This is my closing blog of what has been a life-enhancing journey. So much said and so much not. I have struggled with knowing what to include and what is too personal, not just for myself but for others as well. Wisdom indeed has been needed and finding that line between being real and honest about difficulties and not being too 'in the face'.
I laughed at myself yesterday as I was walking behind 2 young men, one of whom had his trousers half way down his legs so I stared at his underpants the whole time I walked behind him. All very fashionable in the city but a little inappropriate for The Camino perhaps. Anyway I hate this fashion- always have done. I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR PANTS (or skid marks!!) Is this my last test of 'go with the flow'? Anyway I eventually pass him and say a cheery ' Lovely red underpants you have on today'. He smiles sheepishly. Then today walking into Santiago I see him again. Amazingly he has learnt how to do his belt up.
I actually arrived yeaterday as I wanted to finish my own Camino before I meet Steve to walk to Finisterre tomorrow. We shall attend the Pilgrim Mass together in the Cathedral which I have not yet been in. Most Pilgrims go straight there but for me God is not primarily in that building but in the cafes and bars and streets outside it. I mostly feel a certain amount of discomfort in churches and if I was the Archbishop of Canterbury I would sell off the buildings to the Conservationists- they can have them and spend all their resources maintaining bricks and mortar, instead of hearts.Just as well there is not much chance of that happening then!
A film crew were filming outside the mighty Seminario Menor when I arrived. This is described in my book as a soul- less Alburgue. It is a magnificent building and I enjoyed the anonymity it afforded me.The Seminario was shut when I arrived so I spent 1/2 hr watching the film crew do their stuff. How utterly BANAL it all seemed in comparison to the journey that these pilgrims were finishing. Take after take after take of the same scene with the make up and hair artists dashing in between shots to adjust a hair or apply a little powder to the actors. It was utterly DULL. So much attention to so little.
I feel so strengthened by my journey- at least inwardly. Outwardly I have a streaming cold and as I crossed the motorway into Santigo my nose was streaming, my eyes were streaming, my throat feels like a rasp has been taken down it and my chest hurts. An onlooker would have thought it was a highly emotional moment for me and in some ways it was. The roar of the traffic I found frightening but inwardly I thought 'YES I have walked 800km across Spain on my own' and with that came a feeling of elation.
Eugene Peterson writes, in The Message, at the introduction to Job
'Real faith cannot be reduced to spiritual bromides and merchandised in success stories. It is refined in the fires and the storms of pain'. This is so true. I have dwelt in Romans 8:18-28 and for me these passages are not about ecology at all but about growing in grace ourselves- being pregnant and enlarging so our capacity to recieve from God is increased and our capacity to enter into a suffering world and bring the light of Christ is also increased. How many people I have met who are so lost and deeply hurting and do not know the deep love of God and HOPE that He brings. Their stories are not over and can indeed be transformed. I finish with some scripture that is so dear to me because I have found it to be true at every level of my life. I have lived this not just on a spiritual plane but a very concrete one too:
The Spirit of God, the Master is on me, because God anointed me. He sent me to preach good news to the poor, heal the broken hearted, Announce freedom to all captives, pardon all prisoners. .....and to comfort all who mourn, To care for the needs of all who mourn in Zion, give them boquets of roses instead of ashes, Messages of joy instead of news of doom, a praising heart instead of a languid spirit. Rename them 'Oaks of Righteousness' planted by God to display his glory.
God has bound up my broken heart not as some meta physical concept but as a living reality. I love Him so much.
Katex
Friday, 3 June 2011
Thursday, 2 June 2011
Letting Go
Letting go of things starts on day 2 on The Camino. Backpacks are scrutinised and ALL surplus stuff is dumped. Shops and materialism hold no allure as you have to carry whatever you buy, so you don't even bother going there!
Letting go of yellow arrows which are the markers for the route takes a little longer particularly when passing through cities- if you let one go you may not find another one but you cannot move forward unless you do. They are much harder to spot in the cities as so many other things contend with them.
Then there is the leting go of people, some of whom you walk with for a few days and many who you walk with briefly. People invariably form into groups and these groups eat together in the evenings, even if they walk alone during the day. This works well for many but I opted out as I wanted the freedom to choose on the spur of the moment. Eventually you have to let go of the people as well as we are all returning to other lives, even if these will now involve reunions at a later date.
Then there are the deeper 'lettings go' of ways of thinking or bad habits; Snoring drove me demented to begin with but now it doesn't bother me a bit and this is very releasing for me! Likewise I have beautiful nails, nearly as beautiful as Liz's although they keep splitting after 40 yrs of chewing!
Then there are the deeper things again, like lack of forgiveness. My inbox has now been cleared and not by my own effort but by a reliance on the very practical help of the Holy Spirit. One day I had an amazing 'seeing', an insight of things. The small picture of the reality in which I live was expanded to see a much much greater reality of what actually IS. This reality is full of LIFE and LOVE. It is teeming out from a never ending life source and it is SO big that all the pain and suffering of all creation through all times is so infinitesimally small in comparison that it is swallowed up. No I have not been taking e tablets or any other drug! Those of you who are in pain at the moment I know it doesn't FEEL like this could be the truth but there it was. Not an experience of the mind primarily but one of the heart- a knowing, a seeing of what IS. This has answered for me 2 deep theological questions I have struggled with; why did God create man knowing all the pain and suffering that was going to result?- in other words the shadow side and secondly, what about the relativity of sin, meaning that some sins seem so much worse than others so how can sin be all the same? In the true reality both questions were answered, the second being 'a stain is a stain'.
Perhaps for me, the most special moment on the Camino was when the veil between this world and the next was momentarily drawn back and I was in the presence of Bethan. I have been at peace about her death for years, knowing from the beginning that Christ wept with me over the loss of this baby and that she is safe in the arms of God. But a shimmering in the wind and a movement of the wheat field with a quiet whisper and there we were together and for a long moment our spirits gently touched, each knowing the other. She is well and happy. As I write this I well up with tears because it was an incredible moment but the loss will always be just that- a terrible loss and at one level that pain never goes away. Nor should it. It was never meant to be in the true sense and written on all our hearts is the knowledge of all those things that were never meant to be- pre the fall.
This was so important for me because I was under the belief that if you truly forgive then the wound inflicted will not hurt anymore. This is not true. Our hearts know and long for what we lost so long ago and all those things that happen that are against life and love 'jar' causing deep unrest and dischord. Healing for sure can occur but forgiving IS NOT forgetting and I think pain will always remain. This I have found liberating. It is ok for it to still hurt. It does not indicate a lack of peace and acceptance.
Much Love, Kate
Letting go of yellow arrows which are the markers for the route takes a little longer particularly when passing through cities- if you let one go you may not find another one but you cannot move forward unless you do. They are much harder to spot in the cities as so many other things contend with them.
Then there is the leting go of people, some of whom you walk with for a few days and many who you walk with briefly. People invariably form into groups and these groups eat together in the evenings, even if they walk alone during the day. This works well for many but I opted out as I wanted the freedom to choose on the spur of the moment. Eventually you have to let go of the people as well as we are all returning to other lives, even if these will now involve reunions at a later date.
Then there are the deeper 'lettings go' of ways of thinking or bad habits; Snoring drove me demented to begin with but now it doesn't bother me a bit and this is very releasing for me! Likewise I have beautiful nails, nearly as beautiful as Liz's although they keep splitting after 40 yrs of chewing!
Then there are the deeper things again, like lack of forgiveness. My inbox has now been cleared and not by my own effort but by a reliance on the very practical help of the Holy Spirit. One day I had an amazing 'seeing', an insight of things. The small picture of the reality in which I live was expanded to see a much much greater reality of what actually IS. This reality is full of LIFE and LOVE. It is teeming out from a never ending life source and it is SO big that all the pain and suffering of all creation through all times is so infinitesimally small in comparison that it is swallowed up. No I have not been taking e tablets or any other drug! Those of you who are in pain at the moment I know it doesn't FEEL like this could be the truth but there it was. Not an experience of the mind primarily but one of the heart- a knowing, a seeing of what IS. This has answered for me 2 deep theological questions I have struggled with; why did God create man knowing all the pain and suffering that was going to result?- in other words the shadow side and secondly, what about the relativity of sin, meaning that some sins seem so much worse than others so how can sin be all the same? In the true reality both questions were answered, the second being 'a stain is a stain'.
Perhaps for me, the most special moment on the Camino was when the veil between this world and the next was momentarily drawn back and I was in the presence of Bethan. I have been at peace about her death for years, knowing from the beginning that Christ wept with me over the loss of this baby and that she is safe in the arms of God. But a shimmering in the wind and a movement of the wheat field with a quiet whisper and there we were together and for a long moment our spirits gently touched, each knowing the other. She is well and happy. As I write this I well up with tears because it was an incredible moment but the loss will always be just that- a terrible loss and at one level that pain never goes away. Nor should it. It was never meant to be in the true sense and written on all our hearts is the knowledge of all those things that were never meant to be- pre the fall.
This was so important for me because I was under the belief that if you truly forgive then the wound inflicted will not hurt anymore. This is not true. Our hearts know and long for what we lost so long ago and all those things that happen that are against life and love 'jar' causing deep unrest and dischord. Healing for sure can occur but forgiving IS NOT forgetting and I think pain will always remain. This I have found liberating. It is ok for it to still hurt. It does not indicate a lack of peace and acceptance.
Much Love, Kate
Glorious Galicia and Gratitude
Galicia is wet and windy and very green- very much like home really. It is full of happy farm animals that wander around freely, including on The Camino! The farmers and their wives look beautiful, like gnarled and aged old trees full of years. They wear peasant clothing and offer endless smiles and 'Buen Camino' as they herd their sheep and cows from one side of The Camino to the other. Ah and the smell! I love the smell of haylage and cow pooh. It is so earthy, so organic, so life giving. I have even seen happy pigs here snortling around in grass, then, as if standing for any length of time is just too much effort they flop and their whole enormous weight gives a gratifying solid thud sound as they hit the ground. They will stand for a deep scratch or two from a passing pelegrino but just as quickly grunt as if to say 'enough' and move away. I could happily live here particularly as the local wine in the restaurants is only 2.5 euros a BOTTLE! (have I told you this numerous times ?!) Sadly at lunch yesterday I actually had to leave half a bottle as even I cannot walk after a whole bottle. Actually I think its alcoholic content is much lower than what I drink at home because I have never felt even slightly tipsy after imbibing the stuff.
Gratitude for what I have come to understand about my own journey through listening to Francessca, who I left 3 days ago. I needed to finish my Camino alone. I have struggled with understanding how people can lie so deeply and still live with themselves. In one simple sentence Francessca tells me that she learnt to lie from her mum, who hid things from her despotic father. Her mum wanted to give her children good things and they were very poor so she gave them behind his back and told her children not to tell him. From this Francessca learnt that it was fine to lie to your partner- afterall it was in a good cause and still she struggles with this behaviour today. She has not told her husband who she is separated from that she is having an affair. The rational, the justification for this is that she 'doesn't want to hurt him' I suggest its more to do with self-protection and she agrees and says that when you lie, the person you lie to first and foremost all the time is yourself. Her affair is understandable in human terms- her husband has grown up in an emotionally cold home and lacks emotional processing skills, particularly re negative feelings. He is addicted to porn- an oh so ready resource of 'comfort'. She has no problem with porn per se but she does have a problem with the sexual acts he wants to do that she does not- and he never stops asking and hoping. She has agreed on occasion but each time it has caused her so much distress that she has completely stopped initiating any love-making, dreading what may be requested. This has slowly 'killed' her love for her husband. Her desperate need to be loved has been met in the arms of an Italian, who, incidentally, she is also lying to. I am truly SO SO grateful that I know the love of God. I am so truly grateful that if we follow in His ways they are life giving- even when we don't feel like it. I am truly grateful that 'there by the GRACE of God go I'. Francessca puts our different paths down to the fact that I am a strong person and she is not but I suggest that we have the same God and all that is available to me is also available to her- if she truly seeks she WILL find.
Lucas suggests that having children makes all the difference and this I agree does make a difference. Poor Francessca is in such a pickle as she has been with her husband since she was 17- a long history to let go but she cannot bear the status quo, even less so now she has found another man. Her husband is wealthy and succesful and independent to the point that he needs no help. Her lover is poor. What should she do? She has been in counselling for 2 years and still cannot decide, vacillating daily with stress levels sky high. I hope she finds her answer.
Much love, Kate
Gratitude for what I have come to understand about my own journey through listening to Francessca, who I left 3 days ago. I needed to finish my Camino alone. I have struggled with understanding how people can lie so deeply and still live with themselves. In one simple sentence Francessca tells me that she learnt to lie from her mum, who hid things from her despotic father. Her mum wanted to give her children good things and they were very poor so she gave them behind his back and told her children not to tell him. From this Francessca learnt that it was fine to lie to your partner- afterall it was in a good cause and still she struggles with this behaviour today. She has not told her husband who she is separated from that she is having an affair. The rational, the justification for this is that she 'doesn't want to hurt him' I suggest its more to do with self-protection and she agrees and says that when you lie, the person you lie to first and foremost all the time is yourself. Her affair is understandable in human terms- her husband has grown up in an emotionally cold home and lacks emotional processing skills, particularly re negative feelings. He is addicted to porn- an oh so ready resource of 'comfort'. She has no problem with porn per se but she does have a problem with the sexual acts he wants to do that she does not- and he never stops asking and hoping. She has agreed on occasion but each time it has caused her so much distress that she has completely stopped initiating any love-making, dreading what may be requested. This has slowly 'killed' her love for her husband. Her desperate need to be loved has been met in the arms of an Italian, who, incidentally, she is also lying to. I am truly SO SO grateful that I know the love of God. I am so truly grateful that if we follow in His ways they are life giving- even when we don't feel like it. I am truly grateful that 'there by the GRACE of God go I'. Francessca puts our different paths down to the fact that I am a strong person and she is not but I suggest that we have the same God and all that is available to me is also available to her- if she truly seeks she WILL find.
Lucas suggests that having children makes all the difference and this I agree does make a difference. Poor Francessca is in such a pickle as she has been with her husband since she was 17- a long history to let go but she cannot bear the status quo, even less so now she has found another man. Her husband is wealthy and succesful and independent to the point that he needs no help. Her lover is poor. What should she do? She has been in counselling for 2 years and still cannot decide, vacillating daily with stress levels sky high. I hope she finds her answer.
Much love, Kate
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
Famished and Feminine
I have walked 48km today, I am 'wiped out' and oh so happy! I am so happy because no longer do I have a negative response to so many minor things in life that once upon a time would have evoked such stuff, such as snoring or no 'room at the Inn'. I just think 'oh well, may as well smile and carry on because the situation isn't going to change'. I can only change my response. This is so liberating. So little 'Pollyanna' here is becoming unfazed by more or less anything (reminds me of our retired vicar!)
I arrived at an Albergue out in the sticks at 3pm to be informed that they had no food and we had to cook ourselves. My shoulders are so painful that I do not carry any excess weight and food is definitely excess- I eat out all the time, because Spain is so cheap compared to home and feeding 1 is nothing compared to feeding 6. Actually, last night, Ray, who I met on arrival at St Jean, is in a group of 4 people. They have all cooked together and eaten, but he is keen to 'give' and off he goes to re-heat their left overs and fill my glass with wine. It was a pure gift to recieve so much from him and his friends- he even did my washing up for me! (this is no mean feat for a single 32yr old)
So I walk to Melide. The Alburgue is a municipal affair which means low cost, low customer service, but that is ok with me. It is, after all, only 5euros for a bed and a shower. I have not eaten since 11am, when I had a croissant and I can barely function. I try phoning Steve but have nothing left and realise that my body really needs some attention, namely calories.
So, showered and re-clothed I wander off to find the restaurant recommended by John Brierly- the guru of the Camino, called 'Exequiel'. This specialises in octopus. Not knowing a language is not a problem,I have found, if you smile at people and ask them slowly, using lots of sign language, where something is. Many people laugh at my pronunciation, or maybe me, but I laugh too, so that is ok. So much so that many Spaniards have walked way out of their way to show me the route, including what looked like a 90 yr old lady yesterday, up a steep pathway.
On entering the restaurant I spot George and Julia from Hungary, who I had seen, many times pre food poisoning. I ask if I can join them and order the 'pelegrino menu', which does not include octopus but which the restauranters will let us have if we do not have 'postre' (pudding). I also order another bottle of wine, since I know my own glugability of the stuff is great. I am famished and knock back the 'Caledo Gallega' (veg soup), with massive hunks of bread and ask for more- with a smile! Then comes the octopus, which is exotic, entertaining and tasteless, but there is loads of it straight from a steaming pot, covered in salt, paprika and olive oil, all washed down with glass after glass of good Spanish wine. Still my body wants more so I ask a lovely young man for the 'queso con membranillo', which is basically cheese and potted sweet fruit (like quince or mulberry) and he gives me so much that there is enough for 3, so we all tuck in eagerly until it is all gone. My Hungarian friends are worried as they say desert is not included, but I ressure them that I will pay for what I have eaten and in any case it is much better to ask the men than the women, as they are so kind. The women are 'much harder'.
So I ask for my bill and just like the winery the bill does not depend on what you have eaten but what gender you are and if you smile. My bill, including a desert and an extra bottle of wine comes to less than the set pelegrino menu- a miracle indeed, or maybe just a lesson on when to look up and smile at the person who is 'in charge' and deciding what to charge you!!
The world is certainly not a fair place- sorry chaps.
Learning about Hungary was also a real joy- an emerging 1st world country with a huge past and history. It all takes time, to heal, to change, to be ready to be a democracy.
Much love, Katex
I arrived at an Albergue out in the sticks at 3pm to be informed that they had no food and we had to cook ourselves. My shoulders are so painful that I do not carry any excess weight and food is definitely excess- I eat out all the time, because Spain is so cheap compared to home and feeding 1 is nothing compared to feeding 6. Actually, last night, Ray, who I met on arrival at St Jean, is in a group of 4 people. They have all cooked together and eaten, but he is keen to 'give' and off he goes to re-heat their left overs and fill my glass with wine. It was a pure gift to recieve so much from him and his friends- he even did my washing up for me! (this is no mean feat for a single 32yr old)
So I walk to Melide. The Alburgue is a municipal affair which means low cost, low customer service, but that is ok with me. It is, after all, only 5euros for a bed and a shower. I have not eaten since 11am, when I had a croissant and I can barely function. I try phoning Steve but have nothing left and realise that my body really needs some attention, namely calories.
So, showered and re-clothed I wander off to find the restaurant recommended by John Brierly- the guru of the Camino, called 'Exequiel'. This specialises in octopus. Not knowing a language is not a problem,I have found, if you smile at people and ask them slowly, using lots of sign language, where something is. Many people laugh at my pronunciation, or maybe me, but I laugh too, so that is ok. So much so that many Spaniards have walked way out of their way to show me the route, including what looked like a 90 yr old lady yesterday, up a steep pathway.
On entering the restaurant I spot George and Julia from Hungary, who I had seen, many times pre food poisoning. I ask if I can join them and order the 'pelegrino menu', which does not include octopus but which the restauranters will let us have if we do not have 'postre' (pudding). I also order another bottle of wine, since I know my own glugability of the stuff is great. I am famished and knock back the 'Caledo Gallega' (veg soup), with massive hunks of bread and ask for more- with a smile! Then comes the octopus, which is exotic, entertaining and tasteless, but there is loads of it straight from a steaming pot, covered in salt, paprika and olive oil, all washed down with glass after glass of good Spanish wine. Still my body wants more so I ask a lovely young man for the 'queso con membranillo', which is basically cheese and potted sweet fruit (like quince or mulberry) and he gives me so much that there is enough for 3, so we all tuck in eagerly until it is all gone. My Hungarian friends are worried as they say desert is not included, but I ressure them that I will pay for what I have eaten and in any case it is much better to ask the men than the women, as they are so kind. The women are 'much harder'.
So I ask for my bill and just like the winery the bill does not depend on what you have eaten but what gender you are and if you smile. My bill, including a desert and an extra bottle of wine comes to less than the set pelegrino menu- a miracle indeed, or maybe just a lesson on when to look up and smile at the person who is 'in charge' and deciding what to charge you!!
The world is certainly not a fair place- sorry chaps.
Learning about Hungary was also a real joy- an emerging 1st world country with a huge past and history. It all takes time, to heal, to change, to be ready to be a democracy.
Much love, Katex
Monday, 30 May 2011
Spanish Signorita
There I am sitting at the bar in O'Cerbreiro, waitjing for the overworked and underpaid (and it is FAR too early for any self-respecting Spaniard to be out of bed) bar tender to serve me. I have nothing on her when it comes to early morning blues- she is SO GRUMPY. All the used plates get banged around, the dishwasher is flung open, loaded and slammed shut and she totally ignores whoever is waiting at the bar for the paltry 'cafe con leche and tostada'. Hence this is repeated 3x and all the crockery and cutlery is sparkly clean as she hasn't actually given anyone a drink in a long while. The whole shenanigan reminds of the electric bus service in Zermatt where the point of the bus service is not to transport people at all- oh no, it is to be ON TIME! So if the bus is running late it just drives past all the queueing people until it catches up with its time schedule when it will deign to actually stop again and pick a passenger up!
She has ignored us all for so long that there is an enormous queue to pay 3 euros for a piece of toast and a coffee. The pelegrinos, who are normally so good tempered are also fed up waiting and the general atmosphere is a little tense. This is the only bar open at 6.30am.
Eventually it is my turn so I put in my order only to be requested by a friend to order for 2 other people as well. That is a step too far for this signorita so in return I recieve a mouthful in Spanish, which , blissfully, I understand not a word.
There I sit with 3 coffees, two of them doubles and a cafe con leche. At first I expect said friends to arrive any moment, after a while I cover the cups with the saucers and then, after a pointed finger and another mouthful of myrthful Spanish from our signorita, I start to drink all the coffee.This pleases the signorita no end especially as having downed all 3 coffees my friends arrive and she can go through the whole delaying process all over again. The problem is I am actually buzzing by now, so much so that I do not stop for another coffee all morning,-which is how I get to meet John.
John is from Melbourne, Australia and has been travelling as a life occupation for the last 5 years since he decided to retire early. He is married but is pragmatic as to this saying he would not BE married today if he was required to stay at home. He spends many months living in other countries across the world and he is rather reluctant to disclose how all this works with family and married life generally. As usual on The Camino we get talking about the deeper things of life quickly and without needing to know anything about him I am urged onto a conversation about affairs and adultery.
He talks in the 3rd person, he discusses 'friends' and their problems and their different takes on such matters and he keeps it all at arms length whilst apparently discussing this topic. I share my own story briefly and he seems very intense in his listening. He wants to know what the living reality of 'the grace of Christ' means to me, which is surprising as he believes in 'nada, nothing'. He is not perturbed by the thought of death. He never thinks or dwells on the spiritual. He does not believe in a Creator of any kind. None of it concerns him. Neither of us argues or disputes any point of the other and after a short while he says he is going to stop for a while so I go on.
Later, whilst I am eating my squid and salad John walks by. I think nothing of it until 10 mins later he re-appears and says 'Kate, that conversation- it was really something else. Thank you. Goodbye!'
I have no idea what it meant to him and I don't need to. It was a 'passing in the night' to me.
Much love, Kate
She has ignored us all for so long that there is an enormous queue to pay 3 euros for a piece of toast and a coffee. The pelegrinos, who are normally so good tempered are also fed up waiting and the general atmosphere is a little tense. This is the only bar open at 6.30am.
Eventually it is my turn so I put in my order only to be requested by a friend to order for 2 other people as well. That is a step too far for this signorita so in return I recieve a mouthful in Spanish, which , blissfully, I understand not a word.
There I sit with 3 coffees, two of them doubles and a cafe con leche. At first I expect said friends to arrive any moment, after a while I cover the cups with the saucers and then, after a pointed finger and another mouthful of myrthful Spanish from our signorita, I start to drink all the coffee.This pleases the signorita no end especially as having downed all 3 coffees my friends arrive and she can go through the whole delaying process all over again. The problem is I am actually buzzing by now, so much so that I do not stop for another coffee all morning,-which is how I get to meet John.
John is from Melbourne, Australia and has been travelling as a life occupation for the last 5 years since he decided to retire early. He is married but is pragmatic as to this saying he would not BE married today if he was required to stay at home. He spends many months living in other countries across the world and he is rather reluctant to disclose how all this works with family and married life generally. As usual on The Camino we get talking about the deeper things of life quickly and without needing to know anything about him I am urged onto a conversation about affairs and adultery.
He talks in the 3rd person, he discusses 'friends' and their problems and their different takes on such matters and he keeps it all at arms length whilst apparently discussing this topic. I share my own story briefly and he seems very intense in his listening. He wants to know what the living reality of 'the grace of Christ' means to me, which is surprising as he believes in 'nada, nothing'. He is not perturbed by the thought of death. He never thinks or dwells on the spiritual. He does not believe in a Creator of any kind. None of it concerns him. Neither of us argues or disputes any point of the other and after a short while he says he is going to stop for a while so I go on.
Later, whilst I am eating my squid and salad John walks by. I think nothing of it until 10 mins later he re-appears and says 'Kate, that conversation- it was really something else. Thank you. Goodbye!'
I have no idea what it meant to him and I don't need to. It was a 'passing in the night' to me.
Much love, Kate
Wineries and Waifs
The countryside in the juntas of Castilla and Galicia are full of vineyards and so one day, just past Ponteferrada we decide to stop at a winery- after all it is free tasting plus a guided tour for the sum total of 1 euro.
Ricardo starts the tour by informing us that his wine factory was set up in 1963 to which I reply that this is my birth year. He refutes that this cannot be and says to me very slowly '1963'. I say 'Si-1963', upon which he whips out his i-phone and demands to know the name of the cosmetics brand that I use because whatever I use works- 'how marketable they would be if I would appear on their adverts' he says. Unfortunately I do not use any on a daily basis and only wash my face with soap and water- much cheaper. He then asks me from where do I get my 'glow' then and not to miss an oppertunity I tell him that that probably comes from being loved by God. He is not at all happy with this response and tells me in no uncertain terms that 'being loved by God is not marketable, not at all and shoves his iphone back in his pocket. He gives us a great tour, followed by an 'emparchada' (spanish pie) and some lovely wine. He informs us that mostly, expensive wine is an utter con. The price is set not by how it tastes or how difficult it is to produce but by a board meeting in which the 'bigwigs' decide what they can get away with! He finishes the tour with a request that 'the glowing lady from England' will do a house swap with him and his family. He repeats this 3x and presses his card on me but he is offering a small flat in Ponteferrada that sleeps only 4, so I say I am doubtful, which he takes in such good humour by offering us all another glass of wine.
I met Lance the following day having a 'roll up' outside a bar, along the Camino. I laughed and said 'You need food not a fag, Lance' to which Francessca retorted 'And have you cleaned your teeth today Lance, mummy Kate wants to know'. So that put me in my place, but I am seriously concerned for this young man. He is emaciated, he has no money and the little he has he spends on fags. He is in such emotional pain from a broken relationship with a woman that he doesn't care if he dies early, he tells me. Later I am having squid and salad at lunchtime in a bar and he is standing at the doorway as it pours down. I invite him in to join me and share my meal but he won't. I leave some squid and tell him that its a shame that it will just be binned. He is not sure if he believes me or not but eventually takes it. I have NOT talked to Lance at all about God- he has been to a big name bible college in America and has a degree in Philosophy. He has had many 'words' about fundamental Christianity (most of which I would probably disagree) but he is just hurting too much and what he needs is food not talk. Whilst I am in the loo I get a prompt from God to 'love him' by giving him money and so begins a conversation with Lance in which I try and give him money for food.
'No No' he says, 'I have chosen this. I have chosen to walk The Camino on nothing. I have chosen to be here like this'. I agree with him but try and tell him that this is not from me but God, who loves him very much. He refuses and I apologise that he must do as he wishes and it is so wrong of me to try and force a gift on him. A gift is just that- a gift and he has a choice so I will leave it on his backpack and if he still chooses to not accept it please could he pass it onto someone who needs some money for food.
I walk away with the words shouted behind me 'I hate you - no I don't, what I mean is God Bless you Kate' I raise my sticks in reply and go on my way.
Much Love, Kate
Ricardo starts the tour by informing us that his wine factory was set up in 1963 to which I reply that this is my birth year. He refutes that this cannot be and says to me very slowly '1963'. I say 'Si-1963', upon which he whips out his i-phone and demands to know the name of the cosmetics brand that I use because whatever I use works- 'how marketable they would be if I would appear on their adverts' he says. Unfortunately I do not use any on a daily basis and only wash my face with soap and water- much cheaper. He then asks me from where do I get my 'glow' then and not to miss an oppertunity I tell him that that probably comes from being loved by God. He is not at all happy with this response and tells me in no uncertain terms that 'being loved by God is not marketable, not at all and shoves his iphone back in his pocket. He gives us a great tour, followed by an 'emparchada' (spanish pie) and some lovely wine. He informs us that mostly, expensive wine is an utter con. The price is set not by how it tastes or how difficult it is to produce but by a board meeting in which the 'bigwigs' decide what they can get away with! He finishes the tour with a request that 'the glowing lady from England' will do a house swap with him and his family. He repeats this 3x and presses his card on me but he is offering a small flat in Ponteferrada that sleeps only 4, so I say I am doubtful, which he takes in such good humour by offering us all another glass of wine.
I met Lance the following day having a 'roll up' outside a bar, along the Camino. I laughed and said 'You need food not a fag, Lance' to which Francessca retorted 'And have you cleaned your teeth today Lance, mummy Kate wants to know'. So that put me in my place, but I am seriously concerned for this young man. He is emaciated, he has no money and the little he has he spends on fags. He is in such emotional pain from a broken relationship with a woman that he doesn't care if he dies early, he tells me. Later I am having squid and salad at lunchtime in a bar and he is standing at the doorway as it pours down. I invite him in to join me and share my meal but he won't. I leave some squid and tell him that its a shame that it will just be binned. He is not sure if he believes me or not but eventually takes it. I have NOT talked to Lance at all about God- he has been to a big name bible college in America and has a degree in Philosophy. He has had many 'words' about fundamental Christianity (most of which I would probably disagree) but he is just hurting too much and what he needs is food not talk. Whilst I am in the loo I get a prompt from God to 'love him' by giving him money and so begins a conversation with Lance in which I try and give him money for food.
'No No' he says, 'I have chosen this. I have chosen to walk The Camino on nothing. I have chosen to be here like this'. I agree with him but try and tell him that this is not from me but God, who loves him very much. He refuses and I apologise that he must do as he wishes and it is so wrong of me to try and force a gift on him. A gift is just that- a gift and he has a choice so I will leave it on his backpack and if he still chooses to not accept it please could he pass it onto someone who needs some money for food.
I walk away with the words shouted behind me 'I hate you - no I don't, what I mean is God Bless you Kate' I raise my sticks in reply and go on my way.
Much Love, Kate
Crazy Coot Kate
The walk from Villafranca to O'Cebreiro had 3 options- the easy road way, the going into the woods way and the 'path less travelled way', which I am re-naming the 'complete insanity route'. But ignorance and high spirits are bliss. The night before I am mustering support for 'the road less travelled' and peoples response is 'Oh Kate isn't 800km enough without making life even harder?'. The Camino is not a difficult path to walk as walking goes. Certainly not compared to the walks I have undertaken in Britain, so I think I am up for a bit of a challenge, so am a little disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm by my fellow pelegrinos, but 3 of us decide to 'go for it'. Little did I know!
All starts well but with a steep ascent albeit along a country road. It doesn't take long before we have to get out a compass and start triangulating but at this point the walking path is reasonably clear. 1 hr into the walk we need a scythe each and in a couple of weeks this way would be completely impassable. But that is not all. There are no waymarkers and the 'route' is up 3 mountains and down 4 valleys. When I say 'up' I mean it. My legs are torn to shreds and the patches that are not, are stung by copious nettles. By 12.30 pm I am knackered- we have been walking for 6 hrs and have only covered a third of our journey for that day. We have ascended and descended 1100 metres and there is still a climb of 600m at the very end of this walk. Dan, bless him, has offered to carry my food and water and paclite jacket but I am on an 'independent Kate day' so I refuse. Lance is a 27yr old bean pole from America, who has bought with him precisely 1 breadroll for this mega-hike. The bread roll is just that- nothing in it, just bread. I have bought nuts and cereal bars and Dan has bought 'the supermarket'.
I start having grumpy thoughts about Lance such as ' I cannot eat what I have bought, whilst he just eats a piece of bread. I really resent this feeling of responsibility towards this completely inadequately prepared MAN- he is 27 yrs old, why should I bail him out? Gnas gnash, nark, nark' Then the other side of the argument gets a voice- 'you are in this together Kate' and I think of the memories that have flooded my mind all morning of my sons, my own biological sons and the fun we have had around the world, camping, hiking, playing football etc. Then the oh small whisper comes- 'This is your son for today. Treat him as you would if he were Josh' Well I would lay down my life for any of my children, so this completely changes my attitude towards Lance. Really it happened just like that and it felt so good, so liberating. Mean-mindedness is so life sucking. So at lunchtime we spread a 'table' by a fountain and had a feast of cheese and fresh bread (an artisan panneria van turned up at this moment!) and fruit and nuts and cereal bars and we all had our fill and it was like Jesus with the loaves and fishes that feed an entire crowd.
We still had a hell of a walk to complete and were so grateful to hit The Camino again, knowing that in comparison to what we had just walked it would be easy. Lance was desperate not to miss the Barca vs Man Utd match so took off as soon as we reached civilisation, but Dan was bushed so at 2km outside our destination he asks if I will bail out with him as the Alburgue owner here will let us stay up and watch the entire match (Alburgue lights out are normally at 10pm).
So it is with great delight that evening that I find myself in a bar in a remote country area of Castilla, watching the match with not only the local farmers, but a representation of men from across Europe (other pelegrinos), a few gnarled and aged Spanish grandparents and a handful of Spanish children. Outside the door a herd of beautiful bovines pass, leaving a lovely country aroma. All these Spanish people want Man United to win as they hate the Catalans! This English Pelegrino wants Barca to win because she nominally supports Liverpool and so we all laugh together because the Spaniards are chanting Man U and I am chanting Barca and you know it was just as 'HOLY' a moment as the service for pelegrinos that I had shared in a week ago.
Much love, Kate
All starts well but with a steep ascent albeit along a country road. It doesn't take long before we have to get out a compass and start triangulating but at this point the walking path is reasonably clear. 1 hr into the walk we need a scythe each and in a couple of weeks this way would be completely impassable. But that is not all. There are no waymarkers and the 'route' is up 3 mountains and down 4 valleys. When I say 'up' I mean it. My legs are torn to shreds and the patches that are not, are stung by copious nettles. By 12.30 pm I am knackered- we have been walking for 6 hrs and have only covered a third of our journey for that day. We have ascended and descended 1100 metres and there is still a climb of 600m at the very end of this walk. Dan, bless him, has offered to carry my food and water and paclite jacket but I am on an 'independent Kate day' so I refuse. Lance is a 27yr old bean pole from America, who has bought with him precisely 1 breadroll for this mega-hike. The bread roll is just that- nothing in it, just bread. I have bought nuts and cereal bars and Dan has bought 'the supermarket'.
I start having grumpy thoughts about Lance such as ' I cannot eat what I have bought, whilst he just eats a piece of bread. I really resent this feeling of responsibility towards this completely inadequately prepared MAN- he is 27 yrs old, why should I bail him out? Gnas gnash, nark, nark' Then the other side of the argument gets a voice- 'you are in this together Kate' and I think of the memories that have flooded my mind all morning of my sons, my own biological sons and the fun we have had around the world, camping, hiking, playing football etc. Then the oh small whisper comes- 'This is your son for today. Treat him as you would if he were Josh' Well I would lay down my life for any of my children, so this completely changes my attitude towards Lance. Really it happened just like that and it felt so good, so liberating. Mean-mindedness is so life sucking. So at lunchtime we spread a 'table' by a fountain and had a feast of cheese and fresh bread (an artisan panneria van turned up at this moment!) and fruit and nuts and cereal bars and we all had our fill and it was like Jesus with the loaves and fishes that feed an entire crowd.
We still had a hell of a walk to complete and were so grateful to hit The Camino again, knowing that in comparison to what we had just walked it would be easy. Lance was desperate not to miss the Barca vs Man Utd match so took off as soon as we reached civilisation, but Dan was bushed so at 2km outside our destination he asks if I will bail out with him as the Alburgue owner here will let us stay up and watch the entire match (Alburgue lights out are normally at 10pm).
So it is with great delight that evening that I find myself in a bar in a remote country area of Castilla, watching the match with not only the local farmers, but a representation of men from across Europe (other pelegrinos), a few gnarled and aged Spanish grandparents and a handful of Spanish children. Outside the door a herd of beautiful bovines pass, leaving a lovely country aroma. All these Spanish people want Man United to win as they hate the Catalans! This English Pelegrino wants Barca to win because she nominally supports Liverpool and so we all laugh together because the Spaniards are chanting Man U and I am chanting Barca and you know it was just as 'HOLY' a moment as the service for pelegrinos that I had shared in a week ago.
Much love, Kate
Friday, 27 May 2011
Relationships and Responsibilities
I have tried very hard on my Camino to stay solo, mainly because I want to rise to the challenge of asking myself each day 'what do YOU want to do?' No accommodating other peoples choices, just get up when you want , walk when you want, stop when you want, eat when you want and what you want etc etc. As soon as you strike up a relationship there are expectations and responsibilities and you are required to be sensitive to where somebody else is coming from. So to put it into context with Francessca, she cannot walk at the moment. Does that mean I should get the bus with her? Does that mean I drastically reduce how far I walk so she can walk with me? Does that mean I take the road route which is easier to walk rather than going out into the hills? Ignoring her plight gives me really uncomfortable feelings that I am only thinking of myself, but that is the very reason I am here-to think about what I want to do, now, and in the future.
When you join a bigger group it does not take long for the dynamics to become even more complicated; Dan is a heallth food freak and wants to cook for everyone each night. He is the head chef and the rest of us sous chefs and washer uppers. The problem is I don't want to cook for myself or wash up. I want to eat out. I have a lifetime of cooking for others. Nor do I want someone dictating what I am going to eat that night according to his own diet regime, but if I don't join in I am somehow breaking up the party. Dilemmas indeed.
Dan did give us the biggest laugh of the night though- he has had enough of 'going with the flow of humanity' and has decided he cannot stand another night in a large dorm with endless snorers and so takes himself off to sleep on the grass outside. Little does he know that the sprinkler system is set to come on at 2am and so is rudely awoken by a large blast of cold water down his sleeping bag. Unfortunately for Dan the Alburgue has been locked for the night so he is left, soaking wet, with no dry clothes to change into, as they are all inside!
Through this Camino I have realised one or two things about myself; I cannot stand being 'looked after' for any length of time. Yes it is very nice to be cared for and to be served etc but give it more than 2 days and I am screaming for freedom inside- ' I can look after myself thank you'. This does not go down well with the Dan's of this world, whose 'caring and organisation' border on control, such that I am being told what I need to buy from the supermarket for tomorrows walk. 'Oh just chill Dan' I retort and wham we have hit the buffers, him feeling rejected and me feeling controlled.
I must be hard to live with because 90% of the time I want to be independent and then there is the rare moment when I will 'need' someone else- rather like a cat I suppose, but I am most content when I am on my own, doing my own thing in my own way. Is this habit, conditioning, childhood or plain preference? There are exceptions to this and I have many memories of pure joy shared in special moments, but generally it is easier , all things considered, to BE with oneself.
Secondly, I have realised how allergic I am to being held on to. I feel like a bird in the palm of people's hands and if you close your hand about me I will do anything to escape. Either hold me lightly or let me go but don't make 'us' exclusive. I don't want clipped wings, I want to fly here, there and everywhere, going with the flow of each day, never knowing what is going to happen next. Structure and organisation make me feel caged and deeply uncomfortable; 3x on this Camino I have been trapped in the loo when the lights have gone out. There has been no window and it has been pitch black. The sense of panic that has risen immediately has been horrid as I have groped for the lock to 'get out of there'. I do not understand these things about myself but I do now see why sub-aqua diving was a nightmare for me.
2 lovely pictures of Spain to finish with: an ancient lady opens her front door at 4pm and out march 20 plus chickens for their afternoon walk over to a patch of grass. They all know the way- they all do what chickens do for 1/2 hr, then they all march back into her front door! (do they live in her house?)
This afternoon I am walking past a largish, posh house when I observe an 'automatic lawn mower'. This small machine, sits on the lawn and 'senses' when the grass is more than 1/2 inch long, I am told by a passing Spanish pelegrino. It trots off and starts mowing and never gets stuck in ditches or in hollows as it backs itself out. The lawn is immaculate!
Maybe we should get one for The Chestnuts?
Much love, Kate
When you join a bigger group it does not take long for the dynamics to become even more complicated; Dan is a heallth food freak and wants to cook for everyone each night. He is the head chef and the rest of us sous chefs and washer uppers. The problem is I don't want to cook for myself or wash up. I want to eat out. I have a lifetime of cooking for others. Nor do I want someone dictating what I am going to eat that night according to his own diet regime, but if I don't join in I am somehow breaking up the party. Dilemmas indeed.
Dan did give us the biggest laugh of the night though- he has had enough of 'going with the flow of humanity' and has decided he cannot stand another night in a large dorm with endless snorers and so takes himself off to sleep on the grass outside. Little does he know that the sprinkler system is set to come on at 2am and so is rudely awoken by a large blast of cold water down his sleeping bag. Unfortunately for Dan the Alburgue has been locked for the night so he is left, soaking wet, with no dry clothes to change into, as they are all inside!
Through this Camino I have realised one or two things about myself; I cannot stand being 'looked after' for any length of time. Yes it is very nice to be cared for and to be served etc but give it more than 2 days and I am screaming for freedom inside- ' I can look after myself thank you'. This does not go down well with the Dan's of this world, whose 'caring and organisation' border on control, such that I am being told what I need to buy from the supermarket for tomorrows walk. 'Oh just chill Dan' I retort and wham we have hit the buffers, him feeling rejected and me feeling controlled.
I must be hard to live with because 90% of the time I want to be independent and then there is the rare moment when I will 'need' someone else- rather like a cat I suppose, but I am most content when I am on my own, doing my own thing in my own way. Is this habit, conditioning, childhood or plain preference? There are exceptions to this and I have many memories of pure joy shared in special moments, but generally it is easier , all things considered, to BE with oneself.
Secondly, I have realised how allergic I am to being held on to. I feel like a bird in the palm of people's hands and if you close your hand about me I will do anything to escape. Either hold me lightly or let me go but don't make 'us' exclusive. I don't want clipped wings, I want to fly here, there and everywhere, going with the flow of each day, never knowing what is going to happen next. Structure and organisation make me feel caged and deeply uncomfortable; 3x on this Camino I have been trapped in the loo when the lights have gone out. There has been no window and it has been pitch black. The sense of panic that has risen immediately has been horrid as I have groped for the lock to 'get out of there'. I do not understand these things about myself but I do now see why sub-aqua diving was a nightmare for me.
2 lovely pictures of Spain to finish with: an ancient lady opens her front door at 4pm and out march 20 plus chickens for their afternoon walk over to a patch of grass. They all know the way- they all do what chickens do for 1/2 hr, then they all march back into her front door! (do they live in her house?)
This afternoon I am walking past a largish, posh house when I observe an 'automatic lawn mower'. This small machine, sits on the lawn and 'senses' when the grass is more than 1/2 inch long, I am told by a passing Spanish pelegrino. It trots off and starts mowing and never gets stuck in ditches or in hollows as it backs itself out. The lawn is immaculate!
Maybe we should get one for The Chestnuts?
Much love, Kate
Topless in Tonteferrada!
Actually it is spelt Pontefferada, but that doesn't alliterate!
We left Acebos to the most perfect morning just as the sun was rising and the birds were chattering away. 1/2hr into the walk I spotted Dan and another chap just ahead so I hollered out 'Dan' and muchos hugging and greeting began. Dan was walking with a guy called called Lucas and I was with Francessca so all introductions were made and on we marched as if we had known each other for ever. My shoulders, post food poisoning, have been very painful and I assumed it was due to electrolyte imbalance, but they were getting no better with the passing days so I was having to stop every couple of kms, just for a few mins to relieve the deep ache.
Francessca had a painful knee,so with this information, plus my pains, Dan set off on a mission to sort out our problems via some holistic healing or physiotherapist. We arrived in Ponferrada and off he goes to 'turist info' and books us into an available osteopath who can see us both in the next couple of hours. We arrive en masse in this man's treatment office which is 4 floors up in an upmarket business block. The osteopath is in his 60's and seems not at all put out by the observance of 3 other people whilst he treats his patient. He took 2 hrs with Francessca, massaging her knee, leg, tummy and head. He seems to go into some sort of trance when he shuts his eyes and deeply focuses on his patient and then some time later pronounces a diagnosis that none of us comprehend. He uses all sorts of wierd and wonderful equipment including a heavy circular object that he places under her knee then mentions the word 'resonance'. Meanwhile the rest of us occupy all the remaining space in his office and I spend my time scrutinising his bookshelves to see what he reads in his spare time- a habit from Health Visiting and very informative about where a person is 'coming from'. He is widely read, with all the big names in alternative healing and psychotherapeutic practice in there, plus people like Coehlo. Francessca goes from pained expression to weeping as he sits in deep meditation over her. All very interesting and something I have never quite so closely observed before.
Eventually it is my turn and since he undoes my bra strap as I lie face down in order to massage my back, the rest scarper to find some lunch. I am left in the office of this man, just me and him, not speaking the lingo and just hope he is truly professional. Trust indeed. He spends much time massaging then disappears for some time, only to return with a phone in his hand, down which, a lady is speaking to me in English. She tells me that I am carrying all the weight of my troubles through my shoulders, which is why they are so tense and that there is something wrong with my stomach. I tell her he hasn't touched my stomach and she says she knows this and he is about to but he already knows there is a problem- he can tell by my feet! Then he asks me to turn over and there I lie baring all, hoping that he is not pervy, as he doesn't offer any covering for my breasts. He touches my tummy and goes into his deep meditation again- I keep peeking out of my shut eyes to see if he is secretly looking at me, but am relieved that not once does he give me a glance. He puts his big, circular resonance box on my tummy, asks me to open my mouth and says 'wow', then off he vanishes again.
He returns once again with a phone and this time I am told that I need to go and see a doctor as I have a 'mass' or something in my tummy and that I don't breathe deeply enough when walking!
I get dressed, pay him 40euros and give him a hug. Later Steve remarks ' I wish my clients would pay me 40euros to lie on my couch topless, then depart giving me a hug'! I suppose it is not a bad way to earn a living and you know what?- the osteopath had the most lovely shiny eyes as many men in their 60's do. I don't know if it is just me but men of this age have mellowed and there comes with this a feeling of safety and security in their presence.
We left Acebos to the most perfect morning just as the sun was rising and the birds were chattering away. 1/2hr into the walk I spotted Dan and another chap just ahead so I hollered out 'Dan' and muchos hugging and greeting began. Dan was walking with a guy called called Lucas and I was with Francessca so all introductions were made and on we marched as if we had known each other for ever. My shoulders, post food poisoning, have been very painful and I assumed it was due to electrolyte imbalance, but they were getting no better with the passing days so I was having to stop every couple of kms, just for a few mins to relieve the deep ache.
Francessca had a painful knee,so with this information, plus my pains, Dan set off on a mission to sort out our problems via some holistic healing or physiotherapist. We arrived in Ponferrada and off he goes to 'turist info' and books us into an available osteopath who can see us both in the next couple of hours. We arrive en masse in this man's treatment office which is 4 floors up in an upmarket business block. The osteopath is in his 60's and seems not at all put out by the observance of 3 other people whilst he treats his patient. He took 2 hrs with Francessca, massaging her knee, leg, tummy and head. He seems to go into some sort of trance when he shuts his eyes and deeply focuses on his patient and then some time later pronounces a diagnosis that none of us comprehend. He uses all sorts of wierd and wonderful equipment including a heavy circular object that he places under her knee then mentions the word 'resonance'. Meanwhile the rest of us occupy all the remaining space in his office and I spend my time scrutinising his bookshelves to see what he reads in his spare time- a habit from Health Visiting and very informative about where a person is 'coming from'. He is widely read, with all the big names in alternative healing and psychotherapeutic practice in there, plus people like Coehlo. Francessca goes from pained expression to weeping as he sits in deep meditation over her. All very interesting and something I have never quite so closely observed before.
Eventually it is my turn and since he undoes my bra strap as I lie face down in order to massage my back, the rest scarper to find some lunch. I am left in the office of this man, just me and him, not speaking the lingo and just hope he is truly professional. Trust indeed. He spends much time massaging then disappears for some time, only to return with a phone in his hand, down which, a lady is speaking to me in English. She tells me that I am carrying all the weight of my troubles through my shoulders, which is why they are so tense and that there is something wrong with my stomach. I tell her he hasn't touched my stomach and she says she knows this and he is about to but he already knows there is a problem- he can tell by my feet! Then he asks me to turn over and there I lie baring all, hoping that he is not pervy, as he doesn't offer any covering for my breasts. He touches my tummy and goes into his deep meditation again- I keep peeking out of my shut eyes to see if he is secretly looking at me, but am relieved that not once does he give me a glance. He puts his big, circular resonance box on my tummy, asks me to open my mouth and says 'wow', then off he vanishes again.
He returns once again with a phone and this time I am told that I need to go and see a doctor as I have a 'mass' or something in my tummy and that I don't breathe deeply enough when walking!
I get dressed, pay him 40euros and give him a hug. Later Steve remarks ' I wish my clients would pay me 40euros to lie on my couch topless, then depart giving me a hug'! I suppose it is not a bad way to earn a living and you know what?- the osteopath had the most lovely shiny eyes as many men in their 60's do. I don't know if it is just me but men of this age have mellowed and there comes with this a feeling of safety and security in their presence.
Thursday, 26 May 2011
Casualties on the Camino
The wonderful thing about being on the Camino is that we are all here for a reason. Most of us because we are struggling or broken or searching or know we need to heal. There is no need to pretend that everything is ok because who would be here by definition if it was? The openess is stunning and of course that is partly because none of us have to live with the consequences of 'living out' our openess, long term, with one another. We are all in the same boat. We know we are damaged. We want to heal.
Yesterday I met Francessca, who is from East Berlin (as it was). We met after walking 20km and then walked a further 18km together. She is my doppelganger- not in age, not in looks but in life experience with her man, who she is sadly divorcing. She is only 30yrs old, but has known many hardships that I have not; she was born in East Berlin when the wall still existed. At 8yrs old, her parents left everything they had worked for and moved to West Berlin-penniless. Probably similar to the asylum seekers in our country today. There they struggled terribly to make their way in life and less than a year later the wall came down anyway. Francessca's parents had no money to support her through University so she has worked for 10yrs as a waitress, alongside gaining a degree. It has been very very hard, particularly when her studies have not been detained by lack of ability but by financial resources. She starts as a teacher in Germany in August- a huge achievement for her. We walked out of Rabanal together yesterday, through rigged, arduous mountain terrain, which suited our discussion perfectly! I have never shared so intimately and explicilty with another woman so quickly. It was as if The Spirit descended and an amazing dance began.
We spent the night together in Acebo, at a parochial Alburgue, which for me, was the best yet. All you vicars out there think on this; every day this parish feeds and provides a bed for they don't know how many pelegrinos EVERY night. They welcome you in, provide a shower and then a 3 course meal with wine, all on a 'donation' basis. They then invite you to a service which is akin to Celtic Daily Prayer stuff, but it has been translated into every language in the world and you are handed a couple of sheets in your own language. It is RELEVANT to pelegrinos, it is in everyday language, it is accessible and different nationalities are asked to take part by reading out different sections of the service. Amazingly, I was given the most intimate 'God' part which was all about how God is my refuge and strength, how He turns my torments into amazing joys, how He knows me intimately, all my struggles and pains etc. The sense of dynamism in that Gothic church was nearly overwhelming. I am struggling to put into words something that was unifying, connecting, inclusive, life-changing and healing. By the way the churchyard was a complete mess and added to the beauty of the whole thing- these people were concentrating on WHAT MATTERED.
In the morning the hospitalderos had made breakfast for us all- yes it was the same old bread and jam but it was served with real coffee and the most incredible blessing for a 'Buen Camino'. Every person left with a hug or handshake as our hosts waited at the door as we went on our journeys- and each blessing was said in the language of each person- even Korean.
Tonight they do it all over again. May God bless them for the incredible, UNKNOWN impact they have on so many people's lives.
Much love, Katex
Yesterday I met Francessca, who is from East Berlin (as it was). We met after walking 20km and then walked a further 18km together. She is my doppelganger- not in age, not in looks but in life experience with her man, who she is sadly divorcing. She is only 30yrs old, but has known many hardships that I have not; she was born in East Berlin when the wall still existed. At 8yrs old, her parents left everything they had worked for and moved to West Berlin-penniless. Probably similar to the asylum seekers in our country today. There they struggled terribly to make their way in life and less than a year later the wall came down anyway. Francessca's parents had no money to support her through University so she has worked for 10yrs as a waitress, alongside gaining a degree. It has been very very hard, particularly when her studies have not been detained by lack of ability but by financial resources. She starts as a teacher in Germany in August- a huge achievement for her. We walked out of Rabanal together yesterday, through rigged, arduous mountain terrain, which suited our discussion perfectly! I have never shared so intimately and explicilty with another woman so quickly. It was as if The Spirit descended and an amazing dance began.
We spent the night together in Acebo, at a parochial Alburgue, which for me, was the best yet. All you vicars out there think on this; every day this parish feeds and provides a bed for they don't know how many pelegrinos EVERY night. They welcome you in, provide a shower and then a 3 course meal with wine, all on a 'donation' basis. They then invite you to a service which is akin to Celtic Daily Prayer stuff, but it has been translated into every language in the world and you are handed a couple of sheets in your own language. It is RELEVANT to pelegrinos, it is in everyday language, it is accessible and different nationalities are asked to take part by reading out different sections of the service. Amazingly, I was given the most intimate 'God' part which was all about how God is my refuge and strength, how He turns my torments into amazing joys, how He knows me intimately, all my struggles and pains etc. The sense of dynamism in that Gothic church was nearly overwhelming. I am struggling to put into words something that was unifying, connecting, inclusive, life-changing and healing. By the way the churchyard was a complete mess and added to the beauty of the whole thing- these people were concentrating on WHAT MATTERED.
In the morning the hospitalderos had made breakfast for us all- yes it was the same old bread and jam but it was served with real coffee and the most incredible blessing for a 'Buen Camino'. Every person left with a hug or handshake as our hosts waited at the door as we went on our journeys- and each blessing was said in the language of each person- even Korean.
Tonight they do it all over again. May God bless them for the incredible, UNKNOWN impact they have on so many people's lives.
Much love, Katex
Tuesday, 24 May 2011
Affluence and Arrogance
Well I have managed 22km today and dare not push it any further as my body is struggling with the clearing of lactic acid I think from my aching shoulders- but the feet are good. THANKYOU CHRIS! I stopped for a coffee in St Juan and there spoke to Elizabeth, a German lady who told me that there was a magnificent Gaudi building to see in Astorgia. Having spent many hours in the Gaudi apartments last year in Barcelona, during a house swap, where I marvelled at his design and use of the most exquisite materials, I am eager to see more of his work. Gaudi by the way, got all his ideas from studying the natural world and why not? - who better to copy than our wonderful Creator! So I wait for 4pm when everything re-opens here.
Meanwhile I will tell you the tale of Johnathon, whom I met whilst walking out of Leon. Jonathon is originally from Liverpool but he has left his roots well behind him and is what I would call one of life sophisticates. He is 44yrs old, single, although he has been married, and now earns a living as a software consultant. He reeks of certainty, is cool, very cool, nicely cooly (not a slime ball), but also disturbed. He has a doctorate in Psychology from UCL and is very widely read. He recommends to all to read 'The Red Queen', but he cannot remember who it is by but it is the definitive guide and answer even, maybe, to our searchings and questions. Problem is he is still disturbed. Something, Someone is calling him and he is not at peace. He asks why he cannot be like his sister who has 2.2 kids a 'lego' house, a 9-5 job and an unthinking, undisturbed life. He is one of the easiest guys I have ever spoken to because he seems so secure in himself. His life philosophy is pretty much at odds with my own but we get on so well, each listening to the other. Johnathon has 2 women in his life, 1 for sex and 1 for spiritual matters. and then there are those for 'recreational sex' whatever that maybe. He does not promise monogamy to any woman and he is clear to all the women he meets that 'I am who I am and this is the way it is for me'. I admire his honesty, but also tell him I wouldn't touch him with a barge pole! We go deep quickly and discuss evolving human conscienceousness (spelt wrongly?) and I talk about The Moral Law that I believe exists for all, recognised or not, as devised by God. Go against it and sooner or later you will hit the buffers. True, the buffers can be a long time coming but sooner or later things will begin to collapse, or you will get ill or you will feel deeply dis-satisfied etc. etc. I marvel and am concerned by his compartmentalisation of his life- more a male trait perhaps and I suggest that some sort of integration or building links between the different compartments of his life may help. He agrees with this but the problem is the women in his life are not happy with the presence of the other women! He calls it jealousy. I call it having a better idea of The Moral Law, a knowledge within themselves, even if they don't call it this. Johnathon is fascinated that I read the bible and pray every day. Actually my walk is a prayer. I tell him that Jesus promised that whoever seeks Him WILL find Him and that we have the same God, available to us all. Of course his realationship with God will be different to mine as God is so big he is beyond 'putting in a box' or defining. Johnathon's father has died in the last 2 years but it is unfinished business for him. He is walking the Camino to say goodbye to his dad and will go to Mass when he reaches Santiago and light a candle for his dad. This is the FIRST TIME he will ever have attended a church service. I comment that this will be an incredibly special moment and he agrees.
Later during dinner, Johnathon introduces me to his friend- a banker from Liechenstein. We also get talking and the banker proudly tells me that 2 nights ago he arrived in a place where there was no hotel and he absolutely refuses to share a room or sleep with anyone else so decides to hire out a whole room in the Alburgue, paying for all the beds and not allowing anyone to sleep there. I am appalled by this, firstly because beds are at a premium in Alburgues but secondarily because in one man having so much others may have gone without altogether or had to walk many more kms. I enter a conversation with him in which I comment that if he cannot share a room just for 1 night, 1 night! and he MUST HAVE it all to himself then he is a slave to himself and that is the opposite of being a 'free man'. I say I feel deeply sad. He tells me that I think too deeply and that he has so much money he can do as he pleases. I protest that money will not make him happy- I know from my own life and he just restates that I think too much. I cannot stand the company of this man who has so much and yet seems to have 'missed the point' of living and life so I bid him goodnight.
I do not know how he managed to buy a room for himself in the Alburgue other than by pretending that he was booking it for friends who were to arrive later as the Hospitalderos do not check up on you, but it was by far my saddest encounter on The Camino so far. As Jesus said 'it is harder for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle'.
Much love, Kate
Meanwhile I will tell you the tale of Johnathon, whom I met whilst walking out of Leon. Jonathon is originally from Liverpool but he has left his roots well behind him and is what I would call one of life sophisticates. He is 44yrs old, single, although he has been married, and now earns a living as a software consultant. He reeks of certainty, is cool, very cool, nicely cooly (not a slime ball), but also disturbed. He has a doctorate in Psychology from UCL and is very widely read. He recommends to all to read 'The Red Queen', but he cannot remember who it is by but it is the definitive guide and answer even, maybe, to our searchings and questions. Problem is he is still disturbed. Something, Someone is calling him and he is not at peace. He asks why he cannot be like his sister who has 2.2 kids a 'lego' house, a 9-5 job and an unthinking, undisturbed life. He is one of the easiest guys I have ever spoken to because he seems so secure in himself. His life philosophy is pretty much at odds with my own but we get on so well, each listening to the other. Johnathon has 2 women in his life, 1 for sex and 1 for spiritual matters. and then there are those for 'recreational sex' whatever that maybe. He does not promise monogamy to any woman and he is clear to all the women he meets that 'I am who I am and this is the way it is for me'. I admire his honesty, but also tell him I wouldn't touch him with a barge pole! We go deep quickly and discuss evolving human conscienceousness (spelt wrongly?) and I talk about The Moral Law that I believe exists for all, recognised or not, as devised by God. Go against it and sooner or later you will hit the buffers. True, the buffers can be a long time coming but sooner or later things will begin to collapse, or you will get ill or you will feel deeply dis-satisfied etc. etc. I marvel and am concerned by his compartmentalisation of his life- more a male trait perhaps and I suggest that some sort of integration or building links between the different compartments of his life may help. He agrees with this but the problem is the women in his life are not happy with the presence of the other women! He calls it jealousy. I call it having a better idea of The Moral Law, a knowledge within themselves, even if they don't call it this. Johnathon is fascinated that I read the bible and pray every day. Actually my walk is a prayer. I tell him that Jesus promised that whoever seeks Him WILL find Him and that we have the same God, available to us all. Of course his realationship with God will be different to mine as God is so big he is beyond 'putting in a box' or defining. Johnathon's father has died in the last 2 years but it is unfinished business for him. He is walking the Camino to say goodbye to his dad and will go to Mass when he reaches Santiago and light a candle for his dad. This is the FIRST TIME he will ever have attended a church service. I comment that this will be an incredibly special moment and he agrees.
Later during dinner, Johnathon introduces me to his friend- a banker from Liechenstein. We also get talking and the banker proudly tells me that 2 nights ago he arrived in a place where there was no hotel and he absolutely refuses to share a room or sleep with anyone else so decides to hire out a whole room in the Alburgue, paying for all the beds and not allowing anyone to sleep there. I am appalled by this, firstly because beds are at a premium in Alburgues but secondarily because in one man having so much others may have gone without altogether or had to walk many more kms. I enter a conversation with him in which I comment that if he cannot share a room just for 1 night, 1 night! and he MUST HAVE it all to himself then he is a slave to himself and that is the opposite of being a 'free man'. I say I feel deeply sad. He tells me that I think too deeply and that he has so much money he can do as he pleases. I protest that money will not make him happy- I know from my own life and he just restates that I think too much. I cannot stand the company of this man who has so much and yet seems to have 'missed the point' of living and life so I bid him goodnight.
I do not know how he managed to buy a room for himself in the Alburgue other than by pretending that he was booking it for friends who were to arrive later as the Hospitalderos do not check up on you, but it was by far my saddest encounter on The Camino so far. As Jesus said 'it is harder for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle'.
Much love, Kate
Monday, 23 May 2011
The Kindness of Strangers
I have had a wonderful time here at The Mill- Mercedes has taken me under her wing and we have had such a hoot trying to communicate when neither of us speaks the others language well (or at all really). She has been married to max for 38yrs and they have a happy relaxed marriage in which they laugh together a lot. Its funny that even without language many things are communicated if you are still and just observe. She has twin daughters, one of whom is getting married next month at The Mill. Her mum has just had a hip operation and she is living for now, with her youngest sister, Roseanna. Roseanna is a compulsive cleaner and so her house is 'perfecto', but it is the eldest sister, Eva, who actually takes care of their mother. Her brother has some sort of genetic disorder and although independent, will never marry. Mercedes laughs at her parents' dispositions and says her mum always sees things through black glasses whilst her dad sees everything through pink! Her mum has been a 'health freak' and is always ill whilst her dad smokes 60 a day and is always well.
It was fun trying to explain what Eleanor studied at University because she couldn't distinguish between 'Classics' and 'glasses'. We laughed a lot about that one.
Anyway this morning Mercedes was going into Leon to see her mama and asked me to go along, so at 10am this morning I found myself in a car heading for Leon, a beautiful city that I had just walked through but hadn't stopped in. She dropped me off with an arranged pick up time for 1 hr later and I spent the time in stunning Leon Cathedral which has the most beautiful stained glass windows I have ever seen- and in abundance. In the background gregorian chants are playing and it is a 'divine' experience. I pay to go into the cloisters and sit there in splendid isolation soaking up the beauty of carved stone and the history of years of prayer. After our rendezvous, Mercedes takes me to the Parador San Marco, which is found in the old palace of a 16th century king which was later given to the monks for a monastery- monks who fought with swords (just like Palestine today, I was told). This building is amazing and I am treated to a glass of rose with tapas in the bar. But here the treat begins because Mercedes knows the concierge well so we are given a guided exclusive tour to all the parts that tourists never see- and those that they do, including the hotels exclusive suite consisting of a 4 poster bed and 4 adjoining rooms- a bit like those shoots in american political movies, except we are in the middle of deep history here with a church and cloisters exclusive to the building. We then return to earth with a bump and go to Lidl!
I had given up hope of ever finding a decent Spanish breakfast as the Spanish do not do breakfast. With hope I would go down in the morning to find the same husky dried bread of yesterday served with packet jam and a cafe con leche. My eternal hope reminded me of Sol when he was little opening a whole box of tampons, taking every wrapper off every tampon, hoping that one would reveal a toy car or something only to find yet another boring cardboard tube. Still he didn't give up! Well today my hope paid off as Mercedes is an excellent cook and for breakfast I had home-made cake and fruit and egg and toast and home-made plum jam with proper, real coffee. YUM!
Feeling a little weak but MUCH better, Katex
It was fun trying to explain what Eleanor studied at University because she couldn't distinguish between 'Classics' and 'glasses'. We laughed a lot about that one.
Anyway this morning Mercedes was going into Leon to see her mama and asked me to go along, so at 10am this morning I found myself in a car heading for Leon, a beautiful city that I had just walked through but hadn't stopped in. She dropped me off with an arranged pick up time for 1 hr later and I spent the time in stunning Leon Cathedral which has the most beautiful stained glass windows I have ever seen- and in abundance. In the background gregorian chants are playing and it is a 'divine' experience. I pay to go into the cloisters and sit there in splendid isolation soaking up the beauty of carved stone and the history of years of prayer. After our rendezvous, Mercedes takes me to the Parador San Marco, which is found in the old palace of a 16th century king which was later given to the monks for a monastery- monks who fought with swords (just like Palestine today, I was told). This building is amazing and I am treated to a glass of rose with tapas in the bar. But here the treat begins because Mercedes knows the concierge well so we are given a guided exclusive tour to all the parts that tourists never see- and those that they do, including the hotels exclusive suite consisting of a 4 poster bed and 4 adjoining rooms- a bit like those shoots in american political movies, except we are in the middle of deep history here with a church and cloisters exclusive to the building. We then return to earth with a bump and go to Lidl!
I had given up hope of ever finding a decent Spanish breakfast as the Spanish do not do breakfast. With hope I would go down in the morning to find the same husky dried bread of yesterday served with packet jam and a cafe con leche. My eternal hope reminded me of Sol when he was little opening a whole box of tampons, taking every wrapper off every tampon, hoping that one would reveal a toy car or something only to find yet another boring cardboard tube. Still he didn't give up! Well today my hope paid off as Mercedes is an excellent cook and for breakfast I had home-made cake and fruit and egg and toast and home-made plum jam with proper, real coffee. YUM!
Feeling a little weak but MUCH better, Katex
Vomit and a Vision
I write this whilst recuperating from food poisoning from a plate of 'albondigas', meatballs. It is no joke to get food poisoning at anytime but even worse whilst staying in an Alburgue- there are 2 toilets between 30 people and at 6am there is a queue so you cannot just have the squits or puke at will, but as many of you will know if you get food poisoning badly enough you cannot completely control your bodies desperate attempts to get rid of the toxins! Hence the 2 toilets in front of me are occupied and this most enormous wave of nausea overcomes me and I throw all over the corridor. YUCK! I see this Frenchman's face and he is appalled.... and so am I as I now have to clear it up and I feel like death. Then I get to the loo finally and do not know which end of my body to attend to-they both need the loo.
Neither can you stay in the same Alburgue for 2 nights apart from in exceptional circumstances and even then you have to check out, wait around for 6 hrs and check back in. Now I am quite a determined person so I say to myself 'mind over matter' here, I can walk just a little 12km today to the next village. Ha HA HA! Is anyone out there as stupid as me? I did do it but it was awful, puking every 10mins (bile by now) and my muscles were in agony. Many pelegrinos stopped to ask if they could help this wretch who was wretching, but no one can carry someone elses pack, so I stumbled on and managed 10km to find that an old restored mill, which was not in my guide book was just down the road and offered rooms with their own toilet.
So I came to drop inside the home of Mercedes and Max, who took me to a room 'with a view' of the Camino and who left me with bottles of water, so I could grope my way to the bathroom to finish being ill. Now as bad as blisters are they are not the sort of injurys that stop you finishing The Camino- leg, knee and ligament injuries do that.....and food poisoning. So I began a conversation with God, asking him to please stop this constant puking because I could not even keep plain water down. We did a deal- I promised to stay put here for 2 whole days and not walk if He would stop the sickness. I fell into a deep deep sleep and woke up 1 hr later and hey presto the sickness had completely gone- just like that. I felt as weak as a kitten but thankfully I had stopped being sick because that was going to be the real killer of my Camino walk. By the way Chris Samways must pray awesome prayers because my feet are also transformed!
On the way out of Manzilla, at the beginning of this 12km marathon, a door beside me opened and there before me was a strange being, a grotesque being, with a look of complete indifference as to what he was doing. 'Oh no not now I thought, I am too weak for this battle' I have been here before and I am no longer fearful of these things, but it normally means something is amiss, out of sight where I am. At the risk of coming across as completely insane I have had both wonderful and grotesque manifestations of things normally unseen and I have only ever heard a vicar preach on such stuff once-and that was to do with the 'Communion of Saints' that have gone before us but stand alongside us in times of need. I know about that too but as to a deep understanding of either (grotesque and good), I do not yet have.
Love from a recovering Katex
Neither can you stay in the same Alburgue for 2 nights apart from in exceptional circumstances and even then you have to check out, wait around for 6 hrs and check back in. Now I am quite a determined person so I say to myself 'mind over matter' here, I can walk just a little 12km today to the next village. Ha HA HA! Is anyone out there as stupid as me? I did do it but it was awful, puking every 10mins (bile by now) and my muscles were in agony. Many pelegrinos stopped to ask if they could help this wretch who was wretching, but no one can carry someone elses pack, so I stumbled on and managed 10km to find that an old restored mill, which was not in my guide book was just down the road and offered rooms with their own toilet.
So I came to drop inside the home of Mercedes and Max, who took me to a room 'with a view' of the Camino and who left me with bottles of water, so I could grope my way to the bathroom to finish being ill. Now as bad as blisters are they are not the sort of injurys that stop you finishing The Camino- leg, knee and ligament injuries do that.....and food poisoning. So I began a conversation with God, asking him to please stop this constant puking because I could not even keep plain water down. We did a deal- I promised to stay put here for 2 whole days and not walk if He would stop the sickness. I fell into a deep deep sleep and woke up 1 hr later and hey presto the sickness had completely gone- just like that. I felt as weak as a kitten but thankfully I had stopped being sick because that was going to be the real killer of my Camino walk. By the way Chris Samways must pray awesome prayers because my feet are also transformed!
On the way out of Manzilla, at the beginning of this 12km marathon, a door beside me opened and there before me was a strange being, a grotesque being, with a look of complete indifference as to what he was doing. 'Oh no not now I thought, I am too weak for this battle' I have been here before and I am no longer fearful of these things, but it normally means something is amiss, out of sight where I am. At the risk of coming across as completely insane I have had both wonderful and grotesque manifestations of things normally unseen and I have only ever heard a vicar preach on such stuff once-and that was to do with the 'Communion of Saints' that have gone before us but stand alongside us in times of need. I know about that too but as to a deep understanding of either (grotesque and good), I do not yet have.
Love from a recovering Katex
Saturday, 21 May 2011
Humblings and Happenings
One morning, a few days ago, I came down to the kitchen at 6am to attend to my disgusting feet. This was the only place with a bright light necessary to see clearly which little 'puss ball' I am popping this morning with my pen knife. Sitting at the table is a chap from Korea and he is slurping a panful of soup down like I have never heard anyone slurp before. Slurpy mouthful after slurpy mouthful goes down and inside myself I am having all sorts of deeply irritated thoughts about how disgustingly these people eat- and they wake everyone up at 4 in the morning! Now my dad was in the second world war and fought in Malaysia. He was a kind and loving man and far from a racist apart from the Japanese who he HATED with avengence. I had grown up in a house where deep prejudice against these people was so much the norm that it took me many years to realise I was prejudiced at all. Interestingly enough in Philip Yancey's book 'What's so amazing about Grace' he talks about the Japanese being the only nation that will not apologise for its war crimes and the effect that this has on other nations. Anyway my dad would have struggled with one of his grandchildren studying Japanese at University and I too am uncertain if I want to visit Imy when she goes there for a year- don't these things go deep!
Back to my story- this Korean chap (yes I know that is not Japan, but they have similar eyes!!) is slurping away when I suddenly realise I am treating my infected blisters at the kitchen table. How yuck can you get! Here I am with a great docking plank in my own eye and I am 'inside' picking out the speck in my brothers eye. By the way he was a brother in Christ as I noticed he was reading the Bible. I felt deeply humbled.
2 days later a similar incident happened. Brendan, an american, was a voluntary 'hospitaldero' in Santo Domingo- the whole of The Camino is kept going by volunteers who man the Alburgues, something of which I am interested in doing. Anyway, I got talking to Brendan over a glass of wine and out it all poured of his Irish history and how much his grandmother hated the English, particularly The Royal Family and she would spit on the floor every time anything came on the TV about them. I commented that much spitting must have occured recently then what with the Royal Wedding. He himself had struggled many years to welcome the English at the Alburgue because he had been brought up with daily tales of the 'black and tans' who committed atrocious acts against the Catholic Irish. At this I took his hand, thanked him for being so kind to me and asked if I could apologise on behalf of the English for all the awful things they had done to his country and his family. I said I also knew what it was like to be bought up with a prejudice that was so deep rooted that it takes many years to see. A poignant precious moment passed between us, then we all went out to eat.
Much love, Kate
Back to my story- this Korean chap (yes I know that is not Japan, but they have similar eyes!!) is slurping away when I suddenly realise I am treating my infected blisters at the kitchen table. How yuck can you get! Here I am with a great docking plank in my own eye and I am 'inside' picking out the speck in my brothers eye. By the way he was a brother in Christ as I noticed he was reading the Bible. I felt deeply humbled.
2 days later a similar incident happened. Brendan, an american, was a voluntary 'hospitaldero' in Santo Domingo- the whole of The Camino is kept going by volunteers who man the Alburgues, something of which I am interested in doing. Anyway, I got talking to Brendan over a glass of wine and out it all poured of his Irish history and how much his grandmother hated the English, particularly The Royal Family and she would spit on the floor every time anything came on the TV about them. I commented that much spitting must have occured recently then what with the Royal Wedding. He himself had struggled many years to welcome the English at the Alburgue because he had been brought up with daily tales of the 'black and tans' who committed atrocious acts against the Catholic Irish. At this I took his hand, thanked him for being so kind to me and asked if I could apologise on behalf of the English for all the awful things they had done to his country and his family. I said I also knew what it was like to be bought up with a prejudice that was so deep rooted that it takes many years to see. A poignant precious moment passed between us, then we all went out to eat.
Much love, Kate
Walking with Women
Believe it or not I do occasionally walk with women but most go at a slower pace and do not go the distance that I choose to- except for in the morning when the world and his wife pass me by as my feet are so very painful. I had ran out of Ibrufopen and this was no bad thing as it gave me a truer insight as to how things actually were re my body- all the aches and pains without the drugs numbing them. It was so bad I felt sick. The blood on my feet and socks is not from blisters but is oozing out from the nailbeds of many of my toes. I went to the 'Farmacia' and bought more drugs and stand in even more awe of the pilgrims of long ago. Walking this distance every day is physically arduous but exhilarating!
I have met one woman whom, I hope, I will see on return to Britain. I will say no more of her life story as some of you may meet her -other than half way through our day together she announced that she was gay. I ask her why she identifies herself by her sexual orientation as I, a heterosexual, do not say, oh by the way I am a fellatioist (is that the right word/spelling?). Why do gay people tell you they are gay? So what? Which other people identify themselves with what they do sexually? (I suppose sado-masochists do?). We have a frank discussion and I ask her all the questions I have always wanted to ask such women, also commenting that at an emotional level I can understand that it may be easier to live with another woman, but doesn´t she miss the joy of a penis? Such a wonderful invention of God's, such a magnificent organ- I mean it. I am fed up with Christians being so silent about sex. Sex was God's idea not the idea of the founder of playboy magazine. My friend tells me there are substitutes for a penis but I argue that a dildo is a poor imitation of the real thing- a bit like pornography is a poor imitation of the real thing.
We laugh a lot but there is much sadness too- my friend was a brethren and apparently you cannot attend their meetings if you are gay, so she left, feeling deeply rejected. Now I am not writing this from a liberal 'anything goes' point of view but as I understand the Gospel it can be summed up in 2 commands: to love God with all your heart and soul and mind and to love your neighbour as you love yourself. I don't see an exception clause of any kind like if they are gay or muslim or 'foreign' etc. Yes God created man and woman for each other, but we are fallen and all sorts of things in all sorts of areas of our lives are so much less than perfect.
Anyway I label my friend the 'posh pilgrim' and it has a deep irony to it as she is from the North with the chip maybe that comes from being born way up there into a working class family (her words not mine) because she stays in a hotel every night!
Like many other women my friend does not like the writings of Paul. I tell her that he is one of the first people I want to give a huge hug to when I get to heaven. Him and C S Lewis and Eugene Peterson (I don't think he is dead yet). Paul is such a guy of great integrity- wow what a brain 'married' to a real and living faith. I love his words in Ephesians 5 about women submitting to their husbands- what a doodle in comparison to the challenge to men- to love their wives as Christ loves the church!! Hey bring it on, yes please to be loved by a man as Christ loves the church YES YES YES. Wouldn´t that man be easy to submit too?
Much love, Kate
I have met one woman whom, I hope, I will see on return to Britain. I will say no more of her life story as some of you may meet her -other than half way through our day together she announced that she was gay. I ask her why she identifies herself by her sexual orientation as I, a heterosexual, do not say, oh by the way I am a fellatioist (is that the right word/spelling?). Why do gay people tell you they are gay? So what? Which other people identify themselves with what they do sexually? (I suppose sado-masochists do?). We have a frank discussion and I ask her all the questions I have always wanted to ask such women, also commenting that at an emotional level I can understand that it may be easier to live with another woman, but doesn´t she miss the joy of a penis? Such a wonderful invention of God's, such a magnificent organ- I mean it. I am fed up with Christians being so silent about sex. Sex was God's idea not the idea of the founder of playboy magazine. My friend tells me there are substitutes for a penis but I argue that a dildo is a poor imitation of the real thing- a bit like pornography is a poor imitation of the real thing.
We laugh a lot but there is much sadness too- my friend was a brethren and apparently you cannot attend their meetings if you are gay, so she left, feeling deeply rejected. Now I am not writing this from a liberal 'anything goes' point of view but as I understand the Gospel it can be summed up in 2 commands: to love God with all your heart and soul and mind and to love your neighbour as you love yourself. I don't see an exception clause of any kind like if they are gay or muslim or 'foreign' etc. Yes God created man and woman for each other, but we are fallen and all sorts of things in all sorts of areas of our lives are so much less than perfect.
Anyway I label my friend the 'posh pilgrim' and it has a deep irony to it as she is from the North with the chip maybe that comes from being born way up there into a working class family (her words not mine) because she stays in a hotel every night!
Like many other women my friend does not like the writings of Paul. I tell her that he is one of the first people I want to give a huge hug to when I get to heaven. Him and C S Lewis and Eugene Peterson (I don't think he is dead yet). Paul is such a guy of great integrity- wow what a brain 'married' to a real and living faith. I love his words in Ephesians 5 about women submitting to their husbands- what a doodle in comparison to the challenge to men- to love their wives as Christ loves the church!! Hey bring it on, yes please to be loved by a man as Christ loves the church YES YES YES. Wouldn´t that man be easy to submit too?
Much love, Kate
Friday, 20 May 2011
Eduardo and an amazing (painful) Epiphany
Funny how themes arise in the same day-yesterday it was death. We arrived at lunchtime at a place where the next leg meant a walk through relative wilderness to Hermanillos. It was hot and most people stopped, but I was keen to not just walk alone but to more or less BE alone along The Camino and this is the time of day when it is most likely to happen. So I set off leaving the rest to a leisurely lunch. Towards the end of my journey, when the going got tough, I passed, for about the 7th time that day, a man who walked with stooped shoulders. I kept passing him because he never took a break- just walk, walk, walk at a slow pace. On the last 'take over' I shouted a cheery 'Ola', to which he replied, 'You are going to Hermanillos, yes, then join me for dinner as I do not like to eat alone'. 'Sure' I reply and at that off I go.
Having started my period, my hair sticking to my scalp fom lack of washing and endless disturbed nights from snoring I decide to stay in a Casa Rural. A room to myself and BLISS a BATH! Afterwards I go in search of Eduardo who will come and join me for dinner. I visit the local 'supermarket', whose sign is made of cardboard, hand-written and spelt incorrectly. Actually this shop is wonderful. It smells of Steve's parent's home and the man serving, who owns the shop, is the oldest shop-keeper I have ever met. He is an utter sweety and picks out every dodgy cherry that he is selling me before he puts them on the scales.
During dinner I find out that Eduardo is an architect and lives in Genoa. He tells me about the architecture of The Royal Crescent in Bath that he has studied and then goes onto Christopher Wren. All fascinating stuff but there is so much more that he is not saying and eventually I ask him what is bothering him. He is surprised that I know something is wrong, but he is wearing his misery like a cloak about him and his way of walking is such that it looks like he is carrying the weight of the world on his back. He comes straight to the point:
'I am scared of death. Next year I am 60 and I know that at sometime I am going to die and I am terrified of dying'. What an oppertunity to really tell him the 'Good News', so I say that death has been taken care of by Jesus and all he needs to do is accept the gift of that death in his place.
'But there is no such thing as heaven...or hell' he says. 'God does not exist'.
'But I love God and I know He loves me' I say and I am not talking about some philosophical/religious concept but a living relationship with the living God. A part of me longs to go home, to be with Him and to see Him, really see Him face to face'.
'But you are so young, you know nothing of death' he replies.
'I know a little' I say, 'My mum has died, my dad has died, my aunty has died and my first baby died at birth and yet I still know that this is not the end- not if I choose it not to be, but you don't force someone to accept a gift do you?'
'Surely Kate you do not believe in heaven and hell do you?' he says and I reply
'Yes I suppose I do but I have no idea who will be where. I think we choose ourselves for the most part as a response is needed of some sort to what Jesus did on the cross for all creation across all cultures and all times. It is not me for to judge. Only God knows the hearts of people. What is done on the outside does not necessarily reflect the heart underneath and no one knows anyone elses entire journey- only God'.
Eduardo goes on to tell me that he collects things and that people who collect things do so because they are frightened of death and this is their legacy that they leave behind. He has collected shells since he was 3yrs old and he keeps the shells in a box under his bed as the sun ruins them. Then he laughs at himself and says how ridiculous this is. I tell him I think it is really lovely and we go on to discuss the author Bruce Chatwin who has written a book translated into Italian as UTZ, which is about a man that collects fine porcelain and smashes it all just before he dies. I search my memory banks for the books I have read by Chatwin and recall one about 2 farming brothers, which we discuss briefly.
Our walk tomorrow is through arid land that is irrigated by canals. For 20km there is no civilisation, just wildlife-BLISS. Most pelegrinos won´t walk it and take the alternative route to Mansilla de las Mulas. Eduardo says he will leave early but is comforted by the fact that I will be behind him as he does not want to die alone and should he have a heart attack I will find him.
Actually he leaves so early I never catch him up, but it is no coincidence that I have met with this man. Not just for his life but for my own. As I am walking, my sister in laws name keeps coming to mind, who I rarely see these days as she has a new man and so the distance between us has increased. Her period of acute pain when my brother left has passed and her life has moved on. And so it goes from there- I do not resist the flow of the Spirit, but wait openly and like a rush of wind it comes upon me and suddenly I see something that I have never understood- the behaviour of my brother, in lifes context, absurd as it was and oh so painful and destructive and the tears flow and I sob my way into Mansilla, stopping mid-flow to ask a farmer the right way (it is too hot to walk the wrong way so even a crisis moment has to be contained)! If you think of the longest walk you have ever been on and the sight of the pub comes into view and you order a pint- well the first taste was like this experience. It really did reach the parts that other healings have never reached where hurt is transformed into compassion because you 'see' beyond.
Much love, Kate
Having started my period, my hair sticking to my scalp fom lack of washing and endless disturbed nights from snoring I decide to stay in a Casa Rural. A room to myself and BLISS a BATH! Afterwards I go in search of Eduardo who will come and join me for dinner. I visit the local 'supermarket', whose sign is made of cardboard, hand-written and spelt incorrectly. Actually this shop is wonderful. It smells of Steve's parent's home and the man serving, who owns the shop, is the oldest shop-keeper I have ever met. He is an utter sweety and picks out every dodgy cherry that he is selling me before he puts them on the scales.
During dinner I find out that Eduardo is an architect and lives in Genoa. He tells me about the architecture of The Royal Crescent in Bath that he has studied and then goes onto Christopher Wren. All fascinating stuff but there is so much more that he is not saying and eventually I ask him what is bothering him. He is surprised that I know something is wrong, but he is wearing his misery like a cloak about him and his way of walking is such that it looks like he is carrying the weight of the world on his back. He comes straight to the point:
'I am scared of death. Next year I am 60 and I know that at sometime I am going to die and I am terrified of dying'. What an oppertunity to really tell him the 'Good News', so I say that death has been taken care of by Jesus and all he needs to do is accept the gift of that death in his place.
'But there is no such thing as heaven...or hell' he says. 'God does not exist'.
'But I love God and I know He loves me' I say and I am not talking about some philosophical/religious concept but a living relationship with the living God. A part of me longs to go home, to be with Him and to see Him, really see Him face to face'.
'But you are so young, you know nothing of death' he replies.
'I know a little' I say, 'My mum has died, my dad has died, my aunty has died and my first baby died at birth and yet I still know that this is not the end- not if I choose it not to be, but you don't force someone to accept a gift do you?'
'Surely Kate you do not believe in heaven and hell do you?' he says and I reply
'Yes I suppose I do but I have no idea who will be where. I think we choose ourselves for the most part as a response is needed of some sort to what Jesus did on the cross for all creation across all cultures and all times. It is not me for to judge. Only God knows the hearts of people. What is done on the outside does not necessarily reflect the heart underneath and no one knows anyone elses entire journey- only God'.
Eduardo goes on to tell me that he collects things and that people who collect things do so because they are frightened of death and this is their legacy that they leave behind. He has collected shells since he was 3yrs old and he keeps the shells in a box under his bed as the sun ruins them. Then he laughs at himself and says how ridiculous this is. I tell him I think it is really lovely and we go on to discuss the author Bruce Chatwin who has written a book translated into Italian as UTZ, which is about a man that collects fine porcelain and smashes it all just before he dies. I search my memory banks for the books I have read by Chatwin and recall one about 2 farming brothers, which we discuss briefly.
Our walk tomorrow is through arid land that is irrigated by canals. For 20km there is no civilisation, just wildlife-BLISS. Most pelegrinos won´t walk it and take the alternative route to Mansilla de las Mulas. Eduardo says he will leave early but is comforted by the fact that I will be behind him as he does not want to die alone and should he have a heart attack I will find him.
Actually he leaves so early I never catch him up, but it is no coincidence that I have met with this man. Not just for his life but for my own. As I am walking, my sister in laws name keeps coming to mind, who I rarely see these days as she has a new man and so the distance between us has increased. Her period of acute pain when my brother left has passed and her life has moved on. And so it goes from there- I do not resist the flow of the Spirit, but wait openly and like a rush of wind it comes upon me and suddenly I see something that I have never understood- the behaviour of my brother, in lifes context, absurd as it was and oh so painful and destructive and the tears flow and I sob my way into Mansilla, stopping mid-flow to ask a farmer the right way (it is too hot to walk the wrong way so even a crisis moment has to be contained)! If you think of the longest walk you have ever been on and the sight of the pub comes into view and you order a pint- well the first taste was like this experience. It really did reach the parts that other healings have never reached where hurt is transformed into compassion because you 'see' beyond.
Much love, Kate
Thursday, 19 May 2011
Men in Midlife Crisis
I met Rick when walking out of Burgos. He was with a group of French pelegrinos having walked from Arles. 10km later we found ourselves walking at the same pace towards the next village. Rick was delighted to have caught me up because apparently I 'ticked all his boxes'. 'Oh' I said and 'what might they be?' Without a second thought he said 'nice tits, nice legs, nice bum, nice smile, nice face, nice hair'
'Well they are very different to my boxes then Rick, which are based on what comes out of a man´s mouth' At this he clasps his hand to his mouth and says 'So have I blown it already then?. 'Nearly I say', but as it is we continue to walk together for the rest of the day.
During this time we discuss many things (what´s new?) and it turns out Rick is adopted and had waited until his adoptive parents have died to find out who his biological parents are. Rick is from North Yorkshire and is a classic Yorkshire man. He doesn´t do emotion much but the tears well up as he tells his tale and it a real privilige that he 'lets me in'. Eventually we return to his opening comments and I object that a woman is more than a piece of meat. He agrees with this but insists that men are absolutely hard-wired to look a female up and down, do a physical assessment and pronounce judgement to themselves inside their heads, quicker than a computer can process any information. He goes further and says ALL men are like this and if they deny it they are lying. I have heard this sort of argument before, 'I have this sort of behaviour and so does everyone else'. Since I am not a man I am not in a strong position to disagree. Our discussion goes much deeper into what fidelity and faithfulness is and what it is not. Rick is an educated man who is apparently happily married and yet repeatedly throughout the day he makes inappropriate suggestive remaks about how much he would like to take this relationship much further. He is also a church goer to the great and good Cof E and yet none of this seems to make an impact on how he actually behaves.
After dinner that night he says 'I don´t suppose it would make any difference if I actually told you straight how attracted to you I am' Difference to what I think, but actually say ' Do you remember making that wedding vow before your wife and God which said 'forsaking ALL OTHERS, well I am one of the others and you know Rick there will be many more. Many more attractive women that you will think 'what if' and all it will bring is deep pain and misery to all concerned if you follow these desires through. It is not worth it, not to yourself, your wife or your family. Goodnight'.
I saw him 3 days later with a pretty girl from Wisconsin. He was using the same moves, the same tactics the same Mr. Romeo at work. He was vaguely embarrased by my presence. I wondered just how long he is going to play with fire before he takes it further and burns all those concerned. I doubted the girl had any idea what he was going through in terms of his life stage. The girl just seemed happy to be entertained and waited on by an attentive male and was only in her early thirties.
I had said my piece already to him and his life and choices were just that -his. I walked away praying that his marriage would remain intact and that God would open his eyes to what he is doing before it too late.
'Well they are very different to my boxes then Rick, which are based on what comes out of a man´s mouth' At this he clasps his hand to his mouth and says 'So have I blown it already then?. 'Nearly I say', but as it is we continue to walk together for the rest of the day.
During this time we discuss many things (what´s new?) and it turns out Rick is adopted and had waited until his adoptive parents have died to find out who his biological parents are. Rick is from North Yorkshire and is a classic Yorkshire man. He doesn´t do emotion much but the tears well up as he tells his tale and it a real privilige that he 'lets me in'. Eventually we return to his opening comments and I object that a woman is more than a piece of meat. He agrees with this but insists that men are absolutely hard-wired to look a female up and down, do a physical assessment and pronounce judgement to themselves inside their heads, quicker than a computer can process any information. He goes further and says ALL men are like this and if they deny it they are lying. I have heard this sort of argument before, 'I have this sort of behaviour and so does everyone else'. Since I am not a man I am not in a strong position to disagree. Our discussion goes much deeper into what fidelity and faithfulness is and what it is not. Rick is an educated man who is apparently happily married and yet repeatedly throughout the day he makes inappropriate suggestive remaks about how much he would like to take this relationship much further. He is also a church goer to the great and good Cof E and yet none of this seems to make an impact on how he actually behaves.
After dinner that night he says 'I don´t suppose it would make any difference if I actually told you straight how attracted to you I am' Difference to what I think, but actually say ' Do you remember making that wedding vow before your wife and God which said 'forsaking ALL OTHERS, well I am one of the others and you know Rick there will be many more. Many more attractive women that you will think 'what if' and all it will bring is deep pain and misery to all concerned if you follow these desires through. It is not worth it, not to yourself, your wife or your family. Goodnight'.
I saw him 3 days later with a pretty girl from Wisconsin. He was using the same moves, the same tactics the same Mr. Romeo at work. He was vaguely embarrased by my presence. I wondered just how long he is going to play with fire before he takes it further and burns all those concerned. I doubted the girl had any idea what he was going through in terms of his life stage. The girl just seemed happy to be entertained and waited on by an attentive male and was only in her early thirties.
I had said my piece already to him and his life and choices were just that -his. I walked away praying that his marriage would remain intact and that God would open his eyes to what he is doing before it too late.
Wednesday, 18 May 2011
Puzzles and Poignancy
Today I walked 47km by choice- I wanted to walk more but the Alburgues ahead were full. Walking here is generally finished by 1pm as the temperature is just too high after that, but today it was wonderfully cloudy and that permitted so much more. And today I parted company with Dan after 4 and 1/2 days together- the longest I have stayed with anyone so far, but more of that in the next blog.
The first hour of walking for me is painful as my feet adjust to the pain messages my brain receives from blisters. After this they ease off but then shoulder ache kicks in. I am in awe of pilgrims from centuries past who had no access to either antibiotics or ibrufopen- actually many of them died en route of their pilgrimage. I am not surprised because there is an element of physical endurance- it is one thing to walk 35km in one day but then to do it again and again, day after day is something else.
Still despite the demands on body and mind I cannot remember being happier in years. Each day amazing things happen and I thrive on the spontaneity and unpredicatbility of what that will be.
Last night I shared a meal with Vernon from Germany and asked him about his life. The pain on his face as he told me about his 2 daughters that he had not seen since he divorced his wife was excruciating and the moment so poignant that the table hushed-it was not appropriate to continue the conversation. This morning in the coffee bar he came and asked if he could talk to me tonight- so much has been stored up for 20 years and only now has the dam burst and the tears began to flow, that he wants to find some resolution, some closure on that that is just to hard to carry anymore. I am doubtful, I tell him that I am the best person to hear his pain. I have walked too closely with a friend in a similar situation to be objective and in any case my path is taking me beyond where he is stopping. But God willing I say, I will be there for you should our paths cross again.
This may sound callous but for my own journey it is a big step- I have seen someone in need and declined to ´be there´for them. I am limited. I am still weeping for my friend and I know the damage that can be done by those who do not recognise their own limitations. My friend Dan thinks differently and gently expresses his concern at my walking away. I listen and still decline.
The walk across the arid meseta is strongly advised to be undertaken in the company of others, but I need to be alone. There is 17km on an ancient Roman road that is 2000 years old, which could have been built yesterday, with only 1 'fuente' and no shop, town or habitation in sight. How splendid I think, so after lunch I set off against the advice of all to enjoy no habitation and no company.
5km into the walk the sun begins to shine and the going gets tough. I have already walked 26km and the empty Camino is both energising and a little strange. I reach the water fountain (fuente) but it is dry and my water is nearly gone. A strange man goes by on his motorbike and slows as he draws alongside me. This is the first motorbike I have seen on The Camino. He looks then drives on and I breathe a sigh of relief. Up ahead I spot 4 women who later I learn are Spanish and just their presence is a comfort even though we cannot exchange comprehensible words.
My water is nearly gone when a cyclist appears out of the blue and stops. He says 'I have come to bring you water- here drink from this'. UNBELIEVABLE!! Trillions of cyclists have passed me by over the days. I learn that he comes from California and that he is married to a vet. We talk briefly and he goes on his way- after I have told him that he has been an angel to me sent by God. He laughs and departs and I don´t see him again. It is now 35 celsius.
We have a God of such amazing attention to detail- I left my camera charger at home not thinking I would take many pictures. Guess who had the exact same camera- Dan!. He had bought his charger (yes I know this leaves so many unanswered questions about millions who die of lack of food and water). I am only telling my story.
Much love, Kate
The first hour of walking for me is painful as my feet adjust to the pain messages my brain receives from blisters. After this they ease off but then shoulder ache kicks in. I am in awe of pilgrims from centuries past who had no access to either antibiotics or ibrufopen- actually many of them died en route of their pilgrimage. I am not surprised because there is an element of physical endurance- it is one thing to walk 35km in one day but then to do it again and again, day after day is something else.
Still despite the demands on body and mind I cannot remember being happier in years. Each day amazing things happen and I thrive on the spontaneity and unpredicatbility of what that will be.
Last night I shared a meal with Vernon from Germany and asked him about his life. The pain on his face as he told me about his 2 daughters that he had not seen since he divorced his wife was excruciating and the moment so poignant that the table hushed-it was not appropriate to continue the conversation. This morning in the coffee bar he came and asked if he could talk to me tonight- so much has been stored up for 20 years and only now has the dam burst and the tears began to flow, that he wants to find some resolution, some closure on that that is just to hard to carry anymore. I am doubtful, I tell him that I am the best person to hear his pain. I have walked too closely with a friend in a similar situation to be objective and in any case my path is taking me beyond where he is stopping. But God willing I say, I will be there for you should our paths cross again.
This may sound callous but for my own journey it is a big step- I have seen someone in need and declined to ´be there´for them. I am limited. I am still weeping for my friend and I know the damage that can be done by those who do not recognise their own limitations. My friend Dan thinks differently and gently expresses his concern at my walking away. I listen and still decline.
The walk across the arid meseta is strongly advised to be undertaken in the company of others, but I need to be alone. There is 17km on an ancient Roman road that is 2000 years old, which could have been built yesterday, with only 1 'fuente' and no shop, town or habitation in sight. How splendid I think, so after lunch I set off against the advice of all to enjoy no habitation and no company.
5km into the walk the sun begins to shine and the going gets tough. I have already walked 26km and the empty Camino is both energising and a little strange. I reach the water fountain (fuente) but it is dry and my water is nearly gone. A strange man goes by on his motorbike and slows as he draws alongside me. This is the first motorbike I have seen on The Camino. He looks then drives on and I breathe a sigh of relief. Up ahead I spot 4 women who later I learn are Spanish and just their presence is a comfort even though we cannot exchange comprehensible words.
My water is nearly gone when a cyclist appears out of the blue and stops. He says 'I have come to bring you water- here drink from this'. UNBELIEVABLE!! Trillions of cyclists have passed me by over the days. I learn that he comes from California and that he is married to a vet. We talk briefly and he goes on his way- after I have told him that he has been an angel to me sent by God. He laughs and departs and I don´t see him again. It is now 35 celsius.
We have a God of such amazing attention to detail- I left my camera charger at home not thinking I would take many pictures. Guess who had the exact same camera- Dan!. He had bought his charger (yes I know this leaves so many unanswered questions about millions who die of lack of food and water). I am only telling my story.
Much love, Kate
Sunday, 15 May 2011
Beautiful and Bizarre
It took me 8 days and deeply aching shoulders before I realised that I was not wearing my backpack correctly and that was despite a practice run along the Dales Way. So now deep grooves are indented in my hips instead of the deep ache in the shoulders but at least with pain you can only feel it majorally in one place at a time-or at least I can!
By day 11 I was in desperate need of some time alone- wherever I sat people came and talked to me so I devised a plan not to smile or make eye contact with ANYONE so they would leave me alone. It works! I had a wonderful solitary walk in the pouring rain for 4 hours and the peace and thoughts were so good. At least the aloneness was good. The thoughts were rather challenging. I wanted to go deeper with God yet repeatedly this womans name came to mind and my less than charitable thoughts towards her. The whisper came 'you have to let her go Kate, remember that word 'as' in My prayer- forgive me my sin as I forgive those who sin against me'. But I don't want to let go. I am not ready. I tell God this and there is a gentle acceptance- no pressure, no disapproval. It just stays in the 'in box'.
I arrive at a cafe which is just humming and on the TV is a Candid Camera show or Spanish equivalent. I am creased in laughter by the end watching rabbits and chickens chase large dogs who have dared to take them on. The show moves on to stuff that borders on animal cruelty for me but hey these people still have bull fighting and bulls raging through the streets of Pamplona. It must be terrifying having seen how narrow the streets of Pamplona are at times. I am amazed at the volumes of alcohol being drank at 9.30am particularly as it is a lorry drivers parking spot. 3 bottles of Cognac are gone in less than 10mins!
Fortunately a whistle is blown and they all crowd onto a coach that I haven't seen, leaving behind a small vacuum as all the collective laughter has gone.
Walking up the hill I meet Dan, a gentle, meek Canadian man in his 60's. He is keen to talk and as we walk he shares his story and I mine: Dan is an ex drug addict who 2 years into his marriage comes to know God. His wife goes schiz and they make an agreement that they will not discuss certain topics for the rest of their lives together and it is now 40 years later! But he is sad as there is so much life he cannot share with her. What is more he is the only man he knows where it is this way around, the husband goes to church and the wife doesn't. Because of this, his church, full of rules and regulations, will not allow him to become an elder. We walk and talk for hours and hours and finally arrive in the environs of Burgos at 7.30pm, both of us having walked since 6.30am. There is one hotel only and it is much cheaper for a twin room so we take it and I spend one of the most bizarre experiences of my life on a Saturday night, sharing a room with a man I hardly know, eating one of the best meals I have had in Spain since I have arrived. Somehow it is a gentle reprieve for us both and as Dan gets into bed he says 'Thank you for such a wonderful day'. I feel truly blessed.
By day 11 I was in desperate need of some time alone- wherever I sat people came and talked to me so I devised a plan not to smile or make eye contact with ANYONE so they would leave me alone. It works! I had a wonderful solitary walk in the pouring rain for 4 hours and the peace and thoughts were so good. At least the aloneness was good. The thoughts were rather challenging. I wanted to go deeper with God yet repeatedly this womans name came to mind and my less than charitable thoughts towards her. The whisper came 'you have to let her go Kate, remember that word 'as' in My prayer- forgive me my sin as I forgive those who sin against me'. But I don't want to let go. I am not ready. I tell God this and there is a gentle acceptance- no pressure, no disapproval. It just stays in the 'in box'.
I arrive at a cafe which is just humming and on the TV is a Candid Camera show or Spanish equivalent. I am creased in laughter by the end watching rabbits and chickens chase large dogs who have dared to take them on. The show moves on to stuff that borders on animal cruelty for me but hey these people still have bull fighting and bulls raging through the streets of Pamplona. It must be terrifying having seen how narrow the streets of Pamplona are at times. I am amazed at the volumes of alcohol being drank at 9.30am particularly as it is a lorry drivers parking spot. 3 bottles of Cognac are gone in less than 10mins!
Fortunately a whistle is blown and they all crowd onto a coach that I haven't seen, leaving behind a small vacuum as all the collective laughter has gone.
Walking up the hill I meet Dan, a gentle, meek Canadian man in his 60's. He is keen to talk and as we walk he shares his story and I mine: Dan is an ex drug addict who 2 years into his marriage comes to know God. His wife goes schiz and they make an agreement that they will not discuss certain topics for the rest of their lives together and it is now 40 years later! But he is sad as there is so much life he cannot share with her. What is more he is the only man he knows where it is this way around, the husband goes to church and the wife doesn't. Because of this, his church, full of rules and regulations, will not allow him to become an elder. We walk and talk for hours and hours and finally arrive in the environs of Burgos at 7.30pm, both of us having walked since 6.30am. There is one hotel only and it is much cheaper for a twin room so we take it and I spend one of the most bizarre experiences of my life on a Saturday night, sharing a room with a man I hardly know, eating one of the best meals I have had in Spain since I have arrived. Somehow it is a gentle reprieve for us both and as Dan gets into bed he says 'Thank you for such a wonderful day'. I feel truly blessed.
Hot feet and Hot Women
Steve has said for many years that he thinks I am a space alien because I can go without sleep for days and still look 20 years younger than him, I do not need to drink water (wine will do) but most of all because unlike most women, my feet are so very very HOT at night. I eat enormous amounts and stay at more or less the same weight and this is due to no great accomplishment of mine but, I believe, the presence of brown adipose tissue which burns it all off. Well my brown adipose tissue must all be in my feet because I can generate enough heat at night to need no heating on in any bedroonm at any time of year!
This is all well and good but where is the old bat going you may wonder with this. The Albergue in Viana did not have bunk beds but triple beds and I was at the very top, up in the sky, touching the ceiling. It was a long way down and the metal rungs hurt your feet- even more so with blisters. One of my worries pre Camino was what would I do at night with my feet as my sleeping bag does not open up and I cannot sleep when they are pumping out heat. Sure enough, the only night it became an issue was the one when I was 3 flights up a bed. At 3am there I am on the top bunk, knowing I will get no sleep unless I get an iced water bottle or failing that dunk them for a long time in cold water, with that satisfying sizzle that you get when you put a hot pan in cold water. I begin the descent from the heavenly places trying to wince quietly as the bars dig into blisters but worth the pain when I duely get to the bathroom and run the tap- endlessly, as there is no plug. Ah the relief! I also get to see the blessed Koreans rising as I return to bed for my nights sleep. Still look on the brightside- they hadn´t woken me up this morning.
I met Luis and Martine coming out of Beldorado. I had observed them early in the morning holding hands on and off as they walked the Camino and smiled at their affection. They were both from Barcelona and took the 'Óla, buen Camino', as an oppertunity to talk more. They quizzed me at length as to my origin,marital status and children. 'Oh your poor husband' they said, 'at home with 4 children' and when I stated that 3 of the children were at University, Luis exclaimed 'Were you a child when you had children? You are no more than 30. Your skin, your eyes, your body, you, you are so beautiful. Look Martine isn't she beautiful? (what is Martine meant to do at this point other than agree with him!) But she plays her part well- yes beautiful she is very beautiful and you will now walk much quicker to keep up with her as you only walk at a decent pace when you are with other beautiful women!!' Since I had been up since 5.30am and I was dripping with sweat and my hair hadn´t been washed for a week, I think it is fair to say he was exagerrating.
We talked for an hour or so as Luis had spent a year in England working as a chemist at ICI, but he was in his 60´s and his knee hurt badly and walking the Camino at your own pace is vital, so we agreed to meet for lunch at a cafe in the next village. Martine rushed off to walk with the donkey walking the Camino and whilst we chatted briefly IN FRENCH!! (yes my children, I will speak it when you are not poking fun) we laughed about married life and male motivation.
We all hit it off so well that we swapped addresses for a future house swap at some time!
This is all well and good but where is the old bat going you may wonder with this. The Albergue in Viana did not have bunk beds but triple beds and I was at the very top, up in the sky, touching the ceiling. It was a long way down and the metal rungs hurt your feet- even more so with blisters. One of my worries pre Camino was what would I do at night with my feet as my sleeping bag does not open up and I cannot sleep when they are pumping out heat. Sure enough, the only night it became an issue was the one when I was 3 flights up a bed. At 3am there I am on the top bunk, knowing I will get no sleep unless I get an iced water bottle or failing that dunk them for a long time in cold water, with that satisfying sizzle that you get when you put a hot pan in cold water. I begin the descent from the heavenly places trying to wince quietly as the bars dig into blisters but worth the pain when I duely get to the bathroom and run the tap- endlessly, as there is no plug. Ah the relief! I also get to see the blessed Koreans rising as I return to bed for my nights sleep. Still look on the brightside- they hadn´t woken me up this morning.
I met Luis and Martine coming out of Beldorado. I had observed them early in the morning holding hands on and off as they walked the Camino and smiled at their affection. They were both from Barcelona and took the 'Óla, buen Camino', as an oppertunity to talk more. They quizzed me at length as to my origin,marital status and children. 'Oh your poor husband' they said, 'at home with 4 children' and when I stated that 3 of the children were at University, Luis exclaimed 'Were you a child when you had children? You are no more than 30. Your skin, your eyes, your body, you, you are so beautiful. Look Martine isn't she beautiful? (what is Martine meant to do at this point other than agree with him!) But she plays her part well- yes beautiful she is very beautiful and you will now walk much quicker to keep up with her as you only walk at a decent pace when you are with other beautiful women!!' Since I had been up since 5.30am and I was dripping with sweat and my hair hadn´t been washed for a week, I think it is fair to say he was exagerrating.
We talked for an hour or so as Luis had spent a year in England working as a chemist at ICI, but he was in his 60´s and his knee hurt badly and walking the Camino at your own pace is vital, so we agreed to meet for lunch at a cafe in the next village. Martine rushed off to walk with the donkey walking the Camino and whilst we chatted briefly IN FRENCH!! (yes my children, I will speak it when you are not poking fun) we laughed about married life and male motivation.
We all hit it off so well that we swapped addresses for a future house swap at some time!
Spain is not full of Spaniards!
My Camino has been abundantly full of people so far and you will have noticed that I have not written any blogs on the wonderful flora and fauna of the Juntas of Spain that I am walking through. That is not because I haven´t noticed it but because I do not know the names of the many flowers or even the birds. Those I do not know I name myself so although Linnaeus may turn in his grave, I am happy- but it wouldn´t help you as you wouldn´t recognise the names either.
I watched an ant 3 days ago drag a piece of bark 10x its size across a sendero (see later). It was amazing and I was transfixed. What a feat! I so much wanted it to succeed that I stood and guarded its path until it reached the other side. It looked like an achievement way beyond walking 800km across Spain.
I have seen Griffon Vultures, Storks, Corn Crakes, Red Kites, Starlings and Swifts. Red poppies are ubiquitous and there are the most gorgeous deep blue wild flowers. I am now in the Junta of Castilla Y Leon and each region is fiercly independent. As far as I can see no one is a Spaniard- they are either Basque or Catalan etc.
They are not a people who seem to have many problems with obesity, the national sport being speed walking first thing in the morning and then later in the evening. The government has built 'senderos' to encourage their population in this sport. Senderos are concrete pavements away from traffic mostly through parkland and walked by all ages-fast! Jogging is also very popular, as is tennis.
Spaniards themselves seem very welcoming to us 'pelegrinos'. Yesterday morning at 6am I was walking through countryside when a divine smelling elderly 'father christmas' old man embraced me in a bear hug with a big smackeroo on each of my cheeks. He drew the sign of the cross on my forehead, then continued on his way with his bag of snails that he had collected (yummy breakfast coming up!) His smell lingered for ages and was very welcome.
All the hotels give 'pelegrino rates' and 'pelegrino menus', which are normally 9 to 11 euros for a 3 course meal including wine, bread and mineral water. The Albergues are amazing and rarely charge above 8euro, most being 4 euro.
A glass of wine anywhere is 70p!! yes 70p.
The Spanish are late to bed and late to rise, eating their main meal at lunchtime after which they take a 3 hr siesta. No one is going to die of overwork here, which is probably why they are so relaxed and happy. The Camino route also brings in an enormous income to local remote villages, all along The Way, so I don´t pretend it is pure altruism, but there is definitely a sense of something completely different as you walk- a Presence, a History steeped in spiritual seeking. Something that is so much bigger than just your own Camino.
They write fantastic English menus and so far I have been offered the cake chef, brave potatoes, illustrated salad, and roast pudding.
I have been walking through farming country and love the smell of the sheep, cows and chickens. Sadly, all the pigs I have seen so far or to put it more correctly, not seen, but smelt and heard ( sad pig sounds) are intensively reared. Iberico ham is a local speciality but I will not buy it at home after this trip after hearing those awful wails, unless it states free range, which I would find hard to believe having walked from one end of the Junta to the other.
I watched an ant 3 days ago drag a piece of bark 10x its size across a sendero (see later). It was amazing and I was transfixed. What a feat! I so much wanted it to succeed that I stood and guarded its path until it reached the other side. It looked like an achievement way beyond walking 800km across Spain.
I have seen Griffon Vultures, Storks, Corn Crakes, Red Kites, Starlings and Swifts. Red poppies are ubiquitous and there are the most gorgeous deep blue wild flowers. I am now in the Junta of Castilla Y Leon and each region is fiercly independent. As far as I can see no one is a Spaniard- they are either Basque or Catalan etc.
They are not a people who seem to have many problems with obesity, the national sport being speed walking first thing in the morning and then later in the evening. The government has built 'senderos' to encourage their population in this sport. Senderos are concrete pavements away from traffic mostly through parkland and walked by all ages-fast! Jogging is also very popular, as is tennis.
Spaniards themselves seem very welcoming to us 'pelegrinos'. Yesterday morning at 6am I was walking through countryside when a divine smelling elderly 'father christmas' old man embraced me in a bear hug with a big smackeroo on each of my cheeks. He drew the sign of the cross on my forehead, then continued on his way with his bag of snails that he had collected (yummy breakfast coming up!) His smell lingered for ages and was very welcome.
All the hotels give 'pelegrino rates' and 'pelegrino menus', which are normally 9 to 11 euros for a 3 course meal including wine, bread and mineral water. The Albergues are amazing and rarely charge above 8euro, most being 4 euro.
A glass of wine anywhere is 70p!! yes 70p.
The Spanish are late to bed and late to rise, eating their main meal at lunchtime after which they take a 3 hr siesta. No one is going to die of overwork here, which is probably why they are so relaxed and happy. The Camino route also brings in an enormous income to local remote villages, all along The Way, so I don´t pretend it is pure altruism, but there is definitely a sense of something completely different as you walk- a Presence, a History steeped in spiritual seeking. Something that is so much bigger than just your own Camino.
They write fantastic English menus and so far I have been offered the cake chef, brave potatoes, illustrated salad, and roast pudding.
I have been walking through farming country and love the smell of the sheep, cows and chickens. Sadly, all the pigs I have seen so far or to put it more correctly, not seen, but smelt and heard ( sad pig sounds) are intensively reared. Iberico ham is a local speciality but I will not buy it at home after this trip after hearing those awful wails, unless it states free range, which I would find hard to believe having walked from one end of the Junta to the other.
Loving the unLoveable (2)
You know there are cultural differences across Europe in the type of people you meet: Germans, the Dutch and Austrians are very precise and very right, Spaniards are warm and a little disorganised, a little like the Italians, English are slighly reserved and stand back rather akin to the Canadians (yes I know that's not Europe) and the Koreans are something else altogether.
I met Reinatta coming out of the shower naked. She pointed to her tummy and commented that no matter how far she walked it remained horrid and saggy. I showed her mine and we sympathised together, after which she pointed to my breasts and asked if they were saggy too and could I show her! I declined the invitation (I was clothed).
Later that night she was eating alone so I asked if I could join her. She spoke little English and I speak no German so we had an evening of sign language and much fun-it only goes so far (the sign language that is). Towards the end of our meal Britta sat down at our table and announced that she wished to join us. Britta is German and speaks English so this is good (despite the lack of choice), and over 10 mins we discover she is a Vet who has packed it in due to a breakdown in a supermarket where she couldn´t stop crying 6 months previously, and that she had been trying for a baby for 3 years and just 1/2 hour ago had discovered she was pregnant. Even I who is known to be pretty open cannot compete with this!
2 nights later I ate with very different Germans; a German teacher in his 60's, slim, fit with an attitude that 'everyone is entitled to his opinion' because he is right. I comment on the state of my feet only to be told that right boots and right socks mean no blisters- which is why his feet are so blissfully clear of them. Mine look like the Battle of the Somme, so I have obviously got that wong then. I am also wrong about the amount of water and wine I am drinking (guess which one I am drinking more of?) and so it goes on. Opposite me is Marian, also German who is the size of a brick s--t house. Her boobs are awesome! She describes her experience of the Albergue the night before- the very best Albergue on the Camino. She goes on and on and it does sound quite unique and something else. After 1/2 hr of monologue when I have oohed and ahhed endlessly she asks 'So how does it feel to have missed the best night on the Camino?' Do these people have any friends??? This albergue where we were all staying offered a meal on a donation basis and so the basket came around for us to pay our dues. Now I hate donation basis because I feel I need to make up for all those stingy people who will give as little as possible, so I compensate by giving too much. I know these people are not responsible for my feelings but getting that to go into my head from my heart is difficult. I coughed up and Mr. Right put in 6euros. I turned to him and commented that I was amazed the place could keep going when most people would be mean with their donation. 'Ah' he said in reply, I always give the average- you know what that is- not the top price not the bottom'. He must have been on a different Camino to me or there has been a time warp back 40 years!! The other 2 gave even less.
The country most represented on the Camino this year are the South Koreans. They are here in droves apparently due to the release of a film about the Camino in Korea. Bless them! They apparently speak reasonable English but cannot read the sign SILENCIO 10pm - 6am. Every morning, yes EVERY morning they all get up at 4am to start their walk by 5am. They are full of smiles and are softly spoken but I feel murderous thoughts EVERY morning. The other thing they do or should I say, fail to do, is queue. Without a bat of an eyelid they march to the front of any line of people as if it doesn´t exist- and in the ladies loos too.
I met Reinatta coming out of the shower naked. She pointed to her tummy and commented that no matter how far she walked it remained horrid and saggy. I showed her mine and we sympathised together, after which she pointed to my breasts and asked if they were saggy too and could I show her! I declined the invitation (I was clothed).
Later that night she was eating alone so I asked if I could join her. She spoke little English and I speak no German so we had an evening of sign language and much fun-it only goes so far (the sign language that is). Towards the end of our meal Britta sat down at our table and announced that she wished to join us. Britta is German and speaks English so this is good (despite the lack of choice), and over 10 mins we discover she is a Vet who has packed it in due to a breakdown in a supermarket where she couldn´t stop crying 6 months previously, and that she had been trying for a baby for 3 years and just 1/2 hour ago had discovered she was pregnant. Even I who is known to be pretty open cannot compete with this!
2 nights later I ate with very different Germans; a German teacher in his 60's, slim, fit with an attitude that 'everyone is entitled to his opinion' because he is right. I comment on the state of my feet only to be told that right boots and right socks mean no blisters- which is why his feet are so blissfully clear of them. Mine look like the Battle of the Somme, so I have obviously got that wong then. I am also wrong about the amount of water and wine I am drinking (guess which one I am drinking more of?) and so it goes on. Opposite me is Marian, also German who is the size of a brick s--t house. Her boobs are awesome! She describes her experience of the Albergue the night before- the very best Albergue on the Camino. She goes on and on and it does sound quite unique and something else. After 1/2 hr of monologue when I have oohed and ahhed endlessly she asks 'So how does it feel to have missed the best night on the Camino?' Do these people have any friends??? This albergue where we were all staying offered a meal on a donation basis and so the basket came around for us to pay our dues. Now I hate donation basis because I feel I need to make up for all those stingy people who will give as little as possible, so I compensate by giving too much. I know these people are not responsible for my feelings but getting that to go into my head from my heart is difficult. I coughed up and Mr. Right put in 6euros. I turned to him and commented that I was amazed the place could keep going when most people would be mean with their donation. 'Ah' he said in reply, I always give the average- you know what that is- not the top price not the bottom'. He must have been on a different Camino to me or there has been a time warp back 40 years!! The other 2 gave even less.
The country most represented on the Camino this year are the South Koreans. They are here in droves apparently due to the release of a film about the Camino in Korea. Bless them! They apparently speak reasonable English but cannot read the sign SILENCIO 10pm - 6am. Every morning, yes EVERY morning they all get up at 4am to start their walk by 5am. They are full of smiles and are softly spoken but I feel murderous thoughts EVERY morning. The other thing they do or should I say, fail to do, is queue. Without a bat of an eyelid they march to the front of any line of people as if it doesn´t exist- and in the ladies loos too.
Loving the unLoveable
I met Terry whilst eating breakfast at 7.30 am having walked 10km from my nights resting place. He shouted across the tables 'Isn´t this a bloody awful walk, where nobody speaks to you- I hate it and all the people that are here', all in a broad scouse accent at 100 decibels (is that loud or not?´it was very loud!). Scouse is a colloquial term for Liverpudlian. I had been talking to 2 lovely ladies about where we were headed and this man was seething with rage and certainly interrupting the nice ambience of the place.
A conversation with him ensued in which we listened to his tale of woe of not being able to find a bed in an Albergue/ Refugio and so instead was having to stay at hotels and pay hotel prices. As a result he had got a bus that day at 6am from his hotel to this place so that he could sit outside the Albergue at 9am and wait for them to open at midday! I kid you not his camino had become ruled by the fear of not finding a bed at a cheap price and for that he had sacrificied the walking for the bed. That kind of defeats the whole point of walking The Camino- at least in my world. Only foreigners had tried to talk to him and then only for a short time as he was wasting their time. 'On the contrary' I objected, 'most of them love to practice their English on you.
A little voice prompted me to ask him if he wanted to join us on our walk and part of me was asking 'Really Lord- this man is a nightmare' My companions visablly cringed as the invitation dropped out of my mouth but Terry was delighted. Within 5 mins I found myself walking alone with this man who vented his spleen about the 'crap Camino' and how he was particularly angry at a spanish hotelier who would not give him his money back when he changed his mind about wanting a bed for the night. In his words 'If I was younger I would have pulled him over the counter and knocked the crap out of him- the Spanish git and he didn´t speak English either!' Terry wanted me to assure him that I would find him a bed at the Albergue in the next town. I said that was not my responsibility and anyway it was beyond my control.
For the first hour I listened to Terry tell me the tale of his life. He was so consumed with anger that nothing was right, no relationship had succeeded, everyone was ALWAYS nasty to him- he had parted with his best friend 10 years ago through a vicious row, he was only with his wife because he couldn´t afford a divorce, his son was ashamed of him and refused to be with him in public and nobody, NOBODY, had talked to him on this bloody Camino. He had met an Italian guy the night before and wanted to share a room with him to split the cost and even he had refused to share a room with him. Then came the phrase that melted my heart 'I have been rejected by so many people since I came here, actually it´s the story of my life´.
For the next 5 hours we walked together, him telling me of his childhood home and how much his mum had loved God and was a devout Catholic, his sister dying of cancer, his struggle in the workplace and his absent father. He was a mass of living contadictions- he didn´t drink alcohol but had beer at lunch, he didn't bring a guide book but had learnt Spanish st home in preparation for the Camino, he took buses instead of walking, which was fine but staying in hotels was 'cheating' etc.He was on the Camino having had an extraordinary dream which he then gave his own interpretation to but was hoping to make sense of it along this journey. He related his dream to the book of Revelation, but it could be many other things as he loved watching violent films. The only question he ever asked me in our whole time together over 2 days was 'Did I believe in God?'. What an opening! I took it!! Briefly!!!
The afternoon was spent with him giving me the minute details of the film Clockwork Orange. The more he told me the more I made the mental note to give it a pass, but for him it was the best film ever made. However by the time we walked into Santo Domingo, we had moved onto happier thoughts about his daughter and son and he had moved into scouse humour mode. I was creased in laugther as I walked the last stretch. So much so that a couple of pilgrims asked me how I could laugh so much after such an exhausting walk, as they lay flaked out on benches. 'Because he is so very funny' I said. I watched Terry grow before my eyes and a smile cross his face. His comment about his daughter was that she was 'beautiful with attitude'. 'You know Terry' I said 'so are you- so are we all!'
Later that evening I saw a group of people I had met a couple of days ago and they invited me to join them for a meal- but not with Terry. (dilemma )Thankfully he was sleeping blissfully on his bed, having found at last an Albergue. During dinner one of them said they could not walk with him because he was so negative and so loud with it. She was sure I had got lots of heavenly rewards for my choices that day. Maybe I said, but I hadn´t laughed so deeply for so long for years, but also thought 'I couldn´t have walked with him 5 years ago either' and felt rather humbled by the gift that he had been to me that day that I hadn´t really wanted to accept.
A conversation with him ensued in which we listened to his tale of woe of not being able to find a bed in an Albergue/ Refugio and so instead was having to stay at hotels and pay hotel prices. As a result he had got a bus that day at 6am from his hotel to this place so that he could sit outside the Albergue at 9am and wait for them to open at midday! I kid you not his camino had become ruled by the fear of not finding a bed at a cheap price and for that he had sacrificied the walking for the bed. That kind of defeats the whole point of walking The Camino- at least in my world. Only foreigners had tried to talk to him and then only for a short time as he was wasting their time. 'On the contrary' I objected, 'most of them love to practice their English on you.
A little voice prompted me to ask him if he wanted to join us on our walk and part of me was asking 'Really Lord- this man is a nightmare' My companions visablly cringed as the invitation dropped out of my mouth but Terry was delighted. Within 5 mins I found myself walking alone with this man who vented his spleen about the 'crap Camino' and how he was particularly angry at a spanish hotelier who would not give him his money back when he changed his mind about wanting a bed for the night. In his words 'If I was younger I would have pulled him over the counter and knocked the crap out of him- the Spanish git and he didn´t speak English either!' Terry wanted me to assure him that I would find him a bed at the Albergue in the next town. I said that was not my responsibility and anyway it was beyond my control.
For the first hour I listened to Terry tell me the tale of his life. He was so consumed with anger that nothing was right, no relationship had succeeded, everyone was ALWAYS nasty to him- he had parted with his best friend 10 years ago through a vicious row, he was only with his wife because he couldn´t afford a divorce, his son was ashamed of him and refused to be with him in public and nobody, NOBODY, had talked to him on this bloody Camino. He had met an Italian guy the night before and wanted to share a room with him to split the cost and even he had refused to share a room with him. Then came the phrase that melted my heart 'I have been rejected by so many people since I came here, actually it´s the story of my life´.
For the next 5 hours we walked together, him telling me of his childhood home and how much his mum had loved God and was a devout Catholic, his sister dying of cancer, his struggle in the workplace and his absent father. He was a mass of living contadictions- he didn´t drink alcohol but had beer at lunch, he didn't bring a guide book but had learnt Spanish st home in preparation for the Camino, he took buses instead of walking, which was fine but staying in hotels was 'cheating' etc.He was on the Camino having had an extraordinary dream which he then gave his own interpretation to but was hoping to make sense of it along this journey. He related his dream to the book of Revelation, but it could be many other things as he loved watching violent films. The only question he ever asked me in our whole time together over 2 days was 'Did I believe in God?'. What an opening! I took it!! Briefly!!!
The afternoon was spent with him giving me the minute details of the film Clockwork Orange. The more he told me the more I made the mental note to give it a pass, but for him it was the best film ever made. However by the time we walked into Santo Domingo, we had moved onto happier thoughts about his daughter and son and he had moved into scouse humour mode. I was creased in laugther as I walked the last stretch. So much so that a couple of pilgrims asked me how I could laugh so much after such an exhausting walk, as they lay flaked out on benches. 'Because he is so very funny' I said. I watched Terry grow before my eyes and a smile cross his face. His comment about his daughter was that she was 'beautiful with attitude'. 'You know Terry' I said 'so are you- so are we all!'
Later that evening I saw a group of people I had met a couple of days ago and they invited me to join them for a meal- but not with Terry. (dilemma )Thankfully he was sleeping blissfully on his bed, having found at last an Albergue. During dinner one of them said they could not walk with him because he was so negative and so loud with it. She was sure I had got lots of heavenly rewards for my choices that day. Maybe I said, but I hadn´t laughed so deeply for so long for years, but also thought 'I couldn´t have walked with him 5 years ago either' and felt rather humbled by the gift that he had been to me that day that I hadn´t really wanted to accept.
Tuesday, 10 May 2011
Dripping knickers and no Dignity
Many pilgrims start the walk at Roncesvalles, which is near the French/Spanish border. It is only famous as the start to The Camino. Having said that, there is the most impressive monastery and church there as well as some brand new pilgrim accomodation.
I arrived at midday on the first day of my walking journey and went to get the 'passport stamp' of the location. There I had to fill in a statistic sheet in which I was given information as to the masses that would be said for pilgrims which I could attend. Please note, it said, communion may ONLY be taken by Catholics. That sentence confirmed my decision to 'walk on' with a feeling akin to exasperation, mild outrage and intolerance at such intolerance!
I sat and had my lunch on a bench near the church, took off my boots and socks to massage my feet and along came the 'hospitaldero', the warden of the refuge. He asked me if I was staying. Alas, no, I said , it is too early to stop and in any case the message given on arriving here that only Catholics can take communion is so contrary to the spirit of the whole Camino, never mind Jesus who died for US ALL (not just Catholics), that I wouldn't stay on principle. He laughed and said he'd pass my disquiet on. Oh good I continued then maybe you could scrub it out and put in its place ALL ARE WELCOME TO TAKE COMMUNION...... if you want to receive the gift that Jesus gave his life for. How about adding, whilst you are at it, all those that have got it wrong at some time, all those that are in pain, all those who can't forgive themselves or forgive others. People just like you and me!
Theologically, I am probably at odds with all the institutionalised churches but from my own experience I have shared the Eucharist in my own home with many people who have walked away from God and/or the church. These have been profound times of healing with a tangible presence of the Holy Spirit. Only God knows the heart and each person must decide for themselves if they want to take part in Jesus's remembrance feast- in my opinion.
Still, we parted on good terms with a cheery goodbye and a 'Buen Camino'.
2 days later when I met up with Marek, we talked of going to Mass together. This was important for him and he felt at odds with himself if he didn't attend. The heavens opened as we wound our way to Pamplona with those most incredible raindrops found in tropical monsoons which pound on your head. We were drenched. Boy, did the shower feel good that night, even though it was luke warm. Unfortunately, the rain had soaked anything that had not been put in my dry bag (thanks for that Steve-great idea!), so all my clothes were wet. By morning they were still wet, but the sun was blazing again, so that oh so useful tip to take safety pins and use them to attach clothes to your back pack came up trumps. I had to prioritise, not having enough pins, so the knickers won. I walked in to Pamplona Catholic church with a load of wet knickers hanging from my pack to attend Mass. There I sat, not understanding a word, but listening to the rythmn and pattern and sense of the place. It was very peaceful and I duly went forward to take communion. No thunderbolt from the sky- I am still here to tell the tale. The priest had the most lovely, sparkly eyes as he smiled at me, gave me a wafer and said something incomprehensible. My knickers were still drying nicely in the pew and I think God was smiling too!
Katex
I arrived at midday on the first day of my walking journey and went to get the 'passport stamp' of the location. There I had to fill in a statistic sheet in which I was given information as to the masses that would be said for pilgrims which I could attend. Please note, it said, communion may ONLY be taken by Catholics. That sentence confirmed my decision to 'walk on' with a feeling akin to exasperation, mild outrage and intolerance at such intolerance!
I sat and had my lunch on a bench near the church, took off my boots and socks to massage my feet and along came the 'hospitaldero', the warden of the refuge. He asked me if I was staying. Alas, no, I said , it is too early to stop and in any case the message given on arriving here that only Catholics can take communion is so contrary to the spirit of the whole Camino, never mind Jesus who died for US ALL (not just Catholics), that I wouldn't stay on principle. He laughed and said he'd pass my disquiet on. Oh good I continued then maybe you could scrub it out and put in its place ALL ARE WELCOME TO TAKE COMMUNION...... if you want to receive the gift that Jesus gave his life for. How about adding, whilst you are at it, all those that have got it wrong at some time, all those that are in pain, all those who can't forgive themselves or forgive others. People just like you and me!
Theologically, I am probably at odds with all the institutionalised churches but from my own experience I have shared the Eucharist in my own home with many people who have walked away from God and/or the church. These have been profound times of healing with a tangible presence of the Holy Spirit. Only God knows the heart and each person must decide for themselves if they want to take part in Jesus's remembrance feast- in my opinion.
Still, we parted on good terms with a cheery goodbye and a 'Buen Camino'.
2 days later when I met up with Marek, we talked of going to Mass together. This was important for him and he felt at odds with himself if he didn't attend. The heavens opened as we wound our way to Pamplona with those most incredible raindrops found in tropical monsoons which pound on your head. We were drenched. Boy, did the shower feel good that night, even though it was luke warm. Unfortunately, the rain had soaked anything that had not been put in my dry bag (thanks for that Steve-great idea!), so all my clothes were wet. By morning they were still wet, but the sun was blazing again, so that oh so useful tip to take safety pins and use them to attach clothes to your back pack came up trumps. I had to prioritise, not having enough pins, so the knickers won. I walked in to Pamplona Catholic church with a load of wet knickers hanging from my pack to attend Mass. There I sat, not understanding a word, but listening to the rythmn and pattern and sense of the place. It was very peaceful and I duly went forward to take communion. No thunderbolt from the sky- I am still here to tell the tale. The priest had the most lovely, sparkly eyes as he smiled at me, gave me a wafer and said something incomprehensible. My knickers were still drying nicely in the pew and I think God was smiling too!
Katex
Gratitude and Grumblings
Well I am turning into a proper '`Pollyanna', who will drive you all mad with my positive outlook on life when I return! For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about go read the book or watch the film- you want to throttle her by the end.
The above said, an attitude of gratitude in all things does really help you along the Camino. When refused a bed yesterday it was so much more helpful to think 'oh well the sun is shining and I get to chat to another group of guys' than the attitude expressed by a 26yr old Israeli male who was walking the Camino with his father; when they were refused a bed also, the father exclaimed 'What shall I do, my son will cry and refuse to walk?'. When asked how old his son was there was surprise and then great laughter which the father took quite well. And no he was not joking. I spoke to the son as he downed a couple of pints of Cerveza. We had a good natured banter in which I told him to get off his bottom and walk. He raised his glass and said the taxi was on its way (it was!). His father asked if I could move in to discipline him and if I did he would write me into his will. Alas the offer wasn't good enough.
Gratitude for small pleasures which here become big pleasures is vital to survival- things like taking off your boots and socks at lunchtime and feeling the air around your toes, taking the pack off your back and again feeling the air kiss your back, peeing in the wind (one of my favourite) as long as you check the direction of the wind first!, a cheery 'buen camino' from a fellow traveller, a cool shower at the end of the walk where a hair wash has become a real luxury, steep bits that are in the shade, endless birdsong if you stop and listen, sudden cool breezes that whisper comfort, spring flowers bursting forth in bloom to the extent that you are sometimes festooned in blown blossoms which you run to catch and join in their dance, empty camino paths because everyone else has stopped walking and you have the place to yourself as you watch the sun set, ice cool fountains that you dunk your head under and fill your empty bottle with, risking navigation by the position of the sun and finding out you are not as stupid as you thought because it works!, a chair to sit on, small acts of kindness from others and a bed to rest your weary bones (even if it may have bed bugs).
The grumbles- well life always has 2 sides- so, sonorous symphonies from fellow travellers where every breth reminds you of what you are not doing, heat rash, red and angry moving up your legs from wearing wooly socks, great socking blisters that remind you every step that you are walking on them!, aching muscles, full refugios when you long to stop, aching shoulders, sore from carrying a pack and finally, arriving at water fountains that don't exist anymore.
I feel so alive even though my body is in revolt, but today I have listened to it and stopped at 1pm- it needs to rest and recover and so I can write to you.
As ever, Katex
The above said, an attitude of gratitude in all things does really help you along the Camino. When refused a bed yesterday it was so much more helpful to think 'oh well the sun is shining and I get to chat to another group of guys' than the attitude expressed by a 26yr old Israeli male who was walking the Camino with his father; when they were refused a bed also, the father exclaimed 'What shall I do, my son will cry and refuse to walk?'. When asked how old his son was there was surprise and then great laughter which the father took quite well. And no he was not joking. I spoke to the son as he downed a couple of pints of Cerveza. We had a good natured banter in which I told him to get off his bottom and walk. He raised his glass and said the taxi was on its way (it was!). His father asked if I could move in to discipline him and if I did he would write me into his will. Alas the offer wasn't good enough.
Gratitude for small pleasures which here become big pleasures is vital to survival- things like taking off your boots and socks at lunchtime and feeling the air around your toes, taking the pack off your back and again feeling the air kiss your back, peeing in the wind (one of my favourite) as long as you check the direction of the wind first!, a cheery 'buen camino' from a fellow traveller, a cool shower at the end of the walk where a hair wash has become a real luxury, steep bits that are in the shade, endless birdsong if you stop and listen, sudden cool breezes that whisper comfort, spring flowers bursting forth in bloom to the extent that you are sometimes festooned in blown blossoms which you run to catch and join in their dance, empty camino paths because everyone else has stopped walking and you have the place to yourself as you watch the sun set, ice cool fountains that you dunk your head under and fill your empty bottle with, risking navigation by the position of the sun and finding out you are not as stupid as you thought because it works!, a chair to sit on, small acts of kindness from others and a bed to rest your weary bones (even if it may have bed bugs).
The grumbles- well life always has 2 sides- so, sonorous symphonies from fellow travellers where every breth reminds you of what you are not doing, heat rash, red and angry moving up your legs from wearing wooly socks, great socking blisters that remind you every step that you are walking on them!, aching muscles, full refugios when you long to stop, aching shoulders, sore from carrying a pack and finally, arriving at water fountains that don't exist anymore.
I feel so alive even though my body is in revolt, but today I have listened to it and stopped at 1pm- it needs to rest and recover and so I can write to you.
As ever, Katex
Monday, 9 May 2011
No Room at the Inn
I understand now why so many people come and walk this camino. No where else have I experienced such an embrace among strangers. It is actually what I dream a church should be like;some struggle and in minutes someone is there drawing alongside, offering assistance, from water to food to encouragement to get up and carry on, to actually tarrying awhile, putting their own camino on hold, to help another.
I spent yesterday morning walking with an Irish guy who is 32. He is looking for direction in life, having been made redundant from a high-flying software engineers job. He talked of the danger of finding your identity in your work and how it took this wake up call for him to realise he was giving his life, his soul his all to a company who pretended to care about him- at least they cared until he was not needed anymore. For many of these people God is identified by the church. A church that is completely irrelevant to their lives. The church is rejected and so by proxy is God. And yet there was something missing and he couldn´t put his finger on it. We talked at length about what love was and what it was like to be married and committed to one other person like no one else as opposed to serial unmarried monogamy which he, like many of his peers lived without question. Our deep conversation ended with a key question and I asked his permission if I could pray for him along my own camino, that by the end of his own, he would be be enlightened re his own seeking. He was delighted and that is another amazing thing I have found -people are very happy for you to pray for them if they say they believe in God or not. I then learnt so much about the technological world from him and it was mind blowing as you went deeper and deeper, but it all eventually came back to algorithms, no matter how complex the surface action was. I also learnt the latest wacky tech speak such as tethering and bumping, so I am now super cool and whizzy!
I wanted to walk further so we parted ways and I walked alone another 10km to what I thought was my resting place for the night. But alas there was ´no room in the inn´. I had already walked 32km in a temperature of 29celsius, so another 12km walk was not incredibly welcome. But God is good and walking into the bar for a half of Cerveza before the last slog (yes completely unadvisable but hey!), I got chatting to Patrick (aka Dave Migley), who also had no bed, so we agreed to walk together. En route, Ryan from Canada joined us. He had been volunteering at Vimy- something to do with Canadians and the war and he had so kindly given up his bed to a more needy pigrim who had sat in the bar and wept on hearing there were no beds left. Finally Thierry from France joined us and he is the Jamie Oliver of French school dinners! He had already walked 1000km from Brittany so this was a breeze. He was very kind and encouraging and we laughed a lot together-that really helped and we watched as 3 Red Kites soared in the sky. Dinner was such an inclusive, wacky affair with 2 Brits, a Spaniard an Italian a French man and a Canadian. Again a picture of heaven- for me anyway, also as wine here is SOOOOO cheap, so cheap in fact that passing out of Estella there is a wine fountain. Really it is a fountain that delivers wine not water coutesy of the Bodegas family! I have a picture to prove it!!
So at this point I want to thank my family for all those Sparta ski holidays- up at 6am, on the slopes for the first lift, a drink of water and a Mars bar (from Asda) on the lift between pistes at lunchtime and finish as the lifts close! What a fantastic preparation for The Camino. Also the knowledge of being held by God enabled me to walk 45km yesterday in heat. If you had asked me if I could do that pre Camino I would have said no.
Much love, Kate
I spent yesterday morning walking with an Irish guy who is 32. He is looking for direction in life, having been made redundant from a high-flying software engineers job. He talked of the danger of finding your identity in your work and how it took this wake up call for him to realise he was giving his life, his soul his all to a company who pretended to care about him- at least they cared until he was not needed anymore. For many of these people God is identified by the church. A church that is completely irrelevant to their lives. The church is rejected and so by proxy is God. And yet there was something missing and he couldn´t put his finger on it. We talked at length about what love was and what it was like to be married and committed to one other person like no one else as opposed to serial unmarried monogamy which he, like many of his peers lived without question. Our deep conversation ended with a key question and I asked his permission if I could pray for him along my own camino, that by the end of his own, he would be be enlightened re his own seeking. He was delighted and that is another amazing thing I have found -people are very happy for you to pray for them if they say they believe in God or not. I then learnt so much about the technological world from him and it was mind blowing as you went deeper and deeper, but it all eventually came back to algorithms, no matter how complex the surface action was. I also learnt the latest wacky tech speak such as tethering and bumping, so I am now super cool and whizzy!
I wanted to walk further so we parted ways and I walked alone another 10km to what I thought was my resting place for the night. But alas there was ´no room in the inn´. I had already walked 32km in a temperature of 29celsius, so another 12km walk was not incredibly welcome. But God is good and walking into the bar for a half of Cerveza before the last slog (yes completely unadvisable but hey!), I got chatting to Patrick (aka Dave Migley), who also had no bed, so we agreed to walk together. En route, Ryan from Canada joined us. He had been volunteering at Vimy- something to do with Canadians and the war and he had so kindly given up his bed to a more needy pigrim who had sat in the bar and wept on hearing there were no beds left. Finally Thierry from France joined us and he is the Jamie Oliver of French school dinners! He had already walked 1000km from Brittany so this was a breeze. He was very kind and encouraging and we laughed a lot together-that really helped and we watched as 3 Red Kites soared in the sky. Dinner was such an inclusive, wacky affair with 2 Brits, a Spaniard an Italian a French man and a Canadian. Again a picture of heaven- for me anyway, also as wine here is SOOOOO cheap, so cheap in fact that passing out of Estella there is a wine fountain. Really it is a fountain that delivers wine not water coutesy of the Bodegas family! I have a picture to prove it!!
So at this point I want to thank my family for all those Sparta ski holidays- up at 6am, on the slopes for the first lift, a drink of water and a Mars bar (from Asda) on the lift between pistes at lunchtime and finish as the lifts close! What a fantastic preparation for The Camino. Also the knowledge of being held by God enabled me to walk 45km yesterday in heat. If you had asked me if I could do that pre Camino I would have said no.
Much love, Kate
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