Category: International Travel

on journey: santiago to muxía

wanderessence1025 January 16, 2019

As soon as my Camino ended in Santiago de Compostela on October 20, my body collapsed; a cold came on with a vengeance — an irritating tickle in my throat, a dry and unproductive cough, a general exhaustion. My voice was raspy and disappearing fast. My health worsened over the two days in Santiago, so when I headed to Muxía by bus on Monday the 22nd, I was feeling quite miserable.

At the bus station at 8:00 a.m., I ran into Sheryl, John and Sharon, a threesome I’d encountered many times along the Camino. Theirs was a odd situation. Sharon and John were married, and Sheryl had come along with them, although she didn’t know Sharon very well. Sharon had done the Camino 4-5 times before, and had arranged Sheryl’s trip for her, booking rooms in hotels that the three of them shared; they often transported their bags ahead. Sheryl knew Sharon’s husband John when they both worked on ski patrol in the mountains of Washington State. I talked often to Sheryl, but the two of us never connected enough to share contact information.

On the bus, Sheryl and I talked to Brian, a slender handsome man with a bandana on his head, and Tyler, a young bald man wearing opaque sunglasses (at first I thought he might be blind!). Co-workers at a start-up tech company in Orlando, Florida, they had just completed one week on the Camino Portuguese. Brian was quite the talker. From Detroit originally, he had no love of Florida, and we commiserated about our mutual dislike of it. As we talked, Brian, who looked very young, revealed that he was 48, married, and had two sons, 23 and 21. His coworker Tyler, who had worked with him for two years, was shocked to discover all of this information. Tyler, a mere 27, was under the impression Brian was in his 30s; he had no idea Brian had grown children, nor that he was married! Brian said he hated his job and would love nothing better to run a café along the Camino. We talked for a long time about his belief in natural remedies to health problems, and our mutual distaste for our current government.

The bus ride was a couple of hours through gently rolling hills and small whitewashed villages, but we were mostly too busy talking to notice. We spilled out of the bus at the “Don Quijote” bus stop in Muxía, which was just a sidewalk in front of the “Don Quijote” café. A frigid blustery wind was blowing from the harbor into town, and I was anxious to get to my hotel, Habitat Cm Muxía. I had been having cramps on the bus, and that manifested itself in diarrhea as soon as I checked into my hotel. I was lucky I had made it without incident on the bus ride!

After a bit of a rest, I went to A Marina, which seemed to be the only bustling restaurant in a town that was quite deserted. There, joining Brian and Tyler, I had a lunch of croquettes with limon cerveza. As we commiserated about our adult children, Brian said his wife was not very maternal; she had put up a big calendar in their house marking off the days when each her sons had to be out of the house. Brian said they didn’t give their kids any options. They told them they had to be out of the house at 18 and go to college. Listening to him, I felt admiration for his absent wife, who had opted to go on a holiday with a girlfriend rather than do the Camino; I have never been very maternal and have been judged harshly for it over the years. What I loved was how he spoke of such fondness for her, with no judgment about this aspect of her. I have often wondered if maybe I shouldn’t have had children, although of course I love them dearly and now couldn’t do without them. I am simply not made for motherhood, but I hoped I could be. I raised my children the best I could, but I never had much of a role model in my own mother, and I can’t say I was much of a success at it. I am who I am, and I really appreciated Brian for supporting his wife being just the way she was.

Muxía is part of the Costa da Morte, the Coast of Death, named for the many shipwrecks along its rocky shore. On the way from the town to the sea, about a one mile walk, I passed the Igrexa Parroquial de Santa María and its charming cemetery. I could see windmills on a ridge across the bay, and on the point, the larger and more famous church of Santuario da Virxe da Barca, or The Virgin of the Boat, which stands on a rocky ridge above the surf. Legend has it Muxía was the landing place of the stone boat that carried the Virgin Mary when she arrived in Galicia to help Saint James convert the locals. Sadly the church was closed, but I was able to see inside through the barred door.

On the shore next to the church is the sculpture A Ferida, or The Wound, by Alberto Bañuelos. It symbolizes the damage done to the sea by the spilling of 66,000 tons of oil when the Prestige tanker broke apart off the coast on November 13, 2002. The sculpture is 11 meters high and weighs over 400 tons.

I walked up to Monte Corpiño, where I could see down to the church and the sculpture at the western point of the land, some ruins to the south, the playful sea, and the town and harbor of Muxía to the east. The cold blustery weather didn’t do much to help my cough and cold, but the scenery was good for my spirit.

In the movie The Way, the main character Tom, played by Martin Sheen, and his cobbled-together group of pilgrims walk three days to “Finisterre” after arriving at Santiago de Compostela. Except in the movie, the setting is not Finisterre but Muxía. At this spot, Tom scatters the remainder of his son’s ashes into the sea.

After I moseyed down from Monte Corpiño, I traipsed around on the famed rocks and watched the sea churning and dancing; I admired the lighthouse surrounded by lichen-covered boulders. I sat and lost myself in the antics of the sea and contemplated the end of my Camino. Well, almost the end. I’d be going to the actual Finisterre by bus the following day.

After my walk and a long bath in a coveted bathtub, I headed back to A Marina, where I enjoyed a dinner of langostines (large prawns) with salad and bread, two glasses of vino tinto, and tiramasu for dessert. I never again saw Brian, Tyler, Sheryl, Sharon or John.

Igrexa Parroquial de Santa María

cemetery at Igrexa Parroquial de Santa María

cemetery at Igrexa Parroquial de Santa María

“A Ferida” (The Wound)

Roman ruins

Muxia from Monte Corpiño

cross on Monte Corpiño

“A Ferida” and Santuario da Virxe da Barca from Monte Corpiño

view southwest from Monte Corpiño

Santuario da Virxe da Barca

inside of Santuario da Virxe da Barca

lighthouse at Muxia

cross at Muxia with windmills in the background

Muxia’s harbor

Langostines with salad and bread at A Marina

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

Include the link in the comments below by Tuesday, February 19 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Wednesday, February 20, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, once on the third Wednesday 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!

{camino: day 2} crossing the pyrenees

wanderessence1025 January 8, 2019

Ingrid and I left Orisson at 7:30 a.m and began our trek over the Pyrenees. It was a tough climb and an even tougher descent, 17km (10 miles) to Roncesvalles. Because I had reserved a bed two towns past Roncesvalles since the monastery was said to be full, I had to walk an additional 6.7km (4.2 miles).

The walk over the Pyrenees was grueling but we were rewarded with bucolic scenes of green meadows and infinite peaks, spotted pigs, cows, long-haired sheep, black-faced sheep (churros), and horses wearing gently clanging bells. Less than 4km from Orisson, we stopped to admire the Virgin Mary statue, Vierge d’Orisson, set against a stunning backdrop of mountains and valleys. We would find Marian shrines, a common sign of devotion, frequently along the Camino. The landscape reminded me a bit of England’s Lake District.

Rain threatened all day, but we only put on our ponchos twice for a short time; when the rain stopped shortly after, we took them off promptly as they were cumbersome to wear. Buzzards circled overhead and we heard that legend said not to lie down or they’d come after you.

Right before a wayside cross directing us off the road onto a rough grass track towards Mount Urkulu, a mobile vehicle for pilgrims offered drinks and snacks. I bought a hot chocolate, a welcome treat in the blustery cold.

As we continued our climb on the upland grass, giant black slugs dotted the path. We passed the primitive Santiago shelter, used in case of storms or bad weather. The Irish guy Cyril had told us yesterday at Orisson, where he hadn’t reserved a bed, that he planned to stay the night in the shelter, but we saw no sign of him at that hour of 10:30 a.m. Later, after filling our water bottles at the Fontaine de Roland, we crossed a cattle grid at the border between France and Spain without fanfare. At that point we were in Navarre. In a clearing, Ingrid and I sat on boulders in the midst of heather and ate sandwiches we’d brought from Orisson, mine a delicious patê on a baguette.

Later, we walked through a beautiful beech forest, the trees gnarled and moss-covered. They seemed in danger of toppling down the very steep hill to the river Arnéguy below. As we emerged from the forest, we reached the high point of Col de Lepoeder at a height of 1,450 meters. At that point the path forked and we could take a direct and very steep (and dangerous) route through the woods down into Roncesvalles, or we could take a less steep, but longer, alternate route. We chose the latter.

Purple, yellow and pink heather abounded as we made our descent on a paved road. The endless climb up had been physically challenging, but coming down was hell on my knees, legs and feet. Ingrid and I were pretty miserable at this stage, but we just let gravity pull us down, sometimes faster than we would have liked. I didn’t get any blisters, surprisingly, but my feet were aching dreadfully and I wasn’t sure whether the green Superfeet arches in my Keen boots were a hindrance or help.

When we got to Roncesvalles, the line of pilgrims checking in was snaking down a long corridor in the monastery, and Ingrid joined the back of the line. She was preoccupied with checking in, so we didn’t really say a proper goodbye. I had heard that the monastery allowed bookings on only half of its 183 rooms and reserved the rest for pilgrims who walked in. However, I could see by the line it would take quite some time to see if a bed was even available, and I had already reserved a room in Espinal anyway. I was anxious to get going the last 4 miles as it was 3:00 and I didn’t know what kind of terrain to expect.

After Roncesvalles, I walked mostly alone on a wooded path on the way to the next town of Burgette. I was wiped out after the Pyrenees, and wondered how I’d make it four more miles! On the way, I sneaked off the path into the bushes to pee. When I popped back out onto the path, I spooked an Irish lady named Mary and her English friend, who screeched at my sudden appearance out of the bush. The English girl had a huge backpack full of camping gear as she’d planned to camp the whole way with her friend. Her friend had abandoned her after the first day and took a plane back to England. She was upset and not sure what she’d do about the rest of the Camino.

In Burgette, the three of us stopped for a break at an outdoor cafe, where I had a delicious slice of orange cake and a Coke. There I met a couple from Austin, Texas who were living the easy life, staying in nice hotels and sending their luggage ahead. I would meet them many times in the coming weeks.

We three ladies trudged on to Espinal, where I checked in at Hostal Rural Haiza at 5:00 p.m. The English and Irish ladies stayed elsewhere. I had been walking for nearly 9 1/2 hours and wanted nothing more than to keel over. My backpack, which I’d sent ahead, had arrived safely, much to my relief. Our room had 13 beds, some single and some bunkbeds, for both men and women. Since the skies had opened up with thunder, lightning and a downpour almost immediately after I checked in, I relaxed for a while in my single bed. I chatted with two Italian girls, one studying to be a pediatric doctor and the other studying law; she wrote her thesis on copyright law for street artists. In our room were also five bicyclists from Amsterdam. One had gotten 5 stitches on his hand and wrist from an accident in a tunnel. His cycling trip was over.

I didn’t feel like eating the pilgrim meal (I didn’t care for the second course in the meal); instead I enjoyed red wine and an omelette with cheese and green pepper in the noisy bar full of locals.

I was nervous overnight as I had determined not to send my backpack ahead the next day, but to carry it myself. It was raining much of the night, so I fretted about the next day’s weather. I didn’t know if I’d run into Ingrid again, or if I’d see any of the people I’d already met.

me with Ingrid in Orisson

view from Orisson

spotted pigs

horse

friendly horse

sheep in the Pyrenees

horses on the hill

more sheep

Vierge d’Orisson Vierge de Biakorri

A man with his dogs

the endless road up

long-haired sheep

Over the Pyrenees we had magnificent sweeping views.

long-haired sheep

horse in the Pyrenees

pretty horse

we get on the grassy track

black-faced sheep

Santiago shelter

woodland

heather

beech forest

Col de Lepoeder is the high point on the Pyrenees at 1450 meters.

Me at Col de Lepoeder (1,450 meters) before descending to Roncesvalles

the rooftops of Roncesvalles

Roncesvalles

Roncesvalles

790 km to Santiago – one of many confusing signs

Roncesvalles to Espinal

the wooded path to Burgette

mossy rocks

a garden in jeans near Espinal, Spain

Espinal

Mary and her English friend

Espinal

Espinal – Iglesia de San Bartolemé

Haizea

*Day 2: Wednesday, September 5, 2018*

*40,066 steps, or 16.98 miles: Orisson to Espinal (24 km)*

You can find everything I’ve written so far on the Camino de Santiago here:

Camino de Santiago 2018

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“PROSE” INVITATION: I invite you to write up to 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, one of my intentions for my Camino was to write using all my senses to describe place and to capture snippets of meaningful conversations with other pilgrims.

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. (This page is a work in process.) You can also include photos, of course.

Include the link in the comments below by Monday, January 21 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, January 22, I’ll include your links in that post.

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!

on returning home from japan

wanderessence1025 January 7, 2019

I spent one semester teaching at Aoyama Gakuin University – Sagamihara campus with Westgate Corporation from March-August, 2017. I taught 2nd year university students majoring in Global Studies and Collaboration who were preparing for a study abroad in Thailand or Malaysia. I worked 9-hour days five days a week, and every weekend I went out exploring. I believe I had about two days of rest the whole time I was there!

I loved so much about Japan: The absolute regularity of everything from store opening times to train schedules. The smooth speed and convenience of the Shinkansen. The ubiquitous vending machines and the excellent food options at Seven & i Holdings, the parent company of the US-based 7-Eleven Inc. The dependable politeness of the Japanese — the kind greetings and the respectful bowing. The amazing Japanese gardens, moss gardens, botanical gardens, outdoor sculpture gardens, cherry blossoms, hydrangeas, parasol-shaded peonies, lotus flowers, quirky Rakan statues, and torii gates. The artistic displays of flowers, Japanese landscapes and calligraphy on sake barrels. The ema, teahouses, dragon-painted ceilings, carp flags, Chinese gates and tales of shoguns. The sushi, ramen, shrimp tempura, fresh fish, sake and beer. The impeccable cleanliness of the Japanese — the absence of garbage anywhere and the cleansing of worshipers in temizuya before they bowed, clapped their hands, rang bells, made offerings and prayed at temples and shrines. The efficient and convenient Japanese postal system, which made appointments to deliver or pick up packages. The tall bamboo at Hokokuji (the Bamboo Temple) in Kamakura. The huge Guanyin Bodhisattva at Ofuna and the Great Buddha of Nara at Todai-ji Temple. The “floating” O-torii Gate at Itsukushima Shrine in Miyajima. The colorful folded paper cranes at Hiroshima’s Children’s Peace Monument. The cheeky deer of Nara. The lively temples and devout Buddhist worshipers. The women wearing kimono or yukata. The monks swishing along in long robes. The vegetarian meals at shukubo (temple lodgings) and beautiful pre-dawn Buddhist ceremonies at temples in Koyasan.

As in every culture, there were things I didn’t care for: The constant work pressure and long hours. The students’ misbehavior and immaturity. The constant bustle and energy everywhere. The sheer size of the crowds at special bloom times, such as during hanami (cherry blossom viewing), at a wisteria festival at Kameido Tenjin, at the season of the rabbit-ear irises at the Nezu Museum, and at hydrangea walks in Kamakura. The assault on the senses in hyper-commercial areas of Tokyo, such as Shinjuku, Shibuya, and Akihabara Electric Town.

Shibuya

ion on a bicycle at Golden Gai

Tokyo

Ofuna

On the morning of August 8, 2017, I took an early taxi from Narita to Narita Airport, where I had a 10:40 a.m. flight to Dallas/Fort Worth airport. However, we sat on the runway for over an hour because Alaska’s tiny Bogoslof volcano had erupted, sending an ash cloud about 6 miles into the sky. As a “red” aviation warning was issued, we couldn’t take off until a new flight path was charted.

We took off over an hour late, so I knew before we left the ground that it was unlikely I would catch my connecting flight home to Virginia.

After an 11 hour and 45 minute flight, I arrived in Dallas at 9:50 a.m. on the same day, August 8, earlier than I left. I always find this amusing when traveling home from Asia.

However, because of our late departure from Tokyo, by the time I disembarked from the plane in Dallas, I missed the boarding time for my connecting flight. It turned out I would get on a later flight to Dulles Airport, a more convenient airport to my Virginia home than BWI, where I was originally scheduled to land.

Because I had extra time to kill in Dallas, I enjoyed a Mexican lunch at the airport, as I wouldn’t arrive home until dinnertime. Finally, after a three-hour and 12 minute flight, I was back home, and my Japan adventure had come to an end. It was a great adventure, a whirlwind really, and I felt a bit despondent when it was all over. 😦

Upon my return from Japan, I found out when I weighed myself for the first time in four months, that I lost 8 pounds while in Japan. I guess it was a combination of the healthy diet there and all the walking I did. 🙂

My walks while home became sporadic, and I rarely hit 10,000 steps a day. In Japan, I met my goal of 10,000 steps every day just by walking 30 minutes each way to work and being on my feet teaching. On weekends, I often walked 10-20,000 steps. Needless to say, the pounds started creeping back on since I wasn’t exercising as much at home. It was frustrating because I get bored walking around in circles in the same old places without any destination. My heart just wasn’t into walking, but I would have to get back to my regular exercise routine soon.

The first week after my return to Virginia, it was quite hot and humid, not much different from what I experienced in Japan. But on Wednesday, the 23rd, the weather improved and dropped to temperatures of my liking, around 75 degrees Fahrenheit (23C). This is perfect weather; my mood lifts considerably when I can feel a hint of fall in the air. 🙂

Upon my return, I found my youngest son had boomeranged back home from Hawaii and had settled into our basement. One of our agreements since he returned home was that he would hold a job, which he had done at that point. He’d been working hard, so hard in fact that he ended up with some kind of flu. He seemed to be doing well overall, and I was happy to have him stay temporarily as long as he was working. He was saving money to take a trip to the land down under to see his Australian girlfriend Maddy, who he’d met in Hawaii. He planned to be gone for nearly a month beginning September 20. On my second night back from Japan, he and I enjoyed a nice dinner together at the Whole Foods Seafood Bar.

Things felt strange once I returned. I felt that I’d returned to a parallel universe, and one not much to my liking. The very weekend after my return, I watched on TV a despicable white supremacy march in Charlottesville, about two hours from where I live in northern Virginia; in shock, I then had to listen to our “president” fanning the flames of hatred and arguing that there was moral equivalency between neo-Nazis, the KKK, and white supremacists and the “alt-left,” a made-up term lumping counter-protestors and Antifa, or anti-fascists, into one big boat. Granted, there should be no violence in protests, but the white supremacists marching openly with weapons in one of the most peaceful college towns in our state was a frightening display and one that almost begged violence from counter-protestors. I was disheartened by what our country was coming to, and it was hard to be back after being in a culture where people greet each other with respect and bow to each other in nearly every interaction!

I didn’t watch any movies the whole time I was in Japan (I didn’t even know where any movie theaters were, except in downtown Tokyo). In an effort to catch up, I went to several movies once I returned: The Big Sick and The Glass Castle, both of which I enjoyed. While I was in Japan, I watched three full seasons of The Good Wife, which I was hooked on.

The first weekend I was home, I took 4-hour naps each day as I tried to reverse my internal clock. In Japan, nighttime was daytime here, and daytime was nighttime here, so no wonder my body was confused. I didn’t get much of anything done. As a matter of fact, I felt somewhat paralyzed with indecision. I never had a spare minute in Japan, and at home I seemed to have too much time on my hands. I didn’t know how to focus my attention with so much time. It would take me a while to become acclimated to this parallel universe.

On Wednesday morning, August 16, I found out my daughter Sarah had taken a fall the evening before while running on a muddy path in the woods. She cut her knee wide open. She didn’t have her phone with her and had to walk with an open gaping wound until she found someone. Using a stranger’s phone, she called for an ambulance and was admitted to the emergency room where she had to have 25 stitches across her knee. She was immobilized for quite some time. As a waitress/bartender, she was losing valuable work time. I constantly worried about her, as a mother’s work as chief worrier is never over.

Adam took a course about podcasts and posted his first podcast on the same day I heard about Sarah, so there was a bit of good news as he had wanted to do this for some time.

On August 19, after I started to feel more like a human being, Mike and I went out to see the movie Wind River, which I enjoyed, and had dinner at Coyote Grill, where I had my favorite chili rellenos.

On Monday, August 21, I went at 2:00 to Kalypso’s at Lake Anne to watch the partial solar eclipse at 2:40 pm. It was a festive atmosphere, with people enjoying the beautiful day outdoors, drinking wine, wearing the funny eclipse glasses. I had seen a total eclipse in 1970 in southern Virginia, so I didn’t feel the need to travel a long distance to see the total eclipse, but Adam drove 10 hours to Tennessee, where he loved seeing a total eclipse for the first time in his life.

Mike and I began planning a holiday from September 22-October 7, 2017 to Budapest, Sopron, Vienna, Český Krumlov, and Prague. We spent many days plotting out our trip and making all our reservations. In preparation, I read guidebooks on Hungary, Austria and Czech Republic.

Alex came up from Richmond to visit and spent two days here. It was so nice to see him after my time in Japan. He, his dog Freya, and I took a walk on the Fairfax Cross County Trail on Wednesday, August 30. As we were walking, I felt a sting on my right wrist and looked down to see something small and black on my wrist. I didn’t have my glasses on so I couldn’t tell what it was, but I didn’t think it looked like a bee. I thought it might be a spider. Anyway, the second I felt the sting, I knocked the creature away with my left hand, and immediately felt a sting on my left middle finger. Whatever it was, it got me in two places, on both hands, and they hurt like hell! I watched as the sting areas reddened and spread into a hard and hot raised area up over my hand and around my wrist. The next day, I went to see the doctor, who advised me to take Benadryl and gave me an antibiotic.

It was a rough time coming back into this parallel universe, but overall I was glad to be home with my family, even though we all seemed to be falling apart due to nasty falls, stomach bugs, and spider bites.

Hiroshima

Miyajima

Nara’s Big Buddha

Koyasan

Narita

I spent a lot of time recording my time in Japan by editing my thousands of photos, and writing my blog about life in Japan. If you like, you can check out my Japan blog here: catbird in japan.

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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.

Include the link in the comments below by Sunday, February 3 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Monday, February 4, I’ll include your links in that post.

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!

poetic journeys: what i carried

wanderessence1025 January 4, 2019

What I Carried

I carried “just in case” scenarios in my
hat, gloves, rain poncho, and extra layers –
to guard against infringements
by unruly weather.

I carried useless things: the camera I thought I’d need
in case my iPhone died. The waterproof
notepad tucked in my turquoise pouch,
where memories wouldn’t be washed away.

I carried my fears in the neon orange
whistle slung over my shoulder — fears
of vicious dogs and lurking men, fears
of losing myself or losing my voice.

I carried respect for my feet in the jar of Vaseline
and the tiny pocketknife with the tiniest of scissors
to cut tape for blisters. Respect for my knees
in a knee sleeve and athletic tape. Respect

for my parched body in the water, sloshing heavily in a bladder
in my day pack. I carried my aching shoulders and bone-tired legs,
my snoring and frequent bathroom breaks, only because
it was impossible to leave them behind.

I carried my flyaway thoughts, my fickle memory,
my mistrust of strangers in the journal I never let out of my sight,
those pages that held close the moments of my days:
joys and sorrows, resentments and frustrations.

I carried my longing and dogged determination in the
Brierley guidebook’s torn-out pages, with their crowded
words, main and alternate routes, elevation maps, kilometers,
pilgrim hostels, cafés, and practical and mystical paths.

I carried my losses: my deceased mother and brother,
my distant and judgmental father, my unreachable son.
I carried my love for them all. I carried my failures, my selfishness,
my anger, intolerance, annoyance and impatience.

I carried my worries in my pack, in my heart, in my mind,
in my insomnia. Even after I rubbed them into a rock and
placed them at the foot of Cruz de Ferro, they stole back in,
thieves of my serenity.

I carried my solitude, guarded it even,
until some stranger’s kindness penetrated it.
I held tightly to my aloofness, even
when it served no purpose.

I carried my awe of coral sunrises, of cows, pigs, sheep and shepherds,
of Vespers and priests that laid their hands on my bowed head.
I carried blessings from those priests and stories shared by fellow pilgrims,
of lives brimming with suffering and hope.

Into churches, I carried my meager faith, sent my prayers – for my adult
children, my friends, my country – into the vortex of pleas from all pilgrims
through a thousand years, converging from naves, aisles, and cloisters and
spiraling into a sky turbulent with prayers.

I carried possibilities: that I could finish, be safe, discover a sense of wonder.
That I could learn to trust that my pilgrim prayers,
given weight in their mingle with a million others, might grow wings,
and just might save me, might save us all.

A pilgrim’s dreams

Inside Iglesia de Santiago at Carrión de los Condes

Cruz de Ferro

wooded path in Galicia

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“POETRY” Invitation: I invite you to write a poem of any poetic form on your own blog about a particular travel destination. Or you can write about travel in general. Concentrate on any intention you set for your poetry.

In this case, my intention was to write a poem about the things I carried on my pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago.

You can either set your own poetic intentions, or use one of the prompts I’ve listed on this page: writing prompts: poetry. (This page is a work in process). You can also include photos, of course.

Include the link in the comments below by Thursday, January 31 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Friday, February 1, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, on the first Friday 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!

twenty-eighteen

wanderessence1025 December 31, 2018

In twenty-eighteen, I: Visited Pittsburgh for the first time ever. Traipsed around the National Parks and Monuments in the Four Corners area with my ever-patient husband, and on my own. Took a solo road trip to Buffalo, NY and Niagara Falls, NY and Ontario. Walked many miles and did physical therapy on my right knee to prepare to walk the Camino de Santiago in September and October. Read 49 books out of my goal of 45, the best being On Pilgrimage, The Tie That Binds, Benediction, Eventide, The Woman Lit by Fireflies, The English Major, and Whistling Past the Graveyard. Lost an unknown number of pounds walking nearly 500 miles on the Camino Frances over 44 days, gained some of them back during 10 days in Portugal, and gained the last five back when I returned to the U.S. Began a road trip novel and started dabbling in poetry after a long hiatus. Published 132 posts on my new blog.

From January to April, I: Joined the American Pilgrims on the Camino, shared a potluck brunch with fellow pilgrims, and later walked 10 miles with them around D.C. Enjoyed movies such as The Post; Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri; Oh Lucy!; The Insult; The Leisure Seeker; Finding Your Feet; Lean on Pete; and Beirut. Watched plays at various D.C. theaters: Everything is Illuminated, Hold These Truths, Two Trains Running, and Snow Child. Listened to Portuguese Ana Moura sing fado at The Barns of Wolf Trap. Walked all over Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in freezing cold temperatures, where we visited the University of Pittsburgh, numerous memorials to the titans of American industry, a magnificent botanical garden and conservatory, the merging of the Monongahela and the Allegheny Rivers – forming the Ohio River at Pittsburgh’s point – and some offbeat museums.. Drank dirty martinis at the Ice House with our friends Karen and Michael. Protested in “March for Our Lives,” organized by the students from Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, where 17 students were gunned down by an unhinged ex-student. Ate dinner with my daughter at Little Nickel, and later, walked the Ukrops Monument Avenue 10k in Richmond. Hiked among bluebells at Riverbend Park.

The Heinz exhibition

another Chihuly

Heinz Memorial Chapel

Pittsburgh from Grandview Avenue: the Allegheny on the left and the Monongahela on the right. Three Sisters Bridges on the left.

Randyland

Campbell’s Soup cans

Martin Luther King Memorial, D.C.

The March for Life

Little Nickel in Richmond (bathroom walllpaper)

Riverbend Park

bluebells at Riverbend

In May, I: Drove 3 days across country and visited my eldest son in Denver, Colorado, then spent 19 days on a road trip around the Four Corners area. Drove amidst immense windmills on the Kansas prairie. Hiked among Ponderosa pines smelling of vanilla and butterscotch at Mt. Sanitas near Boulder. Was involved in a 6-car accordion-style accident on a major highway at rush hour in Denver. Hiked through Red Rocks Mountain Park among evening primrose and creeping barberry. Rested in vintage American motels such as the Palomino Inn, the Mokee Motel, the Alpine Inn, and the Adventure Inn. Got my first National Parks Passport and started collecting stickers and cancellation stamps. Hiked among pinyon pines and Utah junipers on the Coke Ovens Trail at Colorado National Monument. Climbed slickrock on a strenuous hike to Delicate Arch at Arches. Was mesmerized by the scent of cliffrose all over the Colorado Plateau. Saw the confluence of the Colorado and the Green Rivers at Canyonlands. Mourned the ghosts of horses left to die at Dead Horse Point State Park. Walked through rock bridges at Natural Bridges National Monument and ancient dwellings at Hovenweep. Kicked up dust at Valley of the Gods and Monument Valley, and passed through towns like Mexican Hat and Kayenta. Found remnants of the Old Route 66 and the Wigwam Motel. Studied petroglyphs all over the Four Corners. Visited Petrified Forest National Park and the Hubbell Trading Post and learned all about the horrific Long Walk, forced upon Native Americans by white people. Found Native stories and ancient dwellings at Canyon de Chelly, Chaco Culture National Historical Park, and Aztec Ruins. Climbed a house carved into a steep cliff at Mesa Verde’s Balcony House. Drove “America’s Switzerland” on the San Juan Skyway Scenic Byway in Colorado. Did research on my mother’s family in a library in her hometown of Pagosa Springs. Visited my youngest son in Crestone, Colorado, and explored Great Sand Dunes National Park with him. Drove in the dark for 5 hours over a mountain pass in the middle of nowhere to Pueblo. Moseyed back across the country in three long days. Enjoyed the movies Disobedience and The Book Club.

Alex and Freya at Mt. Sanitas

Near the Trading Post Trail

Close up of formations at Colorado National Monument

Delicate Arch at Arches National Park

Canyonlands – Grand View Overlook

Sipapu Bridge Overlook – Natural Bridges National Monument

Hovenweep National Monument

Approach to Monument Valley

The Mitten at Monument Valley

One mitten

Aspen Trail at Navajo National Monument

Coal Mine Canyon, AZ

“It’s a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford slowin’ down to take a look at me”

Wigwam Motel

Plainsman

Spider Rock at Canyon de Chelly

White House Ruins at Canyon de Chelly

Dead Horse Point State Park

Grand View Point Overlook

wagon at Bluff, UT

Wupatki Pueblo

Sunset Crater Volcano

cliff dwellings at Walnut Canyon

Hubbell Trading Post National Historic Site

Giant Logs

The Painted Desert

Window Rock

Spider Rock

The White House Ruin

Hungo Pavi

Bojack Ranch near Pagosa Springs, CO

Great Sand Dunes National Park and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains

The Four Corners area

The whole Four Corners Road Trip

In June, I: Listened to Alison Krauss, David Crosby and Friends at Wolf Trap. Watched the movies On Chesil Beach and The Guardians (Les Gardiennes). Voted for Jennifer Wexton for the 10th district in the Democratic primary. Walked around Richmond National Battlefield and Tredegar Iron Works with my daughter. Had dinner with our friends Karen and Michael at Red Kimono. Walked with my pilgrim friend Susan around Sugarloaf Mountain and enjoyed wine at Sugarloaf Winery after. Visited the Theodore Roosevelt Inaugural National Historic Site and Frank Lloyd Wright’s Martin House in Buffalo, NY, on a solo road trip to Niagara Falls. Learned that the American side of the Falls is more of a natural environment, while the Canadian side has more glitz and commercialism. Entered the maelstrom at Cave of the Winds, bracing against catapulting gales and showers. Walked downriver along the White Water Walk; the unnavigable rapids here churned in confusion and disorder. Chased butterflies flitting about in the Conservatory near Niagara Falls. Drank Tempranillo out of silver espresso cups with my friend Mona Lisa and watched as a rainbow rose from the mist and stitched itself like translucent threads across a blue sky.

Street art in Richmond, VA

Richmond National Battlefield

Tredegar Iron Works in Richmond

Theodore Roosevelt National Historic Site

Rare Delights

Darwin D. Martin House

Moonlite Motel – where I stayed 🙂

View above American Falls from Prospect Point

View downriver & the Rainbow Bridge from the Observation Tower

Niagara Falls from the Observation Tower

Cave of the Winds beneath Bridal Veil Falls

Ten Thousand Buddha Temple

Great Canadian Midway

At the Butterfly Conservatory

Rainbows and Hornblower Cruise

Mona Lisa at Niagara Falls

me at Niagara Falls

me in Niagara Falls

In July and August, I: Enjoyed a visit from my oldest son when he flew home from Denver for a week. Watched the movies Mama Mia! Here We Go Again; The Cakemaker; Leave No Trace; and Puzzle. Bid adieu to my youngest son as he took off to live the van life in Colorado. Enjoyed bottomless mimosas at Pearl Dive Oyster Bar with my California friend Leah. Did physical therapy on my right knee twice a week to prepare for walking the Camino. Had lunch with Susan at Season 52. Walked with Susan and my backpack at muddy Riverbend. Walked around Meadowlark Gardens to test my new camera. Flew to Lisbon to begin my Camino adventure.

My youngest son and his outfitted van

me with Leah at Pearl Dive

a walk with Susan at Riverbend and Great Falls

my Camino backpack

Korean totems at Meadowlark Gardens

In September to late October, I: Set out on foot from St-Jean-Pied-de-Port in France to walk 799 km, about 500 miles, across northern Spain on the Camino Frances to Santiago de Compostela. Walked over the Pyrenees, encountering pigs, cows, black-faced sheep, long-haired sheep, horses, a mobile snack vehicle for pilgrims, a statue of the Virgin Mary, beech forests, a cattle grid crossing into Spain, and pilgrims speaking in exotic tongues. Walked alongside the Rio Arga, swirling and rushing over rocks and around bends. Got caught up in a parade of big-headed characters in a medieval festival in Pamplona. Topped off a day at Alto del Perdon, where wind turbines swirled on the ridge line and rusted wrought iron medieval pilgrims headed westward in a line. Sailed downhill by bicycle through hay and corn fields to the Romanesque church of Eunate near Muruzábal. Met Darina from Slovakia, who would become one of my closest friends on the Camino. Walked through vineyards and olive groves and across the hot Meseta and over mountains and past granaries. Treated myself to countless servings of cafe con leche, cerveza con limon, tinto verano, potato tortillas, bocadillos, and pilgrim meals. Enjoyed snails, pretty wildflowers, starry weeds, and building-like haystacks along the path. Drank wine from a fountain in Irache. Bought a tiny iron shell necklace from an ironsmith artist in Irache, who gave me a gift of a fresh fig, like nectar from heaven. Started walking in the dark each day, and fell in love with sunrises. Was brought to tears by a shepherd, his dogs and his flock of sheep, who obeyed his every command. Passed fences covered in twiggy crosses. Stopped in countless churches, received pilgrim blessings at Pilgrim’s masses, and read in English at a Vespers service. Soaked my feet with other pilgrims in a fountain at a municipal albergue in Azofra. Enjoyed drinks with Karen and Simon and donkeys, geese, sheep and dogs at Albergue Amanecer in Villarmentero de Campos. Swung in a hammock and soaked my feet at La Casa del Camino in Valverde de la Virgen. Laid a stone with all my worries at the base of Cruz de Ferro. Climbed up and down mountains in Galicia, through forests and cow towns, and past charming granaries. and made it to Santiago de Compostela on October 20. Wept in awe and thanksgiving as I watched the swinging of the botafumiero at the Cathedral at a German mass and then the next day at the Pilgrim’s mass. Received my Compostela for completing the pilgrimage. Got sick with bad cold as soon as the pilgrimage was complete. Took a bus to Muxia, where I stood at a rocky ridge above the surf at Sanctuario da Virxe da Barca. Took a bus to Finisterre, known in Roman times as the end of the known world. Took another bus back to Santiago.

Pyrenees

Zuriain

Pamplona

Cizor Menor

Alto del Perdon

Eunate

walking

Villamayor de Montjardin

vineyards in La Rioja

sheep

Los Arcos

Logroño

sunrise walking

Parque Granjera

outside of Azofra

me outside of Azofra

drooping sunflowers

leaving Grañon

the Meseta

Burgos

leaving Hornillos del Camino

Meseta outside Hornillos del Camino

Donkey with Simon and Karen at Vilarmentero de Campos

Darina in Reliegos

Me in Reliegos

long bridge

long shadows

climbing to O’Cebreiro

O’Cebreiro

sunrise leaving O’Cebreiro

after O’Cebreiro

granary in Galicia

me at Santiago

Darina and me in Santiago

Me with Darina in Santiago

Muxia

Finisterre

lighthouse at Finisterre

Finisterre

In late October & November I: Took a bus from Santiago to Braga, Portugal where I met Mike and we traveled around Portugal for 10 days. Climbed the picturesque steps of Bom Jesus do Monte near Braga. Saw sweeping views of Braga from Nossa Senhora do Sameiro. Found Portugal’s military in full regalia, accompanied by weapons of destruction, at Guimarães. Walked across the Ponte de Dom Luis I in Porto and enjoyed fabulous views of the Ribeira district. Was charmed by colorful laundry, azulejos, street art, pastel de nata, and charming dereliction all through Portugal. Ate phallus-shaped St. Gonçalo cakes in Amarante. Walked around Aveiro, the “Venice of Portugal” in the rain and bought colorful cans of sardines. Drove in the rain around Costa Nova’s candy-striped houses. Enjoyed beers in Ibn Errik Rex in Óbidos. Took an early morning walk atop the medieval walls of Óbidos. Enjoyed a rare sunny day at the coastal beaches and cliffs of Peniche. Arrived to a dark and gloomy Sintra, where we ate at my favorite restaurant from 2013: Sopa D’Avo. Had a nightmare day of heavy fog, pouring rain, long lines and no views at Pena Palace in Sintra. Got a flat tire in our Clubman Mini-Cooper rental after taking a detour down a dirt road in Cabo da Roca. Enjoyed views of red-roofed Lisbon from Miradouro de Santa Luzia and Castelo de São Jorge. Shopped for scarves at my favorite Lisbon shop, LostIn. Marveled over my favorite ceiling at Basilica of the Martyrs. Took the hop-on hop-off bus on our last day in Lisbon, returning full circle to the Vasco da Gama neighborhood, where I began the journey to embark on my Camino. Returned home November 7 from Portugal after a convoluted and challenging travel experience, where we endured an unexpected 5-hour layover in Gander, Canada. Met Leah at Circa in Arlington for drinks and lunch. Saw my youngest son for a few days when he drove home to pick up many of his belongings and take them to his new Denver home, which he now shares with his brother. Celebrated Thanksgiving with my daughter and part of my family at my sister’s home in Salisbury, Maryland. Enjoyed the movies Wildlife and Private War.

Braga, Portugal

me at Bom Jesus do Monte

Sanctuary of Our Lady of Sameiro

Castelo at Guimarães

Igreja de São Gualter

Igreja do Carmo in Porto

Rio Douro in Porto

Recycled rabbit in Vila Nova de Gaia

Rio Douro

laundry in Ribeira

cloister in Sé do Porto

azulejos in Porto

Amarante

Aveiro, the “Portuguese Venice”

Costa Nova

Mike in Óbidos

me at Ibn Errik Rex in Óbidos

Mike in Óbidos

aqueduct in Óbidos

Peniche

beach at Peniche

a foggy Sintra – Pena Palace

Quinta da Regaleira

Cabo da Roca

eyes in Lisbon

a line of jeans in Lisbon

view of Lisbon from Castelo de S. Jorge

Castelo de S. Jorge

Mosterio Dos Jerónimos

trams in Lisbon

my many heads!

LostIn, my favorite shop in Lisbon

an unwanted stopover in Gander, Canada

Polarsteps: my whole route

Polarsteps: Camino & Portugal

crossing the scary Chesapeake Bay Bridge on my way to my sister’s for Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving snacks from my sister-in-law

In December, I: Met Jackie and Tim at Essentially Vintage in Lucketts and had brews at Vanish Farmwoods Brewery. Reminisced with Susan about our separate Caminos over lunch at Wild Tomato in Potomac. Drove to Richmond with my husband to have dinner with my daughter at Ale Wife. Visited my father and his wife in Yorktown. Enjoyed fried oysters at the To Do Cafe in Tappahanock, and got fresh oysters to take home. Enjoyed Mike’s delicious oyster soup. Went to my husband’s company Christmas party at the Marriott in Bethesda. Saw the Burning Man exhibit at the Renwick on Christmas Eve. Had a quiet Christmas at home with my sister-in-law and a neighbor since our adult kids had to work and couldn’t come home. Watched the movies Boy Erased and Green Book. Ate lunch at the Lincoln and visited the National Portrait Gallery.

On a Whim in Lucketts

Mike at Ale Wife

Wallpaper in Ale Wife’s bathroom

Arlington National Cemetery with wreaths for Christmas

Arlington National Cemetery

Renwick

“Temple” from Burning Man

shadows – Burning Man

Burning Man

breathing mushrooms at Burning Man

men’s room at the Lincoln

Reindeer in D.C.

****

Since I’ll be taking a basic drawing class this winter, I felt encouraged by the primitive drawings of Bill Traylor (c. 1853-1949) at the National Portrait Gallery. Born as a slave in Alabama, he witnessed the Civil War, Emancipation, Reconstruction, Jim Crow Segregation, the Great Migration, and the steady rise of African American urban culture in the South. After seven decades of labor, he traveled alone into the segregated city of Montgomery, Alabama, where he spent two decades. He started drawing at age 86.

Two Figures with Pitchfork and Birds by Bill Traylor

Overall, we survived our second year of the Trump Presidency (barely, and with much angst, disgust and disgruntlement), and I had a great time on all my adventures. My biggest hope for 2019 is that my children will find fulfillment and happiness in their lives, and that I will have diverse adventures and learn many new things! I always love the promise of a new year, turning to a new page and reinventing my life.

Happy New Year, and may all your wishes be fulfilled in 2019! 🙂

This post is in response to Ann-Christine’s post: Lens-Artists Photo Challenge #26: Photographic Review of 2018.

**********

Here are some of my previous years’ recap posts. I now wish I had one for every year of my life, as they serve as great reminders of my adventures, joys and tribulations in years past!

twenty-seventeen

twenty-sixteen

Sadly, I didn’t do one in 2015. 😦

twenty-fourteen

twenty-thirteen

weekly photo challenge: my 2012 in pictures

{camino: day 1} climbing to orisson

wanderessence1025 December 25, 2018

Chanting at 6:15 on Tuesday morning nudged us pilgrims from our dreams. At a breakfast of muesli, bread and coffee, Joseph at Beilari warned that the weather over the Pyrenees was expected to be stormy and possibly dangerous on Wednesday. He suggested we shouldn’t stop overnight in Orisson but continue straight through to Roncesvalles. Alternatively, we could go the lower valley route to Valcarlos. Ingrid and I debated whether to heed his advice but decided to stick with our plan to stay the night in Orisson. I set my backpack aside to be transported ahead and began to walk by 7:30, with an omelette sandwich from Beilari in my day pack. Pilgrims emerged from various hostels, fresh and hopeful, and converged on the road leading out of St-Jean-Pied-de-Port like troops heading out to do battle.

Wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and carrying my trusty LEKI hiking poles, I walked with Ingrid and countless other pilgrims, up and up, a constant breathless climb. Fuzzy sheep dotted green fields that skirted forests of chestnut and white beech trees. Window boxes blooming with impatiens, fuchsia, and Australian sword fern decked out whitewashed farmhouses.

French drivers veered maniacally around us, between us. Under a tree, an Italian man pulling a trolley regaled us with Italian opera – Pavarotti. We stopped and listened, laughed and clapped. We were all so hopeful and excited and nervous, and here we were, listening to opera under a tree on a mountainside.

From pilgrims passing by, conversations echoed in Danish, French, Spanish, Korean and German. Cows studied us, chewing placidly on grass, and a donkey brayed. Cowbells clanked, their music sashaying through the trees. Cornfields gleamed as if the sun had soaked into each stalk. Tidy bales of hay dotted the fields. Along the path were yellow arrows, often crudely painted on trees, rocks or signposts.

It was a very steep climb for five miles, especially toward the end, but the views were stunning. Emerald mountains unfurled around us, in undulations and rumples. I stopped not only to catch my breath but to take photos. And to eat half of my omelette sandwich.

When we reached Orisson at 11:15 a.m., we were given tokens for a 5-minute shower. Ingrid lost hers immediately and was afraid to ask for another because she might get yelled at. I advised her to come clean, ask for another right away, so they’d know she hadn’t had time to use it and ask for another. She did and they gave her a replacement. She and I were first in the side-by-side showers, laughing and joking as we hurried to get rinsed off within the 5-minutes. We both had time to spare. After drying with our washcloth-sized towels, we dressed in what we’d hike in tomorrow, washed our clothes and hung them on the line outside to dry. My pilgrim credenciale got bent and warped at the edges from carrying it in my waist pack and sweating all day. I wrapped it in a plastic baggie, where it would stay for the rest of my Camino.

Our pleasant room had six bunks with windows opening onto views of the Pyrenees. Ingrid and I, first in, grabbed bottom bunks. Our roommates were Joyce from Connecticut, Marianne from the East Coast of Canada, and Bridgett and Jeannette from Ottowa. Joyce, Bridgett and Jeannette had large hardshell suitcases they were transporting ahead each day, arranged by a tour company.

On a platform overlooking the Pyrenees and the impossibly green valleys, we sat at picnic tables with other pilgrims and talked. An Irish guy named Cyril told of his struggles working on various farm operations, how he understands cattle more than the owners, how he milks an endless line of cows each day. David and Michelle from Britain just retired and said they have an adventurous spirit. They wanted to start a new life, now that their children were grown and they had free time. Big and sturdy, they both had a general roundness to them: she with a blonde pixie cut, he with a big belly, a ruddy complexion and a bemused expression. Lisa from Leesburg, Virginia, not far from my home, told in dramatic fashion about how she can walk forever and carry a pack with no problem, but going uphill is another matter. I listened, laughed, drank wine and ate the other half of my omelette sandwich.

It was a long afternoon. Trying to nap in our room proved elusive, especially as someone with a drone was directing it outside of our window, looking in.

At our pilgrim dinner of soup, baked chicken, peas and potatoes, we all introduced ourselves. We were told the forecast for tomorrow was fine. I decided I must trust, have faith, that it would all work out in the end.

the Nive River in St. Jean 7:30 a.m.

farm houses

farm houses

me with Ingrid

Ingrid & Michelle

Corn stalks

bucolic Pyrenees

cows

cow friends

the path behind us

flowering friends

sheep dotting a hill

me on the Camino

a lone pilgrim

sweeping views of the Pyrenees

me on the trail

me with Ingrid walking up and up

Pyrenees

views

pretty farmland

views from above

Orisson

view from the outdoor cafe at Orisson

Brigette, Jeannette, Marianne, Lisa, Michelle and David

View from Orisson

view from Orisson

Pilgrim dinner at Orisson

*Day 1: Tuesday, September 4, 2018: St-Jean-Pied-de-Port to Orisson (8km)*

*14,873 steps, or 6.3 miles*

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

Include the link in the comments below by Monday, January 7 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, January 8, I’ll include your links in that post.

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!

a day in st. jean pied-de-port

wanderessence1025 December 11, 2018

Gentle chanting pulled us from our dreams on Monday morning at 6:15. The pilgrims in my room stretched, whispered, and rustled in the dark until everyone was awake. Once lights were on, they taped feet, organized backpacks, ate breakfast. I was the only pilgrim that would stay another day before walking, and the hospitaleros at Beilari told me I would have to leave the albergue at 8:00 a.m. I could return at 12:30 through the back door, though new pilgrims wouldn’t be admitted until later. While everyone got ready to leave me behind, I put rock tape on my knee and did some physical therapy exercises. At 8:00, I was out the door.

St-Jean-Pied-de-Port nestles in the foothills of the Pyrenees in the French Basque countryside, at the “foot of the pass” (pied-de-port) to Roncesvalles in Spain. I strolled in the cool morning air on the cobbled rue de la Citadelle. On the façades of the stone buildings, window boxes overflowed with petunias and impatiens. At the far end of town, I walked through the 15th-century Port St. Jacques, where pilgrims walking from other parts of France enter the town to begin the Camino Frances.

I climbed to the Citadelle for views over the walled town and the Pyrenees. Built on the fortified château of the kings of Navarre, it is a stronghold with moats, firearms, swing bridges, draw bridges and walls flanked by bastions. Below, a gauzy layer of mist lay fetchingly in the mountain folds and wove its way through the valley. There were few people at this hour; I encountered only a couple of large slimy tan slugs in the path.

Walking back into town, I stopped in at the 14th-century Notre Dame du Bout du Pont (The Church of Our Lady at the End of the Bridge), now known as Iglesia de la Asunción. I had the church to myself and lit a candle to ask for blessings for my pilgrimage and for my family and then for each of my children individually. I asked for guidance for them, and for protection and self-fulfillment. I felt awed by the task ahead of me: to walk 790 kilometers, or 490 miles, across Spain to Santiago de Compostela. By the time I left the church, I felt assured I wouldn’t be alone on my journey, and it humbled me.

I took a stroll through the Porte Notre Dame, through which I’d pass when I began my walk on Tuesday, and across the Pont d’Eyheraberry, where the Nive River mirrored the old stone buildings on its shores.

I continued out Porte D’Espagne, at the opposite end of town from Port St. Jacques; the road from this gate leads up into the Pyrenees. I checked out my route for Tuesday morning on the Route de Napoléon (25.1km to Roncesvalles). I’d be stopping 8km up the mountains at Orisson.

While enjoying a lunch of an omelette fromage and vin blanc at an outdoor cafe on the main road, I wrote postcards to my husband and children, mailing them from the local post office.

When I returned to Beilari, I found Ingrid, who I’d met yesterday on the train, standing outside the albergue, which didn’t open until 2:30. She was talking to two lively fellows, Newton from Brazil and Mike, originally from South Africa but most recently from California. We had an intense but agreeable conversation bemoaning the current U.S. president. It was a thorough Trump-bashing, peppered with laughs and plenty of indignation.

Once Beilari opened its doors, Ingrid settled in, and I sat on the patio with a beer, writing in my journal. I felt a bit lost as all the pilgrims I’d met last night had taken off. I wondered if I’d ever see them again. Ingrid joined me on the patio after she’d settled in, and we talked of Archie Bunker-type fathers, gay siblings, the president and his daily outrages, her involvement in the Unitarian Church and Habitat for Humanity, her job as a journalist and photographer, my stints teaching abroad and my blogging. We talked about our families and our pilgrimage and the next day’s walk. She had trained quite rigorously in Colorado at high elevations over the summer, and felt strong and ready to begin her pilgrimage. I remained wary of my knee and wondered how it would hold up.

Beilari doesn’t have Wi-fi; they encourage people to talk to each other. Some of us congregated in front of the Pilgrim Office across the street, trying to use their Wi-fi signal. Ingrid asked if I’d reserved a room at the monastery in Roncesvalles. I hadn’t so I checked online to try to reserve. Surprisingly, I found it was full for Wednesday night, when I’d arrive there. That made me nervous, so I reserved a room two towns further along, in Espinal. As I became increasingly nervous about making it over the Pyrenees the first two days, and even adding another 6.7 km to Espinal, I decided I’d use Express Bourricot to send my backpack ahead in two stages, first to Orisson and then to Espinal. I would carry a simple day pack.

At apertivo, we went through the same routine from the night before: tossing the invisible ball, the sharing, the toasts. At dinner, two tables of pilgrims shared a meal of white bean soup, salad topped with hard boiled eggs and carrots, ratatouille on rice, and chocolate mousse. It was a crowd of different nationalities and languages, making it hard to connect. Paõ from Barcelona, who later slept in a bunk in my room, played a ukelele while pilgrims danced to his “La Bamba.” Suddenly it was 10:30 and lights out.

Anxious about my first day of walking, I had a restless night, worrying about the Pyrenees. Could I make the entire pilgrimage? Could I connect with people? Could I, by some miracle, discover the art of living?

*13,153 steps, or 5.57 miles*

Streets of St-Jean-Pied-de-Port

Port St. Jacques

Streets of St-Jean-Pied-de-Port

early morning overlooking St-Jean-Pied-de-Port

St-Jean-Pied-de-Port

St-Jean-Pied-de-Port

The Citadelle

St-Jean-Pied-de-Port

Morning mist

Collège la Citadelle

Citadelle & basketball court

Citadelle

Notre Dame du Bout du Pont XIV

lighting candles

I loved the bridge over the Nive River.

the Nive River

Pont d’Eyheraberry over the Nive River

Streets of St-Jean-Pied-de-Port

The Notre-Dame gateway, the Porte Notre-Dame, is the best preserved of the gateways to the town.

Porte Notre-Dame

Beilari

Pilgrim

Orisson to the left &

A lively market offered enticing seafood, cheeses and wines outside the town walls.

fish market

market

sheep at the market

Another Roman bridge sits in a wooded area south of the Pont d’Eyheraberry over the Nive River.

Roman bridge

tower

Houses on the Nive River

evening from the Pont d’Eyheraberry (Eyheraberry bridge)

Dinner at Beilari

*Monday, September 3, 2018*

on journey: launching my camino

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

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.

Include the link in the comments below by Monday, December 24 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, December 25, I’ll include your links in that post.

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!

January 2019
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