Edward – 13 May 2013

As frustrating as yesterday was, we very much did enjoy staying in Portomarin.  Like many small Spanish towns, there was a central square where everyone, the locals as well as perigrinos staying at all of the albergues, seemed to congregate.  Of course I saw Dirk again, and Shar finally got a chance to meet him   We stayed at a smaller private albergue called Ultreya. Even though the private ones tended to cost a few more Euro (8-10 vs the larger municipal places which were often as cheap as 5-6), they were generally smaller and more intimate, and often washer and dryer, better showers, and even computer access.  We enjoyed meeting a few newbies on the patio as we enjoyed our home-made tapas:  bread, goat cheese, tomatoes, anchovies, pimentos, and of course a sampling of the local grape crop.  We met three Irish 20 something Irish lads, who seemed to enjoy each other and life in general, quite alot.  Good “craic!”

When you go to bed at 9:30, waking at 1:30 feels like the middle of the night.  One of the positives of such a small albergue quickly became a negative.

It was pretty obvious what was going on when I heard the Irish brogue from an adjacent room..  We couldn’t really tell if there was a scuffle or whether someone had simply fallen – a few times, and against the wall, and then a cry that sounded like it came from a little girl. My being a little ticked off at having been awoken soon turned to gigling at the entertainment.  This turned to a laughter as everyone in their room kept shushing them, as if you can shush a drunk.  Their loud apologies when informed of the shocking news that there were others also staying here, who were trying to sleep – made the scene even more comical.  They seemed truly surprised and contrite that they had inconvenienced 60 other people.  Soon however, this seemed to be forgotten when someone (else?) fell against the wall and onto the floor. This was followed by lots more shushing and several others also laughing.  They’ll regret this in the morning i chuckled…

As much as I wanted to get on the trail bright and early, as I mentioned two days ago, we were nearly out of Euro, so we stayed in Portomarin until the bank opened.  This put us roughly 2 hours behind the others leaving Portomarin, and about an of hour ahead of those that had stayed in the previous town (Momentios).

We had the road to ourselves for almost four hours, and it was really, really good.  Shar and I walked most of that time side by side, often holding hands, but not really saying anything.  Our lives are so filled with sound and stimulation, it’s such a release to just let go and quiet our selves, and our souls.

We knew we weren’t alone.  This was what I was so afraid Shar was going to miss.  The Camino de Santiago is a really long, grueling hike.  And for some people, that’s enough.  But it’s much more than that, if you want it to be.  This place is so thick with grace.  You’re in centuries of good company.

I noticed Shar using her arms, Italian fashion, as she hiked up the rocky trail, and over the old bridge  She was having a silent conversation, and I assure you she wasn’t talking to herself.

We were approaching Palas de Rei, which is where we would end our day.  As we approached an antique crumbling waymarker, I noticed a familiar face.  This was Edward, who I hadn’t seen since in a couple of weeks, at the Cruz de Ferro.  I was impressed when he seemed so glad to see my wife, and expressed such happiness that I had my her here with me now.  With his heavy German accent, he explained to her that I might not have remembered having seen him at Cruz de Ferro, but that he was so touched there seeing me that he had cried.  I remembered his tears, and his embracing me, I just didn’t realize his were also my tears.  I flashed back to my first week on the Camino, when I met him, willing and anxious to share some of Cullen.  I’ll talk more later about my evolving through this, but he was one of those truly moved by our story.  And my memory of his embrace as I slowly walked down from the mountain of stones under the cross.

This is some of the stuff I’ll always remember.  I never asked his last name, so we’ll never meet again.  We don’t need to.  Our paths crossed once, and we are both better for it.

Unfortunately, I never really took any pictures of Edward.
He took this of himself by mistake, when he was taking a picture of Shar and me!

Picture Edward took of us!

Time alone with Shar 13 May 2013

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100 Km for Compostela – 12 May 2013

It will be difficult to write this entry without disappointment, or at least a bit of frustration.

Certainly, we do not appreciate the ups in life without some downs for contrast; the beautiful view from a mountain top without the foggy storm; and now, relevant to the Camino, the spiritual, contemplative solitude of hours of hiking without seeing anyone or hearing a voice – contrasted with today.

I do realize that Sarria is, by far, the most popular place to start the Camino.  The Cathedral in Santiago requires a minimum of 100 Km documented to grant the pilgrim a compostela.  I do not slight anyone their motives, intentions, or certainly their ability to leave work for such a long time, etc, and put their “lives” on hold for this entire month.  I had been repeatedly warned by three camino books, as well as the two forums, that things would get a bit crowded, so I did my best to expect and mentally plan for it.

However, I did about as good of a job of preparing myself for this as I did training my knees to be ready for the 1000 meter descent from Roncesvalles.  Any it is completely my fault.

Everything I had told Shar about the peace and spiritual beauty of walking in solitude had vanished in a day.  Is this the same camino I was on yesterday?  Most days I had seen less than 20 people on the road during the entire day.  Unless I had stopped in a cafe, or walked through a city, I might go an hour or two without seeing a single soul.

But today… wow… today, if I stopped to tie my shoe, 20 people would walk by – sometimes laughing, sometimes singing, always talking.  This was Disneyworld.  Not that Disneyland is a bad place – I love Disneyland!  It’s a fun, happy, busy place, and full of lots of good people.  But it is definately not a religious, or even spiritual place.  It’s not supposed to be.

I know I’m not being fair.  Most of these perigrinos just started today.  And my first day, I was excited, and happy, full of adreneline, and pumped up with expectations of what the rest of my jopurney would bring.  I talked also, and made “friends.”  We told our stories, asked our questions, and learned so much, so quickly about someone who had just previously been a complete stranger.

The Camino is s significant endeavor for everyone doing it.  Even those who can only get away for a week must do the same kind of planning I did for the month.  And everyone has a reason that they are doing it, that is just as important to them, and where they are in their life as mine is to me.  That’s why it’s not fair for me to feel superior, or indignant at these new interlopers.

If I lose my bearings because I now have lots of company, my transition, my development is much more superficial than I thought.

However, I can’t help myself.  Much of my time is consumed with Shar.  I want so much for her to feel what I’ve felt, to “visit that special place” where I’ve spent so much of my last three weeks. I wanted her pilgrimage to be like mine had been.

But it doesn’t work that way.  I’ve said so many times, we are on our own Camino – regardless of whether or not we come to Spain – and we’re walking our own rocky road.  No one can walk it for us.  Even if they’re by your side, holding your hand, you are still on your own journey.

The snoring that woke me from my peaceful sleep the other night represented the interruptions of our busy world.  If we let the noise and busy-ness of “the world” change the direction we had intended, it is our own fault.  That lets the world control us, when in fact, although we are in this world, we are not of this world.  The “yellow arrow” of our Camino will lead us where we point it.  It’s our responsibility to direct that arrow.

The rain of Galacia continues to fall.

Shar and I held hands as we walked down the muddy, rocky road.  We said the decades of the Rosary Joyful Mysteries out loud, drowning out the singing coming from behind.

 

🙂

Camino with Sharon – 11 May 2013

My heart pounded as I waited in the sea of people waiting for their loved ones to, one at a time, come past airport customs, after baggage claim.  Shar hadn’t checked a bag, only her backpack as carry-on, so she’d surely be one of the first through to join us.  As you can imagine, she was not.  So many things today had gone contrary to plan that I almost expected her flight to arrive without her.  As each passenger greeted and hugged someone waiting for them, I grew a bit more anxious.  I hadn’t actually been able to contact her since she told me that, like how my trip had begun three weeks earlier, her flight from Orlando to Miami had been so delayed that she had been put on a different flight.

Did that flight arrive on time?  Did she make her next flight from Miami to Madrid?  If so, there would be a five hour layover – had she been able to sleep on the flight? or did she unroll her sleeping bad and crash for a while during the layover…  Did she sleep through the boarding, and miss this flight?  Did she set an alarm on her phone?  Did her phone battery die, so the alarm didn’t wake her? So many things that we just take for granted could always go wrong.

A dozen or more people had filed past, and many now seemed to have much larger bags with them that didn’t look like they could be allowed as carry-ons.  I had resigned to the liklihood that she’d missed her flight.  How would we contact?  Especially if her phone was dead…

Sharon bounced through the doorway, and beamed with joy as our eyes met.  I felt like I hadn’t seen her in months, or that we were still dating; I was so happy to see her!

She hadn’t been delayed at all.  She actually was one of the first ones off the plane.  I looked at the time; I had only been waiting six minutes.  It really felt like a long time.

As we rode the 3 hour bus ride back to Sarria, as you can imagine, I thought about lots of things.  Many things would be different after this Camino, some would not.  How would my thoughts, attitudes, and my life change after this?  Will it be just remembered as a “big adventure?”  Or will it be that mid-life, post-tragedy reset that everyone was hoping for…

How will I respond?

Sarria – 23rd day, 10 May 2013

When I left the Rural Casa (kind of a country “bed and breakfast,” not really an albergue) in Biduedo called San Xato, it was cold and raining.  I sloshed through the often ankle-deep mud on the Camino trail that paralleled the asphalt highway, and the brilliant idea occurred to me that it wouldn’t really be cheating if I just slipped over and walked on the shoulder of the road.  Yes it was hard on my feet, but I was still walking to my goal, and I decided that I didn’t really HAVE to punish myself on the rocky muddy choice, just because it was there.  Even though my body had been destroyed over the past 3 weeks, my brain still seemed to function, and the logical choice was obvious.  Besides, even if the scenery was typically “better” on the trails, it wasn’t going to be today, I reasoned, and I had yesterday seen the most magnificent views in my life.  I arrived in Sarria about 2 hours sooner than the two Polish guys (Sebastian and Robert) that I had met about a week earlier, and walked with earlier today.

Reading the guidebook while hiking poses specific challenges, much like texting while walking (reference youtube: running into poles, trees and fountains), but I was attempting to find an albergue (read as cheap) that also had a private room or two (many do) that I can switch over to for tomorrow night after I get Sharon, who’s going to be jet lagged and want a good night’s sleep the first night.  I decided on San Lazaro, very close to the bus stop for when we get back, and very close to where we’ll commence the last leg of Camino.

I was astonished to see that I had made it to Sarria, and it was only 10 after 2!  I was almost out of Euro, so I asked the tourist office where the nearest bank was that has cambio (money exchange service), and was told just two doors down, but didn’t I know (apparently I’m the only person in Spain) that the banks all close at 2:00.  OH NO!!!  I’m gonna be out of money after I pay for tonight and the two bus fares.  He assured me that at least one bank was open Saturday morning.  Whew!

In just a few minutes, I arrived at San Lazzaro Albergue, which seems clean, is nice enough, only costs 8 Euro, and has one private room, which I have been assured was available for tomorrow night (the 11th) for 36 Euro.  This is much more than I had wanted to spend, especially with such low cash on hand, but apparently all four hotels in town were completely full, and I had been warned that prices would increase the closer we drew to Santiago.

I did my laundry, but then it was too late to find a vodaphone shop to find out why my SIMM card was not downloading my MapMyHike data the past two days, and why my international minutes were all gone so soon.  So I went to a nearby cafe for dinner, and returned early enough for a good night sleep, which I did get.

I realize that was all kind of boring, but the next morning I discovered that the one bank “open on Saturday morning” hadn’t been for over 2 years.  Think this looks bad?  It gets much better.  Soon I was having a “discussion” at the Vodaphone store, where I was told by the helpful associate (who speaks “poco” En-glaze) that although I had paid for 30 Euro of talk time, and that it only costs .18 per minute after 8:00pm, the one call I made home had been disconnected (card was depleted) after 12 minutes because of “taxes.”  I’m really sure thats what he told me, because like I said, I’m really fluent in Spanish now, and I understand everything that people say to me.  Anyway, like I said earlier, I still have a (partially) functioning brain, and I realized I wasn’t going to resolve this issue to my satisfaction, so I was just wasting my time.  I thanked the kind associate for his assistance, and headed back to the albergue to move my stuff to the private room, cause I had to catch the bus in just under an hour.  Although this day was not at all looking good, I managed a smile – pleased at the “new and improved” version of me that could laugh at misfortune instead of exploding.

Things continued to deteriorate.  The kind senora at San Lazaro Albergue that I had made the arrangements with yesterday was gone, and her mean replacement insisted that someone named Carlos Perez had the private room reserved, and had done so several days previously, as she remembered making that reservation herself.

This day was not going well.  I searched on foot to discover that not only were all hotels full, none of the other listed albergues had private rooms available.

I had to be at the bus station now in 20 minutes, so I had resigned myself to stay in Lugo, where we’d need to change buses, at a hotel (I would surely find one there).  Always have a plan “B.”  So I had just enough time to get Sharon two trekking poles and get to the bus station.  My pace quickened dramatically as I trotted to the hiking supply store I had spotted yesterday.

As I rifled through the display of poles looking for the cheapest ones to fulfill our one time use requirement, guess who walked up behind me, laughing…  DIRK!  Again, I was so glad to see him, and always funny that we would run into each other time after time after time after time in such a mass of pilgrims.

As I hugged him, I saw over his shoulder there was a fifth hotel, that wasn’t listed in the guidebook (had they refused to give Brierley a referral cut?)  Great to see you Dirk, I love you, man, but I gotta go, gotta pay for these poles, run over there, see if they have a room, and get to the bus station.  We’ll connect in Santiago, if not sooner…

No vacancy in the hotel, but, at last I really did get a break.  The manager called a “pension” (kind of a cross between a private albergue and a hotel) nearby that he seemed to know had a private room available.  I could only laugh at how things seem to run down to the last second.  Apparently some things just will NOT change in my life, kind of cool though that I had just laughed, knowing I would work something out.

The “pension” was just down the street, over a bar/cafe, in the direction of the bus station.  When I walked into the bar, he greeted me by name, grabbed my backpack, told me he’d put it on the bed to hold the room, and I could pay tonight.  Great news, Shar had changed some money at the airport in Orlando.  This was actually better than good, because I actually did not have enough Euro to pay for the return bus fare for us if I paid now.  Haha, anyway, my doubly quickened pace placed me in the line, boarding the bus, about four minutes prior to departure.

I laughed out loud at my good fortune as we pulled out of the bus station.  And I was so excited to be picking up Shar.  I couldn’t wait to share “my Camino” with her.

Sorry, I couldn’t find any pictures of Sarria, Vodaphone, Bus ride, or anything relevant to todays post.

Thought I’d share my family, who have done nothing but love and support each other.  They lift each other, which lifts me.  And my son, who will travel this camino with me forever.

Camille, Cullen, Emily

Cullen on mission in Haiti

Cullen, Sharon, Kayla, Noah

Cullen’s favorite pose

Bienvenido a Galacia – 22nd day, 9 May 2013

Last night after hiking the three mountains, I dragged in at 8:30.  Two would have been enough – it was past 5 as I descended the second peak, and I was ready to call it a day.  I tried to take an asphalt road down to the regular gold route where I could find an albergue, but about 20 yards into my attempted exit, I was thwarted.  A little old Spanish lady hobbled down the road after me and insisted I was NOT going where I thought I was.  “No!” she insisted the road did not head back down.

Sometimes the locals really are quite helpful and redirect you to the correct path.  But I was quite clear to her (because my Spanish is quite fluent now!) that I had no intention of staying on the Camino green path, but rather really wanted to call it a day, and use the shortcut road back down.  She was adamant that the middle road would indeed take me to Vega de Valcarce, and not back up to Vilasinde to ascend the third peak.

Well, to quote Clint Eastwood, what we had was a “failure to communicate.”

Either that or she just plain didn’t like to see people cheating, and thought if I had commited to the green path, by golly I needed to stick to the plan.  Anyway, within 15 minutes, I knew she had done me dirty.  But by this time I was already committed, and it was pretty much just as close just to keep going, and see the view from the top of summit three.

I made friends with a cool dog up there.  And did manage to find water.  The the view had passed by at least an hour.  It was foggy and getting dark soon, so I put it in high gear and kept going.

By the time I made it back down, it ws 8:30, and the alburgue that I stumbled into was the armpit of pilgrim sleeping facilities.  Apparently everyone else knew this already.  The municipal albergue was designed to hold 76 people, and by my count there were only 5 there when I arrived.  None spoke English, but I gathered that although there (obviously) were plenty of available bunks, the warden (what the manager is called) had left for the evening, so I wouldn’t be able to register and have my credential stamped (the passport thing you get stamped everywhere you go on the Camino in order to prove you actually made the journey, so you would get your “diploma” document called a compostela in Santiago).  I had plenty of stamps, as a matter of fact I was running out of room.  (In fact, I found myself selectively stamping – including mainly cathedrals, museums, churches, and touristas, and pretty much not stamping in cafes and bars – didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea and think I’d been medicating every night!)  So, I didn’t really think this was a problem.  I used my best sign language to find out from my fellow pilgrims, where my accomodations for the evening would be found.  Well the place had 5 dorm rooms, each with about a dozen beds.  Two people were in one with the door shut, and two others had parked in a small room, only three bunks across.  The old German guy was on the right side, and this Spanish girl was on the left, so I assumed I should be social and unroll my sleeping bag on the bottom bunk in the middle.  Took a quick (VERY quick) shower, cause it was not only not a hot shower, this place didn’t even have any pretenses – there wasn’t even a hot handle.  To my friends in Florida – you know the cold water I’m accustomed to – maybe 65-70 degrees, even in winter.  Ha ha not here baby, it was about 40 degrees, and honestly took my breath away.

Anyway, after a brisk refreshing douche (that what we call a shower over here – that took some getting used to also), I darted out and hung up my wet towel to dry from the upper bunk.  I did find it odd that the Spanish girl had two pairs of boots under her bed.  I quickly hobbled (my current graceful stride) into town to get some dinner.

By the way, this place was filthy, and cold, and only one of the dorms had a door that closed.

The “perigrino menu” is perhaps one of the secular highlights of the Camino de Santiago (no kidding).  It is offered by almost all restaurants, even the better ones, and consists of a first course:  soupa (typically the local fare, and genuinely delicious) or a salad – amazingly a really, really good big salad, with lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, asparagus, egg, peppers, etc; a second course – again kind of depending on the local fare, a choice of pollo (chicken), pesco (fish), and typically a third something or other, main course always served with other stuff, like potatoes, beans, veggies, etc (this is NOT France).  After the first two courses is dessert – generally a choice of ice cream, flan, pudding, fruit, a tart, or a piece of Santiago cake (really good almond flavor).  And a drink – aqua, cervesa, or vino.  Typically you go for the vino, because unlike the cervesa, they generally keep refilling the glass.  All this for 8 to 12 Euro (10 – 17 dollars).  No idea how they can make money like this, but appanently they survive on it.  Did I say they keep refilling the vino?  I kid you not, some of the very best wine I have ever tasted has been served from (apparently) a backyard vinyard, because the bottle has no label, but is really, really good stuff.  I’m no connoiseur, but I do like a pretty nice wine, and I was seldom disappointed in the regional vino of backyard Spain.

Having a medical background, I would certainly not recommend consuming alcohol with the quantity of NSAIDs (non-steroidal antiinflammatories) reguired by an old fart like me, but it does tend to keep the knees functioning.  Whatever.  “Senor!  Uno mas vino, por favor!”

Anyway, so I get back to slip into tom quiet slumber, only to find the owner of the second pair of boots making out with her and preparing to share my neighbor’s sleeping bag.

CYA

I’m really not a prude.  But I have kids older that this, and I had no intention of listening to … whatever all night.  I was here for a spiritual pilgrimage, and even with a little vino for medication, this was not my idea of fun.  So I excused myself, explaining that I was glad to give them a bit of privacy, expanding into another totally empty room.  About an hour later the German guy joined me in my new choice of room.  I didn’t ask why.

I was awoken at 5:15 by the Galacian weather.  I remembered in the movie, “The Way,” it mentioned that Galcaia got alot of rain.  They were not kidding.  Rain.  Lots of it.

Having the pilgrim spirit, I did not complain, but instead chose new attire for this wonderful day.  I was certainly glad that I had not elected to leave behind my rain gear.  I had carried around over 3# of rain pants and shell for three weeks, and it was now gonna pay off.  In addition I had learned from previous days that waterproof pants do drip onto socks, that wick into eventually very wet shoes, so I invented home-made “gaiters.”  I cut down a garbage bag and duct taped it to my calves under my pants, extending over my shoes.  Brilliant idea – until the next evening.  Ever take duct tape off a hairy leg?

I waited til after 8 and the warden never showed, so, CYA. Guess this fine facility was free.  Can’t imagine why it was empty.

It rained for two solid days, then every single day until Santiago.  Nope correct that.  Every day until we leave, including Finestere. (yes, I’m still about a week behind in my posts, and I am home now).  So I walked another 24 miles today, trudging in the rain, and stayed in a “rural casa.”

Casa Xato is a working farm, and just plain felt good.  I had my own private room (36 Euro, instead of the albergue price of 5 – 8, but last night was free, so, whatever!), a hot shower, real bed, and the ambiance was just so cool.  I opened the window, and saw sheep and horses grazing and the dairy cattle were being led in for the evening milking.  The goats wore a bell, the rooster was crowing, and the village church bell rang out the hour.  They make their own cheese, chorizo (sausage), and raise their own chicken and eggs.  They recently won some award, mounted on the wall, from a chocolate association for excellence in desserts.  (Can I just stay here for a while?)

The senora did my laundry (by now, pretty much everything in my pack) for 4 Euro, Made me the most incredible supper, insisted I have a second caraffe of vino, and gave me three chocolate crepes, drizzled with maple syrup for dessert, all for 10 Euro.  (Can I just stay here for a while?)

Woke at 7:30 (easy to “sleep late” here!) and departed in the rain for Sarria.  Woo Hoo!!!  Shar will be start hiking with me there!!!

Alternative Scenic Route (Dragonte Mountain) – 21st Day, 8 May 2013

In John Brierly, “A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino de Santiago,” he on many occasions presents two or sometimes three alternative routes to reach the day’s suggested destination.  The grey dotted route is mainly paved, typically the least strenuous, but often reportedly boring, less scenic, and asphalt hard on the feet.  The gold dotted route is that suggested by Brierly, much more altitude, and as such, more strenuous and demanding.  Unlike in snow-skiing, the green route is not the easiest.  The green route is mentioned only for the benefit of the “experienced hiker,” who is in “excellent physical condition and who has the internal compass of a mountaineer,” as he is “likely to presented with many alternative roads and paths that are unmarked, and who will not become disheartened or frustrated if he becomes disoriented or lost for a period of time.”

Sounds like me, right?  Guess which route I ALWAYS took when presented with the options…

Today being no different, I made the responsible decision that (apparently) no one else that I knew had made.  Without hesitation, I chose the green route (a no-brainer) and headed up to Dragonte.  I say without hesitation, not because I’m particularly athletic, or have a death-wish, or even some kind of daredevil.  No, I always chose the highest, most demanding route because I’m pretty sure this is a once in a lifetime thing for me to do.  So really do it.

And kind of personal.  My last trip with my son, time together.  That additional time we all wish we had spent with our kids when they (or we’re) gone.  Lots of long conversations.  Explanations of things I had done and not done – why and why not – and how I really thought I was being a good dad at the time.  Apologies for those things that didn’t work out well or had resulted in misunderstandings, frustrations and disappointments.  And appreciation for being such a really great son, a really great friend to so many, a really great human being.  I continue to be in awe of that person.  On so many levels.

So, and I share this with great hesitation, because it is so very personal.  But if you’re still reading after three weeks, you are undoubtedly a pretty good friend, and have much love for me and my family.  Many have no Idea why I’m doing this, other than to work through some grief.  There are some reasons too personal to share – they are between me, my son, and our God.

But remember, I’ve said many times – I’m not doing the Camino for Cullen, I’m doing the Camino WITH Cullen, but for me, and those I love, who need me back.  I’ve been gone for a while.

So, yes, at the risk of some mental health label, I am walking the Camino de Santiago, the Way of Saint James with my son Cullen.  And yes, his ashes are in my backpack (no, I’m not spreading them), but even if they weren’t, he’d truly still be here with me.  And I have genuinely felt his presence on many occasions.  In the wind, in the warmth I feel on a frigid day, in the color and the fragrance of the lavender here on the mountains in the springtime.  And although most people would look and say I was walking alone, in reading some of my prior posts, I noticed myself talking about things “we” did or saw.

Today, the green route was the most physically demanding, albeit exhilarating thing I’ve ever done.  I did post a few pictures on FB.  Here’s a few more.  Today was the Camino in a nutshell.  Time alone, lots of prayer, fascinating history, indescribable beauty.  Anyone who denies the existence of our God has clearly never seen anything like this.  And yes I was lost once for over an hour.  Don’t believe in angels?  I didn’t either.  More to come regarding that.  Much Love

Molinaseca – 20th Day, 6 May 2013

After such a long, physically and emotionally draining day yesterday, I stayed in an albergue called San Roque, with 26 other bunk beds together in a single room.  Haha, what a brilliant idea.  This was a flashback from the albergue scene in “The Way.”

I had experienced such a wonderfully exhaustive cathartic day.  I slipped into my sleeping bag and, anticipating some snoring, smashed in the ear plugs as far as they would go, only to be awoken an hour later by a cacophony, a veritable symphony of snoring. I almost got out of my bed to get the phone so I could record it.  I kid you not, at one particular time there were 9 people snoring, in 7 distinct tones.  This was pretty funny at first, but after I was awoken a second time, just a few minutes later, it wasn’t funny anymore.  The problem was the earplugs – they would work themselves out “just enough” after an hour or so, and I’d startle out of my slumber with such a jerk that I’d sit up without thinking, and bonk myself in the head on the underside of the upper bunk.  This in itself was also funny, but not so much at the time.

Anyway, so once again I used the emotion, this time of frustration, to think about “my stuff,”  in a place where I over-analyze, and make metaphors out of things that now feel are ridiculous as I write them.

Snoring became “the real world.”  My sleep that night, and the Camino itself was a magical place, but the peace and wonderment of it all was jostled from me by the “snoring.”  Stolen by the reality of noise and distractions and unimportant things.

Have you ever been on a retreat, or to make things secular, even an industry or professional convention?  You get all pumped up, full of new ideas, new knowledge, management incentives, motivational techniques, just excitement about life in general, cause you have new “stuff” to bring back to everyone else, or even to the “previous you.”  But time, and time again, year after year, when you got back home, or to work, everything new and exciting was consumed by the “old grind.”

I’ve been in a pretty awesome place.  Really.  But I’ve been realistic enough to know it could all be consumed and lost as the airplane wheels screamed on the tarmac of the runway in Orlando.  By the “real world.”

But, I pondered as I lay there, what exactly IS the “real world?”  The place where jobs and responsibility, houses and “things” get the (vast) majority of our time and attention? Our spouses and children get the leftovers?  And our “god” and our salvation, and the salvation of those we’re commisioned to steward are an afterthought, maybe given an hour or two on Sundays?  Do we bring our “god” along for the ride?

In other words, does God (capital G) get placed with my other “gods” in my backpack, if there’s room and it doesn’t weigh exceed that 26# that I’ve decided was the most I should bring on this journey?  No, I’m quite sure I have that exactly backwards.  I consider myself a reasonably serious Christian.  Didn’t Jesus say we were liars if we professed to love God, to follow him, to love one another, but didn’t live as a disciple, where our works were the same as our words?

So, as I tossed and turned and re-committed (although admittedly, I have commited to this on several other occasions), that being the Godly man I was sent here to be would be, it had to be, the focus of my “new life” after my Camino.  I would stop trying to “bring God along for the ride.”  This was His ride anyway, and I’m brough along by Him.  My focus must continue to be on my Camino.  The Way.  The journey I was brought here for.  My focus will be on this Camino (capital C).  On this Camino, I realize I’m not driving.  I never was.  On this Camino I must stop worrying about things over which I have no control.  The Guy who’s driving (capital G) gets to decide these things.  I have to stop “pretending” to trust Him, and actually do it.

That’s pretty much the last thought I had.  I must have drifted away into the peaceful rest of slumber, even with the snoring.

Today I walked almost 25 miles.  I have no idea how I did it.  I don’t really think I could have done it on my own.  My body is a complete wreck.  My knees are swollen and bruised, wrapped by two tight braces.  But the walk continues, with strength from somewhere.  I thank everyone for their prayers, I am certain that He hears them and carries me during these times.  I splurged tonight and stayed at the Parador Hotel.  Real food, real bath, real bed.  Big day tomorrow.

Cruz de Ferro – 19th Day. 6 May 2013

Those who have also followed my on facebook realize I am posting on this blog a few days behind, because you saw Cruz de Ferro referenced last week.

This was an extremely heavy day for me. I approached the Cruz without really remembering it was only a few kilometers ahead. Something felt really strange. I was alone, and hadn´t seen any of my friends in a while, maybe that was it. No it jusrt really felt different. Maybe I was just getting weary, I checked the book for the next town. I had passed through Foncebadón, and saw that the Cruz fe Ferro was now less than a Km away. I placed my hand into my left pocket to feel the two stones I had intended to leave there, at the foot of the cross.

I won´t really say much more about today.

I spent quite a while there, place the two stones at the foot of the cross. My own, and one given to me by Father Tony when he gave me the pilgrim send-off blessing at Mass two weeks earlier. He had brought that stone back from the Holy Land and asked me to place it there, symbolically placing the burdens of members of our church community.

And I placed my own stone there as well.

A while later, as I climbed down from the mountain of stones left by earlier pilgrims, I finally looked up to see another friend named Edward, whom I had also met around the time I met Franz and Bastion. He also had tears running down his cheeks.

Lots of weary hearts on the Camino. Burdens to leave behind.

Realizing I should be in a relieved mood, less burdened mood, I pulled out the earbuds and played Chris Tomlin,”Our God is Greater.” Sarah Kroger had sung this at HNJ Adoration, hours before Cullen and I would watch “The Way.”

I lifted my hands in praise as I walked away, leaving the stone at the cross. I turned to see Edward smile.

Much Love on the Camino.

Astorga Farewell – Day 18. 5 May 2013

As usual, all perigrinos seem to leave at slightly different times in the early morning.  One of my biggest peeves has been fumbling around in the dark at 6:30 in a dark room with the other earlybirds, each with their own flashlight, hastily packing, zipping, unzipping, tripping on shoes, stuffing sleeping bags into plastic compression sacks, rolling ziplock baggiespretending to be quiet in consideration for the others, who are pretending to be asleep.  This mad dash for the door seems to always result in leaving something behind.  I´ve learned to thrpw on something quickly, slog to the cafe-con-leche bar, and toss a couple back, then return at 7ish when the “official” lights seem to get turned on.  With caffeine on board, I can take care of other business as well, pack in the light, and leave only slightly after the others, except the Irish, who I still seem to beat out the door.

The Germans, like the Belgians and Dutch were the first to go, so I don´t remember ever leaving with Dirk, except once when I realized I had left my trekking poles in the dark, so I actually left dead last that day!  Lesson learned.

Some have a much faster hiking pace and generally out distance the others, except those with the desire to hike an hour or two after most others had stopped.  I am in this category – most stop after 5 or 6 hours, but my schedule dictates that I pace another couple of hours, typically 7 or 8 hours – I have to average 17-20 miles each day to be in Sarria on the 10th, to catch the bus to bring back Shar, who would be flying in on the 11th.

There are many potential stops and diversions along the way, everyone has their own appetites and bladders, interests or not in churches, cathedrals, museums, as well as desires to take the paved more direct routes, the rocky, scenic road less traveled, and sometimes the uber-scenic poorly marked rout with much more altitude, but rewarding views.  More on that later too.

This was Sunday, so I stopped as I hiked through Astorga, I decided it was good timing, passing an iglesia (church) right at 12:00 Mass-time.  There was a band circling the town, loudly playing drums and brass, stopping in front of church right as the bells rang out to signify the start of Mass.  Very interesting, and pretty impressive.

After Mass, I walked through Astorga and entered what every one of these small Spanish towns has, a town square.  But this one was different.  At a population of 12,000, it just felt like home, small townish and comfortable, but just big enough to be alive.  The town square on this sunny day was full of life, not “old and cold” as I had grown accustomed to.  Young families sat at the cafes lining the football field sized square.  Dozens of children rollerskating and bicycling in the square, running, laughing, giggling, loving life.  This place just felt really good.

And just like that, as I stood in the middle of the happiness, I heard, “William!” my proper name that Dirk always called me.  Ha, and so another improbable, but expected reunion.  He had just eaten lunch, but sat with a coke as I had mine.  Today would be a bittersweet meeting.  My new, good-friend dirk was way ahead of schedule and would be not only slowing the pace, but staying in Astorga.  He expected to be in Santiago around the same day I would be, the 17th, but with tens of thousands of pilgrims in that city at any given time, it was unlikely we´d meet again.  We exchanged email addresses, he promised to bring his wife for a visit in Florida next year, and just like that we hugged to say goodbye.  But it wasn·t just a “three pat”  guy-hug.  He was clearly choking back tears, and it obviously takes very little to make me emotional.  I cry watching SPCA commercials.  His friends from Holland, Jeff and Annelies, were swept in as well.

So, I walked quickly from the Astorga town square with that image of Dirk.  Why had we become such good friends so quickly?  There´s that old saying about how long different types of friends are intended to stay in your lives.  He had been a great guy to spend so much of this time with though.  I wondered if his sons realize how fortunate they are.

I thumbed through the Camino guide book as I walked along, and targeted Santa Catalina as my destination for the night, just another 10 Km down the road.

Not 10 minutes after I left Dirk, the German speed skater Franz, and his friend Sebastian were walking out of a cafe just ahead of me.  I hadn´t seen them in almost a week.  (It´s the Camino).  We visited for about an hour, the the coffee from lunch was screaming.  So I stopped at the next banõ.  Although I had come to expect it, I would not see them again. This really bothered me because I love those guys like brothers, and wanted to tell them goodbye. Perhaps we’ll meet again, perhaps I’ll see a photo of him later with Cullen’s bracelet, winning the Olympics or some other race.

I spent the night at El Caminate Albergue, in Santa Catalina.

Hospital de Orbigo, 4 May, 2013

There´s a saying while walking here, anytime an uncanny coincidence occurs, any time you were thinking or talking about something and it happens immediately, you run into someone you met days, if not weeks ago, expecting to never to see them again. “It´s the Camino!” just seems to explain it in a nutshell.  So many really, really interesting, if not strange things happen here.  I´ve heard reference to the literally millions over the past thousand years who have made the pilgrimage, often with a troubled or heavy heart, filled with a loving, if not healing spirit.  “The place is thick with God´s healing grace, you could cut it with a knife,” a priest from New York, who had been a missionary in Africa, said to me.  “Think of the tens, if not hundreds of thousands who died here, struggling to make the journey.  Think of the saints, such as your St. Francis of Assisi (knowing I was a vet) who walked these very same footsteps.  Don´t be surprised when surprising things happen!”  I have not been surprised, but I am in awe.

Tonight, I stayed in Hospital de Orbigo in an albergue, sleeping in the same room with about 60 really good friends.  Let me comment on that atatement.

There are lots of “Hospital” named towns.  Remember the millions going before me didn´t have high tech hiking gear like us.  Girded in a sack cloth and a stick, many (esp in medieval times) made this journey of atonement and indulgence, knowing they may not make it home, or even to Santiago.  Hospitals were set up along the way to treat injuries, as well as infirmities.  The plague, scarlet fever, and tuberculosis, as well as dozens of other maladies claimed many before they could place their petition at the feet of St. James for his intercession to his close friend, our Lord, Jesus Christ.  There are many medieval headstones behind towns called “hospital.”

Sixty really good friends.  This feels like the fraternity days, with “Hell week,” just prior to initiation into the “club.”  It really is inconceivable the pains and struggles associated with a pilgrimage  I´m really not complaining Donica, I knew this stuff was part of the package.  As a natter of fact, it would be a really beautiful holiday if not for the discomfort.  That may well be part of what of makes it a pilgrimage.  The sprains, strains, bloody torn nails, the blisters, destroyed knees, pulled backs, and even heart attacks.  The cardiovascular workout involved in ascending a thousand meters in a just few kilometers is both exhilarating and body breaking.  Anyway, those who toil together, especially for a common cause tend to grow very close.  So I am serious when I say “close friends.”  Imdeed I was in a big room with 60 others stuffed into bunkbeds.  But as I looked around the room, I had walked for miles with most of them, and the others had made the way with those I did know.  A common kinship.  A royal priesthood.  Each perigrino has their own story, their own Camino.  More on that later.  Much Love.