Camino Day 3 (April 7): Larrasoaña to Pamplona; 18 km (11 miles)

I stayed up too late writing a post last night. When I headed up to the “dorm room,” the other 5 (I was wrong when I wrote last night; there were only a total of 6 beds in the room and only this morning did I find out that there was another woman in there with us, that Julio–a Spaniard with whom I had walked for a while during the day–was sleeping directly under me, and that, while I was thinking that there were several Koreans in the bunks, if that is the case, then one of them was dreaming in an English that he couldn’t begin to speak properly. Case in point: I hadn’t yet fallen asleep when I heard a loud male voice (in our room) yelling “Help! Help! Stop doing that!” Our door opened and two faces peered in. My glassses were off so I couldn’t begin to identify them, but by then the perceived emergency seemed to be over. “Someone was having a bad dream,” I told the inquiring heads. “It seems to be over now.” All was quiet again. Except my mind which was replaying the beauty of the day and having trouble settling down after the effort of getting day clothes off, night clothes on, a couple of devices placed on chargers, etc., all by flashlight, and trying to be a quiet as possible. Apparently I eventually did fall asleep, as the 6:00 am alarm definitely startled me this morning. Time to go at it again.

A net bag with our clean laundry in it had been set outside our door. Great! Only a matter of pulling it out of the bag and putting on every stitch of it. In the dark. Ah, but it didn’t take light to feel that the clothes were still damp. Quite! Thank you, Barb, for ringing the bell outside our hostess’s private quarters to ask if she could put the clothes back in the dryer. That delayed our hoped -for 7:30 start time, but by 8:07 am Ginny had joined us and we headed off, Pamplona bound.

Today marked the third time in my life that I was so bound. Yes, the third! My first trip to the famed running-of-the-bulls city was back in July of 1967. I was participating then in a 7-week summer program in Spain. Our first month was spent in the northern city of Santander where, with other students from Clarke College, I was enrolled in some intensive Spanish classes. At some point during the second week of July, during the sanfermines (the world-famous week of raucous debauchery when testosterone-overloaded males want to prove how macho they are, but which was, at one time, a week in which to celebrate the patron saint of the area, Saint Fermín, thus the term sanfermines)… as I was saying, at some point during that week our program rented a bus so that we could experience the event first hand. (Yes, it is as wild as they say it is. The air reeks of wine and sweat and the strands of garlic that many wear around their necks along with the iconic red handkerchiefs contrasted against their white shirts. It was an eye-opener for my then 17-year-old self.)

Second time in Pamplona was at the start of this trip, so I’m doing a bit of backtracking here. Barb, Ginny, and I arrived in Madrid last Wednesday, April 3. First item on the agenda, after changing some money, was to make our way by bus–ah! We’re on O’Donnell Street where I lived back in 1968-69! There’s the Parque Retiro! There’s the Prado!–to the Atocha train station (quite beautiful, with gardens [and pigeons] bringing in a touch of the outside) to catch the train for a ride of a bit over 3 hours north to Pamplona. We saw some countryside a bit reminiscent of Southern California, but we also caught a few winks.

(Permit me another aside before you’ve totally forgotten the Atocha train station. Back in ’68-69, there on O’Donnell Street, I had a roommate from Venezuela. Rosalba was dating a madrileño named Jesús. Long story short, they married at some point, maybe in the mid-70s. Unfortunately, Rosalba’s was a very premature death. I lost all contact with Jesús… until this past fall.

“Of course I remember you,” he responded (in Spanish) to the email I sent. He sent me photos of his family and caught me up a bit on his life and times since we had last seen each other in 1972 and assured me that he would enjoy spending some time showing me around a transformed Madrid if my schedule would permit it. Once he knew the schedule of our departure for Pamplona, he was able to time a visit to Atocha for a “meet and greet.” Perhaps he is not to be believed, but I didn’t mind hearing that I “hadn’t changed a bit” in the intervening years. It was a short visit, perhaps 25 minutes at most, but it awakened some memories and it was a fun treat to see him. End of this aside.)

But back to this trip’s first visit to Pamplona. Thanks to the marvels of the internet, we knew how to catch Bus #16 from the train station to Beds4U, our “motel” for the night. Clean and totally adequate. Though we’d been given some solid recommendations for seeing the sights of the city and catching a good meal, we opted to eat somewhere closer to the motel and save our visiting for morning.

We’re now rising on Thursday, April 4, with time to “play” until catching the bus for the almost two-hour ride over the same mountains we’d begin crossing by foot during the following couple of days. Playtime could begin as soon as we took care of business.

Item #1: send a package back to the States to lighten a load. (Not mine, but I’m not going to tattle.). That was a huge laugh fest as the post mistress inquired, with me interpreting, if the package would have anything “liquid, perishable….” (you know the rubric). By the time she insisted we remove half of the things that were going to be sent home (tush wipes, alcohol prep pads, a sewing repair kit with a needle in it, a couple other toiletries with alcohol) the box was no longer going to carry much weight, but it got sent with a few items of clothing and someone’s back and body were going to thank her for lightening the load.

#2 item of business: buy some SIM cards. Easy peasy, right? That’s what we’d read in a few Camino forums. “Don’t just buy one from a drug store,” Kevin had warned me, totally dubious that I would manage this technological feat. “And make sure they install it and have it working before you complete the transaction.” The expression on his face said it all! So of course I had to make it work. Up to the sixth floor of Spain’s most noted department store we went, and… a good hour, some Google research, several phone calls, and lots of frustration later the nice woman had us ready to leave with our 5g of data and mere 15 minutes of phone. But hey, for the bargain price of 10 euros and, with luck, we can add minutes. Poor lady, though. As we were leaving she commented: “I’m going to tell the next person who asks for one of these cards that we don’t have any.” (“Especially,” she might have added, “if it’s a helpless American.”)

Item #3 on our to-do list: purchase some hiking poles (not having been able to bring ours as carry-on luggage). This task was the easiest of the day. We had the address of the Caminoteca store which is a handy stopover for pilgrims who have realized they are missing some important items. The store is located within sight of the Cathedral, which, in turn, is right along the Camino route.

In the end, our errands gave us a chance to walk some of the streets in the “old part” of the city. We saw fountains and monuments typical of European cities, saw some of the streets involved in the annual running of the bulls, walked around the outside of the Cathedral and admired the view from along some of the old city walls. Our watches told us it was time to be heading to the bus station to catch the 2:30 coach to St. Jean. It was disappointing not to see more, but we knew we’d be back in just a few days.

Out came the phones, then, to help us navigate to the bus station which we had spied that morning as we took a local bus into town from our hotel. I think we had a paper map out as well, one we had picked up that morning at the hotel.

“¿Qué buscas?” (What are you looking for?) came the voice, the question having been uttered by a 40-something male with a full graying beard. Soon we were following the gent. Well, Ginny and Barb were following the fellow with whom I was engaged in a rather deep and complicated conversation. Ginny was making sure that our meanderings were indeed bringing us closer to our desired destination, while both of them were wondering what I had gotten them into. Truly, I had just expected this man to point us in the right direction, not to accompany us. Just get us around a corner and then send us on our way. But no, I got the full story. Turns out he wasn’t Spanish at all, but had arrived from Syria about 4 months ago. His Spanish was limited, as was his English, but from the tears streaming down his face, I tend to believe that he was telling the truth about leaving his wife and children back in Syria, about his difficult travels, about not having had word of his family in six months. And, finally, telling it very sheepishly but, still, not mincing any words, about being hungry. I couldn’t locate the lunch bocadillo I’d made for myself at the motel’s breakfast buffet–losing or at least temporarily misplacing things: story of my life on this trip–but I did find my apple which I gave him along with a few of our newly acquired euros. We’re we “taken”? Yes! We were taken to the bus station which is where we needed to be. And I had an “encounter” and a chance to listen to someone’s story. Priceless, in a way, no?

Now here’s the interesting thing: you think that I’m never going to get around to talking about today which is, of course, the real reason you opened this post in the first place. If you’ve been patient enough to get this far, then here, finally, is a bit of a reward. Today, after a short (only 11 miles today!) hike into Pamplona, we found ourselves sitting on a bench in front of the Cathedral, eating left-over bread and chicken and cheese from last night’s dinner. As I’m stuffing my face, I hear Barb say, without great enthusiasm, I might add, “Oh, here’s our guide from the other day.” Indeed there he was, and, upon seeing us, his face lit up in recognition. We greeted him back, but, for better or for worse, we offered him neither euros nor food, and he continued on his way. We didn’t tell him we had to locate the hostel where we had made a reservation for tonight.

Story not quite over. A few hours after we arrived at the Aloha hostel, in comes a pilgrim from Ireland, Maura by name. She was so happy to finally have finished the day’s trek. “A Syrian guided me here, she informed us. “Big beard.” You’ve got to give him credit, don’t you? Certainly more creative than standing on a street corner holding a cardboard sign. Why shouldn’t he be rewarded for his service? Clever job creation on his part, says I.

It won’t surprise you that I’m really thinking how nice it will be to climb into bed. The last really good sleep I had was right here in Pamplona at Beds4U back on April 4. I’m due for another, for sure. Going to finish this rapidly. Really. It’s a promise.

Today’s gifts on the trail (as they occur to me)

• Lots of trail time (and almost no street walking until we reached Pamplona)
• Roosters crowing as we made our way through mist-filled hills
• Declaring “quiet time” and keeping to it for a good stretch of our morning
• Fewer than 100 floors of climbing today
• Old stone homes, old stone bridges, old stone churches
• The “best pastry” ever to tide us over until reaching Pamplona
• A snack along the trail early on in the day where “Dan” offered croissant, fresh fruit, tortilla de patatas, good coffee, juices, etc. Neat: there was a photo of the stand’s proprietor (Dan) with Martin Sheen, taken at some point during the filming of The Way (movie in which Sheen plays the part of a peregrino). It was a fun stop.
• Admiring the suburbs as we approached Pamplona, seeing people promenading in their Sunday best, noting some extremely nice houses, AND enjoying a hike when raindrops were almost non-existent (though we put on rain jackets and covered our packs just to be on the safe side)
• Seeing cyclists on both roads and dedicated cycling paths; these were not cycling pilgrims (though we have seen a few of them) but rather folks out to enjoy a Sunday bike ride, some casual riders and others obviously “the real deal”

Today’s gifts in town (in what will most likely be random order)

• That chicken, cheese, and bread upon arrival in town. Something warm might have been good, something indoors, but we were hungry and what’s not to like about using up leftovers?
• Discovering that our hostel is quite nice. Could be warmer, but I’ll soon be crawling under a thick comforter that I trust will do the job.
• Here at the hostel: one of the volunteer workers (I gather he helps out here and gets free room and board) really likes to cook. He transformed the pile of fresh vegetables we had seen on the kitchen counter into the best-smelling stew. “Do you want to try it?” He didn’t need to ask twice. It was delicious! Apparently on Sundays he makes a big pot of something and shares it with the pilgrims/guests who arrive early.
• What with showering, looking at tomorrow’s route, getting clothes washed, sampling rice-and-veggie stew, securing a spot for sleeping tomorrow, visiting with Maura from Ireland, and thinking how nice it might be to just curl up and do nothing, I declared that I was determined to go out exploring and if anyone wanted to go with me, they had three minutes. Thus it was that about fifteen minutes later we made it back to the streets. It might have been too late to tour the Cathedral, but we enjoyed

Walking in several parks (the Ciudadella and the Parque de la Taconera

Observing how many people were out walking and playing and meeting up with friends to visit and have a bite or a coffee; the city was vibrant with motion

Just as we were about to pass the Iglesia de San Lorenzo, the church bells began to peel and the faithful were flowing in. Ginny and I joined their stream for this 6:00 pm Mass. Good music, good acoustics, good homily about refraining from judgment and being forgiving of the faults of others because we all have plenty of our own. I haven’t done any research on the church, but it had lots of side chapels, one of which was the chapel of San Fermín, so I have a feeling this is an important church for the locals. We lit some candles. For ourselves. For you.

The stew was wearing off and so Barb had scouted the streets in the vicinity of San Lorenzo and when we emerged from church she led us to a cafe called El Peregrino (remember, that’s “pilgrim” in English) where Barb had some real hot chocolate that she claimed was velvety and lovely, while Ginny and I both chose steamed milk. Couldn’t drink without eating something, so we had to order some sweets, right?

And now… it’s past time to head to bed. Yeah, a lower bunk tonight. (It was challenging to find the ladder to climb into the upper last night in the pitch dark.)

Be it resolved: tomorrow’s post will be considerably shorter. No worries. Hey, thanks for reading, for commenting, for praying for us, for being understanding about not getting many (any?) personal responses. There are all too few hours in the day.

Will see if I can add a few pictures before I post this. No promises! Night all!

Ginny and Dan. Look closely and you’ll see the photo of Dan and Martin Sheen.

Day 2 (April 6, 2019): from Roncevalles to Larrasoaña. 29 kilometers (18 miles)

Highlights

I can’t begin to do justice to this day. Can’t even begin. It’s already lights-out time, but the particular albergue where we’re staying in this very small town has a lovely lounge and great internet. Would love to be expansive, but… well, after the longest walking day of my life, the “lights out” idea sounds pretty appealing.

So… I’ll just have to give you a few highlights of this splendid day in a quick and dirty format. Here goes.

1. Picture this: heading out at 7:20 am (20 or so minutes before sunrise) into the fresh-fallen snow (about a quarter of an inch, and still falling, but without much conviction). It was very still. No wind. Warming. Quiet. Beyond lovely. Were the chirping birds greeting us, the snow, or just the new day? It was truly magical as we walked through some lovely woods. Pine trees. Lots of holly trees. You had to be there!
2. Breakfast a couple of miles down the road. Yogurt and half an egg sandwich (tortilla española). 2 euros each.
3. In the distance: misty vistas, clouds concealing the hilltops; in the forefront: horses with bells, a couple of colts taking nourishment from mama. Nothing if not bucolic!
4. No walking on the road today. All pathway. Challenging walking, even if today’s “190 floors” (Fitbit doesn’t lie) hardly compare to yesterday’s 424. (I’m telling you, yesterday was a “bugger,” its difficulties being a big part of people’s conversations today.
5. Sharing the trail with Jorge and Adriana from Brazil, Julio from Spain, Mike from Ireland, Al from Korea, what was his name from Mexico…. and others. Re the couple from Brazil: I was delighted to realize that I could understand most of what they said to me in Portuguese while they followed the questions, comments, answers that I gave them in Spanish.
6. We are in the most lovely private albergue tonight. We’ve only met Vanessa, the sweetest and most enthusiastic hostess who bends over to accommodate. She and her husband just opened this place two months ago and they sure seem to be doing things right. 15 euros covers a bed and a breakfast in the morning; for an extra 5 euros Vanessa washed and dried our clothes. She’s definitely the right kind of person for this business.
7. Here’s the clincher of the day. Being disappointed by the meal offered at the town’s only bar/eating establishment, I went to the “supermercado” which at first did not seem at all super. It had very few shelves; more like the kind of store you’d find at a campground. But I kept looking around and trying to use my imagination. I remembered that our hostess had pointed out a microwave in the lounge of our albergue which we were free to use. Before long I had placed on the counter: a loaf of “French” bread (you know what I mean), a bottle of wine, a shrink-wrapped whole chicken, pre-cooked, a bag of salad lettuce, a frozen box of risotto and a couple of items for tomorrow’s lunch. I asked the grocer if he could open the wine for me, and, when he asked, told him where we were staying. I told him that I sure hoped our albergue had some plates and silverware, to which he replied (translation mine):

• “For how many people is this meal?”
• “Three,” I told him
• “You come here for dinner. I heat it all up for you. I reserve that table there (one of two in the small store). I have it all ready at 6:30. You come on time.”
• And so we did. He seemed to happy to do this for us. When we arrived back at 6:30, the table was set, the salad and a bit of bread (the rest he knew we wanted for our lunches tomorrow) at the ready. Promptly he brought out the chicken and the risotto.
• Wow! Best meal ever! (A good third of that chicken is in reserve in the albergue’s refrigerator; along with the remaining loaf of bread and some sliced cheese; it will be our lunch tomorrow.

Lowlights

Everything happens for a reason (maybe…) and so in the end we decided that we shouldn’t complain, but still…. We were given a list of hostels, albergues, pensiones, refugios, and so on. Those of us–and this includes most of us–wanting to do the Camino “on the cheap” hope to find shelter in the municipal or church-run hostels. Well, both the town we ended up in tonight and the town prior to this one (Zubiri) have the low-priced places, one holding 44 pilgrims and the other 36. Ah, but only when they are not being renovated as is the case at present. Result: a lot of pilgrims looking for a place to stay, only to find “no room in the inn.” Barb and I arrived about an hour before Ginny, found two spots in one albergue and we were scrambling to find a spot for Ginny who had let us know she was on her way. Ah, and then we learned that she happened to be walking with an Irish gent named Martin. (I had encountered Martin earlier in the day when I spent a good 15 minutes walking not all that many paces in front of him and his at-the-time walking partner. His brogue was to die for! Stories weren’t bad either, for that matter.)

But then the problem was: we needed to find a spot for Ginny and Martin… and we considered ourselves lucky to find the last room in the town. Here’s the conversation I had with the innkeeper (over the phone, mind you, in Spanish, translated here for your reading pleasure):

Says I: “Yes, I’d like to take that room you mentioned earlier, the room for two with the private bath. For my friends.”

“Oh, a married couple, is it, then?”

Pause on my part.

“Friends.”

“Oh,” he replied, with a I-know-all-about-that-sort-of-thing attitude.

“Well, no, not like that,” I explain; “they just met a little over an hour ago.”

Pause, this time on the innkeeper’s part.

We have roared with laughter over this arrangement. Martin, jokester that he seems to be, immediately wanted to get his picture taken with Ginny so he could send it to his wife. (To his credit, he wanted me to capture the fact that the room had two beds.)

The Camino is like this! What might be so unnatural under other circumstances just rolls right off you. (Barb and I share a bunk-bed style room tonight with five males. I wouldn’t know them if I saw them on the trail tomorrow.)

Not much of a “lowlight,” actually, is it?

If it could be said that there was another “low” to the day, perhaps these: 1) mostly it was a rain-free day, until shortly before reaching our destination. Then, while we were looking for lodging, the rain picked up; 2) the only bar in town is where “pilgrim meals” are served. When I stopped in to make reservations for us there, I was told that they really weren’t preparing them tonight, that there would be just bocadillos (the iconic short loaf of crusty bread with a piece of cheese inside, and maybe a piece of ham). Really? After walking more than 18 miles? But you read above how our dinner turned out, so again, a low turned into a highlight.

Want to see some photos from yesterday and today? Hop on over to Instagram (katys.camino) or to Facebook (Katy’s Camino). I’ll try to add a couple at the end here. Perhaps tonight’s internet will cooperate more than last night’s.

Challenging path

Morning magic

Camino, Day 1 (April 5): St. Jean Pied de Port (France) to Roncevalles; 26.6 km (16.5 miles)

• • Blessings of the day (and not necessarily in order of occurrence or importance):

The forecast called for rain, but the rain never came! The forecast called for clouds and we had some times of sunshine!

The energy and enthusiasm (ours and that of our fellow pilgrims [at least through the first half of the day…])

Drop-dead gorgeous scenery: the greenest of green hillsides, waterfalls cascading down mountain paths and creating rushing mountain streams

Meeting hikers from all over (Korea, Ireland, Brazil, Germany, France, Australia, and more!). All eager to smile and wish one another “Buen Camino”

We continue to misplace every single thing we have brought with us, BUT… miracle of miracles, we seem to find those misplaced items after a lot of searching; nothing irrevocably lost to date

I had a bad fall today about 8 or 9 miles into the hike (my right hiking pole caught on another hiker’s left pole; stopped me in my tracks and sent me crashing forward onto the tarmac BUT, and this is the blessing, so pay attention! Wait, not “blessing” but “blessings,” plural: I broke nothing, not even my glasses; nurse Ginny was at the ready with antibiotic spray and band-aids; I was able to get up on my own and forge ahead; and you’ll probably be spared viewing photos of my face for the next little bit…

There was room in the monastery/convent when we arrived (it has 183 beds, but… there are a lot of pilgrims out here!). We are in a cute “cubby” for four, sharing it with a young girl from Korea

We had a picnic lunch with a great loaf of crusty bread accompanied with sliced turkey and cheese; isn’t this the simplicity one yearns for when eating outdoors by the side of the road?

We’ve heard rumors that tonight’s “pilgrim’s dinner” might come with wine. After today’s hike, that will be VERY VERY WELCOME!

I recommence this post several hours later. YES! There was wine! A bottle for our table of four. Here’s what our 10 euros bought us in addition to the wine: a bowl of pasta with a bit of sauce; trout (for the fish lovers) and a chicken leg & thigh for yours truly, along with the ubiquitous French fries; a basket of bread; ice cream (or yogurt or an apple). In case you are wondering: yes, I had the wine and yes, I enjoyed some vanilla/chocolate ice cream and YES, I ate every bite.

To continue those blessings:

• We made the tail end of the Pilgrims Mass and got in on the “blessing” for Pilgrims. Tonight it was in Spanish (as opposed to last night’s French), neither of which I was able to understand well due to the acoustics of the centuries-old churches but which, however, were appreciated. We lit candles tonight in thanksgiving for a successful first day.
• There’s internet access at this very old convent/monastery turned hostel. Not very strong, but still…
• There was a cool place to do our laundry in the basement of the hostel. If I manage to post a photo below, you’ll see Ginny laboring over her sweaty clothes.
• We’re actually HERE after years of dreaming and months of training and preparation!
• While this hostel doesn’t provide blankets, a kind hospitalier (volunteer host) showed us a pile of things that pilgrims have left behind; they are for the use of anyone in need. We’ve taken a few items to keep us cozy for the night and…. it’s really quite a pleasant temperature here.  Considering that the walls of this old place are extraordinarily thick, they have done a wonderful job of modernizing the inside for basic comforts.
• In conclusion: we are tickled pink that we handled this difficult day as well as we did! Couldn’t have ask for more (though maybe it would be nice to erase that one fall….)

Challenges of the day:

• WOW was it ever uphill for most of the second half of today’s walk. So we’re talking about 9 miles uphill with nary a break in the climbing. (Herein, though, lies a blessing: Barb and I trained in Southern Indiana hill country, though our terrain is more up and down. All things considered, I think we were prepared for it.)
• We three companions have yet to establish a good communication system (though we’re getting closer), so when Ginny ran into the bathroom she didn’t know that Barb and I were waiting for her. She somehow slipped out of the WC and headed on, unbeknownst to us…. Good learning lesson.
• I removed my pack several times and set it down with weight on the Camelbak’s open valve. Summary: the drinking tube leaked on my pants, shoulder straps, and on my supply of ziploc bags. Another lesson to be learned.
• Who really expected hot water for the entire shower anyway?  Deal with it! (The original pilgrims to Santiago would have been lucky to bathe once a month. No belly-aching allowed!)
• Right now there’s a lot of “novelty.” Today’s route required attention (both in looking for signs and in being careful how you stepped, given the mud, the rocks, the steepness of the terrain, the narrowness of the path at times, and the potential to have a major downhill fall should one not be careful. That didn’t leave a lot of time for solitude and for sending prayers upward for all of you…. (Last night’s innkeeper said he believes in the 3-6-9 rule: three days to get used to the physical and practical aspects of the Camino; the next three to get one’s mind set in order; the next three to begin focusing on the spiritual. After that? Body, mind, and soul are ready to work together.

Some photos from our day

Oops, photos don’t want to upload and all lights will go out here in less than a minute. So…. this is what you get for this first Camino post. Night all!

,andandmyThat is  what they say, right?  Don’t get too attached because… you’re gonna have to leave it behind.  Spoken about our end days, of course, but, as I have come to find out in this past week, so very true when it comes to loading a backpack for the Camino!

I envisioned writing two posts and jotted myself a reminder a couple of weeks back.  No, I went even further: I created two drafts here in the hidden recesses of this blog.  It satisfied me, for starters, to have the titles down in writing, awaiting a cheery, lighthearted narrative to accompany each.  “Good riddance” was what I called the first, referring to the items I’d been carrying as “sample weight” since back in September.  The other was entitled “Welcome aboard,” a gleeful greeting to the items which would accompany me on the trek itself.  However, when I actually got down to the dirty business of adding and subtracting items from my backpack, all cheerfulness and lightheartedness fled the scene.  I quickly discovered that my titles were woefully weak for the gargantuan task of truly believing that oft-quoted statement that “less is more.”

Emptying the “training” pack

Why say “good riddance” to the items that had accompanied me for more than half a year when I traipsed through gorgeous woods as summer turned to fall, fall to winter, and winter to … more winter?  Those items had served me well  for weight and had put no demands on me; most of them didn’t even ask to be used.  They just sat their demurely, not shifting, not protesting when the “day-of” requirements–billfold, car keys, battery stick to recharge phone, phone itself, lunch or snacks, and mittens, hats, neck gaiters and assorted jackets (to accommodate the warming or cooling of the day)–were added or removed.  But for all their faithful service, the moment of reckoning came a little over a week ago and I totally emptied the pack so I could treat it with some critter repellent before reloading it with the “real deal” stuff.

Thus it was that I took out the following, not so much with a “good riddance” but with a “thanks for getting me through training, even though your services weren’t required; you were there for me if I needed you”:  What friends are for, right?

• one deluxe space blanket (a “thermo-lite Bivvy Sac” according to the bag in which it is packed
• one sealed waterproof ultralight medical kit
• one “personal locator beacon” device capable of alerting signals that would get picked up by an Air Force satellite and result in an emergency rescue (I was given instructions on how to use it and warned that I had better be experiencing extreme distress–lost for many hours, darkness descending, etc., etc….–before I availed myself of it)
• 24 ounces of uncooked Kamut (“ancient” whole grain)
• 2 lbs of uncooked wild rice
• small jar of Vicks VaporRub
• one digger for when nature makes an insistent call
• half a roll of toilet paper
• a pocket knife (ok, I did use it once, on our “hot potato hike”; I scared my hiking mates because… I didn’t remember how to close the blade)
• my grandmother’s butter knife in case I needed to spread peanut butter
• miscellaneous food items: package of peanuts & raisins, a couple of granola-type bars, a small plastic container with some peanut butter, a container with crackers, a package of crushed Belvita breakfast crackers
• bits of orange string to use for marking trail turns or to replace broken shoestrings
• one gallon-size bag with miscellaneous band aids, adhesives, Kleenex, moleskin
• lip balm
• facial sun screen and sunscreen stick (sure hasn’t been much need of them lately….)
• one penny!?!?!?!
• one whistle
• one terry cloth kitchen towel
• one sit-upon
• 8 maps of trails or areas with multiple trails
• some plastic bags for whatever
• a bubble mailer carrying a scissors and some moleskin padding
• two carabiner-style S hooks
• a stack of “business”/contact cards to pass out to people
• a Camelbak bladder which usually started out a typical hiking day with three or four cups of water

Total weight?  Early on in the training I carried–on a few hikes, anyway–16-17 lbs.  At that time I also had two plastic bottles of barbecue sauce.  I removed one…. and later the second, telling myself that I need not bother because “I was not going to carry that much weight on the Camino!  No way!”   And so, the last few months, my pack has typically weighed about 13 lbs.  Very comfortable.  No complaints.

Reloading the pack / the “real deal” packing

“Do I have to?”  Pack, that is.  Make all those decisions.

Some people love to pack.  You’ve probably met those kinds of people.  You may be one of them.  I am not.  Not. in. the. least.  I’ve received some rather shocking looks from friends/fellow hikers–you know who you are; we won’t name names!–when they heard that I had not been doing some “trial loadings” of my pack.  List-maker that I am, I did not want to make a list of what I needed.  Maybe because I sensed that a list of what I “needed” would not include a lot of things that I “wanted.”  So I just plain pushed the expected “confrontation” to the fringes of my mind for as long as possible.

Well, true and not true.  I was online reading packing lists for the Camino back in August if not in July.  I absorbed a lot, got a feel for what people typically brought, asked pilgrims what they wished they had taken and what they wished that had left at home, placed some online orders, waited for Amazon to deliver this or that.  I tried out different combinations of clothing and attempted to test them in a variety of weather conditions.  Gradually the many “this and thats” were carried upstairs to Maura’s bedroom, to what I came to call my “staging area.”  And there they sat.  In piles.  Piles that grew as interested parties made suggestions about what I should be sure to pack or what had proved really useful to them in their travels..  The suggestions made sense and were appreciated.  And the piles grew some more.  Piles that I tried to ignore.

Until I could ignore them no longer.  (And yes, I did start making some lists, especially of the things to which I would need easy access on the airplane vs. those which would go into an upper bin for the duration of the flight.  [I hope!  I hope!  I hope my backpack will qualify as a carry on!  I don’t want to have to check my bag, not just because of the fee involved but because of all those straps on the pack which I can’t afford to have getting stuck in a conveyor belts and breaking….  Once a worry wart, always a worry wart….])

Do you know anything about backpacks and how they are sized?  I didn’t either until I began shopping for one.  I was warned by former pilgrims not to take too large a bag because the larger the bag, the more you will put in it.  Weight that you don’t want to carry.  From the reading I did, I had decided upon a 34-liter pack.  Not too big.  Not too small.

Or is it too small?  “Perfect size for a summer hike,” I find myself thinking now.  Perfect when you aren’t worried about the 32 -degree mornings.  The possible snow.  The cold rain.  The gale-force early spring winds.

But I like my pack, I really do!  It’s a beautiful color. (We all know how “important” that is!)  It has served me well.  I’ve left the house carrying it many a morning with a great sense of adventure and anticipation.  I’m not going to start cursing it.  Not yet, anyway.

OK, I’m dragging this out too much and my departure is looming.  Literally!   I’ll be leaving for the airport in under three hours.  Still have things to check off my to-do list.  Time for summarizing, wrapping up.

During the course of a week, I packed and repacked a good three times.  The first time, admittedly, was pure “wishful thinking.”   I knew I wouldn’t be taking everything I tried to stuff in the pack and into its many exterior pockets.  Still, I had to see for myself.  Results?  As expected, it would not zip.  As expected, it weighed too much.  “Back to the drawing board,” I wrote to Barb and Ginny.  (And then abandoned the task because I just couldn’t face it.)

Several days passed.  My stepdaughter came by.  Regina is one of those people who loves to pack.  She looked at me with hopeful eyes, like a puppy dog waiting for you to get the leash and take it for an outing.  So, up we went to the aforementioned “staging area.”  Together we went through the miscellaneous outer pockets of the pack, tossing many this, thats, and the others into an empty crate set aside for the purpose.  It was brutal.  She was brutal.  All in the name of my back, my hips, my legs, and, especially, my feet that have to keep the whole operation moving forward.  Many sighs on my part.  I really didn’t want to see the tube of lipstick go.  The “puffy” for the shower.  My grandmother’s butter knife….

Fast forward a couple of days.  I return to what is now seeming more like an “execution area” than a “staging one.”  Regina and I hadn’t even looked at the clothing.  More elimination.  Sad!  Hard!  I don’t want to “let go.”  So have a quick glance at the following list of some of the things that didn’t make the cut:

• Face-friendly sunscreen
• 2nd pair of long pants
• 2nd pair of hiking shoes
• Lightweight sit-upon
• 2nd mid-weight long-sleeved Smart Wool shirt
• Long-sleeved long underwear top
• Waterproof gaiters
• Waterproof over-mitts (the big, guaranteed-to-work ones; instead, I’ll be bringing something less bulky… and less waterproof)
• Waist belt “for money & valuables”
• Shampoo (will use “shower gel” to wash body, hair, and clothing)
• a metal dental pic
• 2 pair air-activated hand warmers I had hoped to sneak in
• Waterproof neck pouch (for rain, money, credit card); Terri was so kind to lend it to me….
• Business cards w/ contact information
• Soft net scrubber thing for shower
• Sink stopper plug (for use while washing clothes)
• 2 clothespins (kept 4)
• 1 carabiner-style S-hook (kept 1)
• 2/3rds of the blister treatment aides I’d planned to bring
• Lipstick
• Kleenex packet
• Partially used 1-ounce tube of antibiotic cream
• 2 disposable, one-use toothbrushes (kept 1)
• 1 plastic spoon, 1 plastic knife, 1 butter knife (kept one titanium spork)
• A third pair of liner socks
• Beano
• Tennis ball ( for foot therapy)
• Guidebook (gulp!)  (actual, the verdict is still out on that one; one minute it’s a “go,” the next: “sorry, but you are too hefty…..”
• too depressing to keep naming a few more miscellaneous items; you’ve got the idea

And then?  The good news: the pack now zipped and it weighed 2 or 3 pounds less.  Below is a photo with the pack in place on my back.  I couldn’t say for sure whether the photo was taken after its second re-packing or after the third.

What one notices immediately, though, is that the pack is obviously too wide to be considered a “carry-on”….  Which is why I’ll head off to the airport today wearing my fleece vest and my rain jacket, and why I’ll be cinching those straps just as tight as can be.  And praying that both the Delta and the Iberia employees are sort of looking the other way.  The TSA people as well.  (“But what could they possibly object to?” you ask.  Maybe the diaper pins?  The nail trimmers?  The plastic bags with unidentified pills (“Would you like to see a picture of the original bottles?” I will innocently ask).

Really, my time is running out.  And all I’ve mentioned so far–except for the diaper pins, the pills, the vest, and the rain jacket) is what I’m not taking.

You still wanting that “packing list”?  Remember, I told you I never made one.  There are many online.  Check them out for yourself.  And maybe, just maybe, I’ll add to this post while on the plane today.  And truth be told–Gospel truth!–I’m still wavering about two items.  I already mentioned the guidebook.  The other?  My winter puffy jacket.  I’d been telling myself for months that I wouldn’t take it.  That I couldn’t take it.  That I could survive a few early-morning temperatures in the low 30s, knowing that the day would warm up and that the exertion of carrying the pack and walking uphill would warm me up.  Almost believing it!  And then last Saturday night we had occasion to walk downtown in the most miserable, cold, pelting rain I have ever experienced!  The next day I experimented to see if I could still zip my pack after stuffing my jacket into it.  The final verdict will be made within 2.5 hours.

Non-negotiable: my keyboard.  It’s coming along.  May get abandoned along the way, just as my plans to send posts and updates and photos very regularly may be abandoned.  But it’s coming!

I’ll leave you with one final photo.  It is of the cube which holds all the clothing I’m taking except for the following: what I’ll be wearing, my outerwear, and my sleepwear.  In other words, the cube holds my pants, tops, underwear, and socks, plus mittens, hat, and headband.  On top of the cube, to give you an idea of the bag’s size, you see a pair of lightweight Keens which will serve as my second pair of shoes, the post-hike “bumming around” ones for evening.

Sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words.  The above photo should prepare you for the fact that I’m not going to be a fashion statement as I walk the Camino.  (If only I could have slipped in that lipstick….)

PS: To those who were really curious about my packing list…, uh… sorry to disappoint.  This post has been a bit of a teaser.  It’s just that the notion of “You can’t take it with you!” is foremost on my mind.  ‘Nuf said!

What is life if not a journey?  We each make our own way.  And though our paths vary, we have this in common: we are travelers, one and all.  We are pilgrims.

It is said: “if the shoe fits, wear it.”  I’ll modify that just a bit and say “if the prayers I’ve collected and copied below ‘fit,’ then pray them.”  I put them here for quick personal reference, so that I could find them easily.  If they work for you, too, then we share yet another bond.

I’ll add here that I am humbled, awed, and ever so grateful for all the prayers that have been promised for me, Barb, and Ginny as we make our way along the Camino.  And here I thought I was the one who would be doing the praying!  Once more, I’m being reminded that we are one big family, called to look out for one another in a huge variety of ways!

And now, a few prayers.  Maybe I’ll be editing this post as we move along and I come upon something that strikes me as worthy of sharing.  You might check back later…..

Sent to Joyce Rupp by Macrina Wiederkehr (and included in the introduction to Rupp’s Walk in a Relaxed Manner: Life Lessons from the Camino):

May flowers spring up where your feet touch the earth.

May the feet that walked before you bless your every step.

May the weather that’s important be the weather of your heart.

May all of your intentions find their way into the heart of God.

May your prayers be like flowers strewn for other pilgrims.

May your heart find meaning in unexpected events.

May friends who are praying for you carry you along the way.

May friends who are praying for you be carried in your heart.

May the circle of life encircle you along the way.

May the broken world ride on your shoulders.

May you carry your joy and your grief in the backpack of your soul.

May you remember all the circles of prayer throughout the world.

THE PILGRIM PRAYER (written by Joyce Rupp and Tom Pfeffer, included in Rupp’s book mentioned above):

Guardian of my soul,                             

guide me on my way this day.

Keep me safe from harm.

Deepen my relationship with you,

your Earth, and all your family.

Strengthen your love within me

that I may be a presence of your peace

in our world.

Amen.

PILGRIM’S PRAYER (by Fraydino; a postcard gifted to me by Maureen Mahan):

Although I may have traveled all the roads, crossed mountains and valleys from East to West, if I have not discovered the freedom to be myself, I have arrived nowhere.

Although I may have shared all of my possessions with people of other languages and cultures, made friends with Pilgrims of a thousand paths, or shared albergues [hostels] with saints and princes, if I am not capable of forgiving my neighbor tomorrow, I have arrived nowhere.

Although I may have carried my pack from beginning to end and waited for every Pilgrim in need of encouragement, or given my bed to one who arrived later than I, given my bottle of water in exchange for nothing. if upon returning to my home and work I am not able to create brotherhood or to make happiness, peace and unity, I have arrived nowhere.

Although I may have had food and water each day, and enjoyed a roof and shower every night, or may have had my injuries well attended, if I have not discovered in all that the love of God, I have arrived nowhere.

Although I may have seen all the monuments and contemplated the best sunsets, although I may have learned a greeting in every language or tasted the clean water from every fountain, if I have not discovered who is the author of so much free beauty and so much peace, I have arrived nowhere.

If from today I do not continue walking on your path, searching and living according to what I have learned, if from today I do not see in every person, friend or foe, a companion on the Camino, if from today I cannot recognize God, the God of Jesus of Nazareth, as the one God of my life, I have arrived nowhere.

April 1 offering from the folks at Gratefulness.org (quote from Pierre Pradervand):

I bless this day for the wonderful adventure it can become as I

walk through it with the eyes of wonder rather than boredom,

use every opportunity to express peace rather than irritation, and

choose love over fear.

And how could I not include this traditional Irish blessing, well known to me but also sent recently by several as our journey’s beginning neared:

May the road rise up to meet you

May the wind be always at your back

May the sun shine warm upon your face

the rains fall soft upon your fields

and until we meet again

may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Prayer to St. Therese of Lisieux (sent to me by my friend Barb and so appropriate for this–or any?–journey):

St. Therese, you who are forever young

in your spirit of childhood help me

to understand that I, too,

can begin a new life every day.

Give me the confidence to stretch

out fearlessly into the future,

where a Father awaits me to

lead me on in love.

Teach me to walk with my hand in

His whether the path is rough or smooth,

uphill or down.

And show me how to be

cheerful and kind to all who share

this journey into an eternity of promise.

So here I find myself, departure day looming, my to-do list still full of tasks….  Many of those tasks are merely “wishful thinking,” as I know there is no possible way to get them checked off.  They are more of the “wouldn’t-it-be-nice-if-I-could-possibly-do-this” variety.  Like so many things in life,  I need to greet them with warmth and tenderness and compassion… and then let them go.

Among those to-dos are the ones I have labeled “blog-related.”  Some of them have been waiting patiently in line for months, others are relative newcomers.  What they share is 1) the hope that they will be turned into bona fide posts rather than remain wanna-be stories and 2) the sinking realization that time–or rather lack of same–is not on their side; the remaining sands in the top of the hourglass are fewer with each passing day.

But then it occurred to me: what if I were to spread the net and see which ones I might catch in one post, even if in a manner less developed and polished than I might like?  Better than letting them get away from me entirely, right?  Well, we’ll see what happens.  Feel free to sample from the buffet below, bits and pieces from a mind that raged and refused to let some thoughts go gentle into that good night.

HAZARDS, Part Two

Back in October I wrote a post (find it here) about my first fall–as in “tumble”–while training for the Camino.  (Wish I could say it was my last, but ah, between my clumsiness and the plentiful rocks and tree roots half-hidden by fallen leaves, there have been a good handful.)  No sooner had I published that post than I decided it needed a follow-up.  To the hazards awaiting a pilgrim/hiker that I had mentioned in that post, I jotted down additional ones as they came to me.  (A mind looking for something to worry about always manages to do so, right?)  Because my list continued to grow, I never got around to writing “Hazards, Part Two.”  Until now.  Fortunately, time crunch means less elaboration than the usual.  The bullet points that follow come directly from notes I’ve collected since October, though they are not necessarily presented here in the order in which they were originally written.  Some hazards apply to both the training walks and the Camino; some more to one than the other.  You’ll figure it out.  Among the hazards:

• getting lost; missing a blaze or a fork in the trail or a signpost
• the cold!  One of my biggest enemies!
• getting caught in the dark, or in a freak snow storm, or in gale-force winds, or in drenching rains…
• territorial dogs
• running out of food, water, energy
• running out of spirit…
• losing essentials: forgetting my phone charger or leaving it behind in some outlet; forgetting my poles after stopping for a pee break; keeping track of money and debit cards (and those darn PINs!); misplacing passport or train/bus/airline tickets; forgetting to pack up clothes left to dry on a courtyard clothesline; etc., etc. (these are the “sh*t!” moments I described at the very end of an earlier post
• forgetting any of the essentials in the first place!
• foot problems and/or shoe problems that could bring my Camino to a halt
• pickpockets and their ilk; I’ve been warned by natives that “this is not the Spain you knew back in the early 70s”

The biggest hazard at all, though, the granddaddy of hazards is not on that list, though it has been in the notes I referred to above and it comes round to haunt me fairly often. My unpolished, unedited notes describe the danger of

missing the forest for the trees or the trees for the forest.  Perhaps the biggest hazard of all: being so full of my thoughts–so full of myself–that I fail to notice the beauty around me or being so focused on the beauty that I forget about the “soul walking and stretching” that I hope will be a big part of my Camino.  The challenge is to find a balance.  And when I speak about “beauty,” I really am taking into consideration not just the natural landscape around me but also the people I’ll be encountering along the way.  The challenge of remaining “present, mindful” at all times….  The Camino is not meant to be just a journey for the feet, nor solely a feast for the eyes–though surely it is that.  Surely it has the potential to be a journey for the heart and the soul.  To miss that journey while walking the Camino might be the biggest hazard of all

Am I beginning to sound paranoid in my cataloging of hazards?  I trust I will have every reason under the sun to write a much more developed post entitled “Blessings” upon my return.  Or better yet, multiple posts elaborating the blessings along the way.  As it is, I look back over nine months of training and I’m bursting with gratitude for all the potentially negative things that have not happened, for the beauty that I have seen, and for the companions I’ve had on the journey thus far.  Counting my blessings!

Time flies when…

On my lists of posts to develop is one called “Welcoming snow” or “Let it snow” or–again, my notes say this, as obviously I wasn’t quite sure where my focus would be–“Changing perspectives” or “What a difference a day makes,” or “Time flies when…”  I must have jotted this down sometime in late November or early December when a light layer of snow covered a path on which I was hiking.  I remarked at the time: “seems like just yesterday that we were watching out for ticks and edible mushrooms, meeting at 6:30 am to beat the heat….”  Heat and tick season had barely passed when we began wearing blaze orange so the hunters wouldn’t mistake us for deer or fox or squirrel.

Nothing revolutionary here.  Of course time flies, for all but the very young and, perhaps, the very old.  Is it time once again to take out the garbage, fill the pill box, do the laundry, pay the bills, buy the Easter ham, pay taxes, have another colonoscopy?  Already?  How can that be?  Not just the days, the weeks, the months, the years, but the darn decades, too!  I remember what I did on my 40th birthday–remember, Rie, the lake cottage and those 40 gifts hidden around it?!–and on my 50–a silent memorial parade down the streets of town in memory of a Korean killed in a hate crime–and on my 60th–went to see The Wizard of Oz on the big screen.  The 40th seems a bit distant, but the others?  Twenty years ago?  Ten years ago?  Seems like yesterday!

I never wrote the post about welcoming snow.  We had very little of the white stuff this year.  That’s good and bad.  We needed the moisture, and it eventually came with a goodly amount of rain.  I would have preferred snowy walks in the woods rather than muddy ones, but we survived.  It’s out of our control anyway.  So for this little blurb, I chose the title “Time flies when…” to reflect not only on how amazingly fast these months of Camino-prep have gone, but also because we all know how that “time flies” phrase ends.  Yes, “when you’re having fun.”  I have been, indeed, having fun!  These have been wonderfully purposeful, engaging, delightful, months.  Would I like them to have flown a little less quickly?  Yes and no.  Do I wish that the months had been equally fun, equally wonderful for all those I love and for all those reading this now ?  Oh, yes, with all my heart!

Now, care to join me in a chorus of “Sunrise, Sunset” from Fiddler on the Roof?

Sunrise, sunset

Sunrise, sunset

Swiftly fly the years

One season following another

Laden with happiness and tears

Help me to be less fearful of the measure of time, and more fully alive in the time that simply is.  Help me to live time, not just to simply use it, to breathe it in, and return it in acts of love and presence.                               -Avis Crowe

The two thieves… and JOY

(Folks: this one really almost got away.  I had finished this section and: Poof! Cyberspace stole it!  Talk about a despised and all-too-familiar thief!  No promises that this mini-post’s recreation will match the original.  But it’s no longer around for comparison’s sake, is it?…  Another lesson in letting go….))

So, I was driving–yes!  I do occasionally get in a car!–to nearby McCormick’s Creek State Park for a hike when I came upon a sign that caught my attention and gave me food for thought for a good bit of my afternoon’s meandering in the woods.  Was it in front of a church or a business?  I couldn’t say.  It read as follows:

Comparison is the thief of joy

I’m sure that on many days I might pass by a similar sign and not give it a second thought.  This one, however, got my attention, especially in light of my upcoming trip.  My Camino.  A path on which there will be thousands of walkers (as many as 300,000 people–I’ve also heard 400,00, but I don’t know how reliable that source is–will arrive in Santiago from different paths this year alone!).  Each one wanting to have his or her own Camino.  Some stronger, fitter, more agile, faster, younger, more knowledgeable, dedicated, and experienced than I am.  More gregarious. Along with others who will be slower, less prepared, older, fussier, even more reserved.  We will be, no doubt, a motley crew, with noted differences in our motivations, our personalities, our talents, and our skills.  Hopefully we will have in common the desire to find joy in the journey.  Comparison has no place on the Camino, just as it has no place on the journey of life.  It zaps enthusiasm and energy and joy.  With its emphasis on better and worse, more and less, strengths and weaknesses, it fails to highlight individual talents and the richness that our differences can bring to the mix.

And yet even as I say that “comparison has no place… on the journey of life,” I wonder to what extent that is totally true.  I know that in my own life, I try to surround myself with people whose skills, personalities, and outlook on life I admire.  Sometimes I am content just to value them for who they are and to celebrate their talents; other times I hope that they will serve as models to emulate, especially with regard to the way in which they face life’s challenges.  Is there something to be said for comparing ourselves with others if that leads to positive change?  How similar are “comparison” and “imitation”?  And what about comparing ourselves with…. with ourselves?  Our younger selves with our present selves?  With the selves we hope to become?  Isn’t self-reflection a part of growth?  (You see, a solo hike of 8 miles allows the mind to wander into many corners!)  Let’s leave it at this: “comparison” can be a real killjoy.  Mostly it is to be avoided for peace of mind!

And the other thief, the second one of this mini-blog’s title?  I’m betting there are, in reality, a myriad of would-be thieves capable of stealing joy.  The one I had in mind: worry.  Right?  About kids, about money.  Health, lack of time, climate change, the latest news report, the sorry state of the world….  Oh, sorry for any wounds I’m opening.  Worry is the ultimate thief, isn’t it?  Robs you of sleep, of peace of mind, of joy.  Blocks trust.  Erases hope.  Causes lost sleep, lost–or gained!–weight.  Loss of friends who tire of hearing your woes.

Like “comparison,” though, maybe “worry” has a second, less criminal side.  Worry can lead one to take preventive measures, to be cautious, prudent, pro-active.  There is “worry” and there is “awareness.”  At any point in time we can be somewhere on that spectrum.  As a result, we buy insurance policies, try to stay informed, take our vitamins, schedule annual visits with the doctor, say our prayers, “consider the lilies of the field” and the birds of the air, cross our fingers.  We then either hope for the best… or… we continue to worry.

Perhaps the verdict isn’t totally in, then, on these two thieves.  In general, though, I’m in favor of calling for the sheriff, rounding up a posse, finding these culprits, and throwing them in the slammer.  Parole possibilities after serving time and showing their better sides.

As for joy?  Try this:

Dream on!

In my notes about possible blog posts, I have written this: “two quotes about dreams.”  Ha!  The joke is on me because I only wrote down ONE of the quotes!  The other one fell victim to one of my many “senior moments” and I don’t expect it to reemerge from the shadows anytime soon.  I could find a gazillion quotes about “dreams” with just a few keystrokes, but that wouldn’t seem authentic.  So, I leave you with just one quote, attributed to Ellen Johnson Sirleaf (winner of Nobel Peace Prize in 2011, first woman to be elected head of state in an African country [Liberia, 2005 and again in 2011]).  She wrote the following that resonated with me:

If your dreams do not scare you, they are not big enough

My Camino dream has scared me and excited me from the beginning.  Am I shaking in my boots from fear or excitement?  Heck, I’m not shaking in those boots, I’m walking in them.  For the moment, I think my dream is as big as I can handle!

I hate to even mention this here, but it fits.  You may have already seen my “Hazards, Part Two” mini-post earlier in this smorgasbord.  One of the “hazards” on the list: pickpockets.  So what do I find myself dreaming about in the early morning a week or so?   A bag of some sort in which there was an empty “case” where a passport should have been….  A dream I could have easily done without….

Afterthought: might the second quote I referred to in my notes have been a reference to one of the few poems I know by heart, Langston Hughes’ “Dreams”?

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.

Step by step, keep on keeping on.  Step by step, keep on dreaming.  Remembering always to seek joy in that journey.  And forget the nightmares about stolen passports.  Ain’t gonna happen!

Are we hAPPy yet?

Yes… and no.  No!  No!  No!  Yes, I have LOTS of APPs.  Four full screens of them on my phone, plus two additional rows on a 5th screen.  But hAPPy?  Hardly! APPrehensive, yes.  Do my APPs give the impression that, armed with technology, I am ready to take on whatever this trip throws at me?  They lie!  False APPearances, for sure.

Please tell me that you are nodding your head with empathy and understanding, with compassion and recognition.  Even if it’s not the case.  I need to know I am not alone.

Through the years I’ve acquired this APP and that one because friends have suggested them or businesses have urged them.  My APPle device hold APProximately 90 APPs, some with overlAPPing functions and/or APProximately the same purpose, each one reached by the tAPPing of a finger or two.  Several APPs to tell me the weather, others to help me manipulate photos, read books, make to-do lists, keep track of expenses, locate and navigate hiking trails….  And yes, I do mean several for each one of those tasks. You might APPreciate the APPsurdity of some of the following: I have an APP to help me find my car when parked at the Kansas City airport ()?!) and one to make the photographed criminal on a wine bottle tell his tale of woe (you’d have to see it to believe it…);  I have an APP to facilitate my use a Jawbone UP (which I’ve never owned), another to help me find deals at local restaurants (who goes out to eat?), one to help me find my keys (though little good that’ll do me if my keys and phone are hiding together), one to open the lock box of reserved Airbnb homes; another to activate a SIM card I bought to prove that the refurbished phone I bought was indeed “unlocked.”  (I hope you don’t even know what I am talking about because I sure don’t!)

I do not expect you to APPlaud my abundance of APPs.  DisAPPointment in my poor judgment is inevitable,disAPProval is called for, undoubtedly.  I APPeal to your compassion, however.  It’s not that I’m goofing off and playing all sorts of games.  In fact, I don’t believe there’s a single game on my device if you don’t count Duolingo.  Angry Birds and Words with Friends are long gone.  No, I have “serious” APPs… but here’s the thing: I don’t know how to use even half of them, handicAPPed as I am by the hAPPenstance of my age and my lack of an intuitive nature.

I could go on and on poking fun of myself… but you may be wondering what all this has to do with the Camino.  I’ll try to APPly myself here and get right to the point: I’ve acquired new APPs to facilitate my activities for the next couple of months.  New to me for the upcoming trip:

• three banking APPs to keep tabs on one credit card and two debit cards (such items recommended by travel guru Rick Steves) and to be able to transfer money from one account to another when one well is getting dry.  I have practiced and practiced with remembering logins and passwords and pins.  Time will tell if I’ve got them down or if I’ll have to pay my way through the Camino by helping out in the hostels
• a Camino guide to maps and lodging and sights that appears to be as complete as it is complex; my mastery of it is dubious, or shall we just call it a “work in progress”?
• the much-touted WhatsAPP that supposedly I can use to text or to phone anyone else who also has the APP, free of charge;  I’ve actually put it to the test a few times and… APPrehensive though I was, it worked!
• one APP to keep track of my bus ticket from Pamplona to St. Jean Pied-de-Port in case I lose my printed paper version
• three APPs with white noise sounds to induce slumber and block out the snoring of fellow pilgrims (none of which I have even tried…)
• an APP that will allow me to convert euros to dollars, kilometers to miles, meters to feet, Camino time to Indiana or Oregon time, etc.  Celsius to Fahrenheit, or vice versa.  Assuming I can figure out how to use it…

You are APPsolutely right if you are feeling APPrehensive about my ability to master these APPs.  You are also totally in the right if you think I’m having trouble wrAPPing my mind around the notion of SIMPLICITY, the idea that LESS IS MORE.  I know in my heart of hearts that these APPs have the potential to complicate my life.  Have already complicated my life.  Maybe post-Camino Katy will be more than ready to delete a good half of her APPs, considering them–and many other possessions–useless APPendages.

For the time being, though, at least the following thought gives me comfort: a phone with nearly a hundred apps has no more physical weight than one with ten or twenty.  Weight, I’m afraid, is huge on my mind as I try to eliminate pounds from my backpack.  Just as friends have recommended certain APPs to me, they have recommended a lot of other “essentials” which, unfortunately, are taking up physical space and adding significant weight to my pack.  Those ounces certainly add up!  Hey, maybe there’s an APP to grAPPle with this problem!  (Do you think I’ve totally snAPPed?  I’d better APPandon this mini-post before it becomes any more APPsurd!

I’m just quoting…  (Do you need a mantra?)

If you haven’t figured it out already, then it’s time: I LOVE WORDS.  In and of themselves they can be quite lovely  When they are brought together in harmony and wisdom, I can’t resist them. Here are a few that were possibly going to be part of longer, individual posts, but will have to be content for a little side show here.  Maybe you’ll find  them useful or thought-provoking as well.

In Rick Steves’ book Europe through the Back Door, 2017 edition, he writes

Of course, travel, like the world, is a series of hills and valleys.  Be fanatically positive and militantly optimistic.  If something’s not to your liking, change your liking!

Don’t you love that last bit?  Could be my mantra for life!

Benedictine sister Macrina Wiederkehr, in her book Abide: Keeping Vigil with the Word of God, shares her poem “Is there a lost child in you?” from which I’m sharing the final two stanzas

There are days

when my adult ways

turn tasteless in my mouth

and the child of long ago

starts

pressing on my soul.

 

On days like that

I long to touch the child again

and let her take me by the hand

and lead me down

a path that has a heart

and show me all the things

that

I’ve stopped seeing

because I’ve grown

too tall.

Thanks, Macrina.  I definitely want to be heading down “a path [a “way,”  a “camino”] that has a heart, and I want to do it with my eyes open wide.  Maybe even skipping a bit?

Ever hear of a writer (and teacher and poet) by the name of Mary Jean Irion?  Nor had I, until a short quote attributed to her showed up in my inbox from a “daily inspiration” site (the first three sentences of the second paragraph below).  I was both moved and intrigued and did a bit of research.  The quote as it was sent to me is, apparently, widely known and quoted in certain circles; you’ll find images of it on Google, available for download or purchase.  I chased down more of the passage, and include below the final two paragraphs of an essay which may have first appeared in McCall’s magazine in the late 1960s and subsequently appeared in Ms. Irion’s book Yes, World.  A Mosaic of Meditation (1970).  The essay, “Let Me Hold You While I May,” ends with these sobering, poignant, insightful lines:

A normal day! Holding it in my hand this one last moment, I have come to see it as more than an ordinary rock. It is a gem, a jewel. In time of war, in peril of death, people have dug their hands and faces into the earth and remembered this. In time of sickness and pain, people have buried their faces in pillows and wept for this. In time of loneliness and separation, people have stretched themselves taut and waited for this. In time of hunger, homelessness, and want, people have raised bony hands to the skies and stayed alive for this….

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, savor you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it will not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky, and want more than all the world your return. And then I will know what now I am guessing: that you are, indeed, a common rock and not a jewel, but that a common rock made of the very mass substance of the earth in all its strength and plenty puts a gem to shame.

The day is over, and now I will sleep.

Wow!  A great reminder of just what a treasure “ordinary” can be!  For me, six weeks or so–God willing!–on the Camino will indeed mean a somewhat repetitive routine: rise early, load the pack, set out in a westerly direction, walk and walk and walk, seek shelter and food, check out the town (albeit a new one each night), and when the day is over, sleep and begin all over again.  To rephrase a well-known biking tour aphorism: Eat Sleep Hike Repeat.  And yet, though even the extraordinary can become the norm, what a gift normalcy can be.

My final quote was given to me just a few days ago.  I stopped in for a visit with a friend who had just celebrated her 91st birthday.  It was 30 years ago when Jo and her husband through-hiked the Appalachian Trail in celebration of Harvey’s retirement.  Jo has been nothing been enthusiastic and encouraging as I’ve shared details of my upcoming trip with her.  From her now sedentary position, she didn’t mince words when she told me, back in June: “Do it while you can!”  Today I expressed some of my worries/concerns to her (much as I try to fight them, they have been trumping some of the excitement of late; the traveler’s version of stage fright?…)  Anyway, Jo shared what she often used as a mantra on her 2,000+-mile hike.  She gave the Lord “marching orders” with regard to her feet:

You lift ’em up and I’ll set ’em down.

So there!  A positive attitude, childlike wonder, a celebration of the ordinary, and a little help from above.  What could I possibly add?

See it!

This mini-post was going to be called “See it! / Read it!” but then I realized that one of the books I was going to recommend is still on my hold list at the library, so I haven’t even cracked its cover.  Haven’t even seen its cover except on Amazon.  When you see the title, your suspicion that I have a one-track mind will be confirmed.  The book is Never Stop Walking: A Memoir of Finding Home Across the World by Christina Rickardsson (2018).  If I ever stop walking and read it, I’ll try to let you know my opinion.

The other book had an equally inspiring title: Walking to Listen: 4,000 Miles across America, One Story at a Time (2017).  I mentioned this book in a letter I wrote in late May of last year, explaining to a 20-something hiking partner that I was reading about a young man who, upon graduating from college, set out on foot to ask people for advice on “how to grow up” and become, once and for all, an “adult.”   I started out reading a library copy, but ended up buying two used copies from Amazon, one for myself and one for my hiking friend Jo (the one whose quote ends the mini-post just above this one).  May, 2018.  But guess what: the Camino idea had already taken up residence in the backwaters of my mind by then and as it made its way to the forefront, this book was set aside in favor of getting out and walking.  I’ll pick it up again someday.

I have this fascination with young people–“young people” currently being defined by me as anyone under the age of 40–who set out on ambitious walks.  Here’s where the “See it!” title of this mini-post comes into its own, as I’m going to recommend two films.

The first of them is a 2018 release that is, as of this writing, playing in local cinemas and is also available for streaming ($4.99 at Amazon will get it for you).  At least look for the trailer and make your own decision.  In this documentary, 30-something Matt Green, tired of his desk job as an engineer, takes on the project of walking every single street, pathway, cemetery, bridge… of all five boroughs of New York City.  We’re talking more than 8,000 miles!  He plans and walks those miles with endless curiosity and enviable joie de vivre.  The movie isn’t about New York so much as it is about having a passion and running (well, walking…) with it.  It may not be everyone’s cup of tea (“waste of time,” one viewer commented), but… I found it inspiring enough to see a second time.  If you see it, I dare you to forget Matt anytime soon!

The second film, a 2017 contender in the Heartland Film Festival, and, like The World …, a documentary, is called I’ll Push You.  It chronicles the 2014 journey of two lifelong friends on the Camino.  The “pushing” of the title refers to the fact that one of the friends suffers from a rare neuromuscular disease and is wheel-chair bound,  totally dependent on his best friend–and others on the trek–for all his physical needs.  The tone of the film is amazingly joyful as what might seem to be insurmountable obstacles are dealt with, if not overcome, with faith and hope and a good deal of laughter.  As one (Amazon) reviewer says: “This is one of the most inspiring stories of altruistic love you’ll ever see.  If this doesn’t warm your heart, you probably don’t have a heart.”  Another states: “So surprising and just a joy beyond any other that I’ve watched, read or listened to about the Camino and honestly, maybe any other journey of discovery.  Simple and powerful.”   If you live in/near Bloomington, know that the public library bought a copy at my request.  Otherwise…. currently available on Amazon for $14.99…

Is there any need to mention a third film, the one partly responsible for sparking a growing awareness of the Camino in this country?  I didn’t think so.  You’ve seen the 2012 (fictional) movie The Way, right?  Americans have been flocking to the Camino in much greater numbers since its release.

There are more!  Oh yes!  However, I’m stopping here.

Where’s the big bad wolf?

Back in late October the kids and I did a walk on the Sycamore Loop in the Deam Wilderness.  I wrote a note to myself at the time that it was a Mary-Poppins-Pippi-Longstocking-Pollyanna kind of hike as opposed to a Big-Bad-Wolf or a Hansel-and-Gretel type.  “In other words,” I wrote at the time, “it was friendly and joyful rather than ominous.  The sky probably had a lot to do with it, and the mild temperatures.”

Well, about five months have passed since I wrote those words.  I was going to write a post once I’d had the opposite kind of experience, a creepy one on which I felt threatened or exposed or lost.  Imagine: the trees “squeaking” as a dead and leaning one rubbed against the tree that had impeded its fall to the forest floor; the wind whipping; the thunder rolling in; the far-off sound of hunters’ firearms as their owners fired them off in quick succession, eager to bag something before the storm was totally engaged; realizing that, in all that confusion, I was utterly lost and… was that a mountain lion I heard behind me?

I never had occasion to write that post because… I never had any experience to prompt it.  Pollyanna lives!

As do some of these muddled thoughts that have crossed my mind and almost slipped away without being caught and shared.  Whew!  I reeled them in just in the nick of time.  One week from tomorrow: we’re off!