner together... ok they cooked and I ate. But I washed up.
The next day was glorious, sunshine after almost a week of cloud and rain. I cannot really describe this day but suffice to say that my Camino changed here, and it became something much greater than a walk. I stopped that day in Santo Domingo de Calzada, a town built by Saint Domingo for the pilgrims. I mean he built everything - the bridge, the roads, the hospitals, everything. It is the oldest pilgrim hostel on the path. The day after, I ddi only 6kms in the freezing rain and wind and decided to stop in Granon. I arrived at the albergue at about 11am. We slept in the old bell tower of the church and this was one of the most special places for me along the way. We all sat in front of the fire and played cards, talked, read, drank tea and relaxed. After a beautiful meal the hospitaliros took us downstairs for a prayer session. Everyone read something in their own language, we spoke about the meaning and the spirit of the road, and we wished each other buen camino.
When I woke up the following morning the weather had made a serious turn for the worse. It was blowing a tempest and it was actually hard to walk sometimes. But as someone said to us, if it is sunny, you walk, if it rains, you walk. So I walked.
Skipping forward a few days and we found ourselves in Atapuerca, where they found the oldest known remains in Europe of prehistoric man. We were given food by some German people staying nearby and a Spanish guy taught us the rules for Spanish dominos which made the game much more interesting.
Burgos was the next stop and for me the most eventful part of my time there was my trip to the Commercial zone to buy ski gloves. Yes, it is that cold. I took a bus to this HUGE area with nothing but a carpark surrounded by HUGE shops. It took me about three hours to gt out there, shop and back and all I needed were gloves and coffee. Going to supermarkets and shops is so interesting because I realise I just don-t need all this stuff. Less is absolutely more.
After Burgos we started the meseta, 200kms of barren, flat, treeless fields and plains. It sounds dull but it has honestly been one of the most powerful and beautiful parts of the road. Today we walked for 17kms before there was a town with a cafe. 12kms of that was along an old road that just went straight ahead, no turns, no bends. Time seems to stop and it feels as if you will never reach anything until you literally fall into the village. We have another 3 days until Leon where I think I will take a day off. I last rested on the 12th of October, so I think it might be time.
I last posted in Logrono, where I met up with Olaf, a guy who has walked from his house in the Netherlands. We decided to cook dinner together and had grand adventures trying to find basic stir-fry ingredients in the world's largest supermarket. I couldn't buy carrots because they only came in 1kg bags, I couldn't buy soap because I didn't need 4 bars. When we got back to the albergue, Jerome and Eric had arrived. I had met Jerome a few times in France and the three of us had eaten lunch together that day. He suggested we all eat dinner together and so my stir-fry joined forces with a provencal egg and tomato dish followed by some egg custard dessert things. Happily fed we went to the dormitory to sleep. Well, we tried.
There were about 24 bunks in the dormitory and I was on a top bunk in a group of 8 beds separated by a wall. The man below me started to snore. And I do mean SNORE. It was deafening. At one point I leaned over the edge and looked down at him to make sure it was real. The other people in my group of bunks were all awake and every time one of them turned over all the beds shook. Then one of the guys started kicking the wall to try and wake up the snoring guy. At about 5am I gave up and went out to the kitchen to find Jerome who'd been there since 4am. One by one, bleary eyed pilgrims emerged.
I headed off intending to walk around 28kms. I gave up from exhaustion after 17 at a place called Ventosa. It was cold and a bit rainy and time to stop. The albergue was lovely, with a fire and an Italian hospitaliara called Romina. I slept, ddi laundry and recovered. A few hours later, Jerome and Eric arrived. This was the beginning of my new Camino family. We cooked dinner together... ok they cooked and I ate. But I washed up.
The next day was glorious, sunshine after almost a week of cloud and rain. I cannot really describe this day but suffice to say that my Camino changed here, and it became something much greater than a walk. I stopped that day in Santo Domingo de Calzada, a town built by Saint Domingo for the pilgrims. I mean he built everything - the bridge, the roads, the hospitals, everything. It is the oldest pilgrim hostel on the path. The day after, I ddi only 6kms in the freezing rain and wind and decided to stop in Granon. I arrived at the albergue at about 11am. We slept in the old bell tower of the church and this was one of the most special places for me along the way. We all sat in front of the fire and played cards, talked, read, drank tea and relaxed. After a beautiful meal the hospitaliros took us downstairs for a prayer session. Everyone read something in their own language, we spoke about the meaning and the spirit of the road, and we wished each other buen camino.
When I woke up the following morning the weather had made a serious turn for the worse. It was blowing a tempest and it was actually hard to walk sometimes. But as someone said to us, if it is sunny, you walk, if it rains, you walk. So I walked.
Skipping forward a few days and we found ourselves in Atapuerca, where they found the oldest known remains in Europe of prehistoric man. We were given food by some German people staying nearby and a Spanish guy taught us the rules for Spanish dominos which made the game much more interesting.
Burgos was the next stop and for me the most eventful part of my time there was my trip to the Commercial zone to buy ski gloves. Yes, it is that cold. I took a bus to this HUGE area with nothing but a carpark surrounded by HUGE shops. It took me about three hours to gt out there, shop and back and all I needed were gloves and coffee. Going to supermarkets and shops is so interesting because I realise I just don-t need all this stuff. Less is absolutely more.
After Burgos we started the meseta, 200kms of barren, flat, treeless fields and plains. It sounds dull but it has honestly been one of the most powerful and beautiful parts of the road. Today we walked for 17kms before there was a town with a cafe. 12kms of that was along an old road that just went straight ahead, no turns, no bends. Time seems to stop and it feels as if you will never reach anything until you literally fall into the village. We have another 3 days until Leon where I think I will take a day off. I last rested on the 12th of October, so I think it might be time.
Saturday 8 November 2008
yes, i'm still alive!
ok, apologies to all those who are using my blog posts to assure themselves that i'm still ok - I've been travelling through some seriously small villages and remote areas and also doing some long days. The Spanish camino is so totally different from the French road that it doesn't even feel like the same trip. I'm currently in Fromista, about 40kms into the Meseta, an endless rolling plateau between Burgos and Leon that goes for 200kms. There's nothing, and I mean nothing, out here but the tilled fields and the occasional tree. It's mind-blowingly beautiful. I'm walking with two French guys, Jerome and Eric, at the moment.After a long time (almost 6 weeks) of walking solo it's nice to share the day with people. I have many many stories to tell (like Playschool!) but there are no bears here... sorry, a joke for the Australians... Anyway, we have 20kms to go and I'll write more another time. Suffice to say that the last 2 weeks has been incredible and this road is much more than I expected or could have believed. I promise there'll be more soon, until then, much love and many hugs to all.
Thursday 30 October 2008
What a difference a day makes
Today was not a great day to walk. After a few days of soaking rain the ground has turned to marshland and is occasionally impassable except through large puddles. I spent the morning trying desperately not to fall over, slipping and sliding along red clay paths and cursing the rain. I thought about what a difference a few days has brought to the conditions around me - I crossed the Pyrenees in sunshine and now here I was, covered (and I mean covered) in mud, wet, cold and a bit pissed off.
I slid into Viana after what seemed an eternity (having made a largely unsuccessful attempt to clean my pants with a small bush by the side of the road), found a bar and orderd lunch. As I sat there I watched some shaky phone camera footage on the TV. I slowly made out the Spanish on the screen and realised there had been a car bomb in the University of Navarre in Pamplona an hour and a half earlier. I walked through that university 2 days ago. The road runs right through the campus. Suddenly the mud on my pants didn't seem so important. The news said 17 people were dead (well I think it did - my phrasebook dictionary has the words for 'windsurfer' and 'chemical toilet' but not 'dead' or 'injured' - go figure) and I learned later it was because the police arrested two ETA leaders the day before.
We always hear about these things on the news and they always seem a long way away from us. We live under this comforting illusion that we'll be alive for a lot longer yet, but the reality is we don't know how much time we´ll get here. Life is very fragile thing, and I think most of us hold it too cheaply most of the time simply because we don't consider how quickly it can be taken away. A lot of people were worried about my trip, seeing it as a bit risky. All those students did was walk out their front doors.
Today I am very grateful to have a heart that beats, lungs that breathe, arms and legs that work, and eyes to see the beauty of this world. I also want to say thank-you to all of who who take the time to read this blog - that you care enough to be interested in my adventures means more than I can say. And from today onwards I plan to care less about the mud and rain and all the other small, pointless things, and be thankful for each and every day I get here, because it's one more than many people get. Much love to you all xx
I slid into Viana after what seemed an eternity (having made a largely unsuccessful attempt to clean my pants with a small bush by the side of the road), found a bar and orderd lunch. As I sat there I watched some shaky phone camera footage on the TV. I slowly made out the Spanish on the screen and realised there had been a car bomb in the University of Navarre in Pamplona an hour and a half earlier. I walked through that university 2 days ago. The road runs right through the campus. Suddenly the mud on my pants didn't seem so important. The news said 17 people were dead (well I think it did - my phrasebook dictionary has the words for 'windsurfer' and 'chemical toilet' but not 'dead' or 'injured' - go figure) and I learned later it was because the police arrested two ETA leaders the day before.
We always hear about these things on the news and they always seem a long way away from us. We live under this comforting illusion that we'll be alive for a lot longer yet, but the reality is we don't know how much time we´ll get here. Life is very fragile thing, and I think most of us hold it too cheaply most of the time simply because we don't consider how quickly it can be taken away. A lot of people were worried about my trip, seeing it as a bit risky. All those students did was walk out their front doors.
Today I am very grateful to have a heart that beats, lungs that breathe, arms and legs that work, and eyes to see the beauty of this world. I also want to say thank-you to all of who who take the time to read this blog - that you care enough to be interested in my adventures means more than I can say. And from today onwards I plan to care less about the mud and rain and all the other small, pointless things, and be thankful for each and every day I get here, because it's one more than many people get. Much love to you all xx
the cold muddy road to santiago
I knew my luck couldn't hold...
After 5 weeks of near perfect weather, including a trip over the Pyrenees in picturesque conditions, the rain has arrived. As I was leaving Pamplona for Cizur Menor, the sky darkened suddenly. By the time I arrived at the albergue it was raining and it didn't let up all night. Luckily the snow the woman there predicted didn't come to pass but who knows! Anything's possible. The next morning it was grey but not wet and I thanked my lucky stars and set off for the Alto del Perdon, a ridge that offers spectacular views (in good weather). It was really very beautiful - the fields had been tilled for winter and the clouds were all very dramatic. Along the ridge there was a huge windfarm and I watched the blades spinning as I walked up.
As I got a little further along, the track disintegrated into mud and stones - highly unpleasant to walk on but I figured it still wasn't raining so I shouldn't complain. Then I found out why there was a windfarm on that ridge. By the time I got to the top I was being blown sideways and was using my hiking poles to keep myself upright. It was all I could do to take a quick look around and appreciate that it would have been beautiful without the galeforce wonds before I headed down the other side, hoping desperaely for a bit of shelter. I got it for one kilometre while I trekked down a hideous rocky slippery path. Once I got to the bottom though I discovered the problem with those lovely tilled fields - they offer absolutely no protection from aforementioned winds!
I got to Uterga and had a badly-needed break. I was heading for Lorca and my guide book said it was about 34kms altogether. Well, they'd put in a few detours and deviations thanks to construction and roadworks and when Lorca finally rose up before me I think I'd probably covered more like 38kms. Thankfully the albergue was truly lovely and not at all crowded. There was an American couple that I'd met on the road that day and a Spanish man I'd met the night before, as well as two other ladies. We bought home-made chorizo from a tiny shop and cooked together (and drank too much wine). It was one of the first real pilgrim meals I've had on the road in Spain and I really enjoyed it.
The next day was more of the same really - more rain, more mud, more sliding down hillsides when walking along the road would have been soooo much easier. It was snowing on the mountains nearby and from the biting cold of the rain and the fact that I couldn't feel my nose, I wouldn't have been surprised if it'd started snowing on me! Luckily, my rain gear is all living up to it's expensive reputation and I remain dry and relatively warm (except my nose!). Bad news is... it's forecast to rain for at least the next 5 days. DAMMIT!
After 5 weeks of near perfect weather, including a trip over the Pyrenees in picturesque conditions, the rain has arrived. As I was leaving Pamplona for Cizur Menor, the sky darkened suddenly. By the time I arrived at the albergue it was raining and it didn't let up all night. Luckily the snow the woman there predicted didn't come to pass but who knows! Anything's possible. The next morning it was grey but not wet and I thanked my lucky stars and set off for the Alto del Perdon, a ridge that offers spectacular views (in good weather). It was really very beautiful - the fields had been tilled for winter and the clouds were all very dramatic. Along the ridge there was a huge windfarm and I watched the blades spinning as I walked up.
As I got a little further along, the track disintegrated into mud and stones - highly unpleasant to walk on but I figured it still wasn't raining so I shouldn't complain. Then I found out why there was a windfarm on that ridge. By the time I got to the top I was being blown sideways and was using my hiking poles to keep myself upright. It was all I could do to take a quick look around and appreciate that it would have been beautiful without the galeforce wonds before I headed down the other side, hoping desperaely for a bit of shelter. I got it for one kilometre while I trekked down a hideous rocky slippery path. Once I got to the bottom though I discovered the problem with those lovely tilled fields - they offer absolutely no protection from aforementioned winds!
I got to Uterga and had a badly-needed break. I was heading for Lorca and my guide book said it was about 34kms altogether. Well, they'd put in a few detours and deviations thanks to construction and roadworks and when Lorca finally rose up before me I think I'd probably covered more like 38kms. Thankfully the albergue was truly lovely and not at all crowded. There was an American couple that I'd met on the road that day and a Spanish man I'd met the night before, as well as two other ladies. We bought home-made chorizo from a tiny shop and cooked together (and drank too much wine). It was one of the first real pilgrim meals I've had on the road in Spain and I really enjoyed it.
The next day was more of the same really - more rain, more mud, more sliding down hillsides when walking along the road would have been soooo much easier. It was snowing on the mountains nearby and from the biting cold of the rain and the fact that I couldn't feel my nose, I wouldn't have been surprised if it'd started snowing on me! Luckily, my rain gear is all living up to it's expensive reputation and I remain dry and relatively warm (except my nose!). Bad news is... it's forecast to rain for at least the next 5 days. DAMMIT!
Monday 27 October 2008
first impressions of Spain
I went through Pamplona today. It's the city where they do the running of the bulls in July. It's gorgeous and wonderfully Spanish. I settled myself in a tapas bar and ordered some food and a glass of local wine. I could easily have stayed there all day. I didn't mind French food, and I loved some of it, but it's clear that Spain and I are going to get along well, gastronomically speaking. It's raining now and the forecast is for snow... yes, snow. We'll wait and see on that one, but it could be a COLD few days. I'm getting used to the new times here - things close at different times to France and most of the albegues lock the doors at 10pm. Since dinner doesn't start here until 8:30 that might be a problem if I go out!
My Spanish is improving (from zero to a few words classifies as an improvement) and it's great fun to try out things I learn. I guess the only way is up, since I'm totally crap now.
Alright, enough blogging, time is running out and I'm out of 1 euro coins!
My Spanish is improving (from zero to a few words classifies as an improvement) and it's great fun to try out things I learn. I guess the only way is up, since I'm totally crap now.
Alright, enough blogging, time is running out and I'm out of 1 euro coins!
Au Revoir France, Hola Espagne!
On Friday afternoon I began my journey up and over the Pyrenees and into Spain. There's a gite 8kms out of St Jean towards Spain and it takes a good chunk of the uphill out of the next journey. I hiked up, feeling the new road ahead - in a way it was like starting all over again, new country, new language, new places, new people. Let's not beat around the bush - the uphill stage to Orisson is hard. After a month hiking I was fine but it's really steep and constant for 2 hours of walking. I cannot imagine how it must be for the pilgrims who start their road at St Jean and do it on their first day. I made it to Orisson about 2:30 and settled in. There was a deck perched on the side of the mountain and we sat there drinking sangria and watching the tiny towns below us as the sun set. Then it got VERY cold. Oh that's right, I'm in the bloody Pyrenees! Dinner was great fun and I woke up extremely excited. I was one of the first out the door and into a perfectly clear morning. I couldn't have asked for a better day - not a cloud, the mist was below us and the sky was already a beautiful deep blue. More uphill, up up up but every step just bought views more spectacular than the last. When the sun came up the light swept across the mountains and burned the sky gold and pink - no words, no photos can capture it. Although, having said that, I took about 50 photos in a matter of 20 minutes, so I did try! It was an amzing high, walking through such a beautiful place, all green rolling hills and studded with rocky outcrops. I met a hunter who'd lived in Bondi in the 60's (that was surreal)and crossed into Spain without realising because there's no real marker. Down through forest paths, kicking through autumn leaves, I realised I'd left France behind and was now embarking on the next stage of my strange road to Santiago.
The abbey of Roncesvalles appeared below me and I cheered. I got my ticket for the dorm and tested out my new Spanish skills by ordering a coffee and a hot chocolate. I kept answering in French and at one point slipped into Japanese. I think the "foreign language" part of my brain has overloaded. I went tothe church which was beautiful, then found Chris and Phillipe at the other bar and kept up my Spanish practice by ordering a beer! At 4pm we made our way down to the old abbey building where the pilgrims sleep. The albergue (pilgrim hostel in Spanish) in Roncesvalles is legendary. It's a huge old building with over a hundred beds lined up. I grabbed a bottom bunk and dashed to the shower in case hot water was limited. JIllian arrived a few hours later and it was lovely to catch up and see her again. A group of us went ot the pilgrim blessing at the church (it was all in Spanish so all I did was stand up and sit down a lot) then headed to the restaurant for dinner. It was 7:45 and dinner was at 8. THe waitress first refused to let us in, then opened the door and demanded the reservation ticket we should have had. I didn't. After an extended argument in French (hey, I can fight back in a foreign language!) she gave us the table and we sat down. Suddnely the food arrived. Not Michelan star quality, but filling and hot and after climbing mountains, that's really all that matters.
The time was returning to winter time that night, so we'd have to wake up earlier to leave with the sun. It was surprisingly quiet in the dorm (not as much snoring as I'd expected) and I woke up early, eager to be off into the next part of my adventure. Stay tuned...
The abbey of Roncesvalles appeared below me and I cheered. I got my ticket for the dorm and tested out my new Spanish skills by ordering a coffee and a hot chocolate. I kept answering in French and at one point slipped into Japanese. I think the "foreign language" part of my brain has overloaded. I went tothe church which was beautiful, then found Chris and Phillipe at the other bar and kept up my Spanish practice by ordering a beer! At 4pm we made our way down to the old abbey building where the pilgrims sleep. The albergue (pilgrim hostel in Spanish) in Roncesvalles is legendary. It's a huge old building with over a hundred beds lined up. I grabbed a bottom bunk and dashed to the shower in case hot water was limited. JIllian arrived a few hours later and it was lovely to catch up and see her again. A group of us went ot the pilgrim blessing at the church (it was all in Spanish so all I did was stand up and sit down a lot) then headed to the restaurant for dinner. It was 7:45 and dinner was at 8. THe waitress first refused to let us in, then opened the door and demanded the reservation ticket we should have had. I didn't. After an extended argument in French (hey, I can fight back in a foreign language!) she gave us the table and we sat down. Suddnely the food arrived. Not Michelan star quality, but filling and hot and after climbing mountains, that's really all that matters.
The time was returning to winter time that night, so we'd have to wake up earlier to leave with the sun. It was surprisingly quiet in the dorm (not as much snoring as I'd expected) and I woke up early, eager to be off into the next part of my adventure. Stay tuned...
the final week in France
I haven`t been able to get on a computer for a while, and as a result the last week and a half are all a bit of a blur! But here's a basic rundown on my final week in France...
So after 3 huge days back to back I made it to Navarrenx and was feeling physically and mentally drained. I'd been walking with the same large group for a while and dinner times had become very loud and raucous. After a long day I needed some peace and quiet (I know that must sound strange - I walk alone all bloody day and I want peace and quiet...strange but true!) So the following day I was booked to stay in the communal gite with the others 20kms away at Aroue but I knew there was a small private gite a little way before. THe sky was grey and it was forecast to rain and, at around 11:30 I came to Bellevue I knew I wasn't going any further. This lovely little farm, set on the hill above the village was so beautiful, with fruit trees and flowers all around. I went in and soon the couple who live there came along and settled me in a little room with a bathroom and kitchen all to myself. I was in heaven. I curled up in the armchair under a blanket (note to self - buy armchair and blanket, best thing ever) when Emil from Norway appeared in the garden outside. He's a lovely man and he was the only person of the group I was happy to share this place with. We had both needed a break and found it at Bellevue. After a quiet dinner and a blissful sleep I went out to have breakfast with the owners and Emil. I got home made bread with four types of home made jam from fruit in their garden. They talked with us and encouraged us to stay until the rain lightened a bit. When we finally set off we both felt absolutely refreshed and filled with the joy of genuine hospitality. Amazing!
We continued on our way to Ostabat and the rain stopped. I climbed up to a summit overlooking the town and the Pyrenees with a tiny chapel on the top. Cold but gorgeous. I reached the farm where we were staying around 2pm and walked in to find the lady watching TV. I seemed to be interrupting her because she installed me very quickly then disappeared. There were no facilities to make tea or coffee so I asked for hot water, but I just didn't feel that welcome sitting in the main room so I sat in the dorm until dinner time. We were joined by a French guy who was re-starting and a german guy, Chris, who'd walked the Vezelay route through France. He'd walked 800kms and met 4 other pilgrims... guess that's where the solitude is! At dinnertime we headed out and sat around the table, waiting. Out came the farmer of the house with a home made apperitif who proceeded to lead us in a few rousing Basque folk songs. It was all quite weird but fun. The food was all made on the farm and it was delicious. Any idea that I was still a vegetarian went right out the window - this meal was meat, followed by meat with a side of meat. I had to check the cheese to see if there was bacon in it or something! More Basque songs, then French ones, a german one, a Spanish Basque one and finally I sang the chorus to "Six White Boomers" as the only Australian tune I could think of at the time (the apperitif was strong). We went to bed full, a bit drunk, and laughing.
The next morning I was up and out early in the beautiful morning mist for my walk to St Jean Pied-a-Port, the border town between France and Spain. It felt like an ending, much more than I expected it to. I got there by lunch time and went up to the gite. I meant ot do some things in town but it all got a bit muddled - the knowledge that I was finishing the French road and beginning the Spanish one was a little overwhelming. THe Pyrenees loomed large wherever I looked and I prayed the good weather would hold until I crossed them. I met Bob again that evening and he, Emil and I went out for a final meal - they were both finishing at St Jean. For the first time, the Spanish road became real for me. Until then Santiago had been a name, an idea, but not quite a reality. Suddenly the fact that I was crossing into another country dawned on me.
The next day I prepared my bag and headed up to Orisson for the night - but that's a story for the Pyrenees post!
So after 3 huge days back to back I made it to Navarrenx and was feeling physically and mentally drained. I'd been walking with the same large group for a while and dinner times had become very loud and raucous. After a long day I needed some peace and quiet (I know that must sound strange - I walk alone all bloody day and I want peace and quiet...strange but true!) So the following day I was booked to stay in the communal gite with the others 20kms away at Aroue but I knew there was a small private gite a little way before. THe sky was grey and it was forecast to rain and, at around 11:30 I came to Bellevue I knew I wasn't going any further. This lovely little farm, set on the hill above the village was so beautiful, with fruit trees and flowers all around. I went in and soon the couple who live there came along and settled me in a little room with a bathroom and kitchen all to myself. I was in heaven. I curled up in the armchair under a blanket (note to self - buy armchair and blanket, best thing ever) when Emil from Norway appeared in the garden outside. He's a lovely man and he was the only person of the group I was happy to share this place with. We had both needed a break and found it at Bellevue. After a quiet dinner and a blissful sleep I went out to have breakfast with the owners and Emil. I got home made bread with four types of home made jam from fruit in their garden. They talked with us and encouraged us to stay until the rain lightened a bit. When we finally set off we both felt absolutely refreshed and filled with the joy of genuine hospitality. Amazing!
We continued on our way to Ostabat and the rain stopped. I climbed up to a summit overlooking the town and the Pyrenees with a tiny chapel on the top. Cold but gorgeous. I reached the farm where we were staying around 2pm and walked in to find the lady watching TV. I seemed to be interrupting her because she installed me very quickly then disappeared. There were no facilities to make tea or coffee so I asked for hot water, but I just didn't feel that welcome sitting in the main room so I sat in the dorm until dinner time. We were joined by a French guy who was re-starting and a german guy, Chris, who'd walked the Vezelay route through France. He'd walked 800kms and met 4 other pilgrims... guess that's where the solitude is! At dinnertime we headed out and sat around the table, waiting. Out came the farmer of the house with a home made apperitif who proceeded to lead us in a few rousing Basque folk songs. It was all quite weird but fun. The food was all made on the farm and it was delicious. Any idea that I was still a vegetarian went right out the window - this meal was meat, followed by meat with a side of meat. I had to check the cheese to see if there was bacon in it or something! More Basque songs, then French ones, a german one, a Spanish Basque one and finally I sang the chorus to "Six White Boomers" as the only Australian tune I could think of at the time (the apperitif was strong). We went to bed full, a bit drunk, and laughing.
The next morning I was up and out early in the beautiful morning mist for my walk to St Jean Pied-a-Port, the border town between France and Spain. It felt like an ending, much more than I expected it to. I got there by lunch time and went up to the gite. I meant ot do some things in town but it all got a bit muddled - the knowledge that I was finishing the French road and beginning the Spanish one was a little overwhelming. THe Pyrenees loomed large wherever I looked and I prayed the good weather would hold until I crossed them. I met Bob again that evening and he, Emil and I went out for a final meal - they were both finishing at St Jean. For the first time, the Spanish road became real for me. Until then Santiago had been a name, an idea, but not quite a reality. Suddenly the fact that I was crossing into another country dawned on me.
The next day I prepared my bag and headed up to Orisson for the night - but that's a story for the Pyrenees post!
Monday 20 October 2008
my new career - interpreter for old German men
My french has significantly improved during my time here and I feel lucky to be able to communicate as well as I can with the people around me. A few people have very little language and it makes life really difficult. I was travelling at the same pace as Eric, an old guy from Finland, who was so lovely but spoke very little french. I often did some translating at the gite about instructions and times, but usually he was ok. The other day I got lost leaving Aire sur L'Adour and I met Olfrid from Germany, who speaks very little English and no french. We were lost together and everntually got back on the route and walked together for most of the day. Nothing was open in the small town we passed at lunch time but Olfrid went into the boulangerie to buy some bread. When I walked in I found the woman trying to explain that the hotel was closed so he couldn't get a coffee. I translated and then he turned to her and said "Café, 2 café. You make?" The woman was a little taken aback because it sounded more like an order than a request, so I asked in my politest french if she could make us some coffee. Meanwhile Olfrid just went behind the counter to a table and sat down. The woman was surprised but agreed and we ended up having a lovely conversation and she was very kind.
We arrived in Arzacq separately and when I went down to pay I found him and his friend Karl and the woman running the gite having a very hard time together. I did what I could in basic english and french and off they went. I was having a snack 20 minutes later when the woman came back and asked me to help. Another old German guy was there and she couldn't get through to him that he needed to break his 20 euro note somewhere because she had no change. Using sign language and props (my shopping) we got there and I started to wonder if I should charge.
Two days later I arrived at the gite boulangerie in Arthez-de-Béarn and met Emmanuel, a french pilgrim who had hurt his leg on the route and was staying at the gite and working with the baker who ran it. I was reading in my dorm when Astrid, a german girl with excellent english but not much french, came upstairs to say that Olfrid was downstaris and needed help. He wanted to get a train from there to Pau, but there's no train station. So, with Astrid doing german to english and me doing english to french so Emmanuel could help us, we worked out a plan for him and sent him off with a note in french explaining what he needed. It was really bizarre, but it's amazing how we find a way to communicate under the most difficult circumstances. So that's a new job possibility for me, anyway... who would have guessed!
We arrived in Arzacq separately and when I went down to pay I found him and his friend Karl and the woman running the gite having a very hard time together. I did what I could in basic english and french and off they went. I was having a snack 20 minutes later when the woman came back and asked me to help. Another old German guy was there and she couldn't get through to him that he needed to break his 20 euro note somewhere because she had no change. Using sign language and props (my shopping) we got there and I started to wonder if I should charge.
Two days later I arrived at the gite boulangerie in Arthez-de-Béarn and met Emmanuel, a french pilgrim who had hurt his leg on the route and was staying at the gite and working with the baker who ran it. I was reading in my dorm when Astrid, a german girl with excellent english but not much french, came upstairs to say that Olfrid was downstaris and needed help. He wanted to get a train from there to Pau, but there's no train station. So, with Astrid doing german to english and me doing english to french so Emmanuel could help us, we worked out a plan for him and sent him off with a note in french explaining what he needed. It was really bizarre, but it's amazing how we find a way to communicate under the most difficult circumstances. So that's a new job possibility for me, anyway... who would have guessed!
the kindness of strangers
I am sitting in a bar in Navarrenx right now after walking almost 100kms in 3 days and having one beer. Bad combination, alcohol after a really long day is stronger than normal! But it's ok, I'm not blogging inder the influence, and I don't think that's illegal anyway...
At the beginning of this trip, I was amazed at the friendliness and hospitality of the people around me, locals and pilgrims alike. There was a real sense of the Camino as an experience that involved everyone around it. But that disappeared for a week or so as I passed from the Massif Central. People seemed to tolerate pilgrims but weren't that happy about us traipsing through their neigbourhood. On occasion there were signs asking us not to stop, etc which I can understand, and maybe in summer whenb 100 pilgrims a day are passing by there house is necessary, but felt decidely unfriendly to me. I swear one family had trained it's dog to follow pilgrims, growling, because that's what it did! But as I've passed into the South-West - Occitane and Basque country - the spirit has changed and I wanted to share some of my wonderful experiences over the last week.
I was walking to Aire sur L'Adour the other day and it'd been a big walk. I was about 4kms away from my destination when I spotted Olaf, a guy from the Netherlands I knew, sitting on the step of a caravan that was parked by the road. I went over to say hello and the woman in the caravan immediately greeted me with a huge smile and the offer of some food. She presented me with a beautiful little sandwich of amazing bread, goat's cheese and ham then asked if I'd like a glass of wine. Now, it was about 1:30 but this is France so I said yes, but a small one. She gave me a big one - small only in Giant's terms. I sat down and we talked about the road and the country nearby. She was a jeweller and she and her husband travelled around to the markets. They were such lovely peple and when Olaf and I headed off we were both so reinvigorated, not just by the food (and wine!) but by the sheer generosity they'd shown to two strangers. We stopped to pick some figs a few minutes later and they drove past in the caravan. They stopped in the middle of the road and handed us half a loaf of bread out the window, so we gave them our figs. And on we went. We arrived in Aire sur L'Adour and were about to cross the bridge when a woman called out to us, wushing us a good walk. She was an ex-pilgrim and when she heard where we were staying that night she said she was going near there and led us to the gite. She gave us tips about the Spanish road and some good places to stay. At the door she bid us good-bye and went on her way. The gite was run by an ex-pilgrim called Jean-Michel. After doing the walk, he bought a house especially to start a gite and he eats breakfast with the pilgrims every single morning. He'd thought of everything and I spent one of the most wonderful, relaxing, tranquil nights so far there.
The next morning, after 3 days of fog and grey skies, the sun rose in a symphony of orange and pink and it felt as if I was starting a whole new stage, refreshed and healed by the kindness of strangers. I couldn't believe that in one afternoon I'd had that many wonderful experiences. But there was one more to come... I was walking through Uzan and it was about lunch time. It was Sunday and everything was shut. As I walked along I saw a sign with a scallop shell and read "Pilgrims, something to eat and drink, help yourselves". I looked into the garden of this house and saw a table with chairs and coffee, tea, cold drinks in an esky and a cake tin. No-one was around the house at all. I went in and had coffee and cake and could see that this person put this stuff out every day, changing the flavour of the cake regularly. Almost more than the other times, I was quite overcome by this experience. It's one thing to be generous to someone we see face to face, and just once. But this person did this for countless nameless, faceless strangers and it meant more than I can describe. That someone cared enough to do that blew me away.
I was thinking about these experiences and what it is to receive kindness. Then when I helped Olfrid with his travel plans (see post "My new career" and we sent him on his way, he took my hand in both of his and just said 'Rosemary, Rosemary' without really looking at me, but I could see how grateful he was for what I'd done. And I realised that I'm a stranger to him, and what I did naturally was also an act of kindness. So I guess it goes both ways.
At the beginning of this trip, I was amazed at the friendliness and hospitality of the people around me, locals and pilgrims alike. There was a real sense of the Camino as an experience that involved everyone around it. But that disappeared for a week or so as I passed from the Massif Central. People seemed to tolerate pilgrims but weren't that happy about us traipsing through their neigbourhood. On occasion there were signs asking us not to stop, etc which I can understand, and maybe in summer whenb 100 pilgrims a day are passing by there house is necessary, but felt decidely unfriendly to me. I swear one family had trained it's dog to follow pilgrims, growling, because that's what it did! But as I've passed into the South-West - Occitane and Basque country - the spirit has changed and I wanted to share some of my wonderful experiences over the last week.
I was walking to Aire sur L'Adour the other day and it'd been a big walk. I was about 4kms away from my destination when I spotted Olaf, a guy from the Netherlands I knew, sitting on the step of a caravan that was parked by the road. I went over to say hello and the woman in the caravan immediately greeted me with a huge smile and the offer of some food. She presented me with a beautiful little sandwich of amazing bread, goat's cheese and ham then asked if I'd like a glass of wine. Now, it was about 1:30 but this is France so I said yes, but a small one. She gave me a big one - small only in Giant's terms. I sat down and we talked about the road and the country nearby. She was a jeweller and she and her husband travelled around to the markets. They were such lovely peple and when Olaf and I headed off we were both so reinvigorated, not just by the food (and wine!) but by the sheer generosity they'd shown to two strangers. We stopped to pick some figs a few minutes later and they drove past in the caravan. They stopped in the middle of the road and handed us half a loaf of bread out the window, so we gave them our figs. And on we went. We arrived in Aire sur L'Adour and were about to cross the bridge when a woman called out to us, wushing us a good walk. She was an ex-pilgrim and when she heard where we were staying that night she said she was going near there and led us to the gite. She gave us tips about the Spanish road and some good places to stay. At the door she bid us good-bye and went on her way. The gite was run by an ex-pilgrim called Jean-Michel. After doing the walk, he bought a house especially to start a gite and he eats breakfast with the pilgrims every single morning. He'd thought of everything and I spent one of the most wonderful, relaxing, tranquil nights so far there.
The next morning, after 3 days of fog and grey skies, the sun rose in a symphony of orange and pink and it felt as if I was starting a whole new stage, refreshed and healed by the kindness of strangers. I couldn't believe that in one afternoon I'd had that many wonderful experiences. But there was one more to come... I was walking through Uzan and it was about lunch time. It was Sunday and everything was shut. As I walked along I saw a sign with a scallop shell and read "Pilgrims, something to eat and drink, help yourselves". I looked into the garden of this house and saw a table with chairs and coffee, tea, cold drinks in an esky and a cake tin. No-one was around the house at all. I went in and had coffee and cake and could see that this person put this stuff out every day, changing the flavour of the cake regularly. Almost more than the other times, I was quite overcome by this experience. It's one thing to be generous to someone we see face to face, and just once. But this person did this for countless nameless, faceless strangers and it meant more than I can describe. That someone cared enough to do that blew me away.
I was thinking about these experiences and what it is to receive kindness. Then when I helped Olfrid with his travel plans (see post "My new career" and we sent him on his way, he took my hand in both of his and just said 'Rosemary, Rosemary' without really looking at me, but I could see how grateful he was for what I'd done. And I realised that I'm a stranger to him, and what I did naturally was also an act of kindness. So I guess it goes both ways.
Friday 17 October 2008
a very long day, followed by a very un-pilgrim afternoon
After leaving Moissac, we headed to Saint Antoine, a town notable only for being really really tiny and in the middle of bloody nowhere. We cooked together (mushroom risotto, yum) and slept well. I woke up the next morning feeling a little flat. Didn't know why, but I just didn't have a lot of energy. I headed out for a supposedly easy day of 24kms to Lectoure. I took a break or a coffee after about 8kms because my legs were sore and didn't seem to be warming up. I thought a break would help - I was wrong. After that everything just went from bad to worse. I'd gotten about 50 metres away from the cafe when one of my legs started getting a shooting pain with every step. After limping along gingerly for awhile that went away and was replaced by a general, totally-consuming and awful fatigue. Not the "I've walked a really long way today" kind, but the "where the hell did this come from and how the hell am I going to make it through the next 15kms?" kind. It was like walking through wet concrete - every step was a supreme act of strength and willpower and for the first time this trip I felt worried about being able to complete the distance. As I racked my brain for a reason, I hit upon a very likely candidate - put simply, too much coffee, sugar and baguette for my normally super-healthy self to handle. Unfortunately in France, all thre of these things are way too easy to over-indulge in. Also, they taste really good... pain au chocolat,mmmmm. But clearly I was paying for it now.
After what seemed an eternity I crossed a highway and saw Lectoure, on the other side of a great hulking valley about 4kms away. Dammit! I trekked on, dragging my sorry little self along country lanes and paths and finally, finally reached L'etoile Occitane, my gite for the night. The whole place was a little bit like the movie Amelie - cute and playful and frankly after my day, the best thing I'd ever seen. I'd seen a poster for the gite earlier on the road and it said there was a jacuzzi/spa across the road. When I asked about it I discovered it was a little more than that. It turns out that Lectoure is a thermal springs town and the thermal pool was right across the street. I immediately booked in for an hour for the unbelievable sum of 5 euros.
A few of us went across together and spent a wonderful hour in the thermal pool, the sauna, the steam room and the spa. I'm guessing the original pilgrims didn't do things like this but who cares about authenticity when there are water jets to pummel sore muscles? When we emerged we were new people - new, extremely happy people.
PS I felt a lot better the next day and have cut down on my intake of the afore-mentioned foods. Bugger. Also, I haven't been bitten by bed bugs yet but others have. I'm hoping my luck holds!
After what seemed an eternity I crossed a highway and saw Lectoure, on the other side of a great hulking valley about 4kms away. Dammit! I trekked on, dragging my sorry little self along country lanes and paths and finally, finally reached L'etoile Occitane, my gite for the night. The whole place was a little bit like the movie Amelie - cute and playful and frankly after my day, the best thing I'd ever seen. I'd seen a poster for the gite earlier on the road and it said there was a jacuzzi/spa across the road. When I asked about it I discovered it was a little more than that. It turns out that Lectoure is a thermal springs town and the thermal pool was right across the street. I immediately booked in for an hour for the unbelievable sum of 5 euros.
A few of us went across together and spent a wonderful hour in the thermal pool, the sauna, the steam room and the spa. I'm guessing the original pilgrims didn't do things like this but who cares about authenticity when there are water jets to pummel sore muscles? When we emerged we were new people - new, extremely happy people.
PS I felt a lot better the next day and have cut down on my intake of the afore-mentioned foods. Bugger. Also, I haven't been bitten by bed bugs yet but others have. I'm hoping my luck holds!
Saturday 11 October 2008
Lovely Lauzerte
I hiked a short day to Lauzerte, a medieval firtified city that perches on top of a hill commanding a perfect view of the country below on all sides. Apparently at night it shines like a lamp. It was a big walk up the hill to the city and I cursed the fact that the short day meant I arrived in town during the two-hour long lunch break when everything shuts. This meant I would have to walk back down the bloody hill to go shopping later. I installed myself in the communal gite (and was unsurprised when I later found out it used to be the aged care home - there were hospital beds with lights above them and it felt like sleeping in a ward) and went through my usual afternoon rituals of getting myself and my clothes clean. I'd walked ahead of the group the day before, so it was lovely to see everyone as they arrived and, as is becoming a habit, we ended up sitting together at a bar/cafe in the gorgeous cobblestoned square. The owner spoke wonderful English and informed us we were sitting at the VIP table. Then he pointed to a sign above us that said Very Important Pilgrims. Always a good sign, I think! Thea ordered a Kir -she'd seen them and heard about them but was keen to try one - and Bob and I ordered a glass of red wine. The owner informed us that a glass was 2 euros and a bottle was 6 so we went for the bottle (hey, we're Australians). The man came back with a HUGE tray filled with liqueur bottles. He'd brought Thea two glasses and various syrups to try and for us he'd brought out a local speciality - red wine with nut syrup. I don't even know if I can get that syrup in Australia but damn I'm going to try. It was fantastic. Even the wine was pilgrim themed - the label was St Jacques. We sat out and talked about everything and anything until the church bells told us it was time to head back for dinner. Using our usual culinery ingenuity Bob, Jillian and I rustled up a minestrone and salad - it's amazing what you can do with packet soup mix.
The next morning I set off into the morning mist and after heaving myself and my pack up the ridge opposite the town, I looked back to see the first rays of sun illuminating the buildings like a torch. I stopped for a moment just to breathe it all in before heading off down the track.
It was only when we reached Moissac that they told us about the bed bug problem at Lauzerte...
The next morning I set off into the morning mist and after heaving myself and my pack up the ridge opposite the town, I looked back to see the first rays of sun illuminating the buildings like a torch. I stopped for a moment just to breathe it all in before heading off down the track.
It was only when we reached Moissac that they told us about the bed bug problem at Lauzerte...
a pilgrim's prayer
the other night when I was staying at Domaine des Mathieux, the owners invited us all to their house for an apperitif. When we had gathered in their living room and been handed a glass of Cahors wine (more robust and fruity than most French wine, I liked it!) one of them handed us each a small slip of paper with this prayer on it. Bob read it aloud for us and of the many pilgrim blessings I've read and heard so far, this was by far the most beautiful. It reminded me that millions of people throughout history have made their way along this road, especially those hundreds of years ago when bandits and starvation were real concerns (I get worried about blisters and the cafes not being open). I thought I'd share it.
A pilgrim's prayer
God,
Invisible pilgrim of the human adventure
and secret presence of each one's life.
Loyal companion of the footpaths
where, often blindly, we make our way.
Give us the necessary inspiration
to start and restart our path.
Dare to believe there is always a way out,
overcome our fear of getting lost.
Attempt, against all hope, to get through the night.
And remind us constantly of the essential truth.
The inner kingdom, the hidden treasure
are revealed only by walking.
Sent to the unknown, answering an innermost call,
they precede us - the pilgrims of all times,
full of faith which moves mountains,
patient and passionate.
We who are on the way today,
obey, like them, the Word...
That pulls us onwards.
Plain words whose truth enlightens along the course of adventure.
Further, onwards, deeper.
Jacques Musset
A pilgrim's prayer
God,
Invisible pilgrim of the human adventure
and secret presence of each one's life.
Loyal companion of the footpaths
where, often blindly, we make our way.
Give us the necessary inspiration
to start and restart our path.
Dare to believe there is always a way out,
overcome our fear of getting lost.
Attempt, against all hope, to get through the night.
And remind us constantly of the essential truth.
The inner kingdom, the hidden treasure
are revealed only by walking.
Sent to the unknown, answering an innermost call,
they precede us - the pilgrims of all times,
full of faith which moves mountains,
patient and passionate.
We who are on the way today,
obey, like them, the Word...
That pulls us onwards.
Plain words whose truth enlightens along the course of adventure.
Further, onwards, deeper.
Jacques Musset
a thing or two about courage
When I first told people I was planning to walk 1600kms across Europe, their reaction (after wondering if I was feeling alright) was often "Wow, that's a really brave thing to do". Now, on the road, when pilgrims who are hiking for maybe 10 or 12 days, often in couples or small groups, hear that I'm going all the way to Santiago on my own, the reaction is much the same. On the road when I pass locals I am often hailed with a cry of "Bon Courage!" which is lovely, but for me this trip has never felt like an act of courage or bravery. I had the idea three and a half years ago when I first heard about it from a director I worked with and I just knew in an instant that it was something I would do. So really I've been on my way to Santiago for a lot longer than two weeks. And I guess there is a certain kind of courage needed to take an idea, or a dream, and bring it to life and make it a reality. It is so easy to say no, or to postpone things to a distant and undefined day in the future that may never come, that we now view someone carrying something through as a thing worthy of respect. So yes, maybe I am courageous. But I recently heard a story about a fellow pilgrim which moved me greatly.
This man grew up in East Germany under the Stasi regime. He was a brilliant young nuclear physicist and became a professor and a researcher at a young age and worked with the county's leading scientists. One day when he was in his early twenties, I think, the Stasi came to him and said "We want you to work for us in our nuclear program. If you refuse, you will never work in this field again". He refused. For the next twenty or thirty years he held down a part-time research position in another field but was never able to progress or get funding, and worked an assortment of odd jobs to earn a living. When the wall fell, he realised that other scientists in his field had moved so far ahead that it was impossible for him to catch up. This year he'll go to Australia to present a paper at a conference - the first time in his life he has beeen invited to do this. Finally, after so many years, his work is being recognised.
He is clearly a brilliant man, and he is humble and friendly and kind. And his life has been harder than I can imagine because he refused to work with a regime he believed was wrong. I am taking two months away from almost all responsibilities to wander through beautiful countryside and meet fascinating people. And people call me courageous.
This man grew up in East Germany under the Stasi regime. He was a brilliant young nuclear physicist and became a professor and a researcher at a young age and worked with the county's leading scientists. One day when he was in his early twenties, I think, the Stasi came to him and said "We want you to work for us in our nuclear program. If you refuse, you will never work in this field again". He refused. For the next twenty or thirty years he held down a part-time research position in another field but was never able to progress or get funding, and worked an assortment of odd jobs to earn a living. When the wall fell, he realised that other scientists in his field had moved so far ahead that it was impossible for him to catch up. This year he'll go to Australia to present a paper at a conference - the first time in his life he has beeen invited to do this. Finally, after so many years, his work is being recognised.
He is clearly a brilliant man, and he is humble and friendly and kind. And his life has been harder than I can imagine because he refused to work with a regime he believed was wrong. I am taking two months away from almost all responsibilities to wander through beautiful countryside and meet fascinating people. And people call me courageous.
Friday 10 October 2008
escape from Cahors
After leaving Cajarc I headed out onto what is known as the Causse, a limestone plateau full of scrubby forest and rocks and not much else. Having been told about this I was expecting a really desolate, bleak landscape, so I was quite pleasantly surprised by the autumn colours and winding paths along flat blocks of rock that led me from Cajarc to Limonge, a distance of about 20kms. I arrived early in Limongne, but on a Sunday, which means nothing is open. The communal gite was a bit spartan and crappy but since there was almost no_one there I got my own room - nice when you don't have to pay an extra 10 euro for it! Having called home for the whole five minutes that my phonecard gave me and being without a book (because they're heavy) I felt a little lost. It's always strange being in a town because it feels like I'm drifting on the edge of their day-to-day reality but without having any point of entry. I was sitting in the cafe/bar in the square (ok I lied, this is France and there's always a place to drink) when I spotted a group of other pilgrims I knew from the road. They joined me for a drink and a chat and suddenly the pilgrim world that I live in everyday was around me again and that lost feeling gave way to a wonderful sense of community that I've never felt anywhere else. Hard to explain but real enough.
After a good night's sleep and the joy of doing a load of washing - people, never take your laundry for granted, it is a thing of beauty and should be treated with reverence at all times, clean clothes are awesome - I headed out into the morning. I had my first off day that day. I just couldn't find the love or the spirit of the road. The scenery was almost exactly the same as the day before but I couldn't enjoy it, and the road was flat for most of the day but the endless kilometres of the Cami Ferrat - an ancient road built by the Romans and therefore totally straight and flat with barely a deviation for 10kms - frustrated me more than I thought possible. It was like walking on a treadmill - every time I rounded a corner or came over a small rise the road ahead looked exactly like the road behind. I kept thinking hours had passed when only minutes had. When I finally got to the gite at Le Pech I was exhausted, but not from the walk. I curled up in my bunk and just shut the world out for awhile. By dinnertime everything was fine, but it was my first lesson that even on the Camino there are dark days.
The following day we had a short day's walk into Cahors, the biggest city I'd been in since beginning the route. the joy I'd searched so hard for the day before was there for the taking and I had a song in my heart and a spring in my step (which, whezn you're lugging a bloody great backpack is quite a feat, let me tell you). The morning was beautiful and as I came over the ridge, Cahors was spread out below me with the river snaking around the town on three sides. As I dropped down the hill into the city I felt the energy change around me. It's always like that when you enter a town, but it was stronger there. There was a lot of traffic and with all the cars and people I had trouble spotting the waymarks that would lead me into town. I almost got sideswiped a few times by drivers racing around corners - partly because they're on the opposite side of the road and it still confuses me, but partly because I was looking around trying to find my way. As I walked across the narrow footpath of the bridge I passed a lot of people. But whereas in the country everyone smiles and says hello, here the city blinkers were on and no-one acknowledged my passing. I sat at a cafe and watched the flow of life around me - just so much more intense than on the road. Everyone was in a hurry, and everything was more important and urgent and there was just so much stuff everywhere. Cahors is a beautiful city but I felt so alien there. I went to the cathedral but it was more of a tourist attraction than a sanctuary. I bought a sandwich and ate it in the square and most people walked by, glancing at my hiker get-up. Then one woman approached me - she'd seen the scallop shell on my bag, the sign of the Camino - she was a former pilgrim. She asked about my journey and with a smile wished me a good journey. I wanted to go to another cafe because it felt way to early to head the 5kms out of town to the gite I was staying at, but the as I passed by each place, I just didn't want to go in. I ended up down by the river, eating my apple and trying not to watch a couple who were really enjoying each others company. I didn't know how to say "Get a room" in French so I politely looked the other way. After that I headed over the bridge and out of town. As I hiked up the cliff I felt the stress and tension melt away. When I reached Domaine des Mathieux and the gite, and was welcomed so warmly by the owner that it felt like meeting family, I wondered at the change 5kms can make. We stayed in gorgeous place and went to the owners place for a drink before we cooked dinner and sat around sharing stories and thoughts. It kind of felt like coming home.
After a good night's sleep and the joy of doing a load of washing - people, never take your laundry for granted, it is a thing of beauty and should be treated with reverence at all times, clean clothes are awesome - I headed out into the morning. I had my first off day that day. I just couldn't find the love or the spirit of the road. The scenery was almost exactly the same as the day before but I couldn't enjoy it, and the road was flat for most of the day but the endless kilometres of the Cami Ferrat - an ancient road built by the Romans and therefore totally straight and flat with barely a deviation for 10kms - frustrated me more than I thought possible. It was like walking on a treadmill - every time I rounded a corner or came over a small rise the road ahead looked exactly like the road behind. I kept thinking hours had passed when only minutes had. When I finally got to the gite at Le Pech I was exhausted, but not from the walk. I curled up in my bunk and just shut the world out for awhile. By dinnertime everything was fine, but it was my first lesson that even on the Camino there are dark days.
The following day we had a short day's walk into Cahors, the biggest city I'd been in since beginning the route. the joy I'd searched so hard for the day before was there for the taking and I had a song in my heart and a spring in my step (which, whezn you're lugging a bloody great backpack is quite a feat, let me tell you). The morning was beautiful and as I came over the ridge, Cahors was spread out below me with the river snaking around the town on three sides. As I dropped down the hill into the city I felt the energy change around me. It's always like that when you enter a town, but it was stronger there. There was a lot of traffic and with all the cars and people I had trouble spotting the waymarks that would lead me into town. I almost got sideswiped a few times by drivers racing around corners - partly because they're on the opposite side of the road and it still confuses me, but partly because I was looking around trying to find my way. As I walked across the narrow footpath of the bridge I passed a lot of people. But whereas in the country everyone smiles and says hello, here the city blinkers were on and no-one acknowledged my passing. I sat at a cafe and watched the flow of life around me - just so much more intense than on the road. Everyone was in a hurry, and everything was more important and urgent and there was just so much stuff everywhere. Cahors is a beautiful city but I felt so alien there. I went to the cathedral but it was more of a tourist attraction than a sanctuary. I bought a sandwich and ate it in the square and most people walked by, glancing at my hiker get-up. Then one woman approached me - she'd seen the scallop shell on my bag, the sign of the Camino - she was a former pilgrim. She asked about my journey and with a smile wished me a good journey. I wanted to go to another cafe because it felt way to early to head the 5kms out of town to the gite I was staying at, but the as I passed by each place, I just didn't want to go in. I ended up down by the river, eating my apple and trying not to watch a couple who were really enjoying each others company. I didn't know how to say "Get a room" in French so I politely looked the other way. After that I headed over the bridge and out of town. As I hiked up the cliff I felt the stress and tension melt away. When I reached Domaine des Mathieux and the gite, and was welcomed so warmly by the owner that it felt like meeting family, I wondered at the change 5kms can make. We stayed in gorgeous place and went to the owners place for a drink before we cooked dinner and sat around sharing stories and thoughts. It kind of felt like coming home.
Saturday 4 October 2008
Into the second week
I'm in Carjarc now, and tomorrow I take off acros the causse, a limestone plateau with not much on it except pilgrims! It's been a good couple of days - the rain wasn't so tops, but at least I know that my rain gear works well! I spent a day resting in Conques - an incredibly preserved town from a thousand years ago that clings to the mountainside. I stayed in the abbey - it's famous for housing the remains of St Foy, a twelve year-old who was matyred. A monk frm the abbey stole them from another town and brought them to Conques. I thoght thre was something about stealing in the bible... But it was lovely to look out onto the church and i had dinner with everyone who was staying there. We sang an pilgrim's prayer and after dinner we went to a benediction service for our journey. Because i was Australian I had to get up (with a German man and a Belgian girl) and read in the church - luckily they went first and seemed to know what to do! After the service there was some organ music. It was really nice and traditional at first but it was bloody cold in the cathedral and when the monk broke out into "House of the Rising Sun" (I'm not kidding) I decided it was time for bed.
After Conques we spent two grey and rainy days walking through not such picturesque country, but last night we arived at La Cassangole and the nicest Gite so far. Marie-Claud and Jesus have a gorgeous set-up with a beautiful garden and cosy dormitory and kitchen. So good. Today, the ist was so thick I could barely see until about 11am when the sun broke through and the bluest of blue skies came out. The counrty is spectaculat and today was a very happy day. There's a little family of us walking together now. It's brilliant.
After Conques we spent two grey and rainy days walking through not such picturesque country, but last night we arived at La Cassangole and the nicest Gite so far. Marie-Claud and Jesus have a gorgeous set-up with a beautiful garden and cosy dormitory and kitchen. So good. Today, the ist was so thick I could barely see until about 11am when the sun broke through and the bluest of blue skies came out. The counrty is spectaculat and today was a very happy day. There's a little family of us walking together now. It's brilliant.
Things I've learned
1. 1600kms is a REALLY long way. Glad I didn't realise how long before I started or I might have chickened out.
2. Stuff is heavy. Carry less stuff. Leave it out, let it go, it's not worth the pain and suffering it causes to hold on to it.
3. The difference between want and need. I need my toothbrush but I want my shampoo. It's heavy, but clean hair makes me happy. But if it came down to it, I could throw it away without much regret.
4. People are fantastic. From the other pilgrims (who never fail to impress me with their generosity and humour) to the farmers in the field who stop to talk, it's a pleasure to meet so many people from so many places and share a little of their day.
5. Some things can't be put into words. There are many things I've learned, but some just can't be said. So there you are!
2. Stuff is heavy. Carry less stuff. Leave it out, let it go, it's not worth the pain and suffering it causes to hold on to it.
3. The difference between want and need. I need my toothbrush but I want my shampoo. It's heavy, but clean hair makes me happy. But if it came down to it, I could throw it away without much regret.
4. People are fantastic. From the other pilgrims (who never fail to impress me with their generosity and humour) to the farmers in the field who stop to talk, it's a pleasure to meet so many people from so many places and share a little of their day.
5. Some things can't be put into words. There are many things I've learned, but some just can't be said. So there you are!
Signs
I've been thinking a lot about signs lately. I spend most of my day looking for small signs and waymars to point me in the right direction. there are the ones that tell me to turn right or left, ones telling me to kep going straight and also ones to tell me it's the wrong way.
The other day, leaving Le Sauvages through a misty forest, I was getting frustrated at the lack of 'Go straight' signs. They're wonderfully comforting because we all like to know that we're on the right road. but this morning there were so few- I'd walk for ages without seing a single one and I was geting stressed. Ten I realised someting. True, there weren't always markers when I wanted them, but whenever there was another road there was a 'wrong way' sign on a tree. And at other times there weren't any other roads so if I'd followed the last marker why did I need another one?
We spend a lot of time in life searching for signs - telling us 'yes, this way', or 'no, not this way' and we often ask fr a sign that we've made the right choice, that things wil work out if we go this way. But I don't think that's what signs are for. They're not for reassurance, or to guarantee us a good outcome. They're just there to point the way. If we've followed the last sign properly, and heeded the 'wrong way' signs, and there's no other way, then all we have to do is keep going and trust that we've been directed well.
When I was in the forest I decided t ojust trust the signs and do my job, which was to walk. I found that when I surrendered the need to be reassured, the signs were there when they were needed, and I wasn't led astray. If we're on a path in life, maybe we need to practice endurance and just keep walking, instead of stopping amongst the trees for fear.
The other day, leaving Le Sauvages through a misty forest, I was getting frustrated at the lack of 'Go straight' signs. They're wonderfully comforting because we all like to know that we're on the right road. but this morning there were so few- I'd walk for ages without seing a single one and I was geting stressed. Ten I realised someting. True, there weren't always markers when I wanted them, but whenever there was another road there was a 'wrong way' sign on a tree. And at other times there weren't any other roads so if I'd followed the last marker why did I need another one?
We spend a lot of time in life searching for signs - telling us 'yes, this way', or 'no, not this way' and we often ask fr a sign that we've made the right choice, that things wil work out if we go this way. But I don't think that's what signs are for. They're not for reassurance, or to guarantee us a good outcome. They're just there to point the way. If we've followed the last sign properly, and heeded the 'wrong way' signs, and there's no other way, then all we have to do is keep going and trust that we've been directed well.
When I was in the forest I decided t ojust trust the signs and do my job, which was to walk. I found that when I surrendered the need to be reassured, the signs were there when they were needed, and I wasn't led astray. If we're on a path in life, maybe we need to practice endurance and just keep walking, instead of stopping amongst the trees for fear.
the strange road to Nasbinals
I titled this blog "the strange road to Santiago" after the Paulo Coelho book "The Pilgrimage" which is about this road. Up until the other day, the road had been wonderful, tiring, painful and beuatiful but not strange. That all changed on the way to Nasbinals. It was about a 30+km walk and my feet were pretty sore by this stage. I had picked up a sandwich to take away in a tiny little cafe about 5km out of the last town and was planning to picnic somewhere along the way. I chose Rieutort-d'Aubrac as a good place and plodded on. When i reached the town (tiny, TINY, barely a town) I saw all these people milling around the centre of the village - tat's to say they were standing in the middle of the only road in town. I thought this was kind of weird, but as always I greeted them with a friendly 'bonjour'. Suddenly one of the women ran towards me and said in French "Can I hqve a photo with you?" I was a little surprised but what else do you say but yes? Then another woman who was a little way off screamed "Wait! Wait!" and ran down to join us. So I posed with them, then I was surrounded. People on all sides were calling out questions - "Where are you going? Where did you start today? Where are you from? Are you going to Santiago?" and others were yelling my answers out to those at the back of the pack. A fez people were speaking to me and i had no idea what they were saying, thiking it was a dialect, when I realised they were Spanish as well as some French people. One man could speak English and he finally said "Everyone says we must let you go because you have a long way to go, but we won't forget you". With that and many waves and shouts I walked off out of town, shaking my head with amazement. I realised I was really hungry by that stage (since the picnic had kind of ben forgotten!) and I sat down on the sie of the road to snack. The whole group drove passed me hnking and waving about 2 minutes later. I guessed that I was their pilgrim experience.
I kept on going and finally reached the gorgeous little town of Nasbinals, with strets that spiral around the churc in the centre of town. I found the building where the Gite was and walked in. I looked around and realised I was in small community hall and what do you know but the whole tour group was sitting there at a huge table having lunch. They all broke out into shouts and started clapping and crying "It's Rosemary!" and a chair was pulled out and i was waved over to sit down. I had food coming at me from every direction - amazing home-made stuff, French qnd Sanish - and wine and coffee and everything else in between. A man was filming me with his video camera and others were taking photos while many people just grinned at me. Then came more questions and they were all so lovely and keen to find out about me. turns out they're like a France-Spain friendship group and they do tours in both countries. After about 20 minutes Frederique walked in (a French girl I'd met on the way) and they pulled out a chair for her too. Lunch was clearly over, so they packed up and gave us leftovers and one woman gave me her address in Spain if I go past her town. More kisses and smiles and finally good-byes. It was the strangest day and more wonderful than anything. God bless the Camino!
I kept on going and finally reached the gorgeous little town of Nasbinals, with strets that spiral around the churc in the centre of town. I found the building where the Gite was and walked in. I looked around and realised I was in small community hall and what do you know but the whole tour group was sitting there at a huge table having lunch. They all broke out into shouts and started clapping and crying "It's Rosemary!" and a chair was pulled out and i was waved over to sit down. I had food coming at me from every direction - amazing home-made stuff, French qnd Sanish - and wine and coffee and everything else in between. A man was filming me with his video camera and others were taking photos while many people just grinned at me. Then came more questions and they were all so lovely and keen to find out about me. turns out they're like a France-Spain friendship group and they do tours in both countries. After about 20 minutes Frederique walked in (a French girl I'd met on the way) and they pulled out a chair for her too. Lunch was clearly over, so they packed up and gave us leftovers and one woman gave me her address in Spain if I go past her town. More kisses and smiles and finally good-byes. It was the strangest day and more wonderful than anything. God bless the Camino!
Saturday 27 September 2008
the rhythm of the day
it's my fourth day on the road and things are settling into a nice pace. I've met so many lovely people from everywhere and since the distances between towns kind of decide for you where you'll sleep, I often meet people again at night and we talk about the day and the road ahead.
I get up around 6:15 - I don't usually need my alarm, someone else often wakes up or it's just time. Trying not to disturb the other people in the room, I get dressed and head to the kitchen for whatever form breakfast takes that day, sometimes bread and jam, sometimes fruit, coffee or tea if possible. I pack up and head out by 7:30. It's light by then but the sun's not up. It's also usually COLD and misty. The other morning the mist was so thick I had to search for waymarks and couldn't see what was happening twenty metres away from me. I try and walk about 15kms before I stop for coffee and a sandwich. It's great to stop for a while and baguette with thick slabs of cheese or paté has never tasted so good. I'm back on the road in about twenty minutes and I walk on another 12 to 16kms to reach my rest stop for the night. I find shady spots along the way to take quick water breaks and fil up my bottles from the fountains in the tiny towns along the way (yes;,it's drinkable and safe). When I reach the town I find the Gite and see if there's space for me. No problems so far, thank god. I take off my shoes which simply the best feeling EVER on earth and shower, wash my clothes and wander around the town. Dinner is greqt fun, as all the pilgrims (many familiar faces) gqther together and pass around food and wine and chat in whatever language we share. It's not uncommon for the non-French among us to bumble along in french so as to be understood by the others. By 8:30 I'm tired and pretty much ready for bed, so after sorting out my stuff for the morning I crawl into bed and sleep like a log. At 6:15 it starts all over again.
PS Sorry for any strqnge typos, but French keyboards are different from English ones and it's really confusing!
I get up around 6:15 - I don't usually need my alarm, someone else often wakes up or it's just time. Trying not to disturb the other people in the room, I get dressed and head to the kitchen for whatever form breakfast takes that day, sometimes bread and jam, sometimes fruit, coffee or tea if possible. I pack up and head out by 7:30. It's light by then but the sun's not up. It's also usually COLD and misty. The other morning the mist was so thick I had to search for waymarks and couldn't see what was happening twenty metres away from me. I try and walk about 15kms before I stop for coffee and a sandwich. It's great to stop for a while and baguette with thick slabs of cheese or paté has never tasted so good. I'm back on the road in about twenty minutes and I walk on another 12 to 16kms to reach my rest stop for the night. I find shady spots along the way to take quick water breaks and fil up my bottles from the fountains in the tiny towns along the way (yes;,it's drinkable and safe). When I reach the town I find the Gite and see if there's space for me. No problems so far, thank god. I take off my shoes which simply the best feeling EVER on earth and shower, wash my clothes and wander around the town. Dinner is greqt fun, as all the pilgrims (many familiar faces) gqther together and pass around food and wine and chat in whatever language we share. It's not uncommon for the non-French among us to bumble along in french so as to be understood by the others. By 8:30 I'm tired and pretty much ready for bed, so after sorting out my stuff for the morning I crawl into bed and sleep like a log. At 6:15 it starts all over again.
PS Sorry for any strqnge typos, but French keyboards are different from English ones and it's really confusing!
Thursday 25 September 2008
The first day
I set out from Le Puy around 7:45 on Wednesday morning, excited and a little nervous about what lay ahead. My main concerns were 1) being lonely/alone and 2) not being able to find the way. After ten minutes I came across my first clear marking - two stripes, one red, one white - and from then on it was easy to follow them without needing to consult my guide book. About half an hour into the day, I was joined by a young French guy named Emmeric who lives in London. We walked along together, chatting until Jean-Luis from Canada caught us up and the three of us headed along some beautiful forest paths together. So much for those worries! The country is more beautiful than I can describe - ever-changing and all picture-perfect French. Sometimes I swear I've walked into a postcard. I walked 28kms yesterday and finally arrived at Monistrol D'Allier, tired but happy. I visited churches built high on tiny mountain peaks, picked a few blackberries from the hedges, came across two ladies doing tai chi in the forest - it's never dull on the road! I walk alone most of the time but everyone is friendly and welcoming and there's a natural bond between other pilgrims, regardless of language. no-one asks why I want to walk this far - they all understand. This is a beautiful way of life.
Tuesday 23 September 2008
a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step
I pushed open the red velvet-lined door of the cathedral and stepped inside, trying not to look too out of place with my huge backpack. There's something about churches - it never matters if you're a believer or not, but being in the darkened space quiets the soul. The nun in the sacristy gave me my pilgrim's passport with a blessing from the bishop of Le puy and I signed the registration book - I am now officially a pilgrim on the road to Santiago de Compostella. There are signs of the history of the Camino everywhere and I feel part of something greater. Tomorrow I set off on the first day, but really I've been walking to Santiago since I first conceived of the idea three and a half years ago. That's one long journey, my friends. Anyway, Le Puy is more beautiful than I can describe and it's also a good deal colder than I imagined! But life is good, the road awaits and I am just so happy to be here.
Sunday 14 September 2008
A Japanese Love Song
There isn't a man in the moon in Japan - there is a rabbit (or two, if you believe the McDonalds ad) making mochi. I could never see it, though I looked. Bright lights, tall buildings and hazy skies make it hard to find the moon some nights. But I kept looking...
Two years ago I arrived in summer and thought I'd dropped into the fires of hell, it was that hot. I didn't understand how anyone survived that weather once, let alone year after year. But as the typhoons rolled in and the heat broke, giving way to cooler nights and the first hints of autumn I forgot the awfulness and watched the trees along my street instead, wating for the yellow, red and gold. The wind that swept them along the street pulled winter in on it's coat tails and suddenly earmuffs didn't seem an unreasonable proposition. Then slowly, after what seemed an eternity swamped in coats and scarves and gloves, the trees along Meguro river exploded into bloom with cherry blossoms fat and fluffy as cotton wool and popcorn and I caught sakura fever and took 300 photos of flowers in two days. And then the rain came...
For two years the passing seasons have marked the passing of my time in Japan, and somehow now it's over although that first week seems like only yesterday. I can't quite comprehend that I've walked down my home street at night for the last time, that there'll be no more crazy coffees with Cal on our interminably long breaks, that the first time I sang "YMCA" with my workmates will also be the last. How do you begin to say good-bye to the place that you've made your home? I'll miss the leaves turning this year, I'll miss train chaos if it snows, I'll miss the best of the seafood, the new year temple visits, the craziness of bonenkai season when drunken office workers stumble out of the train to throw up on the platform or just fall asleep and forget to get off at their station. I said good-bye to all my workmates tonight but it honestly feels like I'll see them in a few days.
So to them, to my students and friends, to the 130 kindergarten children who each drew me a picture or wrote me a message for my last day, to the pickled vegetable man who's only English was "teacher", "holiday" and "celery" but whom I looked forward to seeing every week, to the old people who stared at my tattoos on the train, and to this country - often unfathomable but filled with more generosity and kindness than I've experienced anywhere else in the world - I say thank-you. Thank-you for making this an amazing journey, for the stories and the laughter, for the karaoke madness, for the food that I will miss SO much and for many more things that can't be put into words. Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you.
As I was walking home tonight, I looked up. The autumn harvest moon was almost full and the night was clear. And there he was... a little rabbit, making mochi.
Two years ago I arrived in summer and thought I'd dropped into the fires of hell, it was that hot. I didn't understand how anyone survived that weather once, let alone year after year. But as the typhoons rolled in and the heat broke, giving way to cooler nights and the first hints of autumn I forgot the awfulness and watched the trees along my street instead, wating for the yellow, red and gold. The wind that swept them along the street pulled winter in on it's coat tails and suddenly earmuffs didn't seem an unreasonable proposition. Then slowly, after what seemed an eternity swamped in coats and scarves and gloves, the trees along Meguro river exploded into bloom with cherry blossoms fat and fluffy as cotton wool and popcorn and I caught sakura fever and took 300 photos of flowers in two days. And then the rain came...
For two years the passing seasons have marked the passing of my time in Japan, and somehow now it's over although that first week seems like only yesterday. I can't quite comprehend that I've walked down my home street at night for the last time, that there'll be no more crazy coffees with Cal on our interminably long breaks, that the first time I sang "YMCA" with my workmates will also be the last. How do you begin to say good-bye to the place that you've made your home? I'll miss the leaves turning this year, I'll miss train chaos if it snows, I'll miss the best of the seafood, the new year temple visits, the craziness of bonenkai season when drunken office workers stumble out of the train to throw up on the platform or just fall asleep and forget to get off at their station. I said good-bye to all my workmates tonight but it honestly feels like I'll see them in a few days.
So to them, to my students and friends, to the 130 kindergarten children who each drew me a picture or wrote me a message for my last day, to the pickled vegetable man who's only English was "teacher", "holiday" and "celery" but whom I looked forward to seeing every week, to the old people who stared at my tattoos on the train, and to this country - often unfathomable but filled with more generosity and kindness than I've experienced anywhere else in the world - I say thank-you. Thank-you for making this an amazing journey, for the stories and the laughter, for the karaoke madness, for the food that I will miss SO much and for many more things that can't be put into words. Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you.
As I was walking home tonight, I looked up. The autumn harvest moon was almost full and the night was clear. And there he was... a little rabbit, making mochi.
Tuesday 2 September 2008
Countdown thoughts
My last two weeks in Japan and summer has returned with a vengence today. It's hot and sticky and I'm dreading going into Shibya to sort out insurance and other details. But I have so few days left to be in amongst it all here I kind of treasure the chance to sweat it all the way to the station before being chilled to the bone by train air-con.
This place has become my home more completely than I ever believed possible. There are moments I suddenly remember that I don't look like everyone around me and the realisation surprises me - to forget that you are a foreigner in a foreign country is a wonderful thing. I no longer feel like I'm in a fishbowl.
I have been so frustrated by teaching lately - so ready to move on and begin my adventure - that I failed to see how precious this time has been. I taught my last class to a group of kids at an outservice the other day. Three kids, about eight years old, often difficult to teach but a lot of fun regardless. I wasn't in the mood for a kids class when I made my way through the Kamata streets but they were so much fun. At the end of the class the mothers gave me a present, and I got hugs and kisses from the two girls. One of them gave me a card that she'd written in Japanese. It said "I love Rosemary-sensei, and I will never forget you." I will never see those kids again.
It is very easy to slip into boredom and resentment when a job becomes routine, and there have been many times when it took everything I had to walk into the classroom with a smile on my face. But the gifts I received from my students - the stories, the confessions, the cultural lessons and the laughter - were far greater than any grammar point I successfully explained.I'm so grateful for those experiences now, even though I rarely appreciated them at the time.
So I'm counting down towards departure and in a flurry of packing and parties, but in the middle of it all I think I'm beginning to understand why I came here, why it was necessary, and how blessed I am for it all.
This place has become my home more completely than I ever believed possible. There are moments I suddenly remember that I don't look like everyone around me and the realisation surprises me - to forget that you are a foreigner in a foreign country is a wonderful thing. I no longer feel like I'm in a fishbowl.
I have been so frustrated by teaching lately - so ready to move on and begin my adventure - that I failed to see how precious this time has been. I taught my last class to a group of kids at an outservice the other day. Three kids, about eight years old, often difficult to teach but a lot of fun regardless. I wasn't in the mood for a kids class when I made my way through the Kamata streets but they were so much fun. At the end of the class the mothers gave me a present, and I got hugs and kisses from the two girls. One of them gave me a card that she'd written in Japanese. It said "I love Rosemary-sensei, and I will never forget you." I will never see those kids again.
It is very easy to slip into boredom and resentment when a job becomes routine, and there have been many times when it took everything I had to walk into the classroom with a smile on my face. But the gifts I received from my students - the stories, the confessions, the cultural lessons and the laughter - were far greater than any grammar point I successfully explained.I'm so grateful for those experiences now, even though I rarely appreciated them at the time.
So I'm counting down towards departure and in a flurry of packing and parties, but in the middle of it all I think I'm beginning to understand why I came here, why it was necessary, and how blessed I am for it all.
Tuesday 24 June 2008
preparations
I've started truly preparing for my departure in September now. After 4 days of hiking in the remote mountains in Shikoku I've learned a few things about life out of a backpack. Most importantly, who knew that such a small amount of stuff could weigh SO much when you're schlepping it up and down mountains all day? Damn, I thought I packed light, but I've got a bit more to learn. Suddenly those tales of people cutting bars of soap in half and tearing pages out of books when they've read them don't sound so crazy.
With my mind full of aubergues and yellow road markings, it's difficult to stay focussed on the whole teaching English thing. As summer approaches, students are flooding in - cause really, if you only get 5 days vacation a year, why wouldn't you spend it taking 50 English lessons? Dedication is a word that springs to mind, insanity is another...
It's sad to think that my time here is almost up, although I'm ready to move on. Japan is a place you could keep discovering forever. My friend Carolyn and I are going to try and get to Koya-san, a Buddhist retreat village in the mountains near Kyoto. Apparently it's amazing, and it'd be a great end to the whole experience.
It's strange how fast life moves around you.
With my mind full of aubergues and yellow road markings, it's difficult to stay focussed on the whole teaching English thing. As summer approaches, students are flooding in - cause really, if you only get 5 days vacation a year, why wouldn't you spend it taking 50 English lessons? Dedication is a word that springs to mind, insanity is another...
It's sad to think that my time here is almost up, although I'm ready to move on. Japan is a place you could keep discovering forever. My friend Carolyn and I are going to try and get to Koya-san, a Buddhist retreat village in the mountains near Kyoto. Apparently it's amazing, and it'd be a great end to the whole experience.
It's strange how fast life moves around you.
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