I've been away from this and away from home but I'm back again. I'm going in a slightly different direction for a while though. I'm going to put up excerpts from my travel journals. My latest BIG trip was to Spain where I walked much of the Camino del Norte, a smidgen of the Camino Primitivo, and the home stretch of the Camino Frances. It was my second Camino and a very different experience from my first, proving the old adage that you can't step into the same river twice. I saw and experienced my share of wonders, but I will extend beyond my usual theme to include a simple narrative with pictures. I'm feeling a bit chilly-footed about making some of my thoughts public, so I shall be selective.
To set the stage, I'm throwing in some writing from the winter before my trip. Its interesting to me, in retrospect to see what I worried about, and how these worries played out or didn't. There's a bit of self-fulfilling prophecy at work on some issues, but other fears were entirely groundless!
Here goes.
This time round, it should be much easier, because I know what to expect, to some degree. I know what clothes to take, I know which shoes will be comfortable, and I know about Compeed. I know that although I am going alone, I will almost certainly meet other pilgrims with whom I can share the experience.
The volume of pilgrims will probably be less than a tenth of what I experienced on the Camino Frances. There, even in April, I was in a cadre of at least one hundred people on the same road each day. Here, if I am lucky, there might be ten. Unless there is some factor which has recently come into operation, such as pilgrims wanting to avoid the crowded French camino. That might have been true in 2010, the Holy Year, but what will happen in 2011 is anybody’s guess.
When I walked the Camino Frances in 2008, although I met many other pilgrims, during the day I almost always walked alone. This is not the worrisome part of solitude. Security at night is less when there are fewer people. The guidebook I have is very good about introducing one to the hospitaleros one will meet along the way, which is comforting. I have made a pact with myself to never stay alone in an albergue. If that looks as if it will be the case, I will find some other accommodation.
For someone with doubts, I sure spend a lot of time in mental preparation, pretending I’m walking along with my pack on, when really I am walking the dog. I spend a lot of time on line looking for Plan B accommodation. Maybe, as a friend said about her daughter, this is how I quell my fears, by being prepared.
I’ve had slightly chilly feet, on and off, about going by myself. Part of me really wants to be able to share what I see and feel at the time, rather than second-hand, and later. I was reading one of Nuala O’Faolain’s memoirs lately, and was struck by her description of a lonely Christmas Day, and how, sometimes at least, having another person present is a completion. “That together you can unlock the best of the world and the best of yourself”. (Are You Somebody p. 78).
I wonder if, because there are so many fewer pilgrims on this route, if one will see a more authentic Spain. I expect there’ll be much less catering to us. I certainly expect to have to use my Spanish more often.
I bought a silicone bunion protector, even though I have a horror of it and its gooey ways. It reminds me of the wax effigies of various body parts left at the altar in Catholic shrines to give thanks for or in supplication of cures. Touching it gives me a sense of revulsion, too. It feels as if it might be something you’d find in a dark and watery cave, neither animal nor vegetable, but somehow alive. In fact, its mineral. But no matter what my feelings about it might be, so far, I find that it works. I still have a soft spot for Compeed, but if this works as well and is permanent, and won’t tear my skin off, I’ll just have control my feelings and wear it.
I’ve been reading a travel book about Portugal by a guy who glories in the name of Datus C. Proper, an American diplomat. Something he had to say about the difference between travellers and hunters resonated for me, especially as it illuminates the differences I perceive between men and women as they travel.
“Travel is extensive, hunting intensive. Travelers escape; hunters arrive. Travelers look for divertissement, like Pascal. Hunters don’t want to be distracted. Travelers think hunters are primitives. Hunters think travelers are lost. Chatwin the traveler wrote that” If you walk hard enough, you probably don’t need any other God”. It must have been a hunter-gatherer who wrote that “The kingdom of the father is spread upon the earth and men do not see it”. I guess I am a hunter. For what am I hunting?
Beauty
A reminder that we are one community of humanity
One of the things that this camino is turning out to be about is a chance to think about what I think or believe about God, about Godness. Nice to have figured out what the focus is. Of course that didn’t turn out to be the case at all. I thought a lot about physical limitations, and wondered yet more about whether what was holding me back was as much mental as physical.
Coming home in a snowstorm last night, I prayed to be safe. In times of extremity, I believe almost everyone does this, but to whom or what are we praying and why do we believe that we have the right to do this. As a child, I took to heart the part of the Eucharist which says”we do not presume to come to this thy table, trusting in our own righteousness...” But if we can trust God’s mercy, why are some prayers not answered? Its not a problem we can use science to unravel.
When I went on my Camino last time, I took four pieces of jewellery. One was the first present Nick ever gave me, a scallop shell necklace with lots of dangling shells, on a macrame cord. At that time, I had no idea of the Camino, and only a vague notion that the scallop shell was the pilgrim’s symbol, from skimming the Canterbury tales.
The second was a necklace of juniper seeds and black beads, given to me by a mystical friend, who told me it was made by the Hopi Indians and gave travellers protection. It has become a fetish, an anodyne necklace for me. I always wear it when travelling. If nothing else, it reminds me that my friend wants good things for me. It helps extend the bubble of protection that one likes to feel, the cushioning of knowing one is loved.
The third thing is an antler charm on a string, which is supposed to represent Mishipesshu, the giant water lynx who lives in Lake Superior, and who is responsible for storms and wild conditions on that lake, which really needs no help at all to be terrifying. Steve gave it to me, and I gave the same one to Nick. Mishipesshu is, to me, the God of Uncertainty; a reminder that anything can happen, even catastrophe, and that we are NOT in control of our destiny, despite what precautions we might take. When I hold on to this particular talisman, I try to teach myself to be brave in the face of whatever comes.
All of these seem to tell me that I believe in something.
On a practical level, having experienced one camino, I know that its do-able. Last time, the things which scared me ahead of time were climbing O Cebreiro, 11 km just about straight up, and walking a long straight stretch of 17 km along the Roman Via Triana with no shade or opportunities to stop and rest or get food or water. Those fears turned out to be phantoms. In their place, other problems were much greater. Homesickness and body sickness, to name two.
But this time, I see many more steep climbs on the route, and I am three years older. Never mind that I am 20 pounds lighter and much more fit than I was then. I can still scare myself, no problem. And in the end my fears were realized.
I did hurt my knees and missed out on the Camino Primitivo as a result of my unwillingness to hurt them further. As Gisbert said, a bus ticket is less expensive than a knee replacement. Although I think I may have been looking for outs even before I left, as I took Magda Lewis’s admonition about it being OK to take the bus so to heart.
I think that I might be more of a tourist and less of a Roman soldier on a route march this time, though I’ve left myself precious little space to dawdle. On the other hand, most of the albergues on this route don’t even open until four, so as long as I have the stamina to walk the walk, time shouldn’t be too much of the essence. 71 people did the route in January this year, so the competition for beds shouldn’t be too intense. For the most part this turned out to be true, but I was forced to rent a room one night on the Easter Weekend.
One of the things I have trouble with is wanting it all and knowing I can’t get it. I need to learn acceptance. I have had to say to myself “You will miss the horse race on the beach AND Tito Bustillo at Ribadesella. You will have JUST missed the processions during the week of Semana Santa in Ribadesella. You will also have missed a festival earlier on. Life in Spain goes on, with or without you. Get used to it. Also, by not going for structure, you allow serendipity in. In some ways its enough to know that there is a horse fair going on 10 miles up the road, and that Covadonga really is there, whether or not you get to see it. How funny! This camino ended up teaching me that I am in charge of what happens. If you want to see Tito Bustillo badly enough, you simply rearrange things in order to make it happen!
It is a month to the day before I leave. One of the things which I find most strange is that I will not see my camino pals of old on my journey. How will it be without Ron and Robbie, or Vita? There is a distinct possibility that I will, in fact, see Harold in Santiago. Maybe Harold is like Covadonga? I chose to sacrifice the opportunity to see Harold and Jan in order to go home and see my family. I don’t feel bad about that. I lit a lot of candles for Ron and Robbie and Vita, and one or two for myself. They were with me in spirit.
I’ve opted to take the bus back to Bilbao from Santiago. Its itinerary is almost exactly the Camino de la Costa in reverse. So, in a matter of hours, 10, I will retrace my steps with A Coruna thrown in for good measure (I’ve got a fascination with this place–though I suspect I will see the bus station rather than the Roman Lighthouse). Thirty four days of walking compressed into less than one day. Mind-blowing, really. In the end, although I took the bus back to Bilbao, it was the night bus and went via all the stops on the Camino Frances instead.
It’s two days before departure and I have packed and repacked, winnowed, and added back countless items of clothing and other bumpf. I’m also going through the cold feet stage. I’m terrified that without my steadying influence things will go less than well. Something terrible might happen. From time to time there is a moment of clarity when I realize that I am cutting the apron strings, but that I am also the one hanging on to them. Its like sawing the branch off the tree while you are sitting on it. By leaving I acknowledge that I am expendable. By leaving, I declare that my family and I can be separated, that we are expendable to one another. This is an unpleasant thought to me. But one which will have to be faced eventually.
One of the things that has had to go is my English guide to the Camino. Its heavy, confusingly written and somewhat peevish and old-womanish, full of counsel on avoiding mud, dire warnings against attempting remote, high level sections of the camino if one is on one’s own, and so on. In some ways I’m happy to leave it behind. On the other hand, it does have lots of good information, and is written in a language which I actually understand and speak fluently. I’ve been abstracting information from it and sprinkling notes throughout my Spanish guide to make up for its loss. More apron string cutting! Perhaps it is not necessary for me to have such explicit instructions. Maybe it is better to go forth in the faith that I will find my way. Last time, I had only the most bare-bones instructions and only got turned around once the whole way. Why should this be any different? And anyway, I am “plucky and adventury”. I’m sure I’ll be able to find my way very well, thank you! For the most part, it was easy, even when I lost the arrows in Santander. Keep the sea on your right shoulder and the sun behind you. Go West!
My concession to my fear that I won’t be able to manage is the inclusion of my Spanish/English dictionary. I had thought about only taking one half of it, but have decided that I really do need both languages, so that I can both say what I mean and have my curiosity about Spanish that I see while I am there assuaged. I could just use google translate, but that means saving up words and phrases until I can sit down at a computer. One of the chief characteristics of curiosity is that it needs to be satisfied immediately, or it eats at you. A dictionary is more immediate. But it’s a few ounces I’d rather leave behind.
Then there are the things which people give you, expecting you to take. My mother gave me socks. I received two scarves and some rocks–with special powers. I have to take them.
In the end, I ditched the green scarf and the socks and the dictionary. But I kept the rocks. It just goes to show you what a crazy pagan I am at heart. Google Translate proved to be sufficient, since I understand so much more Spanish than I had even realized
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