I think I've finally figured out how to upload pictures from my iPad, so I'll be catching you up on pictures for the next few posts. My most profound thanks to Barbara Hall for helping me figure this out.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
On the Medicinal Properties of Coca-Cola
Sometimes all you want is a drink. In this case it was a Coca Cola. I don't know what's different about the formula for Coke in Spain, but they just taste better over here. Now that I've go you hooked, let me back up and fill you in the gory details of our adventure since I posted yesterday.
Most of the restaurants in the towns along the Camino have a "Pilgrim's Menu." For around 9 Euros you get a three course meal, wine and water. A pretty good deal, so we signed up for the 7pm seating.
At 6pm, we went to the Pilgrim's Mass in the church, which is almost as old as God; 13th century I think. I will admit, I only minimally get Catholic mass under the best of circumstances, but throw in mass conducted in Spanish with a heavy basque accent, and I'm done. Actually, the mass kind of reminded me of a musical because the priest would read a few verses from the Bible and then randomly break out in song. After an appropriate time, the congregation would join in, and then the priest would go back to reading, again for no apparent reason. Nonetheless, I was very encouraged to worship God with folks from many other countries and religions, all engaged in a common endeavor. The priests conducting the service offered a blessing for all the travelers, which was much appreciated.
Dinner proved to be leek soup followed by trout and yogurt for dessert. As I feared, the trout was brought to us whole. You may recall, my rule of thumb is that if the food still looks like what it did when it was in its natural environment I'm going to have issues. Fortunately, we shared a table with a lovely Irish lady named Imelda from County Kerry. She shared my qualms about the fish, so together we summarily cut off the heads of ours and proceeded as bet we could. the fish was excellent, and I'm pretty sure it had been caught that day in the river we crossed as we came in to town.
After dessert and a cup of coffee, we crashed for the night. I woke up about midnight to a text message from my boss. Paul, I love you and all, but please, please remember the 9 hour time different when you text me. and the fact that each text costs me 50 cents over here. :) It was then rather difficult to get back to sleep, not from my parents which I somewhat expected, but from the people in the room below. That man's wife must really love him to be able to put up with that.
This morning the hotel didn't start serving breakfast until 7:30 so we had a bit of a lie-in as the British say it. We hit the Camino out of Roncesvalles about 8:30 and begn our days walk through forest, and farmland filled with cows, horses and sheep. I couldn't imagine a more idyllic path. We passed through several towns today, all of which had houses built in the 1700's (in rural Spain, the year a house was built is often carved over he entrance) that were still occupied. I wish we built stuff like that.
Unforutnately, we also had our first mishap. We were fording a stream just outside the 12th century Basque town of Espinal. The streambed had been cemented in to facilitate crossing but a small dam with spillways had also been built so you could cross without getting wet. Dad and I opted to walk across the dam, while Mom attempted to ford the stream. The streambed turned out to be covered in algae and moss and was thus very slick. About 3/4 of the way across, Mom slipped and fell. This was not too bad in and of itself, but when she fell, she hit her mouth/face on the dam. She cut the inside and outside of her mouth pretty badly, but we were able to get her fixed up. I think she will be pretty bruised tomorrow, but her lip is no longer three times it's normal size at least.
Of course, Dad and I felt terrible, but I think Dad was more shook up than Mom. When we got to Espinal, Dad asked a local for help and ended up calling the Spanish equivalent of 911. The doctor they connected him to assured us that we had done all the right things and told us where we could get Mom looked at if necessary. By this time, Mom was over it and ready to move on, so when she found out what Dad had been up to, she was rather put out. We quickly bought some sandwiches to eat for lunch as we walked and moved on. This is where I wished for the Coke.
The next section of Camino was very mountainous, as we've come down out of the Pyrenees into thee foothills. I have never seen more beautiful country with beech trees giving way to pine and little tiny whitewashed villages with red tile roofs nestled here and there. It ended up being a hard seven miles or so, and we got to the last town before our scheduled stop at about 2:30. with five km to go, we had to be at our hostel by 4pm, or we lost our reservation. At this point, Dad wanted me to go on ahead. I was not real keen on hiking alone, and we had our first argument of the hike. I have a feeling it won't be our last. I was so angry, I took off walking and we made our reservation, and I got over being yelled at by Dad.
We are not staying in the pilgrim hostal, we are staying in a private "pension" which is basically a house where the owner rents out rooms. Again, the price (25 euros) seems a reasonable one to pay for a private room and or no having to worry about our belongings. Dad and I sorted out our differences, and we were rated to a four-course meal with three other houseguests. I had one of the best steaks of my life, the conversation was excellent, and our gracious host (who turns out to be the mayor of the own) gave us a nightcap of his equally excellent homemade "pacharan", a local liqeur.
Tomorrow is breakfast at 6:30 and a slightly shorter day. 14 miles and a trek through the large and famous city of Pamplona, where the Running of the Bulls takes place. We will also stock up on supplies and food. And hopefully find an ATM. I am running sort on cash, and most of the places we visit are not credit card friendly.
Most of the restaurants in the towns along the Camino have a "Pilgrim's Menu." For around 9 Euros you get a three course meal, wine and water. A pretty good deal, so we signed up for the 7pm seating.
At 6pm, we went to the Pilgrim's Mass in the church, which is almost as old as God; 13th century I think. I will admit, I only minimally get Catholic mass under the best of circumstances, but throw in mass conducted in Spanish with a heavy basque accent, and I'm done. Actually, the mass kind of reminded me of a musical because the priest would read a few verses from the Bible and then randomly break out in song. After an appropriate time, the congregation would join in, and then the priest would go back to reading, again for no apparent reason. Nonetheless, I was very encouraged to worship God with folks from many other countries and religions, all engaged in a common endeavor. The priests conducting the service offered a blessing for all the travelers, which was much appreciated.
Dinner proved to be leek soup followed by trout and yogurt for dessert. As I feared, the trout was brought to us whole. You may recall, my rule of thumb is that if the food still looks like what it did when it was in its natural environment I'm going to have issues. Fortunately, we shared a table with a lovely Irish lady named Imelda from County Kerry. She shared my qualms about the fish, so together we summarily cut off the heads of ours and proceeded as bet we could. the fish was excellent, and I'm pretty sure it had been caught that day in the river we crossed as we came in to town.
After dessert and a cup of coffee, we crashed for the night. I woke up about midnight to a text message from my boss. Paul, I love you and all, but please, please remember the 9 hour time different when you text me. and the fact that each text costs me 50 cents over here. :) It was then rather difficult to get back to sleep, not from my parents which I somewhat expected, but from the people in the room below. That man's wife must really love him to be able to put up with that.
This morning the hotel didn't start serving breakfast until 7:30 so we had a bit of a lie-in as the British say it. We hit the Camino out of Roncesvalles about 8:30 and begn our days walk through forest, and farmland filled with cows, horses and sheep. I couldn't imagine a more idyllic path. We passed through several towns today, all of which had houses built in the 1700's (in rural Spain, the year a house was built is often carved over he entrance) that were still occupied. I wish we built stuff like that.
Unforutnately, we also had our first mishap. We were fording a stream just outside the 12th century Basque town of Espinal. The streambed had been cemented in to facilitate crossing but a small dam with spillways had also been built so you could cross without getting wet. Dad and I opted to walk across the dam, while Mom attempted to ford the stream. The streambed turned out to be covered in algae and moss and was thus very slick. About 3/4 of the way across, Mom slipped and fell. This was not too bad in and of itself, but when she fell, she hit her mouth/face on the dam. She cut the inside and outside of her mouth pretty badly, but we were able to get her fixed up. I think she will be pretty bruised tomorrow, but her lip is no longer three times it's normal size at least.
Of course, Dad and I felt terrible, but I think Dad was more shook up than Mom. When we got to Espinal, Dad asked a local for help and ended up calling the Spanish equivalent of 911. The doctor they connected him to assured us that we had done all the right things and told us where we could get Mom looked at if necessary. By this time, Mom was over it and ready to move on, so when she found out what Dad had been up to, she was rather put out. We quickly bought some sandwiches to eat for lunch as we walked and moved on. This is where I wished for the Coke.
The next section of Camino was very mountainous, as we've come down out of the Pyrenees into thee foothills. I have never seen more beautiful country with beech trees giving way to pine and little tiny whitewashed villages with red tile roofs nestled here and there. It ended up being a hard seven miles or so, and we got to the last town before our scheduled stop at about 2:30. with five km to go, we had to be at our hostel by 4pm, or we lost our reservation. At this point, Dad wanted me to go on ahead. I was not real keen on hiking alone, and we had our first argument of the hike. I have a feeling it won't be our last. I was so angry, I took off walking and we made our reservation, and I got over being yelled at by Dad.
We are not staying in the pilgrim hostal, we are staying in a private "pension" which is basically a house where the owner rents out rooms. Again, the price (25 euros) seems a reasonable one to pay for a private room and or no having to worry about our belongings. Dad and I sorted out our differences, and we were rated to a four-course meal with three other houseguests. I had one of the best steaks of my life, the conversation was excellent, and our gracious host (who turns out to be the mayor of the own) gave us a nightcap of his equally excellent homemade "pacharan", a local liqeur.
Tomorrow is breakfast at 6:30 and a slightly shorter day. 14 miles and a trek through the large and famous city of Pamplona, where the Running of the Bulls takes place. We will also stock up on supplies and food. And hopefully find an ATM. I am running sort on cash, and most of the places we visit are not credit card friendly.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Of Pilgrims, the Pyrenees, and random other things
Today was a good day. Let me back up a bit first, though, and fill you in on all the gory details of my evening.
The Albergue, or Pilgrim Hostal, in Orisson has 22 beds. 18 of those beds are in three rooms, six bunk beds each. We were originally allocated three top bunks, but Dad asked if there were any bottom bunks available, so we ended up being moved to the four-bed room with a private bath. The fourth bed ended up being occupied by a very nice medical student from Brazil named Pietro who is walking the Camino by himself. Unfortunately, while Pietro was very nice, his family apparently did not understand the finer points of time zone differences, as his phone rang no fewer than five times during the night.
I know this for a fact, you see, because I was awake. Pietro also snores loudly. When Pietro was not snoring, one of my parents was. I'm not really complaining, because I suppose that when I was sleeping, I was snoring too. We were a regular snoring choir.
Dinner was served family style in the dining room; a siimple but very good meal of vegetable soup, pork loin with white beans, and Gateau Basque for dessert, all served with local wine. it was really quite an enjoyable dinner, because there were about 10 different countries represented, with English the lingua franca. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits and full of goodwill toward their fellow pilgrim, and i found myself wondering how different the world would be if we all interacted with our fellow man that way all the time. Of course, this is exactly what Christ calls us to do, but I will admit it is perhaps easier to do on a pilgrimage 7,000 miles from home than in my normal routine.
Sometime in the night, it started raining and a fog moved in, so when we awoke at 6:30 this morning it was cold and wet. Breakfast was served at seven, and was disappointingly French: coffee, juice, bread (not even toast!) with butter and strawberry jam. I have very high hopes that breakfast is yet another way the Spanish will outshine the French, as they do pretty much everything else in my obviously unbiased opinion.
We were walking by eight am, after adjusting our packs and refilling our water. Today's trek involved a climb from 2,100 ft. to 5,000 in about six miles and then back down to 3,500 in four. About a mile up the hill, we had to break out rain gear, and it got rather cold. The scenery was some of the most beautiful I have ever seen, with sheep and wild horses grazing on the hillsides and the mist flowing over the mountains. I did lament the fact that I did not bring a jacket as the temperature peaked at about 50. I have some fantastic pictures to share, of course, but again, it will have to wait until I have a real internet connection. Once e reached the peak and things levelled out a bit, we crossed in to Spain, which felt to me like coming home. On the Spanish side of the mountains is the oldest and largest surviving forest in Europe, the Bosque del Irati, which is made up mostly of towering beech trees. As I walked along the ridge that marks the frontier watching the rain and mist percolate through the ancient woods, I thouh about the thousands of people who had walked that path before me, and the thousands who would come after. it was wonderful to be in the moment, with everything I needed on my back. I'd like to think that though I'm a bit taller, and my clothing is diifferent, I am very much like the pilgrims of 1,000 years ago, with hopes, dreams, fears, and desiring to understand the meaning of it all.
The descent to Roncesvalles was treacherous in the rain, with an average 25% grade, but beautiful when I could look up from the trail long enough to enjoy the forest.
We are moving slow, about 2mph average in the hills - slower than most of the European pilgrims. Though I hope we can move the pace up closer to 3mph on flat terrain, simply because it reduces the amount of time we have to be on our feet, I remind myself that this is not a race, and in this case the journey IS the destination.
Roncesvalles is literally a wide spot in the road and has fewer than 100 permanent residents. Sometime in the early 800s, legend has it that Charlemagne and Roland fought the Moors who had invaded from Africa here, defeating them, and saving the rest of Europe from the pagan Moslems, though it cost Roland his life. In reality, Charlemagne pissed off the Basques of the area because he made a deal with the local Moorish Caliphate that he could have the region if he left France alone, so the local Basqus attacked Chalemagne and his army after he besieged their capital of Pamplona and were headed back to France. Nonetheless this is an impotant place to Spain.
We will go to the Pilgrim's Mass tonight, which is held in the 9th century Romanic church, then enjoy a Pilgrim's meal. We are not in the albergue, we secured a two-bedroom suite in the local hotel. The albergue here is 118 beds in one room, usually full, and with minimal toilet and shower facilities that do not generally have hot water. We decided the 108 Euro investment fo three people was probably worth it, not for comfort, but also security. when everything you curently posess is in one backpack, ou end to guard it carefully.
Tomorrow, I think, will be our first "real" test. We have 27 kilometers to walk; about 16 miles. I'll let you know how it goes. Buen Camino!
The Albergue, or Pilgrim Hostal, in Orisson has 22 beds. 18 of those beds are in three rooms, six bunk beds each. We were originally allocated three top bunks, but Dad asked if there were any bottom bunks available, so we ended up being moved to the four-bed room with a private bath. The fourth bed ended up being occupied by a very nice medical student from Brazil named Pietro who is walking the Camino by himself. Unfortunately, while Pietro was very nice, his family apparently did not understand the finer points of time zone differences, as his phone rang no fewer than five times during the night.
I know this for a fact, you see, because I was awake. Pietro also snores loudly. When Pietro was not snoring, one of my parents was. I'm not really complaining, because I suppose that when I was sleeping, I was snoring too. We were a regular snoring choir.
Dinner was served family style in the dining room; a siimple but very good meal of vegetable soup, pork loin with white beans, and Gateau Basque for dessert, all served with local wine. it was really quite an enjoyable dinner, because there were about 10 different countries represented, with English the lingua franca. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits and full of goodwill toward their fellow pilgrim, and i found myself wondering how different the world would be if we all interacted with our fellow man that way all the time. Of course, this is exactly what Christ calls us to do, but I will admit it is perhaps easier to do on a pilgrimage 7,000 miles from home than in my normal routine.
Sometime in the night, it started raining and a fog moved in, so when we awoke at 6:30 this morning it was cold and wet. Breakfast was served at seven, and was disappointingly French: coffee, juice, bread (not even toast!) with butter and strawberry jam. I have very high hopes that breakfast is yet another way the Spanish will outshine the French, as they do pretty much everything else in my obviously unbiased opinion.
We were walking by eight am, after adjusting our packs and refilling our water. Today's trek involved a climb from 2,100 ft. to 5,000 in about six miles and then back down to 3,500 in four. About a mile up the hill, we had to break out rain gear, and it got rather cold. The scenery was some of the most beautiful I have ever seen, with sheep and wild horses grazing on the hillsides and the mist flowing over the mountains. I did lament the fact that I did not bring a jacket as the temperature peaked at about 50. I have some fantastic pictures to share, of course, but again, it will have to wait until I have a real internet connection. Once e reached the peak and things levelled out a bit, we crossed in to Spain, which felt to me like coming home. On the Spanish side of the mountains is the oldest and largest surviving forest in Europe, the Bosque del Irati, which is made up mostly of towering beech trees. As I walked along the ridge that marks the frontier watching the rain and mist percolate through the ancient woods, I thouh about the thousands of people who had walked that path before me, and the thousands who would come after. it was wonderful to be in the moment, with everything I needed on my back. I'd like to think that though I'm a bit taller, and my clothing is diifferent, I am very much like the pilgrims of 1,000 years ago, with hopes, dreams, fears, and desiring to understand the meaning of it all.
The descent to Roncesvalles was treacherous in the rain, with an average 25% grade, but beautiful when I could look up from the trail long enough to enjoy the forest.
We are moving slow, about 2mph average in the hills - slower than most of the European pilgrims. Though I hope we can move the pace up closer to 3mph on flat terrain, simply because it reduces the amount of time we have to be on our feet, I remind myself that this is not a race, and in this case the journey IS the destination.
Roncesvalles is literally a wide spot in the road and has fewer than 100 permanent residents. Sometime in the early 800s, legend has it that Charlemagne and Roland fought the Moors who had invaded from Africa here, defeating them, and saving the rest of Europe from the pagan Moslems, though it cost Roland his life. In reality, Charlemagne pissed off the Basques of the area because he made a deal with the local Moorish Caliphate that he could have the region if he left France alone, so the local Basqus attacked Chalemagne and his army after he besieged their capital of Pamplona and were headed back to France. Nonetheless this is an impotant place to Spain.
We will go to the Pilgrim's Mass tonight, which is held in the 9th century Romanic church, then enjoy a Pilgrim's meal. We are not in the albergue, we secured a two-bedroom suite in the local hotel. The albergue here is 118 beds in one room, usually full, and with minimal toilet and shower facilities that do not generally have hot water. We decided the 108 Euro investment fo three people was probably worth it, not for comfort, but also security. when everything you curently posess is in one backpack, ou end to guard it carefully.
Tomorrow, I think, will be our first "real" test. We have 27 kilometers to walk; about 16 miles. I'll let you know how it goes. Buen Camino!
Friday, June 17, 2011
Maybe I can do this!
It's about 3 in the afternoon, and we've just finished our first day of the Camino! I'm happy to report that I actually slept about seven hours last night, and we made it to the train station without a hitch. We arrived in St. Jean about 9:30, got our bearings, went to the pilgrim office and registered, and then ate some breakfast before beginning our hike.
Most folks do the 27km from St. Jean to Roncesvalles in one stage. the problem is that this isthe steepest stage of the Camino, with a fairly hazardous descent right as you come in to Roncesvalles. This is the stage where the most injuries happen. Because of that, and the fact that i just arrived last night, we decided to take it easy and only do 10km today. I am glad we did.
First day reflections: my pack is too heavy, I'm carrying too many clothes, buying a walking stick was a very smart move, and I can't wait to get back to Spain where people speak a language I understand. It was also a very wise idea to invest in good socks at $14/pair.
I could not imagine a more beautiful setting or weather for hiking. its in the mid 70s but humid, with big fluffy clouds. i am still having trouble posting pictures, so you may have to look at my Facebook page or wait until I get somewhere with a real internet connection (I'm posting this via iPhone and a data connection).
At risk of infuriating my parents, since they do occasionally keep an eye on this blog, I think I can preliminarily state that we will all have to adjust to A LOT of time spent together over the next month. I think I counted about five stops for items that werepacked and about 15 required photo shoots before we even left St. Jean. I am trying remember that we are not in a hurry.
We have already met several wonderful people. A man around my age introduced himself on the train, his name is Joan (think John) and he travelled from Lisbon to RUN the Camino. He will meet up with us again tomorrow night. We also met a young lady named Justine from Arizozna. She had just been discharged from the Marines, having spent her entire enlistment in Afganistan, and was celebrating by doing the Camino. We also met a very nice couple from Madrid, and even ran into a troop of Boy Scouts from North Carolina who are walking to raise funds for cancer research. I am happy to report that they were not moving up the hill any faster than we were.
We lucked out in the hostel tonight - we have a private room and bath! All this, dinner, and breakfast for EUR 32, which is expensive as afar as these kinds of places go. It's nice to have the afternoon to relax, and I feel a hot shower calling my name, plus laundry is in order.
Most folks do the 27km from St. Jean to Roncesvalles in one stage. the problem is that this isthe steepest stage of the Camino, with a fairly hazardous descent right as you come in to Roncesvalles. This is the stage where the most injuries happen. Because of that, and the fact that i just arrived last night, we decided to take it easy and only do 10km today. I am glad we did.
First day reflections: my pack is too heavy, I'm carrying too many clothes, buying a walking stick was a very smart move, and I can't wait to get back to Spain where people speak a language I understand. It was also a very wise idea to invest in good socks at $14/pair.
I could not imagine a more beautiful setting or weather for hiking. its in the mid 70s but humid, with big fluffy clouds. i am still having trouble posting pictures, so you may have to look at my Facebook page or wait until I get somewhere with a real internet connection (I'm posting this via iPhone and a data connection).
At risk of infuriating my parents, since they do occasionally keep an eye on this blog, I think I can preliminarily state that we will all have to adjust to A LOT of time spent together over the next month. I think I counted about five stops for items that werepacked and about 15 required photo shoots before we even left St. Jean. I am trying remember that we are not in a hurry.
We have already met several wonderful people. A man around my age introduced himself on the train, his name is Joan (think John) and he travelled from Lisbon to RUN the Camino. He will meet up with us again tomorrow night. We also met a young lady named Justine from Arizozna. She had just been discharged from the Marines, having spent her entire enlistment in Afganistan, and was celebrating by doing the Camino. We also met a very nice couple from Madrid, and even ran into a troop of Boy Scouts from North Carolina who are walking to raise funds for cancer research. I am happy to report that they were not moving up the hill any faster than we were.
We lucked out in the hostel tonight - we have a private room and bath! All this, dinner, and breakfast for EUR 32, which is expensive as afar as these kinds of places go. It's nice to have the afternoon to relax, and I feel a hot shower calling my name, plus laundry is in order.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Of Age, Airports, and Anxieties
I am happy to report that I made it to Barcelona in one piece - a city I have not really visited as an adult. From the air, the Costa Brava and the appearance of the city are such that you could easily mistake your location for that of the beaches of Southern California to the west and north of Los Angeles. Is that really true, or is it the human desire to fit new things and experiences into an existing framework that we already understand and appreciate?I think that tendency must be one way we, as beings, try to maintain control over our world.
Thus far, flights have been as well as can be expected for an 18-hour journey by plane. I had no trouble with my connection in New York, and a row to myself on the transatlantic portion of the trip. I managed to sleep about three and a half hours of the seven and a half.
My connection in Barcelona, however has only contributed to my hopefully temporary anxieties. I am used to two things that have not happened this trip: 1) flying to Madrid and 2) not connecting to another destination in Spain. When I typically debark in Madrid, I go through passport control, collect luggage and hit the subway. This trip I am connecting via Barcelona to San Sebastian. This means that rather than collecting my bag here for customs, it is theoretically being transferred to my next flight. I hope that's actually the case.
It also means that I went directly into the terminal for my next flight. No big deal, right? Indeed, except for the fact that I didn't have a boarding pass for the last leg of my journey, and I found myself mentally reminded that the Spanish tend to be a little more liberal than Americans in assuming one knows how things are supposed to work. Nonetheless, a few minutes of wandering and a few well-placed inquiries netted me my "golden ticket" (one of the movies on the flight was Willy Wonka) and all is well again.
I admit, when I titled this blog I had some profound observation to make about age and aging. Ironically, I have lost it, which perhaps is commentary enough in itself.
At this point, I am looking forward to arriving in San Sebastian, trying not to worry about my bag (for it is in the hands of God, and presumedly, Iberia Airlines), and facing with some trepidation the train into France and the first day of walking tomorrow. It has been a struggle to not think about my "normal life" and all that entails, but I sure am trying.
Thus far, flights have been as well as can be expected for an 18-hour journey by plane. I had no trouble with my connection in New York, and a row to myself on the transatlantic portion of the trip. I managed to sleep about three and a half hours of the seven and a half.
My connection in Barcelona, however has only contributed to my hopefully temporary anxieties. I am used to two things that have not happened this trip: 1) flying to Madrid and 2) not connecting to another destination in Spain. When I typically debark in Madrid, I go through passport control, collect luggage and hit the subway. This trip I am connecting via Barcelona to San Sebastian. This means that rather than collecting my bag here for customs, it is theoretically being transferred to my next flight. I hope that's actually the case.
It also means that I went directly into the terminal for my next flight. No big deal, right? Indeed, except for the fact that I didn't have a boarding pass for the last leg of my journey, and I found myself mentally reminded that the Spanish tend to be a little more liberal than Americans in assuming one knows how things are supposed to work. Nonetheless, a few minutes of wandering and a few well-placed inquiries netted me my "golden ticket" (one of the movies on the flight was Willy Wonka) and all is well again.
I admit, when I titled this blog I had some profound observation to make about age and aging. Ironically, I have lost it, which perhaps is commentary enough in itself.
At this point, I am looking forward to arriving in San Sebastian, trying not to worry about my bag (for it is in the hands of God, and presumedly, Iberia Airlines), and facing with some trepidation the train into France and the first day of walking tomorrow. It has been a struggle to not think about my "normal life" and all that entails, but I sure am trying.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
May the Road Rise Up To Meet You
Well, here we are. 12 hours from now, Lord willing, I'll be sitting at the airport, waiting to get on the plane for the first leg of my journey. I'm happy to report that I made it through the Board meetings unscathed, the tax returns are mailed and filed, and my desk is clear at work.
On the way home, I got a haircut, the car is washed, I've re-packed my bag to make sure I have everything, and all that's left is change the sheets on the bed in the morning for the friend that's going to stay in the house some while I'm gone, pack the last of the toiletries and see to the cats.
The bag weighs in at 22lbs. This is perhaps a little heavier than I would really like, but it does include my hiking boots, which will come out once I'm actually en camino. On the other hand I do have a very small backpack for the plane, which will get folded into my pack once I arrive, so 22lb. may be a good figure. I am probably overpacked (I've read that most people are) but it is a surprisingly daunting task to try and fit everything you think you will need for the next thirty-five days into something you're going to need to carry for 500 miles on foot.
This is probably yet another metaphor for how cluttered we've allowed our lives to become. What do I really need for this trip? A passport, a boarding pass, some cash, and probably one change of clothes...and deoderant. What do I have? Four credit cards, some electronics, three changes of clothes, plus a swimsuit for the community showers (yes, I'm modest), shorts to sleep in, a camp pillow, etc, etc. Not to mention assorted toiletries.
And most importantly, two pounds of Gummi Bears. Temptation, thy name is Costco.
Not only is this probably a commentary on our unnecessarily cluttered lives, I wonder if it is a commentary on my need to be self-sufficient rather than to rely on God to provide what I need? Or I could be over-analyzing. Well, I do have 500 miles to think it over after all.
One of my Buyers at Pepperdine, Don Schalla, put me on to a GPS app, and I really liked it, so I invested the $2.99 and am now downloading detailed maps of the route. This will hopefully help me keep from incurring an ungodly amount of international data charges. We'll see how it goes.
My good friend Warner is picking me up in the morning to take me to the airport. It will be nice to have someone to see me off. I am a bit anxious about leaving for so long, a bit more anxious about connections, and a bit anxious about having to catch a French train. If I get that far without too many hiccups, then I'll probably be anxious about having to walk 500 miles.
As someone important at some other time and some other place probably wrote, thought, or said, "The journey of 1000 miles begins with one step". Let the adventure begin!
Thursday, June 9, 2011
One week
One week from today (Western European Time) I'll be getting ready to walk the first leg of the Camino. I'm excited, and I'm a little bit nervous. Surprisingly, I'm not so concerned about logistics, though there are two plane connections for me - and more importantly my backpack - to make. I'm worried about things here. Have I got all the bills set up on AutoPay? Did I let all the credit card companies know I'll be trying to use their cards overseas? Are the cars appropriately situated for a month of disuse? Do the cats have enough food? Will the cats kill each other?
Of course, this is exactly why I'm undertaking this pilgrimage: to force myself to jettison the detritus of daily life that so many of us allow to define who we are, when really these are meaningless details of existence, not manifestations of our God-created souls.
Mom and Dad left yesterday; I ran them to the airport on my lunch break. They were surprisingly calm. Dad texted me this morning (which in and of itself was a miracle) to let me know that they had made it to Madrid and were settling in. Actually, what he said was, "Arrived safely." The rest is my inference.
I have downloaded some books to my iPad, bought a digital camera connector and a roll-up plastic keyboard for blogging. This weekend I'll pretend like I'm going to pack (which will probably actually happen Tuesday night/Wednesday morning) and will finish getting the cars, house, and cats ready for me to be away.
I can almost see the Pyrenees opening out below me as I crest the top of the pass that takes us from France across the border into Spain. The weather is a bit on the warm side, but with a breeze. We are in the mountains after all. Roncesvalles, our stop for the night, is about five kilometers off and 1500 feet down the mountain. Below that is a forest that covers the rolling foothills that in turns gives way to the very northern reaches of the Spanish Meseta. In the Dark Ages, this was the Marca Hispanica, the independent counties created out of old Visigothic city-states by Charlemagne to protect France from the advancing Moorish threat from Andalusia, and the south. I have a feeling I'll be looking forward to a cup of wine, dinner, and a hot shower.
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