Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Our heavenly Father – In the past days you have placed incredible abundance before us –

Tables of wonderful food presented with skill and affection

Hours of creating new friendships, of laughter, of conversation and camaraderie

The incredible glory of your creation laid before us in golden sunlight and soft rain – an awesome display of the richness of this world and the elegant cycles of life

You have guided us by providing Ria and Jason with their kindness, compassion and professionalism and gifted with their unique natures and personalities.  You gave us Thelso to keep us safe and mobile with his patience and good nature.

We have learned, dear Father, that the treasure we may seek is not found only at our destination, but in the journey itself.

We have learned truths about ourselves and discarded untruths.

This journey is a microcosm of the lives we will live beyond it – in many ways we will continue to travel it together.

Keep us safe, keep us well, always surrounded by the Holy Spirit until we meet again….Amen.

But, we are not quite finished…now to the office which issues the official certificate of completion – our guides know the time with the fewest pilgrim applicants, so the process of certifying the stamps on our camino passports and checking IDs is relatively short.  We proudly receive our papers with our names in Latin and go outside and sit on a wall to wait for the others.   Suddenly I hear the dulcet tones – “Mama mia, mama mia, mama mia”….yes, it is out Italian friends and we exchange shouts  and laughs as they head in to get their certificates.

We retrace steps away from the center and find our hotel several blocks away.  Its modest entrance belies the garden and aviary areas behind, but we barely notice as we drag to our rooms.

We are numb as if we are on “pause”.  Having a destination and focusing on it made life a little simpler and clearer.  The journey seemed more real and satisfying somehow than the arrival.  It will take a while to sort this out….so after using much soap, shampoo, and hot water, we march off to our final group dinner at a nearby restaurant.  It is both joyful and poignant.  We bid adieu to Jason and Ria and it is painful.  They have been wonderful – caring, professional, humorous – terrific, interesting, intelligent people who somehow changed our lives a little.

The next morning we meet our new guide for the day – Margerina (sic) who takes us on a tour of the cathedral and surrounds.  She is delightful and speaks with the classic Galician lisp.  We walk around the four plazas then inside – it is a fabulous space – ancient, but busy.  Our guide walks us around the interior pointing out the private chapels, the sealed off steps to the vast catacombs, the history and legend of it all.  We are led up a narrow stairway behind the altar and as we pass by we each hug and lay our heads on the back of a once bejeweled bust of St. James.  For an instant you have him all to yourself and whisper a short prayer onto his neck. The service is very relaxed, almost casual – it is noontime and most of the pilgrims are still in pilgrim road gear. It is called  the Pilgrims Mass when all pilgrims are acknowledged and blessed, and then disperse eventually to the worlds we came from.

The most amazing feature of the service came last – not liturgically correct, I believe – but who cares.  It is the huge, silver censer which hangs like a lantern from the dome in front of the altar.  An elaborate rigging sits high in the dome right at the apex of the cross layout of the sanctuary.  As the music begins, five men take their ropes and lower the censer for the priest to ignite – it must weigh 200 lbs. – one man gives it a little push, and suddenly it is jerked upward with smoking incense streaming from it.  Eventually this slight push and vertical movement are worked into a swinging motion aligned with the short arms of the cross going back and forth in front of the altar.  It swings at 60 mph and is quite high above our heads and you want to watch it forever.  On one pass overhead we note a huge star worked into the bottom of the censer before it flies away from us – yes, this is the place.  Later we will return on our own to the cathedral when it is quieter to light candles for several people.  I imagine the soft candlelight and the sweet aroma as we put fire to our small prayers to God to remember and bless those we name, but it is strange times and we end up putting euros into a slot for electric light.

Our friends depart to resume their own schedules and lives.  We miss them already and hope to meet again. This incredible journey has been a gift for a lifetime – a piece of time forever enshrined in our hearts.  There are so many precious moments unmentioned here, so much beauty in God’s creation that was laid out before us, such a sense of the passage of time over the millenia that we just cannot sense in  America, and all of it enhanced with a sense of the sacred.  It will be some time before we can estimate the extent and form the pilgrimage has affected us, but we are willing to wait.  Buen camino…

Touching The Scallop Shell; Our Quest is Finished

Today we have a wonderful picnic – there has been some competition as we noted how delicious either Ria’s or Jason’s “feed the pilgrims” skills were….wine with lunch gets extra points.  11 miles and exquisite scenery – a good day.  We arrive at our accommodations for the evening to discover it was once a modest palace, now restored.  We enter the gateway to find a large courtyard – our rooms lining each side and a chapel and main building before us. It has been in the family for 13 generations.  This is good.  Our rooms don’t quite match the palace theme, but the cottage windows open to beautiful lawns and lots of flowers.  We have our last “meeting” on the terrace to discuss tomorrow’s last walk and then into a wonderful Galician style dinner…bread, wine, cheese – life is good.

Wednesday…the peregrinos (pilgrims) are coming home…

We pack our bags and heft on our backpacks trying to deny the sadness within.  We walk away from our palatial aubergue (pronounced Al-bear-gay in Galician) and move out.  Today will be a long walk in more ways than one.

The various paths to Compostela converge and there are more and more pilgrims on foot and bikes on the trail.  We meet Lana from Germany in her 20’s whose backpack tells us she is a serious walker.  She has done the entire camino from the French border and is now 5 miles away. “I want to run the rest of the way I am so excited about being there” she said with great emotion.  We pass by the Santiago airport light stanchions at the end of the runways, but with our path still in shaded forest – the modern world is at the margins of our current existence now and getting closer.  We pass by Lavacolla – literally “wash the bottom” – where pilgrims would wash up in the river before entering the city.  Going over a rise we can just see the city with rooftops and spires peeking up, but not our spire yet.

We had a wonderful picnic on Monte de Gozo, a beautiful spot marred by a dreadfully large, quasi-industrial statue dedicated to the visit of a recent pope…and freshened up at the large aubergue (hostel) $10/night, which will be upstaged soon by a larger, more modern aubergue near the cathedral.  Jason announces that we will all walk into the city together and we feel how right that is.  Down the hill, across the busy road and traffic circle, by the memorial to those who have honored Spain, and onto mean concrete sidewalks which suddenly become metaphor for all that is wrong in the world.  We trudge on toward St. James ensconced in his cathedral which now covers what was the “field of stars”.  The city is ok, but the walking is difficult and has no peaceful rhythm, and our goal is so close….we enter the old city – winding, narrow, stone streets running at all angles into small squares with ancient fountains.  There are quaint businesses along the way, apartments on the upper levels, and the number of souvenir shops increase as we near the cathedral.  We go down stairs, thru an archway with a resident bagpiper, and are suddenly in a huge plaza at the front of the Cathedral of St. James (Sant Iago) at last!!  There are pilgrims everywhere – collapsed, backbacks off, taking photos, exhilarated and exhausted at the same time.  Some have been on the camino for months and seem dazed by being at journey’s end.

We have walked many miles, met many people along this journey, yet many thoughts have gone on within ourselves.

I appear to be stronger in my walking, up and down throughout the day. Throughout the days of walking, maybe it was just me, but everyday seemed to start out going up hill —- maybe a test of our will to continue.

I have found myself walking slower, in retrospect, really not wanting this journey to end knowing we are near. The memory of every inch, every step, everyday of this special walk will always remain.

As we will get further away from today and tomorrow, I know I will never forget the days of holding hands down those beautiful country paths so lush green with the sounds of birds and a cool stream running nearby. You stop and realize the many thousands who have walked these paths before and what meaning have come to their lives.

The peace within will always remain.

Diana, Queensland, Australia

Quintin and Merryll, Namibia

Luz, Germany

Victor and Sonja, Norway

Kam, Virgina, USA

Cindy, Eric, June and Ray, Western Australia

Ria and Jason, Fantastic Guides, Spain

Meeting to discuss tomorrows walk

Breakfast

Lunch along the way

Dinner

The Way

The Way

The Way

The Way

Today is 11 miles or 18 Kms and I am still unable to transpose this or centigrade to Farhenheit  – actually, not knowing the exact distances or temperatures or time or language, having no TV, radio, or even elevator music, having only to follow the arrows and be a pilgrim is quite nice.  We have only to know when to start walking and when to stop…eating is a given.  We are transported, fed, and housed by the grace of others – freed from daily survival chores to concentrate on the journey and fellow travelers.  I am constantly in awe of ancient pilgrims, searching before the path was well-defined, before there were yellow arrows, for “the way” to Santiago, the way to forgiveness, penance, and answers to unformed questions.  Theirs was a harsher journey with no certainty of food, shelter or companionship, safety or survival – on foot or on horseback – they sought to gain something from “the field of stars” near the end of the world.  There was some magic that drew them there eventually by the thousands, some touchstone that would right floundering lives, something they sought….would we find it,too?

Monday – We finish our relatively short 9 mile day and return to Melide for the second night at another wonderful stone enclave.  Our rooms are basic, but oh so welcoming.  Tonight our wonderful guides, Ria and Jason have a night off so we are on our own …like kids with our parents out for the evening.  Most of us dine at a wonderful square table from the night before and we have a wonderful time.  We are getting to know one another, to give nicknames, and have little jokes.  We laugh and laugh together, drink lots of local wine, and have a wonderful time. Today the hardy laughs have been more tiring than the increasingly easier walking, and we go to bed smiling.

Please pardon the interruption in news, but for several days we were not able to access wi fi for the ipad..this report is a touch late, but we hope you enjoy it.  Thanks for all the great comments…ultreya!

A request has been made for a clarification – i.e. – I remarked in the beginning that there were five Aussies from Queensland and “any group w/five Aussies has got to be fun”…well, it turns out that four of the five Aussies are NOT from Queensland, but from Western Australia and were whining about the apparent slur.  I rephrased the clarification at dinner to please them – “any group with an Aussie from Queensland has got to be fun”….now they are moping, and then our Namibians commented that they saw South Africa tagged on to their names and wanted it noted that Namibia is now free and independent of S. A.  Sigh – the United Nations is on call.  The Norwegians and Luz are fine for now, but strange things happen when foreigners drink lots of local brew.

Our last report was the monastery at Samos – we are now getting used to the routine – up at 7, breakfast/group meeting at 0815, leave at 0900 to walk 5-6 hrs.  We have at least one checkpoint and lunch – a picnic usually at 1300 near the camino and then finish around 3 or 4 to go to the hotel du jour. We stay two nights at the same hotel  three times which gives us a little extra time for laundry and rest.  We each have a suitcase and a packback (did I mention it is so unfeminine) but great for our layered living style – I actually find the backpack makes me stand a little straighter which is good for the downhill sections.  We got our hiking shoes ½ size larger and I also got a pair of hiking sandals since I have lost a lot of toenails doing walks, a marathon, etc. in the past – gives the toes and feet a break.  Victor with the great laugh has been having foot problems which are affecting his leg – he insists on walking and is always out front, but had to concede and go to a clinic to lance blisters under his toenails – three other walkers went out and got sandals, too.  Remember that for future treks…also take a wash cloth – there are none to be found in Europe…nor Laundromats!!

It is Friday already and we are leaving our modern hotel on the camino to walk 13 miles to Portomarin on the River Mino.  We leave the town of Sarria by marching out of the hotel and down the camino until we hit lots of steps (going up naturally!).  It takes a while to stroll out of town and while we don’t notice it at first, the ambient sound from the railway, the roadway, and the town are irritating.  It takes a while to get back into the countryside where there are so many birds singing – even cuckoos which sound just like the clocks.  We see trees 800 years old, and are in deep forest.  We walk at our own pace so the group is stretched out by about a 20 minutes difference or so.  John and I amble and rest a lot on the uphill.  The path is constantly changing from nice, soft compacted soil, to occasional muck , to macadam, to paving stones, to rocky dirt (bad news on the downhill – I fell once on small gravel over hardscape and got scraped – Luz fell a few days out and hit her face and had to get checked at the hospital.  She was fine, but went thru some interesting facial colors).  You have to be vigilant, too, that you pass yellow arrows, scallop shells, and stone markers – otherwise you have to backtrack on tired legs.  Because the camino is a world heritage site it is really very well maintained considering that it is far removed from towns – no lighting, phones, satellites, poles – essentially the same trail that led to the same goal 1000 years ago. You really must rely on the kindness of strangers. Today we pass the 100 km marker stone on the countdown to Sant Iago (St. James).

All pilgrims have a scallop shell as a badge of intent.  There are a lot of stories about this, but one I like is that when St. James was beheaded by Herod Agrippa in Jerusalem, his two disciples (probably from James’ mission to Spain) took his body back to Spain intending to bury him at Terris Finis on the Atlantic, the westernmost point of Galicia, and at that time truly the end of the world since most people thought it was flat!  He had preached in that place to pagans, Celts and Druids with small success.  One story says the ship was unmanned and guided by God, that it sunk just off the coast, and when James’ body was recovered, it was covered with scallop shells which protected it.  OK.  The most satisfying theory is that the scallop shell has many lines which converge at a single point – very representative of the many roads converging at his shrine.  It turns out that the disciples ended up burying him just short of their goal and eventually they were buried on either side of him.  The graves were lost in time and grown over for hundreds of years until one night a shepherd saw masses of stars over a certain point in a field (familiar theme?).  He went to investigate and found the graves and reported it to the bishop.  The bishop investigated and declared the grave to be that of St. James.  More than one church was built over the spot (compostela for “field of stars”) and the city of Santiago grew up around it (Sant Iago for Saint James).  The scallop shell was also utilized as a drinking cup, digging tool, and bowl – handy for travelers who had to carry everything they needed.

We cross over a Roman bridge to see the 12^th century Church of San Juan – worn steps, carvings eroded by time, but exquisite art….and another stamp for our passports.  We are getting very coy about where, when, and how many stamps to acquire – they must be dated and in some order so the certificate official at Santiago will issue our hard earned paper.  These are not the original stamps from centuries ago which were issued to hostels as handcarved stones, but they are each unique and it is fun to try to remember which is which.  Our life now has a certain rhythm to it – get up, pack, meet, eat, walk, eat, walk, clean up/rest, eat, meet, sleep….again.

We don’t have time to miss the “conveniences” of civilization, but just keep moving forward…

This is a prayer from one of the churches called, “Pilgrim’s Bless”: “ Lord God, you who have mercy on those who love you and are never far from those who seek you, help these pilgrims on their way to Compostela.

Guide their footsteps with your kindness.  May your shadow protect them during the day and the light of your eyes shine on them by night, so that they can happily stand before the tomb of the Apostle Santiago.  We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ.  Amen.”

Being from a place where the rich try to block public access to the ocean, it is interesting to see the reaction of locals to this endless stream of strangers marching past their windows, behind their barns, sitting on their stone walls, scaring their livestock, gawking and photographing and dropping down anywhere they choose to rest a while.  They are reserved and quiet, but patiently give a little wave or tip of the hat in return for our salutations, but we are pilgrims, not tourists, so respect is given to their boundaries. It must be like living next to Niagara Falls – after a while you just don’t notice it anymore.

We arrive at our accommodations and are pleasantly surprised – it is the former home of the local priest – however, the aged stone walls of the house and barn were redesigned

and modernized with large windows, light wood floors, recessed lighting, modern hardware, and a great dining room with a long farm table which is just right for our group.  Each room is distinct, there is lots of hot water, and the view out the back is across a huge, velvet meadow where the birds give wondrous concerts. Also, the food is great.  We are growing stronger on the huge chunks of bread, the fresh vegetables, and the local wines sans preservatives.  We purr…

Saturday – Rain, lots of it.  I am tired and today’s trek is 12 miles – back to Portomarin and walking directly to our current inn.  Lunch will be 2 plus miles down the road, so I opt to rest up a little to avoid injury, and walk back down the camino to meet everyone for lunch later.  It is a good decision…I leave around noon  going the “wrong way” to the Waldemar Café, named after a magician, in Airexe to meet everyone.  I loved walking alone for once, but I get some strange looks going the wrong way.  The weekend, it seems, finds a lot of

“weekend pilgrims” – those who walk in segments because of time restraints.  I get into a real rhythm – step, step, stick…. and start a mantra to match…”prayer to God”, “prayer to God”.  I envison those – like Victoria’s great aunt – who did the camino on their knees in piety and gratitude and I wonder at such determination and devotion…step, step, stick…”prayer to God, prayer to God”.  The harmonics have a healing, comforting effect that moves my soul.

The sky is darkening and closing in with imminent rain and I am not there yet and starting to get concerned.  Suddenly I am there, but no one else from the group is.  Many pilgrims are there, so I sit outside, get a caffe latte and a croissant, and sit down to wait staring down the coming road.  Diana, now nicknamed “Sticks” because she gamely uses two walking sticks, is the first to arrive having been dropped off further up the road.  It starts to rain so we start to drink tinto vino.  More arrive and we grab a big table as a lot of pilgrims are seeking shelter and food.  Where is John?  I wander down the road to wait for him and finally he rounds a curve, his poncho flying about him like wings.  A new group has entered the café and I realize it is the “mama mia” group, and call out , “Mama mia” – they all respond in Italian, there are hugs, pictures, laughs, and lots of sympathy for his wife who gives a classic Italian shrug.

Buen camino…

Ended this gorgeous day and John and I agreed that if we had only one day to spend on the Camino it would have been this one. Evening took us to the large ancient monastery at Samos for vespers. There is a small river running behind it which is lovely. We stood on the front steps for a group photo when suddenly here came the same brown dog we had met at O’Cabreiro. It sat with us for the picture, but when we came out he had left. We decided he was a spirit guide just come to check on us.

The Monastery chapel was awesome and it must have been very wealthy at one time, but the seating area for worshippers was modest wooden benches. The exquisite dome over the alter was at least 35 feet high and the wall behind was a fantasy of cherubs, clouds, angels, and apostles with a Christ figure floating before golden sun rays. I have always loved the elegance and simplicity of vespers at Mt. Calvary – the end of the day, the ringing of the bell, the sweetness of twilight, and the beauty of the liturgy – a time to give thanks for the day gone by and to refocus on the night to come. This service was not that way at all, and I came away saddened by the contrast between the glory of the decor and the lifelessness of the service. Time had its effect on this place and it seemed to be trapped by its own history.

Day six coming down the first mountain…O’Cabreio to Tricastela
Please excuse our break in news, but there was no wifi so we compiled notes, but were unable to broadcast…now 12 miles or 21 Kms…we were up early, too early I think, to find a cold, foggy morning..we dressed in layers, packed again, then off to get some breakfast…more big chunks of bread..toasted.., cereal with cream or yogurt, strong coffee, and perfect strawberries. Came out to find the same little brown dog and gave him a bit of something. As we left he stood with ears in defeat and eyes miserable as we marched off to Tricastela or three castles 12 miles away. When the fog cleared we started to shed layers, but the climb up to the alto de Poio, the highest spot on the camino – 1313 meters. Our couple from Namibia seemed fascinated by the waterways and said that aside from the Rivera that border the country, there are no viable waterways within the country which is slowly turning to desert. The last bit up to the Alto was really steep and we literally pulled our bodies and wheezing lungs over the edge only to find lots of nicely rested pilgrims. After our lungs recovered we were bringing up the rear of our group and ended up behind a group of four Italian couples. Suddenly one of the women started back up the hill with her exasperated husband yelling, “mamma Mia, mamma Mia, mama Mia” after her. We all laughed and call out, “mama Mia” every time we see him.
Downhill can be worse than uphill on the body…toenail he’ll..the titanium, tri-fold, cork topped walking stick actually comes in very handy. We pass clusters of houses and farms and ancient walls alive with plants and ferns?.lichen coats many tree trunks and as we descend pines turn to chestnuts and poplars. Occasionally we plod thru muck left by recent rains, but today we are blessed with gentle sunshine. The section of Spain we are in is called the Ireland of Spain- who came first is arguable, but the countryside is emerald and lush…occupied at one time by. Celts..pagans and Druids.
Finally arrive in Tricastela..but no castles. We enter an ancient church to get another stamp for our starched new passport..actually a paper foldout, but nice. Once inside what appeared to be a ruin turns out to be a sacred space preserved for untold generations and centuries with incredible carvings and art…it has stood for centuries before our country was even formed and has seen families long forgotten thru every notable life event..
Off now to the Alphonse IX hotel in Sarria for two nights. it sits right on the camino and next to a lovely gurgling river. We are very tired but no one wants to miss a meal…