What Are YOU Waiting For?

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” . . . What then? Shall we sit idly down and say,

The night has come; it is no longer day??

The night hath not yet come; we are not quite

cut off from labor by the failing light.

Something remains for us to do or dare

(Even the oldest tree some fruit may bear) –

Not Oedipus Coloneus, or Greek Ode,

or tales of pilgrims that one morning rode 

out of the gateway of the Tabard Inn –

But other something, would we but begin.

For age is opportunity, no less

than youth itself, though in another dress,

And as the evening twilight fades away

the sky is filled with stars,

invisible by day.”

– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “Morituri Salutamos”,  1874

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Hellooooooooo? Anyone There???

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Remembering Sinin’s tortilla. YUMM!

Dear Reader,

Sorry for not posting lately.

I’ve had out of country visitors for almost four weeks, then I was out of the country, and next week more out of country visitors!!!

All beloved and happily received and anticipated family and friends.

However, all the visiting has kept me away from the blog. Only physically, though. Mentally, I am in Spain and arriving at Santiago within days.

In fact, I’m heading out the door to give another Camino talk as I write this mini-blog (forgive any typos). I’m always excited to tell people about my trip and to relive the adventures as I remember my dear Camino family.

So, thank you for staying with me, catch up on your reading if you haven’t read some of my posts, and I am (sadly) looking forward to the last days of my Camino adventure.

Kathy

This Time Last Year

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My DH and I were a few months away from celebrating 38 wonderful years of marriage. The children were grown and our lives had taken us to many places around the world, places I had never dreamed I would see, much less live in. We had recently moved to another country and were enjoying the adventure of getting settled. We were working on where to store Christmas items in our new apartment.

But I had other plans also and I knew they wouldn’t include him. I was going to walk the Camino Frances soon.

I didn’t know exactly when or how. I didn’t know exactly where. I especially didn’t know why.

I hadn’t made any transportation arrangements because I had no clue how to get from where I was to where I thought I might need to be. I didn’t believe in hiking poles – too dorky. I was a good (what’s good about it?) twenty pounds overweight and I’m being kind. I didn’t have hiking boots.

The only thing I had going for me was that I liked walking although I sometimes found it boring.

I had decided to walk the Camino Frances and I had broken the news to my DH just after Thanksgiving. Would he be OK with it? It would cost us money and time. Lots of time but I had no clue  how much.

Not even my children really knew what I was up to.

“Mom’s thinking about going for a long walk.” What did that mean???

You don’t choose the Camino. It chooses you. And I had been chosen. But try to explain that to people who want to know why you want to walk across the top of Spain.

The ancestry of the Camino Frances sits squarely on a pilgrimage. But I’d never been religious enough to feel drawn to religious sites. I’d never felt compelled to visit places noted for miracles. And my life was relatively happy – no need to do penance or suffer to set things straight.

I was an older woman, inactive for many, many years, suddenly possessed by an idea that no one I knew had ever done before or even heard of.

It was time to give this some serious thought.

I Don’t Have Paper But I Do Have Plastic! – Day 36 – Fonfria to San Mahmed

IMGP4313The morning is beautiful and we are rested. The albergue has been comfortable and I have been surrounded by friends.

Nevertheless, the journey is not over. I have miles and miles to go. So the four of us – myself, Christine, Juan Carlos and Andres – rise, have breakfast, and hit the road.

I feed off my companions’ energy and motivation. Dare I admit that I am . . . tired? You’d think that after walking 400 miles, that would be an obvious statement of fact. But I haven’t felt tired before. I am today simply tired of walking.

I don’t want to see any more old churches or old Roman roads. I’m tired of walking through abandoned villages. I’m tired of the endless green paths through the fields which were lovely at first, and now seem beautiful yet redundant.

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As it gets closer to summer, it gets hotter and hotter. Although we are in the wet part of Spain, we will see no more rain, just sunshine and more sunshine. I’m not complaining about the sun, Heaven knows, after all the mud weeks ago, but I am tired of the hot.

I’m still carrying my fleece and my long underwear pajama bottoms. I’m too close to the end to send them ahead and the weight gain wouldn’t be much.

The four of us continue for about eight kilometers. Then, when we hit Triacastela, we split up.

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For me, this is sad. We are very close to the end now, less than a week to Santiago, I expect. The route the boys and Christina will take has great views. That means it goes up to the ridge line. I don’t want to climb any more.

I will walk towards Samos, the town with the famous monastery. I might even  spend the night there.  It is a slightly longer route but stays flatter.

So it is time for a final good-bye to my friends – my Camino family.

We exchange cell phone numbers and promise to keep in touch. We will look for each other in Santiago and celebrate our arrivals, if we meet. We bid each other a “Buen Camino.” I am choked up as I watch them follow the path into the mountains. I doubt I’ll see them again.

Have I made a bad choice?

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I continue onto Samos and the town is just hitting siesta when I arrive so everything is closed. It is hot and blazingly sunny. I have run out of money, again. I check my meager finances and look for an ATM machine. When I find one, no surprise, it doesn’t have any cash. Once again, I’m stuck without euros.

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I go to a bar and the women welcome me as I get the only things I can afford for lunch, a cold beer and some toast. I decide that I shall take a siesta here. I can’t stay at the monastery now because I don’t have any money. I must continue on and hope I can find a place with a cash machine. One with cash.

I am at the bar for about an hour and not a car goes by. Some pilgrim on bicycles come through the town but, not finding anything open, they continue on their way. I decide to do something I’ve seen others do but I haven’t done myself – I call ahead and make a reservation at an albergue.

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I arrive at that albergue late. The albergue is well run by the family and they clearly take pride in their facility and their service. I try to explain that I have run out of euros, that the cash machine was empty, that I don’t have any money for the bed, etc, etc.

No problem, they say.  They take credit cards! So. for the first time on my journey, I pull out plastic and use it. Thank you , St. Julian, the card goes through.

I lay out my sleeping bag on a top bunk. I’m in the shower when the communal meal begins. I’m sorry to miss this multi-course meal since it was the reason I wanted to stay at this albergue. I don’t have any food on me and there’s no pilgrim kitchen. I hand wash my things, knowing that it is so late in the day that my clothes will not be dry in the morning.

Clean, with routine necessities taken care of, I wander and enjoy the sounds of pilgrims who have shared conversation over the communal dinner. I don’t know any of these people, however, and I haven’t eaten. I feel out of place and lonely. The family graciously asks if I’d like a bowl of soup which I gladly accept. For drink, I only need water and I get a pitcher-full.

That night, I climb onto the top bunk. I can hardly wait until the pitcher of water I had with dinner kicks in and I have to climb down in the middle of the night. The sun is going down outside but this is the new normal time to get to sleep. The room I’m in is surprisingly cramped. The family could get rid of one bunk bed and make the room comfortable. But I’m sure it’s a money thing – I can’t begin to imagine their business model.

As I sit up top in my bed, writing in my journal, I see it all. Old men parading around shirtless. People picking at their feet. Guys slapping lotion on their inner thighs. This will be one of the few nights I have trouble falling asleep because of people snoring.

And I still don’t have any money.