MY CAMINO 2016

Camino 2016

Santiago 10/1/16.  I arrived at the Cathedral at about 330pm on the 29th of September, 2016, numb, at the exact time my house on Davis Island was closing.  I arrived broken, I had pulled my quad on the last climb over O Cerbeiro four days ago, but adrenaline, inspiration and cumulated strength was driving me a last 30 kms that day.

The weather was good on the last leg of the journey, the signs all pointing back to the world: the people I met, the change in the Camino from Sarria onward, and with closure knowing my grief had peaked the week before in very deep and special reflections with people and with God demonstrating to me the sacredness of this journey, and the many meaningful threads that developed along the way.
You can prepare for it by reading, figuring out your logistics, hearing about other people's experiences, though often it is not expanded on as much as one might expect or come to understand from the foreset.  All kinds of reviews, updates, and recommendations assist, but fundamentally those who embark on the journey are drawn regardless, they are not dissuaded by the potential physical inconveniences.  Marks of courage and distinction that get them to their starting point eventually prevail over any other distraction or reason for delay.

Some prepare for years, some for weeks. Some have very clear reasons for going and know what they want to get out of it, others very little.  What most people can't prepare for is what transpires over the course of the journey within one's soul, the most important part.  It is not always obvious even while you are walking and it keeps presenting itself in new ways after you are done on the trails.
Additionally, what I wasn’t prepared for was how the Camino would break me and remake me, how it reflected myself anew in the midst of the unfamiliar, and what I learned about the inherent self, removed from the world.

The terrain is a clear metaphor for life.  The people you meet seemingly coincidentally placed to teach you about yourself, to tempt you, and to strengthen you.  There is a large probability that you will meet someone along the Camino that will look you deep in the eyes and recount your own life story to you.  It is a sacred space, forged by the faithful over the centuries, and no matter what modern times bring to the Camino, it is a carved place in the landscape that will be forever sacred, tied to eternity, and there to offer a uniquely individual experience, if you open yourself up to it.
I became aware of the Camino about 20 years ago and it was only through ongoing nudging over the years that it became a reality.  Work and children made it prohibitive until I finally turned 50 and my youngest headed off to college.  Before leaving, I outlined my reasons for going as:

a celebration of faith
a birthday present
some space to evaluate the rest of my life as I transition through personal and career changes.

10 months after a total right hip replacement, at the beginning of September and in the immediate wake of Hurricane Hermine, I found myself in St Jean Pied de Port with an all or nothing attitude that quickly gave way to reliance on things beyond myself as I saw and heard of so many people around me abandoning the pursuit because of injury and even death.

What follows comes from the journaling I did along the way.  Not surprisingly from this end, there is a big difference between how it starts and how it ends, with a noted pause near the middle where, while usually rarely at a loss for words to write, I found myself going through some kind of void between being so far removed from where I started and not exactly knowing where I was going.  I remember feeling more homeless than the homeless I work with in Tampa, unsure of what to make of my days or surroundings with so much freedom of direction. That point reflected exactly where I was in my parallel reality back in Tampa.

That is just a small example of how things go along the way.  It is also why I recommend doing the journey on your own if you want to make the most of it.  Anything; your expectations, presumptions, traveling partners, items in your pack, all serve to keep you connected to the world in ways that can prevent you from becoming wholly integrated into the Camino and it becoming a part of you.  Those choices should be made carefully and will be adapted to as you move along whether you intend them to or not.

You learn to rely on signs to reach your one goal, which is a good thing coming from a world that points us in so many different directions with so many interests other than our own involved.  I have a feeling that the signs will continue, just as they did before to get me here.  Maybe this will be like one of the thousands of arrows along the walk that serve to encourage people to seek that place where you can step out of the world for a time and evaluate, grow, live and learn from the wisdom of the ages.

***

Roncesvalles 9/4/16.  I flew on points to Paris and have budgeted $2750 for expenses over 6 weeks, with no return flight booked.  I haven’t booked any accommodations either expecting the Camino to be relatively tranquil now that most European summer vacations have come to an end.
All the mental and physical unloading I had to do to prepare for the journey seemed preliminary, to me at least, and it was.  I trained with my normal weight sessions, a couple of longer summer hikes, and my regularly active lifestyle seemed enough to get me going.
It wasn't until my train transfer in Bayonne that I ran into the first pilgrims.  It was exciting seeing my 'herd', the like-minded team that would accompany me in some way over the next few weeks.
There were about 200 pilgrims that arrived with my train and the town was booked.  I checked in at the Pilgrim's Office to receive my first stamp in my Credentiales book and was given an offer to share a tent with the woman in line next to me in someone's back yard.  I took it, so did she, and we were joined by a third lady later on. We went for a lovely dinner by the river and returned to our accommodations.  Right away I was thrown back to camp when I was 13 and had to play translator amongst people of many nations. Our gracious hostess Alicia was Mexican, there was another tent with a Canadian and two Poles, and not much language in common between them all.

I left St Jean the following morning with a stop in the church at the gate by the river where the Camino officially starts, praying for us all and asking God not to make it too painful.
The first day over the mountains to the the Pyrenees was beautiful and sparse.  Fueled by Alicia's picnic lunch, I met several hikers from all over the world.  That day alone I ran into Canada, South Africa, South Korea, Poland, Holland, Scotland, Ireland, UK, US, Brazil, Portugal, France, Spain, and Hong Kong.  Unbeknownst to them, every person I encountered carried a personal  message in our interaction.  The world was transformed from Monochrome to Kodachrome.
Because of the lack of accommodations, we were told to have our packs transported to the Monastery in Roncesvalles.  It  was the only place that could give us a bed after a long day's walk.

Though ready to shoulder the burden at the time, I am not suite sure how I would have faired with the 100 degree heat and an additional 30 pounds on my back for 20 miles up and down mountains.  It took 8 hrs.

Having heard horror stories of blisters, I religiously Body Glided and taped my feet every morning for the first two weeks.  I wore low Keen flexible hikers that felt more like a running shoe and thick merino socks.  I suffered some swelling and only one small blister that first day and it cleared within 2 days.  Mercy.  The shoes made it, but I was almost through the sole when I was done.  The thicker socks take longer to dry, they last longer.  I had a medium pair that made it halfway through the trip.  I washed them daily and hung them to dry in the sun, or off my bed for the night and on my pack the next day if necessary.  Fortunately we were not plagued by rain, just some misty damp days in Galicia.

Back to Roncesvalles...  The monastery had 200 people in line waiting to check in when I arrived.  I felt certain there would not be any room left even after waiting hours in the line.  I walked into the village and the only other option was a hotel for $50.  I had budgeted nice hotel stays in the major cities, and not for my first night, but given the circumstances, I decided it might be a wise investment and could make up for it elsewhere.

Being the westernized woman that I am, I was quick to wash every article of clothing I had worn over the last three days to restore my gear to an acceptable level of cleanliness.  It was clear my pack needed to be lighter for the heat and I swore myself to leaving something at every possible opportunity along the way.  There I left my airplane socks, an extra wallet, my carry on from the plane and a cotton t-shirt that would clearly never dry on a daily basis. I was down to two lightweight merino shirts and two socks.

The woods, cows, sheep, horses, bucolic countryside and mountains were all so delightful.  My joy increased, my heart expanded with every step in spite of the pain and discomfort in my body.  I felt no homesickness, but rather a sense of appreciation that some people from 'home' were joining me on this journey, virtually and prayerfully.  I ate pub food and slept peacefully, knowing tomorrow would come with much to offer, the looming 'Santiago 780kms' road sign outside my window on the street below.

Zubiri 9/5/16.  I'm exhausted.  This is different than the running or biking I am used to.  My feet and knees are swollen like I have never seen and have taken such a beating, though my leg muscles are not sore.  One man I met trained 1000 kms before coming and was in pain the first day, saying nothing can replicate this.  My Dutch friend from the tent has such bad blisters, but she presses on...
The feeding routine seems to consist of a small breakfast, light snacks during the day and a square meal in the evening.  Tonight is the first official hostel experience.  It feels like a commune.  People doing laundry in an old basin outside.  Strangers, men and women, half naked sharing showers and bathroom stalls.  Every sleeping disorder known to man in one room: snoring, talking in your sleep in whatever language you happen to call your own, teeth grinding, more snoring.

There is the strangest sensation that some of the people and even animals you meet on the trails are manifestations of supernatural beings; good, bad, man or woman, all with their roles in teaching you something about yourself, about life.

There is one man, traveling with a few others that I have seen over these first few days.  He is big and beautiful, carries no pack and has a great charming smile for everyone he meets, welcoming them to his fold.  While he offers a place to those seeking companionship in these early days, he makes me think of a tempter.  His offers were so kind and frequent to all, almost too good to be true.  Someone had the opportunity to offer something in return when he was at a loss for a place to sleep.  His reaction was palpable, with perhaps a glint of pride with anger or insult attached.  So I asked myself, if you offered the devil an act of kindness with no strings attached, would his pride allow him to accept it?  I never saw him again after the third day.

St. Francis de Sales came to mind as well today.  "Ask for nothing, refuse nothing." I think that would be a wise choice for this particular journey.  And now my own mantra, "take nothing for granted":  a piece of fruit, a bench on which to rest, the shade of a tree, a WC.

Many people came searching for something in particular, and seemed to have found it right away.  Affirmation or denial about people or work in their lives.  A decision to leave a job, a spouse, or embark on a new commitment.  Most were seeking for deliverance of a sort and a place in which to affirm and deliberate on it.  I didn't really come searching for anything except some reprieve from the world, and I did find that almost immediately!

Pamplona 9/6/16.  I had dinner and walked a long while with many French people, Rene Levesque's cousin was one of them, of all things. They speak about where they are from and it is usually pretty cut and dry.  I am from so and so, this is my language.

While being introduced to a friend, one of the French ladies described me as “an English Canadian who speaks French with a European accent who lives in Florida.”  A little complicated, and even more so when I start speaking Italian and pull out my British passport.  It is a daily ritual explaining all this to every new acquaintance and host when checking in.

There were more injuries today.  My Dutch friend stayed behind at the recommendation of a doctor.  The heat makes it harder on everyone.  I found a great hostel across from the 1000 year old Cathedral in Pamplona, where I had a quiet heartfelt moment of communion in one of the oldest chapels in the catacombs.

Puente de La Reina 9/7/16.  Three days in and I gave myself permission take stock of my life for a moment.

Who are you without your children, work, or partner?  I am hard on myself, I am complicated, low-maintenance, persevering, and impatient of people who can do more for themselves but do not.  I am open and friendly, but guarded and judgmental at depth.

There is no doubt that some people are good for us and others aren't, and my discernment skills come from cynicism more than instinct.  I want a partner in life, but feel like a fish out of water meeting people in my usual environment.  I am satisfied with how my work has evolved and my relationship with my children is one that is unique, but fundamentally genuine and caring.  Not so bad, I suppose, so take it easy on yourself for Christ’s sake!

Viana 9/10/6.  I met a poor French man who hobbled into the albergue last night after walking 600kms form Le Puy and then fractured his tibia.  Not speaking the language, the next day he insisted on walking another 5kms to the next town with me so we could find him a bus to get home on, sadly relinquishing his plans for Santiago.

I then met more lovely people from Spain, Montreal, Germany.  I ran into many Americans; college friends, father and son, and Hollie ‘Golightly’ from New Hamppshire, on her second Camino, so carefree without her pack.  I also met a woman from Norway, she has become a good friend and traveling companion.

My pack is still such a weight.  I’ve been leaving things behind every day as I said I would.  I walk a good 15kms before the heat and burden get to me.  I then stop for water and lay down on grass, pavement, bench, whatever I can find to renew myself for the next two kms until I reach my destination.

I finally came atop the first mountain pass, the Alto del Perdon, thinking I wouldn't be able to go any further.  There was a strong wind, cooling the sweat and taking away all the sins if the world. It was a wonderful refresher, spiritual and physical, that I could feel in every fiber of my being.  I laid down with my head against my pack and ate the best peach I had ever tasted.  Grace and more communion on the mountaintop.

One of the American ladies said to me at the sight of my pack, "you carry all your worries in your pack!"  Yep.  I feel the fatigue in my head, my spirit, my swollen feet and knees, yet so many others are suffering so much more.  It is hard to look at and I want to tell them to stop for a while, but I know we all have our reasons for being here.

It is good to see everyone's guard coming down.  Friendship, understanding, no pretenses, even with complete strangers. The Camino unites us more every day, in spite of being as weary as we are, or maybe because we are and have no energy for keeping up appearances.

The accommodations are unbelievable.  For 5 euros I was given a bed in an old castle for the night overlooking the landscape.

Belorado 9/14/16.  I walked and talked for a time yesterday with two retired doctors from the Cleveland Clinic.  Both are widowers, there are a few on this road.  It is heartwarming to see such expressed faith and open emotion in Doctors. One mentioned Thoreau's essay on walking that seems to suit the Camino mindset.  I read it with delight:

Http://faculty.Washington.edu/timbillo/readings%20and%20documents/wilderness/thoreau%20walking.pdf

San Juan de Ortega 9/15/16.  I walked through Logrono two days ago and had the best tortilla of the trip in the square before following the Camino through a beautiful and very large city park.  The food and wine in these parts is wonderfully delicious and nourishing to a tired and hungry pilgrim, inexpensive and homemade too.

Enter the Irish.  Those soulful, mischievous derelicts with whom I tend to lose and find myself.  One struggled since the start as though he had a dark cloud following him like a drowning forcefield for a while.  It was felt just being near him.  Eventually he was able to shake it off.

Pints were flowing that night and before long our conversations were hardly a memory aside from the feeling that I had found some long lost brothers.  They made for great company.

I remember touching on the Cruz de Hierro, it is a point after Leon where pilgrims are to lay down a stone symbolic of what they need to relinquish in life. I had been thinking about this part of the journey because I did not feel that I could lay down my stone with any integrity. They were good about sharing their thoughts on it, and all had something to do with personal relationships.

They encouraged me to lay it down even if only symbolically, and even though I new that would have some value, I could not do it with any kind of proper satisfaction.

The following day was a long hike through the woods during which a poem that was given to me 30 years ago came to mind with such lucidity. It was in French but I cannot remember the author’s name.  I kept hearing the first two lines of the poem over and over again; "Life is a kingdom, no one can take it away from us or create it for us.”

The cares of home are now distant. I approached Santo Domingo, a very freeing part of the Camino landscape through fields of hay and sunflowers, it is like a dream walking through them.  There came this sense of being here-now, really a part of it.  I was one of the millions of flowers on the hillside, and I engraved my initials into the center of one of the few remaining blooms.

The freedom and expanding in the chest keeps presenting itself and increasing and inspiring more awe.

Burgos 9/16/16.  Irish humor heals the wounds in my soul and resonates with me in its honesty. We had a last night together at the Monastery, where another Irishman joined us.  He was forging ahead at a pace of 30+ kilometers per day.

My belly has been struggling with the fountain water for some time.  Strangely enough, I was in a pharmacy in a tiny town where I was able to get some effective medicine (Tiorfan 100mg, for reference) a few days ago. I ran out of medication and stopped three days later in a larger town to get more, and the same pharmacist was at the counter.  I asked her how it could be that she was in front of me again?  What are the odds that I would step into the right store, in the right city, on the right shift to meet this woman twice in a row?  She was just one of many Camino angels.

I have grown to love my Camino posse, so it is with sadness that I see people finish a section and head home, or as I am doing, move ahead for a few days on the bike.

Bike rentals are available, they are decent 29'ers with front suspension for the most part and can accommodate your pack on a rack in the back (Yes!).  It makes travel much less personal, but can give you a bump if you are short on time and don't want to miss the scenery.  The Camino bike route differs a lot from the pedestrian route because of the terrain, but the part that goes through the Meseta from Burgos to Leon is the only part that follows the actual Camino route and that is the part I decided to ride through.

It was a strange few days prior.  The least of my expectations was of being approached romantically, particularly by a young man, but I can see how this might happen, and I did seen it happen.  I try to be open to possibilities, I have nothing holding me back, but I did not want to have my head filled with distracting thoughts the way it can and so thought it best to continue with the bicycle as originally planned.  I prayed for assistance and protection and when the weaker part of me gave into such sweetness and charm, a way was made for me to stay clear of it.

The cities are not a welcome place anymore.  I thought I would spend a night at a nice hotel, but instead I am just doing the albergues and wanting to leave as soon as I can.  I have grown intolerant of being indoors as well as feeling deeper connections to the oldest parts of this journey.
I can’t help myself, but I am starting to think about what I have to go back to, what I want to go back to.  The closure I am lacking about certain things is something I can accept, like disenfranchised grief.  I need to allow myself to move forward without that closure and am feeling a need for a change in environment to help in that respect.

How open and free I feel right now is overwhelming.  All good things culminate here: love, friendship, a clear head, a strong body, solitude, adventure.  It brings me joy to see the people I care about getting to a good and settled place both here and at home after many trials.

Moratinos 9/18/16.  I ran into two very strong walkers, I call them the Camino Superheroes in St. Anton last night.  I met them earlier on, and did not expect a reunion, but they walk as much as I can ride in a day.  They are truly remarkable, very humorous, and we are all imbued with the giddiness of doing such an extreme thing, with all the ridiculous improbabilities that accompany it.

We spent an ethereal night with a full moon in the ruins of St. Anton, no electricity, no hot water, spontaneous dancing and singing.  We had a delicious and hardy meal of lentil stew and then vegetable stew by candlelight, and then fell asleep alongside one another (no snorers!), the room warmed only by the cooling cookstove, our own body heat and some beautiful a cappella singing from the men in their bunks.

Leon 9/19/16.  On foot again. Love manifests itself in so many ways along this road.  I have found myself surprisingly and thankfully vulnerable and impotent under its jnfluence.  People still believe in dreams and true love here.  This takes me off guard from my normal independent self that has not seen any hope of building dreams with someone or true love for along time.

The Camino gives us so much, and we all give in return. I willingly and joyfully offer the physical effort, my languages, unguarded self-expression, space and presence to process, encouragement, acceptance.  I have an huge appreciation for the spontaneous unity in diversity that emerges daily and with such fluidity.

For someone who has a hard time with continuity in life but craves its security, it feels like my comfort zone.  There is so much to take in in the walking and in the engagement along the walks or at the end of the day.  The experience makes me smile and keeps me on my toes.  I have gone to sleep with a literal smile on my face, if not tears of joy and gratitude for being here and being part of it every single night.  I feel I will need to redefine my bucket list and maybe even my life in light of what I am experiencing.

Ponferrada 9/20/16.  I miss some of the people I started out with.  How often do we leave people behind and why (views, standards, boredom, pace, fear of pain, no choice)?  I hope to see some of them again.

I am quite comfortable with no agenda now.  The being now feels like easily resting in God's presence.  Completely open to the day.

The Camino runs East to West and most of our walking is done in the coolness of morning.  There is something to be said about that shadow that goes before you day after day.  Seeing it move along the dusty, rocky, asphalt, up, down, around, it gets ingrained into your mind’s eye day after day.

A little practicality:

When:  the Camino is changing and becoming more regulated over the next year as more people are going all the time.  This is going to mean higher prices and even the retirement of many albergue owners.   There is a lot of construction going on by private companies who are looking to capitalize on opportunity.  From Sarria to Santiago there are many bikers, large tour groups and short distance walkers who are in for a different experience.  I met two men from Ireland who had booked through an agency all their accommodations and flights and for 10 days and spent 7000 Euro for double occupancy basic rooms, no food.  I mentioned my budget at the beginning for 40 days previously and ran about half of what I had predicted (though I made up for it with an extra few days in Santiago). Optimal months to go in my opinion are April and October, right after most albergues open and before they close for the winter.

Why:  To take a couple of lines from Thoreau in walking long distances:  "No wealth can buy the requisite leisure, freedom, and independence which are the capital in this profession. It comes only by the grace of God. It requires a direct dispensation from Heaven to become a walker. You must be born into the family of the Walkers. Ambulator nacitur, non fit."

Which Camino:  There are several and most nations in Europe are connected to it in some way.  The most reliable in terms of markings and amenities is the Frances, and a woman walking alone has nothing to fear.  The rest may need some researching, but from what I have heard the route in France from LePuy and the Portuguese coastal route are both well recommended.

The body:  Something, if not everything, will end up hurting, a lot.  I carried Advil in a baggy from home.  I bought the coveted Voltaren gel by Novartis (one tube will last you the trip) to apply several times a day and at night to several parts of my body.   It works.  I mentioned the Tiorfan for stomach problems and many people ended up spending a lot on Compeed for their blisters, but some basic fabric tape worked just fine preventatively as well as for treating small irritations. As soon as you feel something, stop, let your feet breathe and address the site.  Buy a pair of shoes a half size larger than normal.   They will swell.  Use Body Glide daily on your feet. You may want to bring a knee wrap.  It seemed everyone was wearing one by the end.

Transporting packs:  Unashamedly, I did a week on and a week off with my pack.  It cost 5€ to send it on to the next destination.  Very convenient and it was secure and never got lost.  By the time you have your day gear together (water, food, layers, meds, phone...), your are still carrying 10lbs minimum.  Alternately, I would have suffered greatly, possibly have not completed the journey and I wasn't doing it for penance like some.  Your pack is one of your teachers on the Camino.

Food:  Great fresh salads normally incorporated eggs and tuna for protein and bread on the side. Supermarkets offer fresh bread, cheeses, meats, water, fruit, nuts and you can usually get it all for well under $5 for the day.  Tortillas and cafe con leche was my usual breakfast.  Evenings consisted of the pilgrims’ menu that often accommodated vegetarian selections and were prepared by the albergues or a small restaurant for under 10€ for a four-course meal, very good wine included.

My daily routine went something like this:

5-530 am, listen to the Germans get up and ready and out the door to walk in the dark
530-7am, think about getting up cause you can't get back to sleep
7-730am, pack, eat breakfast, head out
730-11am, walk 10-15 miles and stop for coffee and tortilla
11-2pm, walk 5-10 miles and find a bed before they are all filled
2-4pm, laundry, shower, make your bed, rest your feet
4-7pm, nap, chat, see the sights, drink a beer or two, check your mail, massage your legs and feet, journal
7-9pm, eat and talk a lot
10pm lights out

Bed bugs:  Sorry to say they are everywhere.  Pilgrims carry them from one place to the next.  Spray your bedding with homeopathic bedbug spray before you go.  I did not have a problem, but almost everyone else did at some point.  If you suspect your bag might be carrying when you are headed back home, place your pack in a freezer overnight before you bring it back into your house.
Cell service:   It was good pretty much everywhere. I did a lot of Whatsapp with Camino people.  Some FB IM.  Most bars and albergues have decent free WiFi, but it was not a priority until bed time and I was glad to see almost everyone unplugged.

Back to the Camino...

Ruitelan 9/22/16.  I've seen a few people walking with dogs, babies, on horseback, literally dragging donkeys...

People are physically broken, and emotional not so much for their pain as for the end of the journey.  Mortification of the body juxtaposed for the exaltation of the soul, we are all there.

After the last big mountain and the town of Sarria where the minimum distance for a pilgrimage certificate starts (100km marker), it will be crowded and commercial, a return to the world.

I passed by a couple sitting by a brook today.  They could've been Lancelot and Guinevere so intertwined in that idyllic setting.  I offered to take their picture, capturing in my mind's eye the fact that many people on the Camino, are hopeless, or rather, hopeful romantics.

I also spent much of my day around personal and familiar elements.  The gabions that lined the mountainside were on my right for about 5 hours of the journey, the first and last time I saw them.
I arrived at the old albergue for the night only to be greeted by an older gentleman who reminded me so much of my dear childhood companion Marino who died last year.  He cooked a wonderful pasta meal for us with music and blessing, and love.  We fell asleep to Jazz and were warned to the chagrin of the Germans not to wake up before we heard music at 630am.  So we woke to Ave Maria, surreal.
Here is a Camino poem they had in their guestbook:

My heart goes out to those who endure the walk before me.  For each silence braided with a prayer, each footstep that leaves its print, the souls that pound their poles, for each brother who lends me a word, each shadow that traces the sun, each pack loaded with sorrows that the Camino relieves, for any one of those, countless, "Ultreia!", onward, strength and valor. For each look lost in the sky, for each beat of your heart, for each time we grit our teeth, the sighs that the wind embraces, for the tears shed, and the effort and the sweat. For all these I offer the peace of my prayers. - P.  Llanos

Fonfria 9/23/16. When I think about the things I will miss the most on this Camino I see love, friendship, unity, grace, mysticism, serendipity, many lessons, guidance: beneficial but often contrary to my own instincts, perseverance, companionship, strength, sensitivity, beauty, song, laughing, substance, wine, beer, tortillas, lentil stew, new friends, languages, not working, no phone, fruit trees, babbling brooks, sanctuary, peace, immense valleys, blackberries, acts of love, eye contact, depth of conversation, bewilderment, euphoria, and a wide open heart.

I love that I have had this opportunity to look at myself outside of the context of what my environment back in Tampa has molded me into.  Nature v nurture is appreciated in some new and surprising ways.

There are so many messages we come across, written on walls, or gathered stones, mostly encouraging, at exactly the right time that you need them, and you thank the soul that took the time and cared enough to think of others to help them on their journey.

Ventas de Naron 9/26-27/16 -Today I became aware of the signifiant thread to my Camino that I was completely oblivious to up to this point.  It's taken a couple of days to reflect on it.  Its presence and meaning could have slipped unnoticed for so many little reasons: weather, a distracting conversation or view, darkness...  but as it was, when I came down off of the final mountain, O’Cerbeiro, with the similar feeling to the one I had had on the Alto del Pardon, I felt freshly forgiven and compelled to forgive, and any residual anger and resentment were swept away.  I could not find them even as I searched for them.  It was such an odd sensation to lose those two without any conscious deliberation on my part.  They were just gone.

My heart felt freed all the more, and I finally gave myself permission to loose the rock that had been such a conundrum for me from the start.  I had passed the opportunity several days ago to set it down and had not, and could not now return to that awful place.  Instead I left myself open to alternate inspiration, simply and satisfactorily relishing the notion that I could release it.

I then passed the 100km marker the following morning, the minimum distance for an official pilgrimage, and it seemed a very good place to lay my stone with a prayer and a blessing in the misty primeval dawn.

I took a picture and was on my way with a nice spring in my gimpy step when not 500m away I was stopped dead in my tracks.  There in the middle of the road was a huge heart with the word's "Maria's Heart" written in bright yellow.

I had lost my heart, you see.  5 years ago I gave it away, and I had no idea how or if I would ever get it back.  But there it was, my big fat juicy heart lying on the road right in front of me, and I was so happy and grateful to see it and feel it like I did.  I could not believe the gift and how it had all come to pass: forgiveness, forgiving and restitution only two days before the end.  My body broken, my soul whole.

Salceda 9/28/16.  The heat has returned and with it mounting signs and influences of the world.  We are preparing to come off the Camino.  I've been doing some work on the side a bit every day.
I try to relate my work to the Spirit of God in any way I can.  Not an easy task.  Today the architect gave me my unit number 403, which led me to Isaiah, "In the wilderness prepare the way for the LORD, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.”  How appropriate.  Before leaving I spoke with my pastor about being called to the wilderness for a time of preparation for the future, regardless of what it holds.

There is a lot of religious thought coming to mind, perhaps in anticipation of the Pilgrims’ service in the great ancient Cathedral in Santiago.  I picture greeting pilgrims I have walked with, all of us weak and with little real understanding as to how physically drained we are in light of the goal.  But for the grace of God, go we.

I will miss sleeping among my companions, yes, even the ones that snore.  There has been comfort in each other's presence both day and night.

I will miss the stories about people like the tampon lady whose ministry it was to walk the Camino with 100 tampons for the women in need... "Excuse me, are you bleeding?". Or the couple who got lost, incredibly so with all the people around and a sign or arrow every 100m, for five days in the mountains and wandered into Pamplona almost starved to death.

Santiago 9/29/16.  I have arrived.  Thankful for my Scandinavian friend’s companionship in the morning, and also thankful I could make the final 5kms of the approach on my own.  My quad was seizing and burning, but the adrenaline was pulling me forward without relent.  The plaza to the Cathedral was littered with pilgrim bodies, I couldn't even be bothered to find shade, I just had to drop.  The Italian girl next to me on the ground happened to be one I had spent a few nights with over the course of the weeks before.  She was a trooper, we all are.

I texted the Camino Superheroes that I had made it and immediately got a picture from Paul crouching next to the 100km marker, right were I laid my stone.  He may make it here before I go home.

Santiago 9/30/16.  I broke down at breakfast in the Hotel.  I was up early to get my certificate from the Pilgrim’s Office.  I looked around at the chrome, the fake flowers, and fine linens on the table and on my lap, it hardly seemed real.  Where was the ancient wood and stone, the smell of cow dung, the crow of the rooster?

Santiago 10/1/16.  Peace.  The greatest peace, resting my head and body against the great pillar of the church as in my Father's arms.  Ever grateful for the sacred song, scripture, the present suffering and obedience of pilgrims, schismatics, agnostics, and "prods" all in that one glorious sanctuary.

Seek the Word, not for worldly solutions, but inner healing and understanding, knowing God seeks you and loves you through It.  Let It guide you along the Camino to eternity.

Such an utter state of grace as I have never known.  Back into the hurricane go I…

***

6 months later, I see the sale of my house at the moment of completion of the Camino as a release, a mark of having left and having arrived.  The Camino remains very much alive in me.  It jogged a few things in my head, in terms of priorities and not having to succumb to the conventions that the society I’ve been living has pushed me towards, most of which lead me to compromises that are detrimental to my spirits, individuality and the joy life has to offer.

The signs have continued.  I’ve learned the Camino can be life, and the arrows are all around us.  I recognize them more clearly now.  I also recognize a Pilgrim when I see one.  They are the ones who searches for what lies outside of the immediate and binds us in the larger continuum of the human experience.  Beyond the materialism and superficialities of our world.

My direction is less of a concern than allowing provision to unfold itself.  It is still a struggle not to want to control and plan as we all have our responsibilities and deadlines, but there is less dependence on that as a function of survival, being at peace and finding joy.  In fact, they are quite opposing most of the time.

I’m glad to say I still am in touch with many of the Pilgrims I met.  Mostly the Irish and the Scandinavians.  WhatsApp, Facebook, Email, they do have a place in staying connected in good ways.  I am even considering the Camino Portugues in 2017 and a sojourn in Ireland.  I am glad I heeded to the call, and will continue to do so.

SISU

Growing up with my father after divorce was impactful.  I had no idea, at 12 years old, that living with him was so different, but it was.  He was a struggling entrepreneur and salesman, emotionally challenges with other reverberations from his own childhood.  He was a loving, sensitive father, but frequently absent.  When he was home I often found him escaping in poetry or sic-fi novels.  He ran almost every day, with integrity.  It was the 70's and his work and the Montreal Olympics brought him closer to such icons as Lasse Viren for strength and commitment to his goals.

I ran with him a couple of times on Mount Royal, his perpetual challenge was "The Loop" at the top.  He ran marathons in different cities and considering his amateur status, his standards were high and I was always told to push hard, and NEVER, EVER walk.  His Finnish friend taught him about 'sisu'.  

Sisu is a Finnish word that cannot be translated properly into the English language, loosely translated to mean stoic determination, bravery, guts, resilience,^[1][2] perseverance and hardiness,^[3][4] expressing the historic self-identified Finnish national character. (Wiki)

In Italian, the closest thing I can think of is 'grinta', which translates pretty well as grit.

My more modest goals through my first marathon at the age of 35 were fueled by this.  Dig deep and push through.  I was disappointed when I actually had to walk my last few miles of the Hatfield-McCoy marathon, but Dad was gracious enough to be present and even finish the run with me.   A good memory of wanting him to be proud of me and him meeting me where I was, knowing I had put in a good effort.

Thanks to this odd indoctrination of a foreign mantra, I was able to reap the benefits of athletics and continue to pursue them in various forms, overcoming my terrible lack of swimming skills and the fear of cycling from an accident I suffered when I was younger.

Sisu is something that everyone has access to, it just needs to be embraced.  The greatest of life's challenges can threaten to overwhelm us, but the strength to bare them is there, and even welcomes, beckons us to put it to use.  I think this is why I continue to seek opportunities that bring this character to life.