Days to go

     Less than a week now before I set sail, or, more precisely, board the plane for Chicago and then to Paris. And then I'll be underway, on a way I've set for myself since last October. I wonder if I'm ready, but I also know that one can never be fully ready. I think I'm ready as I can be.
    Well, that's not entirely true. Six days before I leave, I'm still not certain about my backpack. The one I've had since last fall is a Deuter 45+10, and I do love the way it feels on my back. But it's not a very light backpack, because of its size. It's light for its size, but I got to thinking that maybe at 3 pounds 6 ounces, it might be heavier than another one. So I started researching online, and I found another pack, 40 liters, at 2 pounds 1 ounce. A great difference! So I've ordered it and I'm waiting to see if it has the support that the Deuter does, and if all my gear fits in nicely. If so that is so, then I'll be switching packs not midstream but at the last moment before going over the waterfall. The new pack arrives on the morrow.
    Meanwhile I've been winnowing down each ditty bag--the bag for the shower and laundering, the bag of clothes, the bag for nighttime, the bag for first aid and the one for medication, the little bag for electronics, for want of a better designation. It has my adaptor plug, my extra fitbit battery, my chargers. And then there's the bag for underwear, socks, etc. And miscellaneous, a bandana, liner gloves, a sarong. I also have a plastic envelope that closes securely, in which to keep important documents, like my plane tickets, a copy of my passport and other essential things, and in which I can keep anything of that sort that I collect along the way.
     I've called my credit and debit card companies to let them know I'll be out of the country for two months, I've stopped the newspaper and had the mail forwarded to Becky's house, I've written final instructions and last wishes, in case of the worst happening. I wonder what I still have left undone, left to do. I need to clean my house!

Little Creek Hollow

     I've come to the little cabin in the hollow for a weekend with my daughter, son-in-law and nearly four year old granddaughter,. This is an enchanted place, tucked between two ridges of trees, backed by a national forest, fronted by a little-used gravel road which runs past their property. On the other side of the gravel road is a beautiful spring-fed creek, Little Sinking Creek. Just next to the little cabin a tiny creek runs, not much more than a brook, spilling softly over shallow rocks, sending the music of the running water through the woods. They call it Little Creek.
     I come here to breathe deeply and to walk the gravel road with my hiking poles and boots. I can imagine myself on the Camino better here than I can at the gym, walking the circular track. Even here, though, it's hard to be outdoors long on a hot Missouri summer day, in the 90's. Another part of my preparation though is using my sleeping bag here, to see how it feels to me. I'm not happy with what I've discovered. I don't like sleeping in a sleeping bag, because I feel so confined in my movement. I turn a lot in the night, and that's hard in a sleeping bag, even with one side open. And it's a light sleeping bag too, so it doesn't provide much warmth if I need it. In the middle of the night last night I thought about alternatives, some solution that would be both comfortable for me, for nearly two months, and also light-weight. And I decided to look for a light-weight fitted sheet to take with me. Then I could use my sleeping bag for a blanket, either half of it or both halves, depending on the temperature and whether or not the albergue where I'm staying has provided a blanket. It sounds as though that might be a good choice, but only time will tell. I've found a lightweight sheet online and have ordered it already. Something else to test out. And I can hope for a better night sleeping tonight, without that to worry about.
   
   
   

The Final Month

             Here I am at last at the beginning of August, one month out from the start of my Camino. I haven’t written anything here for several months. During that time I’ve been training my body with longer walks and intensive strengthening workouts, and I’ve been weighing each piece of my gear, making choices, changing my mind, making other choices, wondering, questioning, weighing, always weighing. I think it’s the bane of the Camino pilgrim, trying to find a lighter and lighter pack. I’ve tried several different sleeping bags before settling on one, a couple of different fleece jackets, two different rain pants (I settled on the lighter of the two, even though I preferred the other one), and on and on. I suspect that this weighing and considering and opinion changing will continue up to the day of my departure.

            July was a difficult month for me. It held the third anniversary of the death of my beloved husband John. And then, out of the blue, with no forewarning, one of my dearest friends, of more than 40 years, died suddenly from a ruptured brain aneurysm. I’ve spent the month in shock and sorrow. It was this very friend who first told me about Camino, who walked The Way for about 10 days with a church group years ago. But now she’s gone, and I can’t tell her about my own Camino, when I walk it. What I can do, and will do, is to carry her with me, as I will carry the spirit of my husband John, trying to come to some understanding of the loss I feel, and hoping that I’ll find a way to rise above the sorrow to a greater understanding of what death is. I don’t know if that’s possible or not. But I’ll walk and see. What will this Camino have to teach me?

          

            

Everybody dies but not everybody lives

     I heard that quote on NPR recently, unattributed, but I can't find a source for the quote when I search for it. No matter, it's true. We will all die, there's no question about that, but will we all live to our fullest potential? That's not as sure. And will walking the Camino de Santiago bring me a step or two closer to that goal, living to my fullest potential? I hope so.
     Now though, I'm in a period of fear running rampant through me. I've read enough blogs and books to know that it's not only not uncommon, it's very normal for one to be beset by fears of all sorts, usually about two months out from one's start date. It's early for me, as I still have three and a half months to go. But the fears are real within me.
     Not every fear is without merit, or at least without some basis in reality. The Camino forums have been inundated with the story of a young peregrina, or pilgrim, who disappeared suddenly, leaving no trace, on Easter Sunday. She was in touch with friends and family and then suddenly vanished, and extensive searches have discovered nothing. It has been incredibly unsettling to the Camino community, and now there are more stories, threatening though not quite as dramatic as the disappearance of the young pilgrim. All the stories come out of one small stretch on the long Camino, but they nevertheless disturb and unsettle all those walking or planning to walk, especially women. And that's there I am, of course. I'm an older woman, in a different demographic, and surely I will be less likely to run into the sorts of harassments and threats that a very few younger women are experiencing, but nevertheless, it shakes me. And even more so, because now other "incidents" are being reported on the Camino, in the same general area. The Spanish police are investigating thoroughly, and maybe it will all be resolved soon. But still, the uncertainly remains for now.
     My response to this fear has been to begin a review of my self-defense training. After all, I'm a brown belt in Kenpo karate. It would be a sad conclusion to my many years of karate training to be accosted on the Camino and find myself unable to defend myself. Especially when I'll be carrying two potentially lethal weapons, my walking sticks. I know that I'll be fine, but all the same, I intend to use the time I have left to review techniques I've learned through the years, and to boost my self-confidence. Then maybe I can drop my fears and walk my Camino with courage and calm. That's my goal.
      And there are other fears rearing their ugly heads as well. Will my old body hold up? Will the pain prove too much for me, the pain of blisters and sore muscles and pulled muscles and aching joints? Will I be lonely or make friends easily? Will I miss my family and friends desperately? Can I really do this?
      My answer to these fears is a resounding, Yes, I can!  Because I'm not setting off on this venture because of Ego, I don't think, or a desire for adventure or to prove something. I'm doing it because I feel unalterably compelled to do it, or at least to try to do it. That compulsion is coming from within myself, in the core of my being in a deep and mysterious way. In my most spiritual moments, I feel it as a summons. But that's scary too, and I don't know what that means. I just know that I have to do it. God willing. Always, God willing.
   

Intention

     One of the most frequent questions one is asked on the Camino, I'm told, is this, why are you walking the Camino? Clearly, there is no one answer. Each person's reason for walking his or her Camino is as different as each of us is from the other. So then, why do I want to walk the Camino? What is my intention?
      The simplest answer is that I felt called to do it. It was an interior summons, direct and insistent and impossible to resist. But not long after I felt that summons, that interior call, something happened to solidify my intention. A young couple I've known for years, dear friends of my daughter, were in a horrific automobile accident. They had gone out for a Christmas tree, when their car was broadsided by a speeding motorist, fleeing from the police. The young woman was seriously injured, but her husband, Chuong, was injured so critically, it was doubtful from the first that he would survive. My heart was wrung out as I waited for news with my daughter. He made it through the first night, and then the next, and the next, but his injuries were manifold and complex, and it wasn't clear what the final outcome would be. I knew then that my intention on the Camino would be for him, either a prayer at the Cathedral of St. James for his recovery, or a prayer of thanksgiving if he had managed by then, against all odds to come back to full health.
     Since then, Chuong's recovery has been nothing short of miraculous,  because of the strength of his spirit and his body, the outpouring of prayer and support from his wide circle of friends, and the support of his amazing wife, who herself recovered quickly and dedicated all her energies to helping him recover. My own intention has not changed. I know that my pilgrimage will be multi-layered, that I will find myself face to face with much in the depths of my heart and soul, but beyond all that, I will carry in my heart my first intention and lay that at the altar at the Cathedral of St. James in Santiago de Compostela, a prayer of profound thanksgiving for the life and health of our dear friend Chuong Doan.
   

Plans taking shape

     I have my plane tickets, and now I have a reservation for my first night, not in Biarritz, as I first thought, but in Bayonne. I arrive in Paris on September 4 at 6:45 a.m.  Then I'll make my way to the Montparnasse Station, unless I leave from the station at Charles de Gaulle airport (TBD), and will take the train to Bayonne. As of today I have a reservation at a small hotel in Bayonne near the train station, the Hotel de la Gare. I've reserved a room with a private bathroom and shower, for a few extra euros, worth it for one of my last nights of privacy.
     At this point in my planning, I've had a host of decisions to make, and one was whether to spend a night in Paris or instead to go directly to Bayonne. Since my plane arrives so early in Paris, and since I've lived in Paris for the better part of a year and don't feel the need to be a tourist there, it made sense to me to keep going and hope to sleep on the train a bit before Bayonne. The hotel is near the train station, so while it is a low budget hotel, I'm hoping that it will meet my needs. At the beginning of nearly two months spent in hostels, I won't need luxury at the beginning of my pilgrimage. I might consider that at the end, however!
     Then on September 5, I'll catch a train or bus to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. I have a reservation at the albergue that has the best reputation in Saint Jean, Beilari (previously l'Esprit du Chemin). I asked for two nights, knowing that most albergues will only let pilgrims stay for one night, unless there are medical reasons to stay longer. I thought it was worth a request, and they've replied that I can stay two nights. I want to stay an extra day and night in SJPDP to recover from jet lag and gear up for the beginning of my pilgrimage, the greatest endeavor of my life. And I have a reservation too for my first night on the Camino, at Orisson, on the way up the mountains towards Spain and the rest of the long pilgrimage.
     All of this is still a plan in my head and on paper. It's still not real. But it's already invading my dreams. There, I'm often already on my way. The reservations begin to make it real for me. They give me something to hang my hopes on. After that first night at Orisson, there will be no more reservations, no firm plans at all. From there onward, I'll be trusting in the beneficence of the Way. Or, to put it more bluntly, I'll be flying by the seat of my pants.

My Training Plan: Part Two

    The thought of subjecting my 73-year-old body to the challenges of a 500 mile trek across Spain's multi-faceted landscape was daunting from the outset, to say the least. But I knew I was in a good place to get started with my fitness training, having worked already for more than two years with a talented and empathetic trainer. Together my trainer Angie and I researched how others have trained for the Camino, Angie considered my needs, what muscles I would be putting to greater use and how to strengthen them, and I began very slowly increasing the number of miles I walked each week.
     Now, with more than four months still ahead of me before my starting date, I'm beginning to move outdoors more and slowly to add the weight of the backpack. I still have a very long way to go though, and even small injuries or strains are setbacks. I'm going to need to begin extending the length of my hikes and the weight of my pack, but slowly. Slow and easy is my motto.
     At the same time I continue to work with weight training at the gym, hoping that I'll have the strength and stamina for this ambitious adventure.  I know I'll ultimately be like all other pilgrims, learning on the road, building up strength on the road, working through my physical problems on the road. With luck, I'll be able to work through and beyond them, without being stopped altogether by them. My dear husband John and I used to say to each other each night before bed, "See you in the morning, God willing and the creek don't rise." I think I'll make it to Santiago de Compostela, God willing and the creek don't rise.