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!
Friday, August 28, 2015
Saturday, August 1, 2015
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.
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.
Friday, July 31, 2015
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?
Monday, May 18, 2015
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.
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.
Friday, April 24, 2015
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
My Training Plan: Part One
When I committed in my heart and mind to walking the Camino, I knew that I needed ample time to get my body and mind and spirit prepared for what would undoubtedly be the most arduous endeavor of my life. And I've always been the sort of person who likes to be as prepared as I possibly can be for a large undertaking. It's not that I have any illusions that I can be in control of what unfolds in my life, but rather that I'll have a better chance of being able to handle whatever that is.
So when I was pregnant with my first child, I read every book on birthing that I could find, explored options for childbirth (not as varied then as young women find now), chose the LaMaze method, read books, took a course, followed through with the breathing exercises, and, of course, knitted little sweaters and booties and a blanket. I knew I couldn't predict what might happen during my own labor, but I did believe that the more I knew, the better I'd be able to cope with whatever transpired. And I think that was true.
I behaved the same way when my husband was sick with one thing after another, from diabetes to strokes to gall bladder disease to a major heart attack and surgery to kidney failure. I researched and read all that I could find about each problem, hoping to be better prepared and better able to help him. I couldn't know what next might befall him, but at least I could face each event with some understanding of what was happening. It's just the way my brain works, for better or worse. Sometimes "A little learning is a dangerous thing," as Alexander Pope warned, if it leads us to believe we know more than we do, or leads us to believe that we can control what happens to us. But sometimes it helps us cope with the unexpected.
Thus I approached my Camino training with all the enthusiasm of the convert. I read a plethora of books, and then reread my favorites, sometimes three times! Here is a list of the books I've read thus far:
So when I was pregnant with my first child, I read every book on birthing that I could find, explored options for childbirth (not as varied then as young women find now), chose the LaMaze method, read books, took a course, followed through with the breathing exercises, and, of course, knitted little sweaters and booties and a blanket. I knew I couldn't predict what might happen during my own labor, but I did believe that the more I knew, the better I'd be able to cope with whatever transpired. And I think that was true.
I behaved the same way when my husband was sick with one thing after another, from diabetes to strokes to gall bladder disease to a major heart attack and surgery to kidney failure. I researched and read all that I could find about each problem, hoping to be better prepared and better able to help him. I couldn't know what next might befall him, but at least I could face each event with some understanding of what was happening. It's just the way my brain works, for better or worse. Sometimes "A little learning is a dangerous thing," as Alexander Pope warned, if it leads us to believe we know more than we do, or leads us to believe that we can control what happens to us. But sometimes it helps us cope with the unexpected.
Thus I approached my Camino training with all the enthusiasm of the convert. I read a plethora of books, and then reread my favorites, sometimes three times! Here is a list of the books I've read thus far:
My Camino Bibliography
To the Field of Stars by Kevin A. Codd
Keeping Company with Saint Ignatius: Walking the
Camino de Santiago de Compostela by Luke Larson
Hiking the Camino: 500 Miles with Jesus by Father Dave Pivonka
The Camino Preparation Handbook: Get the Maximum
Potential Out of Your Camino By Being
Prepared by Miles Hermannsdoufer
Practical Tips for Walking “The Way” by Elinor Le Barron
The Pilgrimage (Plus) by Paulo
Coelho
Grandma’s On the Camino: Reflections on a 48-Day Pilgrimage
Walk to Santiago by Mary O’Hara Wyman
Walk In A Relaxed Manner: Life Lessons from the Camino by Joyce
Rupp
Hiking the Camino de Santiago: A Village to Village
Guide by Anna Dintaman and David Landis
A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino de Santiago by John Brierley
Camino Lingo: English-Spanish Words and Phrases by Reinette Novoa with Sylvia Nilsen
The Pilgrimage Road to Santiago: The Complete Cultural
Handbook by David M. Gitlitz and
Linda Kay Davidson
The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemmingway
St. Louis: 60 Hikes Within 60 Miles
The Year We Seized the Day by Elizabeth
Best and Colin Bowles
The Way Is A River of Stars: A Buddhist’s Journey by Helen E. Burns
Seven Tips to Make the Most of the Camino de Santiago by Cheryl
Powell
To Walk Far, Carry Less by Jean-Christie Ashmore
I’m Off Then: Losing and Finding Myself on the Camino by Kape Kerkeling
The Way Is Made By Walking by Arthur Paul Boers
Women Of the Way: Embracing the Camino by
Jane Blanchard
The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce
Camino de Santiago: Practical Preparation and
Background by Gerald Kelly
Camino Pilgrim Tips and Packing Lists by S Yates
Slacker Pilgrim: Guide to the Camino de Santiago by Sunshine Jen
Fumbling: a Pilgrimage Tale of Love, Grief and
Spiritual Renewal on the Camino
De
Santiago by Kerry Egan
A Million Steps
by Kurt Koonz
In Movement There is Peace by Elaine Orabona Foster and Joe Foster
The Long Road Home by Alesa Teague
The Way, My Way by Bill Bennett
No Complaints: Shut Up and Walk by Emmett Williams and Jasmine Emmerich
The Artists Journey: the Perfumed Pilgrim Tackles the
Camino de Santiago by Marcia
Shaver
Walking with Stones by William Schmidt
Redemption Road: Grieving on the Camino by Brendan
McManus SJ
Discovering the Camino de Santiago:A Priest’s Journey
to the Tomb of St. James by
Rev. Greg J. Markey
Pilgrimage To the End of the World by Conrad Rudolph
Multi-media
Blog
by Donna Erickson http://caminoafter60.blogspot.com/2013/08/in-beginning.html
Walking the Way: Six Ways to Santiago (DVD)
The Way
--2010 movie with Martin
Un Camino de Santiago—CD-- Arianna Savall, Ensemble La Fenice, Jean Tubery
Camino de Santiago forum online, a really great resource. Lots of information.
https://www.caminodesantiago.me/community/
And there are more to come! One of the most remarkable things about these books on the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage is how different each is from all the others. Each writer had a unique experience that was expressed in a unique way. The lesson to be learned is that no one's Camino is like any other's, that my Camino will be just that, MY Camino. But the fact is that I'll be walking on the same road and trails and paths, the same Way that pilgrims have walked for centuries, passing through the same villages and cities, crossing the same mountain ranges and staying in many of the same albergues, or refuges, or, if you prefer the English word, hostels. The books are my way of preparing my mind.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
A Day in the Woods
April is here, and it's time to get outdoors with my boots and pack, at least a lightweight daypack. I packed a lunch and a bottle of water, my new sarong to sit on for a picnic, and a little bag of first aid equipment (just in case) and drove out to the Shaw Nature Reserve, about a 35 minute drive outside of St. Louis.
I felt almost like a pilgrim, dressed in my Camino clothes, complete with hat, carrying a small pack and my hiking poles. I tried not to feel self-conscious but just set off on the trail with confidence and anticipation. I quickly found my pace, and I could see that my pace on the Camino is going to be slow. It's wonderful using the poles, a boost on the uphill treks and a stabilizer and balancer on the downhills. I hiked for about four miles in all, not a lot, but it took longer than it does on the indoor track, not surprisingly. And I stopped for my picnic lunch and to take pictures along the way. Mostly I wanted to keep my eyes open and pay attention to the world around me, just awakening from the long, cold winter.
It was a perfect spring day, and the daffodils were blooming in the fields by the thousands. Back in the woods I hiked the Overlook Bluff trail and stopped at the overlook for my picnic lunch. I loved the solitude I found in the woods and on the trails, as I passed other hikers infrequently, and then, not with a "Buen Camino", but with a hearty, "Hello!" On the Wildflower Trail, I saw buttercups and wild violets and spring beauties, popping up here and there. In another few weeks, the wildflowers will be out in earnest, but even now, they were beautiful, maybe even more so because of their scarcity.
This was my first test as a hiker and my Keen boots gave me almost no trouble. I had to stop to stretch, at lunchtime and one other time, when my piriformis muscle tightened and caused me to have pain behind my knee. The stretches, which I know so well now, almost always relieve the pain and I can go on in comfort.
If April continues to offer such beautiful days, training for my Camino will be a joy.
I felt almost like a pilgrim, dressed in my Camino clothes, complete with hat, carrying a small pack and my hiking poles. I tried not to feel self-conscious but just set off on the trail with confidence and anticipation. I quickly found my pace, and I could see that my pace on the Camino is going to be slow. It's wonderful using the poles, a boost on the uphill treks and a stabilizer and balancer on the downhills. I hiked for about four miles in all, not a lot, but it took longer than it does on the indoor track, not surprisingly. And I stopped for my picnic lunch and to take pictures along the way. Mostly I wanted to keep my eyes open and pay attention to the world around me, just awakening from the long, cold winter.
It was a perfect spring day, and the daffodils were blooming in the fields by the thousands. Back in the woods I hiked the Overlook Bluff trail and stopped at the overlook for my picnic lunch. I loved the solitude I found in the woods and on the trails, as I passed other hikers infrequently, and then, not with a "Buen Camino", but with a hearty, "Hello!" On the Wildflower Trail, I saw buttercups and wild violets and spring beauties, popping up here and there. In another few weeks, the wildflowers will be out in earnest, but even now, they were beautiful, maybe even more so because of their scarcity.
This was my first test as a hiker and my Keen boots gave me almost no trouble. I had to stop to stretch, at lunchtime and one other time, when my piriformis muscle tightened and caused me to have pain behind my knee. The stretches, which I know so well now, almost always relieve the pain and I can go on in comfort.
If April continues to offer such beautiful days, training for my Camino will be a joy.
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
The Call of the Camino
Before October 24, 2014, I hadn't given a thought to walking the Camino, not the entire 500 mile length, at any rate. I had two friends who had walked a portion of the Camino. One had walked the first leg of the Camino Frances, from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to Roncevalles, in seven hours.
I loved reading about her experience that day, stunning in its challenges and beauty too. The other friend had also walked a part of the Camino, about 10 days on the Portuguese route. I was beginning to consider walking a few days of the route myself, maybe five days, having a service carry my luggage from village to village, and staying in small private hotels. I really didn't know much about the Camino, El Camino de Santiago de Compostela. I was just beginning to feel its pull.
Then in late October my friend Nancy invited me to her church to hear a presentation by one of their members, a woman in her mid-sixties, who had walked the entire Camino Frances solo, in the Spring of 2014, just a year ago. Her name was Donna Erickson. From the minute Donna began talking, I was caught, hook, line and sinker. I remember sitting on the edge of my seat, soaking up her every word. She walked the entire Camino, staying in albergues, or hostels, carrying her backpack, eating the pilgrim meals with the other pilgrims, experiencing it all. I knew that I wanted to do that, that I had to do it. It was a call unlike any I have ever had, maybe a call from God, maybe a call from my soul, from my bones. Something was missing in my life and this is what it was.
My life changed on July 3, 2012, when in a moment in time, I went from being a wife for more than 40 years and a caregiver for 16 years to being a widow. What did that mean? I didn't know. I moved through the first hours and days on autopilot, and then through the next months with some deliberation. I started at once working with a trainer at the local gym, a generous, empathetic young woman with a sense of great calm and peace with herself and her world which spilled over into my life. I knew that exercise would be important for me both physically and emotionally and I gave myself over to that with great dedication. I found a bereavement counselor, another young empathetic and remarkably intuitive young woman who helped guide me through the first difficult months and beyond, as I began to find my footing again. After nearly a year and a half, I joined my church choir, a group of like-minded liberal Catholics who had become a family to each other. That was my first commitment after the death of my husband, and it was life-changing, because of the deep connections between the members of the choir, who welcomed me into their family with great warmth, and because of the joy I experienced being a part of the music. Music had always been at the center of my life, and it was only right that in these later years of my life, I would find such happiness in joining my voice with those of a group I had loved for more than 40 years.
But I was still looking, waiting, for something that would ignite the passion within me. The Camino de Santiago became that something in an instant. It was, if I may say so, love at first sight.
I loved reading about her experience that day, stunning in its challenges and beauty too. The other friend had also walked a part of the Camino, about 10 days on the Portuguese route. I was beginning to consider walking a few days of the route myself, maybe five days, having a service carry my luggage from village to village, and staying in small private hotels. I really didn't know much about the Camino, El Camino de Santiago de Compostela. I was just beginning to feel its pull.
Then in late October my friend Nancy invited me to her church to hear a presentation by one of their members, a woman in her mid-sixties, who had walked the entire Camino Frances solo, in the Spring of 2014, just a year ago. Her name was Donna Erickson. From the minute Donna began talking, I was caught, hook, line and sinker. I remember sitting on the edge of my seat, soaking up her every word. She walked the entire Camino, staying in albergues, or hostels, carrying her backpack, eating the pilgrim meals with the other pilgrims, experiencing it all. I knew that I wanted to do that, that I had to do it. It was a call unlike any I have ever had, maybe a call from God, maybe a call from my soul, from my bones. Something was missing in my life and this is what it was.
My life changed on July 3, 2012, when in a moment in time, I went from being a wife for more than 40 years and a caregiver for 16 years to being a widow. What did that mean? I didn't know. I moved through the first hours and days on autopilot, and then through the next months with some deliberation. I started at once working with a trainer at the local gym, a generous, empathetic young woman with a sense of great calm and peace with herself and her world which spilled over into my life. I knew that exercise would be important for me both physically and emotionally and I gave myself over to that with great dedication. I found a bereavement counselor, another young empathetic and remarkably intuitive young woman who helped guide me through the first difficult months and beyond, as I began to find my footing again. After nearly a year and a half, I joined my church choir, a group of like-minded liberal Catholics who had become a family to each other. That was my first commitment after the death of my husband, and it was life-changing, because of the deep connections between the members of the choir, who welcomed me into their family with great warmth, and because of the joy I experienced being a part of the music. Music had always been at the center of my life, and it was only right that in these later years of my life, I would find such happiness in joining my voice with those of a group I had loved for more than 40 years.
But I was still looking, waiting, for something that would ignite the passion within me. The Camino de Santiago became that something in an instant. It was, if I may say so, love at first sight.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Less than six months
In less than six months now, I'll truly be on my way. My plan is to fly into Paris in the early morning of September 4, 2015, find my way to the train station at Montparnasse and get a ticket on the high-speed train to Biarritz. I will spend the night there, catching a smaller train the following day to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. I'm hoping to find a pilgrim place to stay there, spend the following day there recovering from jet lag and adjusting to the altitude, not to mention calming my nerves, and then, in the early morning of September 7, Labor Day here in the states, put on my boots and backpack (hopefully by then no more than 10% of my weight), and begin my Camino, starting up the steep slopes of the Pyrennes on the Route Napoleon, weather permitting.
That will, no doubt, be my first test of how open I am to accepting what the Camino has to offer. If the weather is poor, the Route Napoleon may be closed, and I'll be forced to forego one of the highlights of the Camino, the walk over the top of the mountains. I'll have to take an alternate, lower route, around the mountains, even though I read that it has its own challenges. I wish I could say that I'm completely ready for that disappointment, but I know that I'm not. Not yet, at least. I do hope that I can walk that route, stay at the intermediate stop at Orisson, and then complete the walk to Roncesvalles the following day. Only time and the weather will tell.
Meanwhile, I am still here in Missouri, getting ready, readying my body and mind and spirit. On the bed in the upstairs guest room, I have spread out all the gear I have accumulated, most of what I'll need. I continue to make decisions, change my mind, ponder, weigh the pros and cons of this or that, weigh each item literally on my little scale and record its weight, with the plan of adding it all up in time to see just how much I'll be carrying on my back. That may change my mind on any number of things.
As of now, I'll be carrying my Deuter 45+10 backpack (3 lbs 4 oz), meaning that it has a little additional top space where I can store extras, like food for the day. It's a shade of green that repelled me at first, because it felt a little military, but which I've grown to like quite a lot. Strange how familiarity can breed attraction. Now it feels like an earthy color, which I love. I'm taking a sleeping bag which is only slightly more heavy than a lighter mummy-shaped down bag I had originally. The bag I've settled on is a Traveller Snugpak, 31 oz, that is a rectangular shape and unzips all around to open out fully. The mummy-shaped bag felt claustrophobic to me. My other essential piece of equipment is on my feet, my Keen low-rise waterproof boots in a size 9, a full size larger than I normally wear. They feel wonderful right now, with a double pair of socks, liners with a pair of Marino wool outer socks.
The rest is scattered willy-nilly on the bed, waiting for a final decision. My mind feels a bit willy-nilly too, as I begin to focus it on the goal ahead. So many questions bounce around my head and heart. But I still have over five months to get ready for this. That's long enough, isn't it?
That will, no doubt, be my first test of how open I am to accepting what the Camino has to offer. If the weather is poor, the Route Napoleon may be closed, and I'll be forced to forego one of the highlights of the Camino, the walk over the top of the mountains. I'll have to take an alternate, lower route, around the mountains, even though I read that it has its own challenges. I wish I could say that I'm completely ready for that disappointment, but I know that I'm not. Not yet, at least. I do hope that I can walk that route, stay at the intermediate stop at Orisson, and then complete the walk to Roncesvalles the following day. Only time and the weather will tell.
Meanwhile, I am still here in Missouri, getting ready, readying my body and mind and spirit. On the bed in the upstairs guest room, I have spread out all the gear I have accumulated, most of what I'll need. I continue to make decisions, change my mind, ponder, weigh the pros and cons of this or that, weigh each item literally on my little scale and record its weight, with the plan of adding it all up in time to see just how much I'll be carrying on my back. That may change my mind on any number of things.
As of now, I'll be carrying my Deuter 45+10 backpack (3 lbs 4 oz), meaning that it has a little additional top space where I can store extras, like food for the day. It's a shade of green that repelled me at first, because it felt a little military, but which I've grown to like quite a lot. Strange how familiarity can breed attraction. Now it feels like an earthy color, which I love. I'm taking a sleeping bag which is only slightly more heavy than a lighter mummy-shaped down bag I had originally. The bag I've settled on is a Traveller Snugpak, 31 oz, that is a rectangular shape and unzips all around to open out fully. The mummy-shaped bag felt claustrophobic to me. My other essential piece of equipment is on my feet, my Keen low-rise waterproof boots in a size 9, a full size larger than I normally wear. They feel wonderful right now, with a double pair of socks, liners with a pair of Marino wool outer socks.
The rest is scattered willy-nilly on the bed, waiting for a final decision. My mind feels a bit willy-nilly too, as I begin to focus it on the goal ahead. So many questions bounce around my head and heart. But I still have over five months to get ready for this. That's long enough, isn't it?
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