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T -2 To Bring or Not to Bring?

The guest room at home is a disaster. Stuff strewn about, there’s backpack innards, trekking thingies, spanex/lycra/wicking clothes and miscellaneous more things I don’t care to list. I have no idea if it’s near the 12 kilos/25 pound self imposed limited, or whether I can jam it into my shrinking pack.

The ‘bring/don’t bring’ decisions on my mind however, are not of the sock and underwear variety. They are of precious items which despite weight or girth, or lack of either, will lift me on the coming sojourn. I think I have my list:

Sandra’s scallop shell. The scallop is an icon of the Camino, reputed to have been used to scoop water from pond or well before the era of the Camelbak and plastic bottles. Many walkers acquire a shell somewhere on route for a couple of bucks, then attach it to dangle from backpack along the Way of St. James. My wife and I each bought one in St. Jean Pied de Port on our original walk. For 2009, Sandra’s 2003 version is on my pack.

A Teddy bear named Mikee. We lost my brother-in-law Michael to cancer a few months ago after an amazing 10 year battle. He was 66, and for 30 years was as much a brother as my own. I miss his wisdom already, his wit, laughter, friendship, and the love he had for my sister and so many others. I was lucky to be one of those others. He was a beautiful man, the kind who inspires every day. I want Mikee to ride across Spain with me.

No Netbook/Blackberry. These made the ‘don’t bring’ list. I expect a severe case of withdrawal, and maybe even the shakes for a few days, but these puppies need to stay home. I may regret it, but I think it's is the right decision. I was generously filled by quiet, tranquility, peace and an almost constant meditative mode last time out. The combination supplied base elements for many experiences; encounters that moved my spirit. Internet cafes, phone cards and pay phones will be my alternate. It will be soooo 1980s…

An electronic tape recorder. Small, light, and without a connection to the outside world, I hope it will at some point hold worthy thoughts; maybe save moments of inspiration.

A missalette. Many of the churches across Spain are Catholic. The Catholic masses are universal, which is to say the same Biblical passages are read in every church everywhere in the world on any given day. I can’t speak Spanish, but this little booklet in English contains all the daily readings for September. When I do wander into a church, I can follow what’s being said and read. I’m hoping the readings might speak to me.

A bag of rocks. I know; this one’s a little weird, especially on a journey were dumping weight is the prime directive. And to make it worse, I can’t tell you what they’re for. Not yet. Maybe in a few days.

These are my thoughts and feelings today.

T -3 Days. Spirituality

The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious - the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true science. Albert Einstein

Encounters of the spiritual arrive with little warning on the trail across Spain. I likened them to a soft tap on the shoulder when attention wandered, as it did most hours of most days. Walking created the meditative state, opened my heart, and slowed me sufficiently to appreciate things I might otherwise miss. These are things that appear unimportant at first glance, but a moment later can reach inside and move profoundly. The often quiet time on the road unearthed my inner voice, pointed the way to many of these experiences. In a busy world I rarely hear the voice, heed it even less. Trekking the Camino, this inner persona was permited to take the lead. I describe the sensation as awakening a new sense of trust within.

Some encounters are very human. On one occasion, I shared a glass of wine with a trekker who walked in 2003 because his doctor said he might not live to see 2004. My heart stopped when his words landed on our tiny table, realizing how casually I accept the blessing of good health. Then there was Trevor, a 60ish British man I found staggering drunkenly through a dusty village in the middle of the country. It had taken him 5 days to cover the same distance I walked in 5 hours. Trevor’s awkward movements resulted not from alcohol, but from advance Parkinson’s. Walking alone and without complaint he planned to cover 300 kilometers at a 1/hour pace. I never had the ability to ask why. Discovering what he was about, I was overcome with emotion; all I could do was pray for him and vow not to utter another word about discomfort.

Though human in nature, these encounters touched deeper than mere words convey.

Other encounters occur with a more mystical flare. I remember a simple church which stood solo in the middle of a field. 800 year-old St. Mary of Eunates was apparently employed for the burial of pilgrims from the Middle Ages, when severe illness and banditry were often fatal risks to pilgrim travel. St. Mary’s is known to trekkers, but it’s off the path, requiring an hours’ detour. Walking such a side trip is not done lightly with sore feet or tired legs. Yet with no understanding of why, I knew I should make the turn to go.

The music of Zamphir is barely audible within, the near-silence immediately powerful. It felt beyond peaceful; moving towards a sense of the sacred. I found a dozen other pilgrims settled in various pews when I arrived. Rain had literally thudded down that day, the sounds of a Spanish monsoon through the open door somehow harmonic accompaniment for the flute. For all its volume, rain seemed integral to the consuming ambiance. A blissful, inner peace permeated the ancient structure, and touched my heart without anything more obvious than its simple presence.

Perhaps it was the spirit of pilgrims past, perhaps it was the sacred. I came to understand a different sense of pilgrimage during my short stay. Eunates reminds of the history when people risked their lives for such experience; it underscored faith in the sacred, made me think of mine. Whether it was this I felt, or the caress of a centuries old building, soft beautiful music, or perhaps a combination of all, every person within the church was moved by moments spent at St. Mary’s. The collection of international travelers, me included, each displayed tears on their faces, emotionally struck by something in the church. I wondered how many thought they were being touched by God? I wondered if I was.

The experience felt as I might imagine the touch of God; gentle and loving and warming beyond description. I spoke to no one for a long while after I walked away. I wanted to hold the moment for as long as possible.

My hope of the coming month, is for a re-acquaintance with such encounters.

T -4 Days to go. Training

Okay, this one’s got me scared.

Last time I created a conditioning program commencing 3 months before launching to Spain to walk cross country. This 2009 walk has two weeks of prep supporting it. My body is not gonna be happy…

My brother-in-law Michael, Mikee, once told me my body would protest more each year after 50, with aches and pains, especially in my joints. I blew through 50 without a whimper, but by the time 52 arrived, I had to admit Mikee was right. I now hear creaking within and worry about bits falling off. Seriously though, my body needs more time and delicate handling to kick start each day. I’m not decrepit, but the years have become present in my bones.

I walk train 4 hours a day, have been for 11 days now, and will get in a few more sessions before Friday’s plane ride. I’m getting up at 5:00 AM to build them into my day. Each walk covers about 15-18 kilometers/9-11 miles. I feelin’ good, there no missing or bleeding parts and endurance is building reasonably well. I’ve logged about 160 KM/100 miles in the last 10 days. Problem is the first 10 days in Spain will cover almost twice that much distance, and include significant mountains and foothills. I’ll also be shouldering an 11 kilo/25 pound backpack with whatever worldly possessions I think I need to survive a month in deepest, darkest Spain.

I’m not sure I’m physically ready. I’m worried about shin splints or another ailment forcing a layup by the time I’ve walked the several days back to Pamplona. It’s not that sitting still concerns me, or any pain that might accompany it. It’s the time I’ll lose farther along the trail. A couple of weeks from now, standing on a mountaintop in the Sierras, I’ll feel inspired. Or in Santiago, contemplating the cobblestones where a million pilgrims from a thousand years have walked as I, heart, and soul will know the spirituality and peace I seek. These inner things I want most from my trip. A problem on the front end means less time farther along, when I hope I’ve been moved. I can always take a bus to make up lost time, and that’s a fall back strategy. However it too is something to be avoided. I want to walk the whole country, carry a pack across every step, experience all that might find its way onto my path.

This is part of my pilgrimage definition. I have to trust my journey will unfold the way it should, not necessarily the way I foresee it; lack of preparation, delays or other issues notwithstanding. Camino forums speak widely of this; of being open to the letting experience be, and not carry expectations. It’s easy to say, but psychologically, I'm finding it hard to accomplish. A week or so from now I hope is to have this behind me. But at the moment, along with my sleeping bag, I seem to be loading expectations into my backpack, accompanying other paraphernalia truely needed for the road.

I hope when I see the Pyrenees under my feet, I won’t have further use for this particular item.

T -5 The Sabbath

I'm told the Lord rested on the sabbath; so me too. Post you tomorrow.

T -6 Travel Logistics and Schedule

This title may leave you, dear reader, under the impression I’m prepared, under control and well organized. That would be a myth...

Last time I walked I was 6 months ahead of the curve, deciding in the spring of 2003 to head for Spain in September of that year. Lots of research, planning, details and the like. This year’s sojourn was committed to stone a little over a week ago, around August 15th. My ticket was booked the following day and I’ve been training like a mad fiend ever since. More on that another day.

Late the 28th of August, less than a week from now, I’m outta here to Frankfurt, with a connection the following morning on to Madrid. I shoulda checked the corresponding train and bus schedules needed to get me the rest of the way to Roncevalles or St. Jean Pied de Port (SJPP), one of my two possible starting locales. SJPP, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port a little French town on the eastern face of the Pyrenees, is where I started before. It is the traditional kick off point for most. Problem with it is that the first day’s trek involves going over the Pyrenees, up 3500 vertical feet along with almost 30 kilometers/18 miles of walking. Roncevalles http://www.whatpamplona.com/roncesvalles.html the first village in Spain, is most notable for its position on the western side of the Pyrenees, taking the mountain trek, resplendent with sweat, tears and possibly blood, out of my equation. Given my late decision to do the Camino, and limited (read not yet adequate) training, I’m not sure which place to head for. Stay tuned.

Anyway, the airplane ride was a points flight and I got it with almost no notice, something akin to winning a lottery. I booked it right away without the rest of the travel details covered. Turns out my connections to the Camino trailhead take me north via rail from Madrid into Pamplona. I then turn eastward for my destination(s). Trouble is the Madrid-Pamplona milk run arrives at 6:30 PM, and the last east bound bus leaves 30 minutes earlier. So I don’t have an elegant plan (yet) for getting out of Pamplona, which leaves me some 50 or 80 kilometers short of my respective targets on the 29th. My hope is to start walking August 30th, the reality may be the 31st.

From the Pyrenees, the pace is about 25-28 km or 15-17 miles/day. 2-3 days on foot should see me back to Pamplona; a week into the journey is Logrono, with another 7 days to Burgos, which completes the first 300 kilometers. Then there’s 8 days needed to cross the arid central plain, the mesetas, leading into Leon http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le%C3%B3n,_Spain A couple of days passed Leon transitions into the final 300 km/180 miles of the walk. It’s defined by two ranges, the Mountains of Leon and the Sierras. I’m then into the rolling Celtic-like country of the northwest, closing the kilometers to my destination; the city of Santiago de Compostela http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santiago_de_Compostela

With luck and no broken or seriously damaged parts, I should arrive the last day of September, leaving 1-2 days to put my feet up, sip a little wine in the cafes, and relax. My fondest memories of Santiago from my last adventure is reconnecting with walkers I had met somewhere during the previous 30 days. Those were occasions of great emotion; strangers only weeks earlier, they had become immense in my heart. Such a chance encounter on the streets of Santiago was to instantly fall into a huge hug, a smile of loving satisfaction, and the understanding that we were somehow joined, perhaps eternally, as fellow pilgrims. I cherished those last days. There were immeasurably beautiful. I hope for more of the same in slightly more than a month.

T -7 Accommodations on the Road

Yup. I’m late posting. A sibling visits, there’s pizza, there’s wine, and poof, I’m off schedule…

One of the really cool things for me on the Camino is the lifestyle in refugios. Refugios are a kind of simplistic hostel (an oxymoron?), usually sleeping 50-75 bunk bed style, sharing bathrooms at ratios of about 1:15 people. Lights shut off automatically at 10:00 PM and come on at 6:00; the trek felt more like a kid’s camp initially. I wasn’t looking forward to this aspect of my walk when I set out. But the overnight accommodations proved foreign in ways I hadn’t expected.

I find it easy to criticize. I wish it weren’t so. Aggressive and arrogant behavior seems prevalent everywhere - roads, stores, offices, my own neighborhood. Occasions for rudeness are easily stoked, and seem increasingly frequent. I know when I feel stressed it’s easier to join the ranks of the belligerent. I don’t often instigate such events, but I am at times too willing to jump in if someone else does. Self righteous indignation provides the justification. Not much of an excuse... I hate it when I do that, especially as the years mount and I know better.

The Camino somehow de-stresses and re-aligns attitudes very quickly without one really being conscious its happening. Within a day or two it becomes apparent that moving more quickly is futile against the task of walking 800 kilometers. Most travelers book 35-40 days to do it; speed is not needed, endurance is. This generosity of time, the natural beauty of Spain, less access to cell phones and laptops , the meditative state of walking, and a sense of what might be called a feeling of grace, permeates pilgrims of the road. These de-compress the high pressure of home life, and calm the spirit. It’s what happened to me and many others I met on the road to Santiago.

The feeling is mesmerizing; renewing my belief the vast majority of people are decent and considerate when given the opportunity. This transition first displays itself in the nighttime gathering places. In refugios crowded with double high beds, I often shared one access isle with three other adults, yet never witnessed aggression or flared temper. I found it particularly impressive early mornings when, one-by-one, we individually blocked the tiny isleway to assemble strewn backpack paraphernalia, stuff it into the bag, and head out onto the trail. Politeness and a ‘you-first’ attitude were present every morning. Adjacent bunkmates watch patiently from their bed for the first, then second, then third to follow this ritual, the last waiting as much as twenty minutes to get underway. It’s a small act; but contagious as inspiration.

I stayed in centuries old monasteries, and Celtic farmhouses; a straw bale house and a wealthy family’s summer resort. Racked and stacked with many other nationalities, I was inexplicably wrapped in a curious bond of fellowship each evening. My bond seemed to deepen, new faces were more valued, more respected the farther I walked. Decency brought camaraderie, grew as our league of nations trekked to the western horizon. The process warmed my soul, proverbial chicken soup on a cold day, and brought a greater kindness, kinship and eventually a presence of the spiritual, both with each other and with something greater.

The smallest refugio I experienced housed 20 people in several rooms, the largest 110 in one big room. Here’s a list of refugios of the Camino http://www.caminodesantiago.me.uk/pilgrim-hostels/