Category: International Travel

rishikesh, india: of snake charmers & gurus

wanderessence1025 September 25, 2018

This is a part 3 of the story of our challenging time traveling from Varanasi to Rishikesh, started in the posts:

part 1: varanasi, india: of ghats & gurus
part 2: on journey: chandigarh >> to delhi (???) >> to rishikesh….14 grueling hours

We went to feel the spiritual pulse of India. Our quest took us through the frenzied streets and ghats of Varanasi, over dangerously chaotic Indian roads, and finally, sweet relief, to Rishikesh, the land of serenity and ohm. Never could we have imagined how different two of India’s most spiritual places could be. And never could we have imagined the future of our lives, as told to us by gurus at either end.

Wednesday: The Ganges River in Rishikesh is hemmed in by mountains and is utopian-lovely. A cool breeze rinsed over us as we ventured out into the peaceful town.

We walked down Lakshman Jhula Road for quite a distance, then crossed the Ganges on a pedestrian-only bridge called Ram Jhula (suspension bridge). Somehow no one else seemed to know it was pedestrian-only as numerous motorcycles roared by, nearly knocking us over. On the east side of the bridge was Swarg Ashram, the traffic-free “spiritual center” of Rishikesh, where we encountered cows on the street (surprise!), a man pushing a cart of red carrots which didn’t seem to be carrots at all but some unidentified vegetable, and guys selling glittery gold jewelry from their motorcycles.

We walked along an asphalt path along inviting sandy beaches, closed gates overgrown with weeds and dilapidated ashrams. Cute shops offered up colorful textiles and beautiful jewelry. We came across a large temple on the riverbank that looked like a 13-story orange-iced wedding cake, Shri Trayanbakshwar Temple.

Back across the bridge, we stopped for a cappuccino and an apple lassi at the Devraj Coffee Corner, perched high above the bridge and looking back at the wedding cake temple. This was a German bakery (ubiquitous in India) serving breakfast, fresh breads and cheeses, apple strudel and croissants, as well as the usual luncheon fare of soups, pizzas and enchiladas.

On the steps outside the coffee shop sat a bearded and turbaned fellow playing some kind of colorful bulbous musical instrument and charming a snake.

After our break, we happened upon the Divine Ayurvedic Therapy Centre & Massage School. Since it was a school, we got cheap 45-minute foot and leg massages which felt amazing after being cramped in the car all day yesterday.

Feeling relaxed, we stumbled another guru’s shop, the Ganga Astrology and Palmistry Centre. We wanted to check out the Varanasi guru’s prediction against that of another guru, a kind of check and balance. We wandered in and watched the guy, Astrologer (ex-Scientist) B.P. Uniyal, in action with another group. He asked his customers all kinds of probing questions and entered the information on his computer. He asked us to come back in an hour. We liked what we heard and decided we’d wander around and return to get another, possibly truer, reading.

Wandering into temples, we saw relief sculptures of elephants dancing and Indian dancers with red dots on their foreheads. As always, little shrines sat happily in their nooks, overflowing with brightly colored paintings of octopus-armed gods, flowers, leis, masks, feathers, ceramic tiger-lions, pitchforks, 6-handed goddesses, swatches of jewel-colored textiles and colorful baubles.

Back at the guru’s office, we gave Mr. Uniyal the requested information. He fed all the information into a computer program and then printed out a multiple-paged document, after which he proceeded to read my future… as well as my palm.

This guru told me: I will live until I’m about 85. He didn’t say how I will die. I will have a lover after July, and he will be someone I know. I had problems when I was 52, and that was about right because I think that was the worst year of my life. I will be okay as far as property and I will own my own house. I will work two jobs, one in education and the other a creative endeavor, possibly writing. I will have a peaceful later life and good health, except for a little trouble with my eyes in 2021 and again in 2032. After 2023, I will have some trouble with my blood pressure. I’ll experience some nervousness, but he doesn’t say when. My financial position will be good (he didn’t say when). My children are supportive to me and they will do well in business or service. I will live a long life.

He continues to say I will have a friend in life from June onwards (Hmm, is this the same person as the lover I will have after July, whom I already know?). I will do some side business after 2017, related to writing or teaching. I will be active in my work until 2028! Long awaited work will come in 2020 and 2028 related to children and other purposes. I will have a few downhill periods in 2030, 2032 and 2037 and will be governed by old age factors after 2041 (At this time I will be 86. Of course I will already be dead by then as he said I will die at 85). I will have a period of strong spiritual growth from 2028 onwards to 2037.

While in the guru’s office, a dreadlocked man covered in caked dust and wearing a loincloth wandered in and touched Jayne on her head. Jayne cringed and backed off, telling the guru, “Tell him not to touch me!!” I found myself trying not to look at him in the hope that I’d remain incognito. He carried all kinds of paraphernalia, none of which was remotely identifiable.

The guru told us the strange fellow was an Aghori ascetic, a type of sadhu. Sadhu is a common term for a mystic, or ascetic, a practitioner of yoga and/or a wandering monk. He usually wears ochre-colored clothing to symbolize renunciation.

Since sadhus in India are common attractions, we weren’t sure if the guy was a poser, a guy looking to make a buck by posing for pictures with tourists. The guru said something to this effect, but I wasn’t sure I understood him properly.

We left clutching our computer printouts and notes. Now that we had our future in our pockets, we headed for lunch at the Buddha German Bakery, where Bob Marley sang “Buffalo Soldier” over the sound system:

Dreadie, woy yoy yoy, woy yoy-yoy yoy,
Woy yoy yoy yoy, yoy yoy-yoy yoy!

We ate Tibetan spinach cheese momos, ricotta cheese and spinach filled dumplings served with spiced sesame seed sauce. A breeze whispered through the restaurant as we lazily watched rafters negotiate the rapids on the river. I felt peaceful in India for the first time.

Meanwhile, Singh arranged a new hotel for tonight, the Narayana Palace Hotel, so we could stay in Rishikesh an additional night. He was trying to make it up to us for yesterday, and we couldn’t help but soften toward him, as he was so contrite and apologetic. Our room, in British Colonial style, had a parquet floor and paneled ceiling, beautiful woodwork, sage green curtains, and ample space. The pool nestled in a lush tropical setting with a backdrop of coral-colored buildings and ruffled mountains. We moved our stuff into the room and then lay out by the pool for an hour or two, napping and reading and chilling.

It has been Jayne’s wish to do yoga in Rishikesh, so we arranged a yoga session with Rajkumari Chauhan, a serene Indian lady. In a common room at the hotel, she gave us mats and we stretched and chanted, jumped up and down yelping. She chanted more and we relaxed into our poses. “It’s all about breathing and peaceful mind,” she said.

After yoga, we ventured to the Ganga Beach Cafe & Restaurant, with a riverside location, a spacious terrace, and a cushioned chill-out area. Mellow hippie music, stuff of acoustic guitars and mandolins and sitars, permeated the cafe. That interspersed with classic rock and roll. We sat on cushions at low wooden tables and ordered pomegranate juice, mint raita, vegetable biryani and vegetable Jhal frezi, accompanied by butter naan. Around us sat dreadlocked Westerners with scarves wrapped jauntily around their necks and wearing colorful Himalayan patchwork jackets. Like every restaurant in Rishikesh, it was all vegetarian and no alcohol was served. The mood was chill and even otherworldly, and the food burst with Indian flavors of coriander and cumin. This spot was a sliver of heaven, offering hard-earned serenity after the chaotic experience of Varanasi and the Indian roads. We wished we could have stayed in this peaceful place until our guru-predicted ages of 85.

at the Divine Hotel

pedestrian bridge over the Ganges

glitter for sale on a motorcycle

carrots?

bull?

Buddha German Bakery

Buddha Cafe

Rishikesh

building in Rishikesh

Rishikesh

saris in Rishikesh

Jayne and me with Indian women

Shri Trayanbakshwar Temple

the Ganges in Rishikesh

Devraj Coffee Corner

Jayne & me at Devraj Coffee Corner

snake charmer

Relief sculpture in Rishikesh

figure in Rishikesh

Guru B.P. Uniyal of the Ganga Astrology and Palmistry Centre:

me with Guru B.P. Uniyal of the Ganga Astrology and Palmistry Centre

momos at the Buddha German Bakery

our room at the Narayana Palace Hotel

poolside at the hotel

Narayana Palace Hotel

*Wednesday, March 9, 2011*

**********************

“PROSE” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about a recently visited particular destination (not journeys in general). Concentrate on any intention you set for your prose.

In this case, my intention was to capture my trip through India using my five senses, and to try to capture as vividly as possible my experience there.

It doesn’t matter whether you write fiction or non-fiction for this invitation. You can either set your own writing intentions, or use one of the prompts I’ve listed on this page: writing prompts: prose & poetry. (This page is a work in process.) You can also include photos, of course.

While I’m in Spain walking the Camino de Santiago from August 31 – October 25, and then in Portugal from October 26 – November 6, I kindly request that if you write a prose piece, please simply link it to the appropriate post, this one or my next one as soon as it publishes. I will try my best to read your posts while I’m on my journey, but I won’t have a computer or the time or ability to add links to my posts.

My next scheduled prose post will be on Tuesday, October 9.

This will be an ongoing invitation. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired! See below in the comments for any links. 🙂

Thanks to all of you who wrote prosaic posts following intentions you set for yourself. 🙂

on journey: chandigarh > to delhi (???) > to rishikesh…14 grueling hours

wanderessence1025 September 19, 2018

This is a continuation of the story of our challenging time traveling from Varanasi to Rishikesh, started in the post: varanasi, india: of ghats & gurus.

Monday: Sanjay, our driver in Varanasi, picks us up at our hotel at around noon to take us to the airport. He drives like a maniac, jamming his wrist onto the horn at every opportunity, shattering the otherwise quiet drive for no good reason. At one point we ask him to please slow down as the car he has brought today has no seat belts. He grudgingly slows down just a wisp. Surprisingly, we arrive in one piece at the airport, where we catch our 1:40 flight back to Delhi. It’s obvious that Sanjay is happy to be rid of us, as we are of him!

me with Sanjay in Varanasi, looking like we might be friends

We spend most of our day in transit, flying from Varanasi to Delhi, waiting quite a long time between flights, and arriving in Chandigarh at 6:30 p.m.

Our new driver, Singh, is a little late meeting us at the Chandigarh airport. He lumbers up to us, looking more than a little disheveled, as we walk out of the airport hauling our suitcases behind us. Singh is an older heavyset man with streaks of red dye in his dark hair and an earring in one ear. His hair is standing on end. He wears a sweater vest over an untucked shirt and a pair of frayed pants.

When Singh tells us he just arrived from Delhi, after a 5-hour drive, Jayne and I look at each other. We just spent our whole day in transit, and could have met him in Delhi. This is our first inkling that something is amiss, but we don’t realize the full error of our ways until Tuesday, which turns out to be the most harrowing day of our 3-week trip through India.

Our plan had been to fly to Chandigarh via Delhi, where it seemed on the map that the distance was short to our ultimate destination of Rishikesh. Rishikesh has no airport of its own.

Tuesday: Our day began with a sprinkle of promise. We cruised along in the back seat of Singh’s car with the windows open and dust flying into our faces. The air-conditioner in Singh’s car had two speeds, either full-blast freezing or off. We alternated between the two.

About 95 km outside of Chandigarh, suddenly the engine of our Maruti Suzuki Esteem LX started hissing and spitting out steam. Singh pulled the car over and opened the hood, poking into the engine. We sat alongside the two-lane road as trucks, tractors, donkey carts, auto-rickshaws, cars, bicycles, and motorbikes whizzed past. Singh took our water bottles and emptied them into the radiator.

Singh and his broken-down car

the view from our unexpected roadside stop

traffic on the road

tuk-tuk

Two filthy but very sweet boys ride up on one shared bicycle, and Singh gives them our now-empty water bottles to take somewhere to fill up. They zip off and return back quickly, although it seems we are out in the middle of nowhere, and I give them a 100 rupee note for their troubles.

The boys who helped us out

An auto-rickshaw driver pulled over to help. There was apparently nothing to be done with the car on the side of this far-flung road, so the driver pulled out a frayed rope and he and Singh tied the bumpers of the two vehicles together. We started down the road, Jayne and I in the auto-rickshaw and Singh driving the car, only to have the rope come untied after a short distance. They re-tied the rope and we were off again.

tying up the car

goddess on the front of the rickshaw

Jayne in the rickshaw

the boys say goodbye

Finally, after what seemed like 10 miles but was probably less than 5, we stopped at an auto repair shop in some small town. The auto-repair guys brought Jayne and me two plastic chairs and we sat out on the red dirt and waited for them to resolve the problem. Two hours later, we had a new radiator and were on our way.

traffic around us

the rickshaw

the garage

a not-very-happy camper

We were finally cruising along again, if you can call driving in India cruising. The potholed and decrepit roads in India are choked with every kind of vehicle and animal imaginable. On this particular route, there were all two-lane roads, and since a myriad of slower vehicles were always blocking the road, constant passing was required.

views as we’re being pulled along

fellow traveler

Years ago, I would have been terrified by this road trip, since every minute we are passing someone, and hurling head-on toward other vehicles. I kept reminding myself that the guru in Varanasi told me I would live till 87 or 88 and die a quiet death in my bed. Even though I was skeptical of the guru’s predictions, his words soothed my fears on this torturous day.

We entered a road blocked off by gates. We seemed to have no trouble getting through the gate, but a little way down the road, a guy alongside the road waved us down. He didn’t look like anyone official, just some random-looking guy. But Singh pulled over, pulled some papers out of his glove compartment, and got out of the car to talk to the guy.

After a half-hour, Singh returned, frowning, saying he didn’t have the proper permit to take this road, so we’d have to turn around and take an alternate route to Rishikesh. For the second time today, he made myriad excuses about how this wasn’t his car, how his car had all the proper permits, how it wasn’t his fault that this car wasn’t properly documented! We argued that he should have known what permits were required, and he should have checked this car before he brought it from Delhi. He was unabashedly unapologetic, and just kept making excuses as we turned around and got on another overcrowded road going in some other unknown direction.

At this point, we were under the impression that we were taking some parallel road toward Rishikesh, and we figured it could take at most 4 more hours. After quite a long time, I pulled out my India map and asked Singh what town we were in. He told me Karnal. I said, “What??? You’ve got to be kidding! We’re heading toward Delhi!” He explained that we were heading to Panipat, another 34 miles south, where some people would bring his car and we would exchange vehicles. Another argument ensued where we expressed our disbelief that we were heading back toward Delhi!! He continued to make excuses and to say, again, it wasn’t his fault because this wasn’t his car and he didn’t know it didn’t have the proper permits. We made our way slowly to Panipat, over an hour to travel the 34 miles.

As we finally got to Panipat, which was 85 miles north of Delhi, Singh told us it was better for us to go all the way to Delhi to meet his friends with the car because if we stopped in Panipat, we’d have to wait 2 hours for them to meet us!!

We plod along another 3 hours or so to go the 85 miles to Delhi. My blood is boiling, but there is no solution to the problem other than to sit and take it. We are hot and uncomfortable in this small car. Our legs are cramped, our backs are hurting. There is nowhere to stretch out. Pure misery.

Finally, in Delhi, Singh’s friends come with his car and we move our luggage and ourselves to Singh’s car. It turns out that his car only has one seat belt in the backseat, so Jayne and I alternate wearing this seat belt in hopes we can reduce our odds of getting killed in a head-on collision. We get on the road toward Rishikesh, which means we head southeast (we’re supposed to be going north!) to Ghaziabad, then we head north to Meerut. Once we are northbound at least I begin to feel some relief that we are finally heading in the right direction.

a common sight on India’s roads

We crawl along the long route, passing through Muzaffarnagar, Roorkee, Hadiwar, then to Rishikesh. This trip from Delhi to Rishikesh takes another 5 hours. In every town, we’re caught up in a thick mixture of people who squish their faces against our window, gesturing from hand to mouth, signaling they want money for food. When we arrive at 10 p.m. in Rishikesh, to the Divine Hotel, the place seems truly divine to us despite its notably un-divine appearance. We are irritated beyond what any words can describe because we have just spent 14 hours in a cramped car traveling a route that should have taken no more than 3 hours. Our relationship with Singh has started out very badly and we have 6 more days to spend with him! The tension between all of us is thick and sticky and uncomfortable. It’s as if we’re all stuck in a huge spider web made of taut metal threads. It’s safe to say we all want to kill each other.

*Monday & Tuesday, March 7-8, 2011*

The story of our time in Rishikesh will follow on Tuesday, September 25.

***********************

“ON JOURNEY” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about the journey itself for a recently visited specific destination. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments.

While I’m in Spain walking the Camino de Santiago from August 31 – October 25, and then in Portugal from October 26 – November 6, I kindly request that if you write a post about a journey you’d like to share, please simply link it to the appropriate post, this one or my next one as soon as it publishes. I will try my best to read your posts while I’m on my journey, but I won’t have a computer or the time or ability to add links to my posts.

My next scheduled “on journey” post will be on October 17, 2018.

This will be an ongoing invitation. Feel free to jump in at any time.

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired! See below in comments for any additional links.

Suzanne, of Being in Nature, wrote a short but thought-provoking post about how we lose parts of ourselves as we journey through life.
- Lost in Transit

Thanks to all of you who wrote “on journey” posts following intentions you set for yourself.

varanasi, india: of ghats & gurus

wanderessence1025 September 11, 2018

Sunday: Before sunrise in Varanasi, my friend Jayne and I felt our way in the dark down the maze of alleys called galis to the ghats, the long expanse of steps leading into the water on the western bank of the Ganges.

We met our English-speaking boat guide Ajay at lively Dasaswamedh Ghat, with its jumble of boats overlooked by jaunty Hindu gods painted on pink towers. A boy maneuvered our rickety rowboat out of the tangle, with Ajay standing at the helm. In the glowing pre-dawn light, Indians bathed in the Ganges. Boats of orange-robed monks, photo-snapping Asian tourists, and fellow nomads floated past. On the ghats, sacred rituals abounded: pilgrims offered puja, offerings or prayers, to the rising sun and washed clothes in the Ganges. Students struck yoga poses and meditated on the steps, while women darted about selling flowers. Ajay pointed out a group of students facing their teacher on the ghats and said they were studying Sanskrit.

Hindu pilgrims flock to Varanasi’s eighty ghats, named after maharajahs, to either wash away their sins in the sacred Ganges or to cremate their dead. Varanasi is considered a holy and favorable place to die and thus is the center of the Hindu universe.

People are cremated along the river, either by traditional burning on piles of expensive sandalwood, or cheaper mango wood. If people can’t afford sandalwood, they buy packets of sandalwood dust to sprinkle on the fire. In recent years, oven-like crematoriums offer electronic burning, which reduces the amount of wood used. Ajay told us that every Hindu is cremated at death except for: (1) children under the age of 15; (2) pregnant women; (3) people with leprosy; (4) people who die from snake bites; and (5) priests. These deceased are thrown directly into the River Ganges.

Ajay gave us little candles set on a flower petal bed, telling us to light the candle and place it into the river. I cupped my hands around the candle to shield the flame from the breeze, lit it and made a wish. We watched as our candle-wishes floated away on the current, diminishing on the horizon to nothingness.

Ajay casually mentioned his friend, a famous guru who told the fortune of a famous actress named “Goal Lyan.” Baffled, we guessed different names, until Ajay called his brother, who revealed that the mystery actress was Goldie Hawn. He told us if we’d like to have our stars read and our futures told, this guru was the one to see. We must have looked like a couple of suckers to Ajay, and in fact we turned out to be just such!

Our boat pulls up after an hour to Manikarnika Ghat, the main burning ghat. Day and night, hundreds of pyres are tended by the Dom, the untouchable caste, which has handled cremation for centuries. The pyres are lit with an eternal flame believed to have emanated from Lord Shiva, the patron deity of Varanasi. We see smoking ashes and burning pieces of wood, but we don’t see any huge piles of firewood burning a dead body. All the bodies left here have already turned to ash and have been swept into the river. Everywhere, we’re overwhelmed by the stench of cows and general garbage and debris, but luckily, I don’t smell burning flesh.

We pick our way through the black ash, huge piles of wood, wandering cows, mangy dogs, and goats. An old man squats, shaving the eldest in a deceased person’s family with a straightedge to prepare him for the cremation ceremony. We must walk through this area quietly and respectfully and are forbidden to take pictures. Ajay does allow us to take one picture of the eternal flame, which has been burning, apparently, eternally.

Walking down the narrow alleys, we encounter a queue of cows bullying their way through; we have to push ourselves up against the wall to avoid getting underfoot or gored. Down another alley, cows are lounging on steps. Vendors sell bags of sandalwood and spices and textiles. Flies swarm everywhere around piles of cow dung.

Ajay asks if we’d like to meet the “famous” guru and we are curious about him so we go to Guruji Ashram. This guru, after showing us photographs of some blond girl who vaguely looks like Goldie Hawn, tells us he can do several different tiers of fortune-telling, from $25-$80. He asks for our date, time and place of birth and then tells us to come back at 2:00.

We head out into the onslaught of Varanasi. On narrow two-lane dirt roads, cows roam and munch lazily on plastic bags. They leave their mark all over the place, adding to the generally all-encompassing piles of debris. Mangy skin-diseased dogs, small armies of pigs pushing up dirt with their snouts, goats, and more cows only add to the armies of creatures on the streets.

People’s clothes and faces and arms are covered in dirt and they mingle with the cows and other animals, stepping over their piles of dung, accepting, even embracing, it as a permanent part of the landscape. Women in saris sit on piles of rubble hand-mixing the profusion of dung with hay and forming it into little patties, which they then form into larger igloo or beehive shapes to use as cooking fuel later. Horns honk and screech and play goofy little ditties, a cacophony of loud abrasive noise. Whole families burst at the seams of auto-rickshaws, hanging on for dear life and smiling as if they are having the happiest moments of their lives. Between the bicycles, cycle rickshaws, auto-rickshaws, the cows, the animals, and the people, there is not a space to breathe. Everyone and everything is in constant motion, and you must go along with the flow or you’ll be swallowed whole.

While we wait to go back to our guru, we visit the Mother India Temple, which has on its floor a huge relief map of India and the Tibetan plateau, carved out of marble in three dimensions. The map is said to be perfectly to scale both vertically and horizontally with mountains, rivers, plains and oceans and the holy pilgrimage centers all clearly visible. We visit the small Durga Temple, better known as the “monkey temple,” where monkeys add to the overall pungency with their droppings.

Finally, we head back into Varanasi proper and sit in the car at an old movie theater, waiting for Ajay to escort us to the guru. Suddenly, a snake in a basket is thrust into our window by an Indian in a yellow turban. “Five rupees to touch my snake!” I say, “No, thanks! You’d have to pay ME to touch that snake!” He won’t take no for an answer, but continues to harass us until we finally roll up the windows and ignore him.

Back at the guru’s ashram, I climb steep narrow stairs into a warm windowless room, where he invites me to sit on the floor. He tells me the following: I will live until 87 or 88, at which time I will die a natural and easy death in my sleep. I basically will have a good life with no problems. I’ll have my own property by the time I retire. I’ll have good health, although I might have some problems with gastric pain. He asks me if I currently have these kinds of problems, and I say no, I don’t. He tells me I’ve had four pregnancies. I protest and say I’ve only had 3, but he insists I must have lost one. He says I’m independent and don’t rely on anyone and I’m very strong and controlling in my family. He also says I have a mind like a child. He doesn’t mention anything about love, so I ask and he says I will have problems between life and love; I will have a man, but no fixed man. Men will come into my life and go. I ask if there’s anything I can do about that, and he says I can buy a talisman from him for 2,300 rupees (~$37). Ha!

ghats at Varanasi

on the river Ganges

Jayne and me

Varanasi

bathing in the Ganges

sunrise on the Ganges

me lighting my candle

Jayne and me

sunrise on the Ganges

Varanasi

wood for the pyres

sandalwood dust

shaving before a family cremation ceremony

relief map of India

vendor in Varanasi

me in Varanasi

our Varanasi guru

the guru’s abode

*Sunday, March 6, 2011*

This is the first part of a three-part series. The journey from Varanasi to Rishikesh will post on Wednesday, September 19 and the second part, in Rishikesh, will post on September 25. 🙂

**********************

“PROSE” INVITATION: I invite you to write a 1,000-1,500-word post on your own blog about a recently visited particular destination (not journeys in general). Concentrate on any intention you set for your prose.

In this case, my intention was to capture my trip through India using my five senses, and to try to capture as vividly as possible my experience there.

My next scheduled prose post will be on Tuesday, September 25.

This will be an ongoing invitation. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired! See below in the comments for any links. 🙂

Thanks to all of you who wrote prosaic posts following intentions you set for yourself. 🙂

on returning home from england

wanderessence1025 September 3, 2018

On September 14, 1999, my husband and I embarked on our first ever trip to England. This trip was a milestone for me, having never been across the pond to Europe; I had only taken extensive road trips around the USA and Canada, and had been several times to the Bahamas in the Caribbean. It was late in life for me to be traveling abroad for the first time; I was 43 and Mike was 45. We left behind our children, ages 15, 8 and 6, with their grandparents for the first time.

I remember being afraid to venture to a non-English speaking country, so we chose England to be safe. When I look back on it now, I realize how unadventurous I was in every respect. I was afraid of flying, afraid to explore unfamiliar cultures, afraid to leave the kids behind. I wouldn’t even consider traveling until we had wills drawn up in case we should die. I was so cautious then.

I thought England would be much like America, so I was thrilled to find it was surprisingly different. It felt foreign, even exotic! I realized I could travel abroad, and the journey transformed me into a braver and less anxious traveler. I began almost as soon as I returned home to plan our next trip to France in 2003.

In Bath, we walked around the Roman Baths, at one time the most elegant resort in Britain. We stayed in bed and breakfasts with sumptuous breakfasts; we watched senior citizens lawn bowling. I ate rarebit. We went to the Circus and the Royal Crescent. We laughed our heads off at the Bizarre Bath Comedy Walk. We went to Glastonbury Abbey under gloomy skies.

Bath

Royal Crescent

In Wells, we found quintessential British homes and gardens and were moved to tears by evensong sung by a men and boys choir at Wells Cathedral.

Wells

In the Cotswolds, we had lunch in the Plaisterer’s Arms Pub, and ventured to Sudeley Castle, where we enjoyed boxwoods, topiary, a knot garden and the Queen’s Garden. We bought an Ordnance Map and walked through rolling hills dotted with sheep and pheasants, and traipsed across farms to the remains of a Roman Villa, including a mosaic floor in some woods near Winchcombe. We stopped in charming villages such as Stanton and Chipping Camden, with their thatched roof cottages and well-tended gardens. We walked from Bourton-on-the-Hill through sheep fields and cow pastures, over stiles, through gates abutting cattle grids, and past the incongruous “Indian Palace” of Sezincote Manor. Rye Farmhouse became the house of my dreams. We drove through picturesque villages such as Upper and Lower Slaughter and the overly touristy Bourton-on-the-Water. We were overwhelmed by the sprawling Blenheim Palace, too grandiose and pretentious for my taste. We met wax figures at Warwick Castle and imagined horrors in its torture chambers and dungeons.

Walk to Roman Villa

Chipping Camden

In Windermere, in the Lake District, we stayed in the boathouse at the gorgeous Langdale Chase Hotel, where Mike got a stomach flu. I picked my way through a million bones in kippers. I took English baths while drinking a pint or two. We visited Dove Cottage, Wordsworth’s early home, in Grasmere. We strolled through Rydal Water in search of Wordsworth, while the confused skies sprinkled, drizzled, poured, and periodically glowed with sunlight. We rode the Steamboat Gondola on Coniston Water. Near Keswick, we took a six-mile hike up Cat Bells and alongside Derwent Water. The sun popped out to give us magnificent views over the Lake District. We were awed by the scenery as we drove through Kirkstone Pass amidst rolling mountains, sheep pastures and stone fences, from Ambleside to Glennridding to Ullswater.

Cat Bells & Derwent Water

Cat Bells & Derwent Water

We drove east across Yorkshire Dales National Park and stopped in the atmospheric Fountains Abbey, where we found schoolchildren dressed in monk’s habits doing a monk reenactment.

Finally, we ended up in London. Our time in the capital was too short. We only had time for the Thames, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Hyde Park. We glimpsed Kensington Palace, stopped by Buckingham Palace, and delved into Westminster Abbey. We wandered through Notting Hill and the Travel Bookshop — the model for the bookshop in the movie Notting Hill. We marveled over tiny British cars and double-decker red buses. We mingled with the pigeons at Trafalgar Square. To top it all off, we enjoyed a play called Quartet at the Albery Theater after a dinner of spicy Indian food.

Buckingham Palace

Westminster Abbey

This trip marked a turning point in my life. My once sheltered and constrained life would become increasingly interspersed with travel. My nomadic side kicked in, and I sprouted an adventurous side. While during the first 43 years of my life I had only traveled to four countries, including my own, I have now, in the last 20 years, traveled to a total of 30, with return trips to several countries (France, China, Japan, Canada, Spain and Portugal).

As 1999 was before the digital days, I spent endless hours putting my photos into a scrapbook. I wrote a villanelle called: schoolchildren at abbey ruins. I also wrote a poem about Evensong at Wells Cathedral, which is scheduled to post on November 2. I loved creating something from our journey that would bring back happy reminders whenever I cared to revisit them.

Most importantly, this was the beginning of a more confident and adventurous me. 🙂

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“ON RETURNING HOME” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about returning home from one particular destination or, alternately, from a long journey encompassing many stops. How do you linger over your wanderings and create something from them? How have you changed? Did the place live up to its hype, or was it disappointing? Feel free to address any aspect of your journey and how it influences you upon your return. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments.

For some ideas on this, you can check out the original post about this subject: on returning home.

While I’m in Spain walking the Camino de Santiago from August 31 – October 25, and then in Portugal from October 26 – November 6, I kindly request that if you write a “returning home” piece, please simply link it to the appropriate post, this one or my next one as soon as it publishes. I will try my best to read your posts while I’m on my journey, but I won’t have a computer or the time or ability to add links to my posts.

My next “on returning home” post will be on Monday, October 1, 2018.

This will be an ongoing invitation on the first Monday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired!

Atreyee, of Bespoke Traveler, wrote about what makes a place a home.
- A Candy Home in Cap Ferrat
Jim, of Memories & Thoughts, wrote an evocative piece about returning to the places he calls home, Albury and Molong, that hold physical, as well as reflective, memories.
- Thoughts on Home

Thanks to all of you who wrote “returning home” posts following intentions you set for yourself. 🙂

colorful in niagara falls, ontario

wanderessence1025 August 30, 2018

The wild & crazy Clifton Hill in Niagara Falls, Ontario, with its carnival spirit and general weirdness, is home to arcades, fun houses, playlands, mini-golf courses, the Niagara SkyWheel, wax museums, and bowling alleys.

Ripley’s Believe It or Not

Ripley’s Believe It or Not

Fudge on Centre Street

Niagara SkyWheel and Strike! Rock n’ Bowl

Great Canadian Midway

Bronto’s Playland

The Fun House

Movieland

Since we have an extra (5th) Thursday in August, I’ll participate in the Lens-Artists Photo Challenge – Colorful. I’m also doing an extra photo invitation of my own, on this bonus Thursday. 🙂

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“PHOTOGRAPHY” INVITATION: I invite you to create a photography intention and then create a blog post for a place you have visited. Alternately, you can post a thematic post about a place, photos of whatever you discovered that set your heart afire. You can also do a thematic post of something you have found throughout all your travels: churches, doors, people reading, people hiking, mountains, patterns, all black & white, whatever!

You probably have your own ideas about this, but in case you’d like some ideas, you can visit my page: photography inspiration.

I challenge you to post no more than 20 photos (fewer is better) and to write less than 350-500 words about any travel-related photography intention you set for yourself.

While I’m in Spain walking the Camino de Santiago from August 31 – October 25, and then in Portugal from October 26 – November 6, I kindly request that if you have a photography post you’d like to share, please simply link it to the appropriate post, this one or my next one as soon as it publishes. I will try my best to read your posts while I’m on my journey, but I won’t have a computer or the time or ability to add links to my posts.

My next scheduled photography post will be on September 6, 2018.

This will be an ongoing invitation. Feel free to jump in at any time.

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired!

Jo, of Restless Jo, posted some interesting photos, popping with color and character on a gloomy day, when she visited Ma Shipton’s cave.
- Jo’s Monday Walk: Ma Shipton’s Cave, Knaresborough
Jude, of Travel Words, posted some elegant photos of a boat from the Belle Epoque fleet in Geneva.
- CGN: Savoie
Sue, of WordsVisual, posted some stunning photos of Cordoba’s Mezquita.
- Cordoba part 1 – Mezquita

Thanks to all of you who wrote photography posts following intentions you set for yourself. 🙂

anticipation & preparation: el camino de santiago

wanderessence1025 August 24, 2018

Don’t overthink. Remember, it’s YOUR Camino. The Camino will provide. You will be fine! Buen Camino! This is some of the advice and encouragement I hear repeatedly from pilgrims who have completed the Camino de Santiago across northern Spain. On the various Facebook pages, books, and online Camino websites and forums, there seems a limitless amount of advice, often contradictory. So, if it’s to be MY Camino, I am picking and choosing which advice I will heed, and which I will toss out. What else is there to do? 🙂

I’m not good at following advice telling me not to overthink. My husband says if there is a bell curve of people planning to walk the Camino, I would be on the far extreme of over-preparation. Though he might be right in some regards, I don’t agree with him totally. Physically, I’m afraid I’m under-prepared.

The Camino hasn’t been far from my mind over this entire year. In mid-July, I dreamed I was in St-Jean-Pied-de-Port and everywhere I looked were impossibly tall mountains, bursting with flowers and tropical trees. Paths wound their way up all of them. I was quite overwhelmed and wondered which of the paths I should follow. My first impulse was to pull out my camera to photograph the stunning scene. Suddenly I realized I had forgotten my camera, so I called my husband in a panic, asking him to mail it to me. Of course, it would take days to get to me. I was devastated to have forgotten my camera and berated myself mercilessly for my forgetfulness!

Resources

There are multitudes of books you can read about the Camino, either personal accounts, advice on packing, guidebooks, or history books. These are some that I have read or am in the process of reading. The Brierley guidebook I will take along with me, tearing out the pages for that day’s walk and disposing of them after walking, lightening my load each day. 🙂

Camino de Santiago
- Guidebooks:
  - A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino de Santiago: St. Jean * Roncesvalles * Santiago by John Brierley
  - Camino de Santiago: The ancient Way of St. James pilgrimage route from the French Pyrenees to Santiago de Compostela by Sergi Ramis
- Personal accounts:
  - In Movement There is Peace (Anxiety Treatment Alternatives) by Elaine Orabona Foster (Kindle) ****
  - The Road to Santiago by Kathryn Harrison *****
  - Sunrises to Santiago: Searching for Purpose on the Camino de Santiago by Gabriel Schirm ****
  - Steps Out of Time: One Woman’s Journey on the Camino by Katherine B. Soper (Kindle) ****
  - On Pilgrimage by Jennifer Lash (mostly in France, but ending in Santiago de Compostela)*****
  - The Camino: A Journey of the Spirit by Shirley MacLaine
  - I’m Off Then: Losing and Finding Myself on the Camino de Santiago by Hape Kerkeling
  - The Way, My Way by Bill Bennett (Kindle)
  - Off the Road: A Modern-Day Walk Down the Pilgrim’s Route Into Spain by Jack Hitt (Kindle)
  - The Way is Made by Walking: A Pilgrimage Along the Camino de Santiago by Arthur Paul Boers
- Packing advice:
  - To Walk Far, Carry Less by Jean-Christie Ashmore ****
  - Pilgrim Tips & Packing List Camino de Santiago by S. Yates
- History & Culture
  - The Pilgrimage Road to Santiago: The Complete Cultural Handbook by David M. Gitllitz and Linda Kay Davidson
Spain in general (I have other books listed on my page: (books | international a-z |)
- The Vineyard by María Dueñas
- Travelers’ Tales Spain: True Stories, Ed. Lucy McCauley

guidebooks & packing books

personal accounts and history and general tales of Spain

There are numerous online resources as well.

Facebook pages
Other online resources (I’m sure there are MANY more!)

American Pilgrims on the Camino & Training:

Let the Camino train you. It’s just walking. Just put one foot in front of the other. Walk into your pack weight. Walk two days straight for 10-12 miles carrying your full pack. I’ve encountered this advice while preparing for the Camino.

In early December of 2017, on a 7.7 mile hike around Burke Lake, I met a great lady named Susan who walked the Camino. She introduced me to a group called the American Pilgrims on the Camino – Mid-Atlantic Chapter. The group is for anyone who has ever done the Camino or who wants to do the Camino. After I met her, I signed up immediately for newsletters from this group. Outside of the group, Susan and I have been in touch regularly and have walked together numerous times. She’s been one of my most valuable sources of information and encouragement.

To immerse myself in the Camino experience, I shared Spanish tapas with pilgrims and wanna-be pilgrims at a potluck for American Pilgrims on the Camino in early February. I chatted with a lot of folks who were full of good advice.

I accompanied the Mid-Atlantic Pilgrims for a 10-mile walk in March starting from Arlington National Cemetery, past the Martin Luther King Memorial, up the National Mall and around the back of the U.S. Capitol, and then back down the Mall again to the Lincoln Memorial. I got a taste of what it’s like walking a long distance with other pilgrims walking at different paces. One man was especially helpful in telling me what a typical day on the Camino was like. Another lady told me, as I carried a 5-lb backpack, that I should be walking into my pack weight. In other words, I should carry the entire 15-lb from the beginning and then slowly increase my distance. I didn’t follow this advice, although it might have been a good thing to do.

Martin Luther King Memorial on our 10-mile walk in D.C.

On June 9, I attended a shell ceremony with the group, where the leader read aloud an inspirational piece about the Camino and then bestowed blessings on us pilgrims, placing shells around our necks to accompany us on our journey.

me with my shell 🙂

the group at the shell ceremony

Training: I was gung-ho in the early months. I wonder if I should have just decided to do the Camino two months before doing it, instead of spending so many months training. Below are some photos of walks I did in June and July.

Manassas National Battlefirst – First Manassas Trail

Manassas National Battlefirst – Second Manassas Trail

Turkey Run

Burke Lake

The Fairfax Cross-County Trail

Below I’ve outlined my progress: “dedicated walking” means I went out for a purposeful walk aiming to cover a certain distance. Sometimes I carried an 11-lb pack; more often I didn’t. The FitBit simply measured distance by how many steps I took over the course of each day. At least once a week, sometimes twice, I went to the gym to do upper body and lower body weights, from February to April. You can see how my training has slacked off, mainly due to right knee pain, caused by bursitis and osteoarthritis, that curtailed my training:

Month “Dedicated” miles Fitbit miles

February: 68 100
March: 103 139
April: 73 114
May: 71 157*
June: 67 123**
July: 62 103
August: 27 58

*In May, I was in the Four Corners where the GPS on MapMyWalk didn’t always work.

** In June, I often carried an 11 lb. backpack and my right knee started causing me pain.

Overall, I’ve walked 471 miles in “dedicated” walking since February. That’s less than the distance of the entire Camino’s 490 miles. My Fitbit miles are higher, at 793 miles. However, this walking is spread out over 7 months! That’s quite different than compacting that same distance into 52 days. As it turns out, I never did two days in a row of 10-12 miles carrying my full pack.

After I started having knee pain in June, I finally found a good orthopedic doctor in early August who administered a cortisone injection in my right knee, prescribed biweekly physical therapy sessions, and gave me the NSAID (non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug) Diclofenac, which is just a heavy dose of time-released ibuprofen. Between all of this, my knee has been getting stronger, but I haven’t wanted to push it by training too much. I’d rather be pain-free to start out, and simply Let the Camino train me!

So, now I either walk 3-5 miles OR ride the indoor bike for 30 minutes OR go to physical therapy. I have to do sets of PT exercises 2x/day and ice 2x/day for 10 minutes. While I’m icing my knees for 10 minutes, I study a bit of Spanish using Spanish in 10 minutes a day by Kristine K. Kershul. Yo quiero un vaso de vino!

Butterfly at Manasssas National Battlefield – First Manassas Trail

Packing and gear

Packing and gear – my packing list is too long and complicated to list here, so I created a separate page: packing list for el camino 2018. I will revise it over the next week as I try to reduce my pack weight from 16 lb to 14 lb. The general rule of thumb is that pilgrims should carry no more than 10% of their body weight. When I return, I’ll update it, after I know what I didn’t use and what I wished I’d had.

Hair

As my hair is so often the bane of my existence, and since I’ve heard there are no hair dryers provided in albergues, or pilgrim hostels, I got my hair cut shorter and will have it straightened before I leave. It will still look like hell without a hair dryer, but I’m carrying a hat to mitigate the horrid mess it will be.

Travel Insurance

I don’t always buy trip insurance when I travel, but in this case, I figured it might be wise because of my knee and because of the daily physical exertion and strain. However, I hemmed and hawed and took my sweet time about it. When I finally decided to go for it, it was more than two weeks after I bought my plane ticket, and I had seen a doctor about my knee in the interim. I was told my knee is now considered a pre-existing condition and thus any knee-related problem would not be covered. It would have been okay if I’d bought it less than two weeks after my ticket. So after hemming and hawing some more, I went ahead, because it covers any medical emergency that isn’t related to my right knee – sickness, a broken bone, a death in the family, etc. Because of the duration of my trip, it was quite expensive: $289! This seemed like highway robbery, but the dirty deed is done now.

Getting to St. Jean-Pied-de-Port – It’s part of the journey…

Since Mike will meet me in Portugal on October 26 and we’ll fly back home together from Lisbon on November 6, it made sense for me to get a round trip ticket to Lisbon. This is not the usual starting point for most people doing the Camino Frances. I wasn’t sure how I would get from Lisbon to St. Jean Pied-de-Port (SJPP) in France, so I posted the question on the Facebook Camino page, an invaluable resource. A Portuguese man suggested I take the overnight train (with sleeping compartments) from Lisbon to Hendaye on the French border. Then, I’m to take another train to Bayonne, and then another to St. Jean. I’ve booked the TrenHotel from Lisbon, leaving at 9:30 pm on September 1; the man assured me I’d be able to get the next stage tickets at the Hendaye station. I hope he’s right. I have to trust that the Camino will provide! It will be a very long day for me in Lisbon, because I arrive at 10:30 a.m. and the train doesn’t leave until 9:30 p.m. I guess I won’t be able to sleep until I get on that train!

I’m booked to stay in Beilari when I finally reach SJPP on September 2. I’ll stay two nights and embark on my walk on September 4. I have reserved a bed at Refuge Orisson about 1/3 of the way over the Pyrenees for that night, so I have to wait that extra day in SJPP.

After that, until I meet Mike in Braga on October 26, nothing else is planned except walking, washing my clothes, eating, sleeping. Repeat, repeatedly. One step, one day at a time.

You carry your fears. It is said that the bigger your backpack, the more fears you are carrying. I admit I do have some fears. Since I’ve been reading so much, I’ve heard of so many things that can go wrong. Here are my biggest fears and how I hope to deal with them:

Dogs. I’m carrying a whistle and my hiking poles, and will try my best to remain calm if I encounter any vicious dogs.
Being a woman alone. Being harassed by anyone or being the victim of a crime. I’ve heard any problems are rare. I just need to be vigilant and pay attention. And I have my whistle.
Bed bugs. Spray my sleeping bag and backpack with Permethrin. Deal with them if I encounter them.
Thunderstorms with laser-sharp lightning strikes. Get down low and hope it passes quickly.
Not finding a bed at the end of the day. Hire a taxi and go to the next town.
Having an accident on the trail and being unable to get help. Be careful, slow and steady and pay attention.
Getting lost. Again, go slow and pay attention.

Flexibility & Faith

Overall, I must have faith that all will be okay. Flexibility is key. If I’m in pain or feel I need a rest day, I’ll take one. If I can’t complete the whole thing, I’ll complete what I can. If I’m close, but not quite able to complete it, I can always take a bus to Sarria and complete the last 100km to get the Compostela, or the certificate of completion.

Journal and intentions

I have no intention of writing any kind of memoir on my pilgrimage for two reasons:

There are already multitudes of personal pilgrimage accounts out there, so unless I have something truly inspirational or earth-shattering to share, I don’t plan to add my story.
I have too many other unfinished projects.

However, I have set some intentions for myself.

my creative intentions

Journal & guidebook

the Camino Frances

Instagram:

I won’t be blogging during my pilgrimage, but I aim to post photos and tidbits along the way on Instagram: cathybirdsong

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“ANTICIPATION & PREPARATION” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about anticipation & preparation for a particular destination (not journeys in general). If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments.

Include the link in the comments below by Thursday, August 30 at 1:00 p.m. EST. If you link after August 30, I will not be able to include your link in my next post, so please feel free to add your link to that post as soon as it publishes (since I’m leaving for the Camino on August 31).

My next anticipation & preparation post is scheduled to post on Friday, September 28. If you’d like, you can use the hashtag #wanderessence.

This will be an ongoing invitation, on the 4th Friday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂 If you’d like to read more about the topic, see: journeys: anticipation & preparation.

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the call to place: el camino de santiago

wanderessence1025 August 23, 2018

El Camino de Santiago began to ease its way into my consciousness beginning with my early upbringing in the Catholic Church. My mother, a devoted Catholic, insisted on raising us as Catholics despite my father’s Baptist leanings; while his beliefs devolved into agnosticism, my mother remained a fervent believer throughout her life. She dressed my two sisters and me in scratchy crinoline dresses, lace doilies perched atop our heads, and dragged us to church. Masses in my youngest years were in Latin, so I didn’t understand what was happening, yet the ritual held a mystique for me. My mother took us to confession weekly. As I was a relatively good girl (until my rebellious teen years), I found it difficult to dredge up any sins to confess to the priest in that little booth. I counted my rosary beads while whispering my Hail Marys as penance, just as I was told.

Most of all, I was fascinated by the sacrament, the Latin words, the music and the incense. An enthusiastic Catholic child, I set up chairs in rows and instructed my little siblings to sit down and listen as I performed a mass. I would read from a Latin prayer book and serve up grape juice and flattened bread, cut in circles around upside-down glasses, to my “parishioners.” “The body of Christ, the blood of Christ,” I’d say, repeating what the priest said on Sundays. I don’t know why I was so caught up in this; sometimes I wonder if I just wanted to be in charge of my siblings. I admit I was a pretty bossy sister.

To this day, the swinging of incense still has the power to bring me to tears. One of my strongest hopes is to be able to experience the botafumeiro at the pilgrim’s mass at the Cathedral in Santiago. Since I won’t be arriving in Santiago during any special liturgical celebrations, my only hope is that it will have been formally requested by a pilgrimage group.

Barcelona Catedral

Later, I went through a falling out with the church, in increments. First our local priest refused to let our high school, across the street from the church, borrow its BBQ grills for an event; they had lent them in the past but refused the year I was charged with asking. I felt it was hypocritical when our priest so often talked of sharing. Later, as I became aware of social issues, I became a strong believer in a woman’s right to choose, antithetical to Catholic beliefs. In my early years, I dreamed I might like to be a priest, but never a nun; that avenue would always be closed off to me as a woman.

In my early twenties, I went to premarital counseling with my fiancé, also a Catholic who had attended Bishop Ireton High School, at that time an all-boys Catholic school in Arlington, Virginia. After several sessions, I said to the priest, “What if I don’t believe in the Church’s stand on abortion? And what if I believe priests should be allowed to marry and women should be able to be priests?” He told me if I didn’t accept the basic beliefs of the church, then he wouldn’t be able to marry us. We ended up getting married at the College of William & Mary in the Wren Chapel by an ecumenical chaplain.

Fast forward 8 1/2 years. My first husband and I separated after 7 1/2 years, and I met my current husband, who, though brought up Episcopalian, had been attending Catholic Church with his first wife, who had died of breast cancer less than a year before I met him. I accompanied him to Catholic masses, and we talked to the priest about my getting a divorce from my first husband. When I told him we hadn’t been married in the Church, he told me the church couldn’t recognize my divorce as it didn’t recognize my marriage. It was performed outside the church, after all. I had never been married, in the eyes of the Church, despite being with my first husband for over seven years and having a daughter with him. So many rules and regulations! So much rigidity!

For many years after Mike and I were married in the Episcopal Church, we attended services, similar in ritual to Catholic masses, at that same church. I found the Episcopal Church more open and flexible. We had a woman priest. We didn’t have to go to confession. We had an openly gay priest and I volunteered to work with AIDS patients. Anyone attending services was welcome to take communion.

Eventually, my interest in attending church services dwindled and I stopped going to church. I started reading about Buddhism and meditation. I traveled to Asia and became enamored of Buddhist teachings. I lived in Oman and learned to love the rhythm of the call to prayer five times a day.

Today, I would call myself a spiritual seeker, open to connection with a higher power, whether Christ, God, Allah, Buddha, nature, or the universe. It’s an amorphous belief, one ever-changing. What I seek most is faith in, and a deep sense of connection to, a higher power. I believe there is a cosmic consciousness that underlies all religions and nature.

I heard about the Camino de Santiago, and became fascinated by the idea of pilgrimage. I’ve read numerous books about prayer, pilgrimage and meditation. A regular practice of a prayer life in my life is lacking, however, and I dream of spending more time in meditation and prayer. I know that when I do it, I am more serene, more trusting.

Still. I am fascinated by glorious places of worship. I have stood within sacred spaces such as mosques, Buddhist temples and European churches, and been awestruck. When I was in Spain (Barcelona, Toledo, and Andalucia in 2013), I was fascinated by the Catholic churches – the Romanesque murals, frontal altars, and cloisters. I love how they reach to heaven, although I know many of these churches were built to glorify the power and wealth of the church itself. I love ancient murals in churches and have always been fascinated by altarpieces. I have a collection of triptychs and crosses, as well as Buddhas, from around the world.

Sagrada de Familia

Stained glass at Sagrada de Familia

inside Sagrada de Familia

Sagrada de Familia

Altar in Spanish church

Catedral de Toledo

cloister at San Juan de los Reyes

Seville Cathedral

At the College of William & Mary, as an English major in the late 1970s, I was introduced to Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales, a collection of 24 stories written in Middle English between 1387 and 1400. The tales are part of a story-telling contest by a group of pilgrims as they travel together on a journey from London to Canterbury to visit the shrine of Saint Thomas Becket at Canterbury Cathedral. Although this pilgrimage story wasn’t about El Camino, I found some of the pilgrim’s tales strange and intriguing. I began to wonder about the idea of pilgrimage, and wanted to explore it further.

In 2012, I watched the 2010 movie, The Way. In the movie, a father, played by Martin Sheen, goes to Spain to recover the body of his estranged son who died while walking the Camino. He decides to make the pilgrimage himself and the movie follows his journey. This was the first time I’d been introduced to the pilgrimage in a visual form. Before, it had only been an idea.

Later, I watched the 2013 documentary, Walking the Camino: Six Ways to Santiago. It follows pilgrims from different nationalities as they make the arduous trek.

Over the years, I also read several books about pilgrimage, including:

The Art of Pilgrimage: The Seeker’s Guide to Making Travel Sacred by Phil Cousineau
The Way of the Traveler: Making Every Trip a Journey of Self-Discovery by Joseph Dispenza
The Mindful Traveler: A Guide to Journaling and Transformative Travel by Jim Currie

I fell in love with the Spanish countryside during my visit in July 2013, and thought I would love to take a long walk through the amazing landscape and villages of Spain.

Montserrat

me at Montserrat

views of Toledo

views of Toledo

Consuegra

Consuegra 2013

view from Ronda

Spanish countryside near Ronda

Ronda

modern Spanish windmills

El Torcal Nature Reserve

view from El Torcal Nature Reserve

Who doesn’t love Spanish bars and food, including tapas and churros?

colorful Spanish bars and festive spirit

Risotto in Barcelona

churros & chocolate in Granada

sardines in Malaga

potatoes in Malaga

a cheese platter with tomato jam and fried eggplant drizzled with honey in Barcelona

Spanish potato omelette in Granada

churros & chocolate in Granada

eating paella at a beachside cafe in Nerja

There is a mystique about Spain’s Moorish history that draws me in. The Moors occupied areas of Spain from 711 until Granada fell in 1492, and their 700+ years there left a mark — in music, art, life view and architecture. After living two years in Oman, and after having traveled to Egypt, Jordan, Turkey and UAE, I find myself in awe of Moorish architecture, with its Arabic calligraphy and symbols, its arches and exquisite tilework.

Seville’s intriguing Alcázar

Saint Bartholomew Chapel in Cordoba

Cordoba’s Mezquita

the maksura in the Mezquita

Generalife at the Alhambra

The Alhambra

After being both a runner and a swimmer in my earlier days, I now prefer walking as my mode of exercise. Walking can done in silent meditation, or while listening to music or audiobooks. I always prefer to walk outdoors as opposed to on a treadmill, which I find excruciatingly boring.

For a period of time, I was enamored of walking labyrinths, a common practice in Episcopal churches. The labyrinth is a calming, circuitous path that you do in silence, whereas the Camino is a point-to-point walk and you encounter others on the path, although you can find silence and solitude as well. I believe the Camino can address the same spiritual needs as a labyrinth: a deepening spirituality, access to intuition and creativity, simplicity, intimacy and community, and integration of body and spirit.

According to the book Exploring the Labyrinth, by Melissa Gayle, “The labyrinth holds up a mirror – reflects back the light on our selves but also what restrains us from shining forth.” She goes on: “What remains for the labyrinth walker is simply the deeply meditative and symbolic discipline of setting one foot in front of the other, of honoring the journey itself and what it has to teach.” I believe this applies to the Camino as well.

So what do I hope for my Camino? I’d like to be awakened to what kind of being I’m meant to be in this world. I want to find inner strength and faith – especially when it comes to my adult children and to the political situation in the world – and to believe that not only my children, but the world at large, will find its way to fulfillment, joy, love and justice. I want to learn where I fit into the puzzle of life. 🙂

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According to Camino de Santiago |The Way of St. James, El Camino de Santiago, in English “The Way of St. James,” is a network of routes across Spain and Europe which all lead to Santiago de Compostela, in northwest Spain. In the Middle Ages, these routes were walked as a pilgrimage to the tomb of the apostle St. James.

Millions of people from all over the world have traveled the Camino for over 1,000 years. According to the Confraternity of Saint James, in 2017 alone, over 301,036 people attempted the arduous trek – each one a seeker of something: sport, culture, religion, nature, adventure, etc. El Camino de Santiago has been declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO and the First European Cultural Itinerary.

There are many routes to Santiago de Compostela, but my intention is to walk The French Way, or the Camino Francés (780km, or 490 miles). It begins on the French side of the Pyrenees at Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, and meanders across northern Spain as far as Santiago de Compostela in Galicia. This is the most famous and most traveled route.

~ in search of a thousand cafés: spain ~

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“THE CALL TO PLACE” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about what enticed you to choose a particular destination. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments. If your destination is a place you love and keep returning to, feel free to write about that. If you want to see the original post about the subject, you can check it out here: imaginings: the call to place.

My next “call to place” post is scheduled to post on Thursday, September 27. If you’d like, you can use the hashtag #wanderessence.

This will be an ongoing invitation, on the fourth Thursday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired!

Ulli, of BANACTEE, wrote about his call to Tunisia, a place to which he has often returned, and of the scarcity of water in that arid land.
- WATER AMBITIONS OF TUNISIA

Thanks to all of you who wrote posts about “the call to place.” 🙂

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