Surprise surprise

Walking the Camino is a most amazing process. It is full of little surprises and some not so little. I have found that you have to dig deep, very deep sometimes. When you feel you can’t take another step and you want to just collapse you realise no-one else can take the steps for you.... there is no one coming to walk it for you... I dig deeper and pray that my god will take me a step at a time onwards. Then I look up again and there is another vista. Or a smile from a fellow pilgrim encouraging you on. Or the thought of a bed. Any bed. I have quickly gotten over whether it is an Albergue bed with 50 others snoring and farting or a private room. When the private spaces have manifested I am grateful and am surprised to find deep gratitude when it’s shared with others. The very sight of bed excites me! I am often left wondering how I will ever get off the bed the next day and am surprised at my enthusiasm to walk again the next morning! I love the feeling of my legs and body doing it again for me! Over and over for 572 kms so far! Now that surprises me. Who would have thought that was possible? And the biggest surprise is how much I want to walk the walk....day after day.  

Maybe it’s because of the willingness of my fellow pilgrims to research and make suggestions or my willingness to surrender or both but the way is easy for me... I just let go and relax and the way unfolds. That surprises me immensely. It shouldn’t but it does. 

I am surprised at my own agility and ability to negotiate rough or muddy terrain and the triumph that erupts from my very being when the terrain flattens or crests again! I am surprised at my ability to pee in a ditch with all my packs and jackets on! Surprised to find a connection with my youthful body which has thrilled me immensely. 

I am surprised that at 64 I still find navigating tricky relationships difficult. I find my skills in this area lacking. Very lacking sometimes and other times I am surprised at my maturity and growing wisdom in learning to be silent where silence is needed and finding my voice as required to. 

I love feeling joyful. I love it when we are so tired but manage to find the energy to sing each other through pain and exhaustion in to the next village. Surprisingly we get there. 

You can choose to send your backpack on. Having that choice is so wonderful.... choosing to heal your blisters or protect a sore knee is sensible.  Me being sensible surprises me as I SO planned to carry my pack and prove I am a true pilgrim no matter what. I am surprised to find only I make my pilgrim rules and I don’t need to. There are none!

Weeping and peeing across Spain

The Camino thus far has, among many things, been a process of weeping and peeing. Now that may sound a bit dark and miserable... alas ... it is the opposite. Let me define my weeping. For me this means water seeps from my eyes and nose as my heart fills up, like an overflow of fluid seeping from the best things in life like joy, laughter, tenderness, spirit, Holy spirit, sadness, grief and love. Especially love in action!! So now I proceed with my weeping story. 

People pass me by and say ‘Buen Camino’, (good path) or they drive by and beep their horn and make gestures of triumph and call out ‘Buen Camino’. I weep. We arrive in a cafe or bar at the end of a long day of walking, looking exhausted and desperate to eat, rest and remove our boots and other pilgrims clap and cheer us into the warmth. I weep and weep again as I re-live that feeling right now. My gorgeous fellow pilgrims Kate, Miri and Courtney who walked, talked and laughed with Julie and I all day, many a day, in the rain, sleet, sun and snow cheered us on as we reached the crest of yet another agonising slippery, muddy hill, loving and encouraging us on. I wept ...In fact I have wept a lot. That day in the freezing snow, my gloves, way too wet to wear, resulted in my hands turning blue and becoming frozen in position around my sticks. Miri, an Emergency Doctor, found some of her woollen socks and ministered to my hands, tied my sticks to her pack and walked me through that goddam snow to the monastery. Yep... I wept some more... such happy weeping. Such victorious weeping. I felt so overcome with love and gratitude and couldn’t believe how happy I truly was and am. The monastery at San Juan de Ortaga was freezing. There was no hot water, the food serving was simple and generous, warm and filling (despite all the Germans telling us not to eat it because it was so bad). I tucked in and was again overwhelmed with gratitude and wept some more. Climbing fully clothed in to my sleeping bag and having a tiny space to be in, just 4 feet away from the loudest snorer from South Korea almost led me to a different type of weeping... until we all got the giggles and a different weeping took place. He snored on thankfully. Every day is like this. Endless gratitude and a sense of joy as we help each other progress on our walk. Gratitude for the smallest things like soap, shampoo, warm water, tea, a safety pin,another day without blisters, a peg or rubber band can get me weeping again and again. The Camino is having its way with me, forcing me to accept help and providing endless opportunities to accept what is. I don’t accept help well in my normal life. I give to others and insist on fierce independence at home. The Camino has thrown that to the wind. I even ask for help with the tiniest things. You have to or it’s very hard... so I endlessly joyously weep. It’s a good thing, the best thing. The Camino is winning, gently forcing me to surrender to her. 

I have farewelled those gorgeous pilgrim gals a few times now and the Camino has put us back together again and again. I weep when they leave and weep when they are placed back in my way,my Camino way. 

The most tender acts of kindness, either those directed my way or the many witnessed along the way leave me weeping. 

The peeing is much trickier!! There don’t seem to be any public toilets across Spain! You need to find a cafe or bar for those moments. It has been unusually cold for this time of year. Hydrating well, drinking cafe con leches at every opportunity and cold weather result in the need for frequent peeing. This simple act is made extremely difficult due to the endless layers of clothing, straps, buckles, clips, packs and other paraphernalia one wears on the Camino! When urgency strikes you look around and survey the scene, often noticing there are only endless fields of leafless grape vines, no trees or rises and there are pilgrims coming down the track! You weigh up your chances for a quick one (which never seems to be quick enough). You decide either to hold on (which is torturous)or you again surrender to the Camino and just squat anyway! In my first few days I tried my best to find something to get behind and then in mid stream discovered there was a track or road behind me and a local farmer was getting a full view as he came past! Or a young Chinese guy had wandered past and smiled at me as I struggled to finish up! Once you start it’s impossible to stop!!! In many places the only option is a small ditch on the side of the road. Barely a ditch! But you go for it in the hope that no cars, trucks or pilgrims will pass you by. They always do! Toilet etiquette extends as far as people pretending you aren’t there, that you aren’t peeing away in full view! A further challenge is the state of your toilet paper, usually stolen from the last cafe, usually already been used to blow your nose on multiple times due to the constant nose dripping that we pilgrims complain about!  By the time you reach the next cafe you find yourself weeping in gratitude for the clean Spanish toilets!!!

Sacha the soldier

Something I haven’t felt for a very long time started bubbling away deep in my belly as our train headed south towards the Pyrenees. I couldn’t identify it as anxiety, yet it was. An excitement and anxiety sitting in the pit of my gut.  Thinking about what is ahead of us and the challenges we’ll face the belly bubbling stayed there for hours. In fact it’s still there. 

Changing trains at Bayonne  for St Jean gave us the opportunity to meet three other pilgrims on their way. All of us standing on the platform in the cold. Our first pilgrims. Sacha from Germany, Serge from Spain and Susan from NZ.

Language was no barrier. Serge had no English, Sacha a little French and good English. Sacha the soldier (as I will always remember him), Julie and I quickly found some very emotional common ground. I wept when we shared our experience of being in Afghanistan almost in the same years. I shared in brief the relief of being rescued by ISAF when we were in a shocking accident. The overwhelming feeling of seeing those big blue eyes like deep pools of peace when the doctor soldier who rescued me removed the goggles from his muddy face. The relief when he told me I would be OK. Sacha was with ISAF. We stood there. Just knowing what all of that meant. What being in Afghanistan meant. Things we saw and experienced that only those who had been there understand. Just like a fellow alcoholic or those suffering with cancer... that common bond that cuts across all race, language, age or culture. I call it spirit, or love or god... all the same to me. Sacha shared that his experience has left him restless, not knowing what to do with his life and hopes the Camino may have some answers. Bless. I hope it does. He said he had the same anxiety and excitement bubbling through his body as I did. A humble beautiful young man. His wife is furious and doesn’t understand why he needs to do the Camino. I do. 

Settled and warm in our accomodation we headed out to explore the ancient medieval stone and timber town. Cute beyond cute. Doors (a favourite for me) of many colours and types kept me wanting to wander the cobblestone streets forever but we soon heard our names being called out in this little corner of the south of France. It was Sacha inviting us to join he and Serge in a cafe for some southern French food! American Dave soon joined us too. Pilgrims have a certain look about them and they are easily identified. Not because of their clothes but a look of joy and expectation in their eyes. We ate and laughed the evening away. We haven’t started to walk yet but we are definitely on the Camino. 

Talking the Talk

I have been ‘talking the talk’ about doing the Camino for such a long time. Many a day I have asked myself why I am so driven to go and do this walk. To be honest, I have no idea. All I can say is that every single time I have seen or read anything about the Camino I have felt moved to tears and recognise this unrecognisable pull to do it.  People ask me, ‘why are you doing this'? Is it for religious reasons as it is a pilgrimage? I don’t believe I’m doing this for any religious reason. Spiritual, in fact I’m sure it will be.  Those friends of mine who know Bill W, know that faith without works is dead. So this walk is a walk in faith. My feet and hips and mind will have to do the works for me. Along the way there are a number of opportunities to undertake some symbolic acts that have the potential to bring about change in my life. One of them is leaving something at Cruz de Ferro. I already have a little rock from my local beach upon which I have written some of my many character defects. Julie made a joke about that, stating that the rock cannot possibly be big enough to have all my defects listed on it! She is probably right. So the faith I have is in leaving that little rock with my defects listed on it behind me. Very tall order me thinks!. The hard part is walking the walk and leaving those defects behind. I have a little faith that it may be possible at this point in time. I need to find the willingness to act as though they have been removed. Many of those defects have continued to cause me pain throughout my life. It is time they went.

I have researched, read, joined every Camino Facebook page I could, watched endless YouTube videos, watched movies and read books trying to get myself fully educated and ready to do this walk. Its not like I do this kind if walk everyday you know! I have driven Julie nuts. I have driven my friends and family nuts too, I’m sure.

I have researched every possible first aid remedy and treatment for potential blisters and sore feet. I bought expensive Salamon boots, tried to break them in for a month and ended up having to ditch them for another new pair. Keens....ahhhh! It has cost me. It will cost me a whole lot more if I am in the wrong boots.

My training has been interrupted by having to go up north and work.  There was no way I was going to test torrential rains, packs of dogs and crocodiles by trying to get in some training while working remote.  Training has also been interrupted by sore groins, knees and hips which have taken me off to the doctor, x-rays, treatments and physio.  Just the other day I got myself into a momentary state of panic. Wondering how the hell my hips and knees are going to handle nearly 900 km of walking. Just when I was beginning to despair I saw a Facebook post by a gorgeous young man, John Pardo, who has completed the Camino Frances in a wheelchair! OMG! I got over myself in a hurry and got a new determination to do this. Thanks John! I have been determined from the very beginning however as the weeks in front of me began to disappear I began to falter a little. But it’s a new day, some physio and pain relief helping and I’m just back from a training session. I just keep reminding myself of the lovely man in the wheel chair.  If he could do it, then surely I can too.

Originally I was going to do this walk on my own. Once Julie got over the idea of sleeping in albergues and sharing dorms with snorers and farters and smelly socks she was sure that she would come too. Then our friend Kate asked if she could join us,  followed quickly by another friend Mary. So suddenly we were a team of four! Three of us will start out at the same time and Mary will join us a bit down the track. My gorgeous son Ryan has also planned on coming over and meeting us along the way and doing the last hundred kms or so with us. How awesome is that!

That is the plan... yet to be seen when we have finished 'walking the walk'.