She who walks alone

The last five miles of the day to Roncesvalles was a climb from 1,312 feet to 3,116 feet, a gain of 1,804 feet. The last miles were hard, but nothing like the other day when I reached Valcarlos ready to die. I think the difference was more psychological than physical in reaching Valcarlos since it was a small gain of only 328 feet. Oh the “drama” of yesterday.
I am glad that I did not calculate the elevation before I started the second day hike. Somethings are better not known. I did, however, learn my best practice was to read my guidebook about the next day’s journey and look at the map to gain a general impression of the ups and downs of my next day’s walk. And that was good enough.
When we reached the summit the land  flatten except for a small hill with an iron cross at the top.  There were small clusters of hikers milling around on the flat and at the base of the hill.  Rosemary and Vicky made their way to climb the top of the hill.  No way for me, I had enough of hill climbing for the day.

Near the hill that Rosemary and Vicky climbed was a modern stone ”A” frame chapel. To see a modern design is almost disconcerting, out of place, when you are surrounded by ancient buildings and churches. I leaned against the stone wall that surrounded the chapel while I waited for my hiking buddies to join me for the remaining walk to Roncesvalles.
Walking down the hill toward our nights’ accommodation appeared the side view of the stone constructed Albergue Collegiata Convent in Roncesvalles (valley of thorns). Like St Jean Pied de Port, we were enveloped by the medieval buildings and loads of atmosphere as we walked around the area . It was like stepping into a PBS (Public Broadcast Station) story only all the people are speaking to you. I found it almost overwhelming. It is amazing that the local population of the area is only 30 people. In addition, this site is also the major entry point for the Spanish pilgrims.

There are other places to stay, but we choose to stay at the Collegiate for 12 euros. The place had recently been remodeled. The accommodations spreads over three floors with bunk beds in cubicles of four. The recent modern renovations updating the sleeping and bathroom areas were clean and very pleasant.
We found our way to the main entrance of the albergue. Many people were milling around the outside. Upon entering the reception area, we were immediately confronted by a tall, thin, older woman with a German accent with a booming and commanding voice staring at us with steadfast blue eyes she said, “Shoes, there; Backpack, there; Poles, there; then, You, in Line there!” I felt we had fallen into a Seinfeld episode about the Soup Nazi only her role was the hostel Nazi. We did not dare say a word or ask a question of this commanding woman. We did just what we were told and kept our eyes forward and stood quietly and dutiful in the line where we were directed.

Shortly thereafter, the line moved quickly to where we paid for the night’s stay.  We gave our money to  an older, very cheerful woman volunteer  with long tumbling hair from a knot on the top of her head. She had great fun pronouncing or should I say mispronouncing Rosemary’s name.   She kept calling her “Rose Marie” while singing an old song by the same name (originally sung by Nelson Eddy years and years ago).

 

 

My readings about the Camino alerted me to pack a set of ear plugs to wear at night. One writer described the Camino sleeping experience as the “Super Bowl of snoring”. Therefore, to get a good night’s sleep in the communal bedroom might be impossible without the aid of ear plugs.
If the snoring was bad, I did not notice. Maybe the ear plugs worked after all, or maybe I was just dead tired. Either way, I had a good night’s sleep. It did not take me long to bounce out of bed and make my way into the bathroom to brush my teeth and comb my unruly hair.

I said good morning to my fellow Americans whose bunks were by the bathroom door as I passed by to collect my things from my bunk and put them in my backpack which was stowed in the main room by the door. But before I was to start the day’s hike, I needed to get some breakfast.

The kitchen area was busily used by several people preparing and or cooking their breakfast. I, on the other hand, took out some food from the bag of food I purchased the night before. I had a roll, some fruit and a can of diet coke. Ahhhh, breakfast of champions.

As soon as my fellow pilgrims finished their food, they put their boots on, slung their pack onto their back, and grabbed walking poles and off they went into the chill of the morning. The Korean girlfriends laughed and quickly spoke to each other while eating breakfast. My two fellow Americans sat together finishing up their cereal, while John, the Gleeful Korean businessman conversed with me about the Camino as I finished by diet coke.

Soon we were all ready to start our hike to our next stop, Roncesvalles. Today there was more mountain to climb. We all stood outside the hostel in the cold morning air as a small group trying to determine the way to the Camino. Looking around the area no sign (yellow arrow or shell) could be found. Collectively we all seemed to make the same decision to climb the stairs and move toward the main street slightly up hill from us.

The two American friends were next to me. I took the opportunity to ask them if they minded if I tagged along with them. Rosemary and Victoria both shook their heads and said, “Sure”. So off I went with my first two gifts from the Camino, Rosemary and Victoria (Vicky). My fresh start had begun and I was ready for the day’s challenge.

We walked through town trying to locate the sign of the Camino. Finally, the yellow arrow appeared on a white wall. Yes, we were headed in the correct direction as we exited the village of Valcarlos onto the roadway to Roncesvalles.

Today we would walk quite a distance on the two lane highway until we reached the forested pathway cutoff to Roncesvalles. There was some traffic as we traversed up the mountain highway so for the most part we had the road almost all to ourselves.

As we walked, we finally caught up with the Korean girlfriends who were wearing brightly colored rain gear. We asked if we could take pictures with them. We took turns taking photos with our respective phone cameras. All day long we would pass and then meet up with either the women or the happy Korean businessman, John.

As we walked up the mountain, I noticed that I was having less pain than the day before. The only issue which was noted by Rosemary was I seemed to have trouble breathing which made me tire easily. I think it was due to the elevation and the fact that I might not have been breathing correctly. As time went on I was able to stabilize my breathing and my pace which made the hike easier.

The road began to switch back and forth as we climbed toward our destination. The higher we went the colder it became. However, it did not seem so cold because of the energy required to climb the mountain kept me toasty. We finally came to a sign directing us off the road and onto the mountain path off the highway. To recharge my energy I ate some of my food supplies. I was very happy that I had brought the fruit, nuts and bottle water the night before. If I had not purchased the food supplies, I would have been out of luck because there were no stores anywhere to buy any thing.

The higher we hiked patches of snow appeared everywhere; however, no hint from the sky that anymore would be falling soon which was a relief. For hours we kept winding our way up the mountain to Roncesvalles. Slowly but surely we climbed past the occasional creek. The air was fresh and revitalizing.

There is nothing like making the summit. Ah! No more pronounced climbing. At the summit there was a little hill with an iron cross on a tall pole. Rosemary and Vicky climbed to where the iron cross. I remained below waiting and watching them scale the hill. Rosemary and Vicky are from Montana and very use to hiking and elevation. They seemed to have an abundance of energy, unlike me.

Rosemary and Vicky were fun to be around and easy to talk with as well. I was to find throughout my time on the Camino that when I met people walking the Camino that a special kind of connection was immediately formed. Maybe it was because we were all part of the same journey. We were all vulnerable. Conversations were made easily. I had never experienced this level of comfort talking to someone who was a stranger. What would it be like to have this level of comfort everyday back home?

Rosemary and Vicky were gifts to me who were there for me when I needed support and encouragement to go the distance. It was their early support which made my second and third day on the Camino an enjoyable and doable hike.

Thank you ladies, the best gift ever.

 

It was a relief to confront my short comings on the first day. Best to get that done as early as possible. It is better to live in reality, know what you can or cannot do or should I say what you are willing to do at the present moment. The beauty of that is the present moment is always changing; thus a new opportunity for a new direction or understanding.

So I collected myself off the road, threw my backpack on my back, “sucked it up” and made my way up the last hill of the day or so I thought.

Finding addresses in Spain is an interesting adventure. In the U.S., we are very clear and consistent about signage. Here I was to find out is one ongoing challenge which can add miles, if not hours to your journey. My guidebook documented the address of the hostel, but to locate the street sign and the address on a building was a herculean task. As you are walking, your head is constantly bobbing left and right, up and down to find the street and then the correct building. “Patience, Rita, Patience”.

When I finally found the hostel, it was almost comical, it was  near where I had laid done to die next to the tree. I was not in a mood for a comedy by that point.

I had to make an assumption that the doorbell I was ringing was the hostel (no sign). A young woman came to the door, smiled and let me in. She was a guest of the hostel who did not speak English. Upon entering the room there was no sign of the hostel manager. “Interesting”.

The room I entered was furnished with a check-in counter … no person to “check in with”, tables with chairs, and a kitchenette area in the back. The young woman directed me to a small hallway where a shelving unit went from the floor to the ceiling. On the shelf were hiking boots. She pointed at my boots and then pointed at the shelf – clear, very clear. Then she pointed at my trekking pole and showed me where my poles were to be placed. Next to this hallway were two doors leading to the sleeping and bathrooms which housed the bunk beds.

There were a couple of beds reserved by means of a backpack tossed on to the bed. Out of the 12 available bunks, I choose the bottom bunk bed facing the door. Next to each bed were two locking cabinets to store your personal items. Each bed had a clean sheet, pillow, and blanket (thin). The hostel was fairly Spartan living accommodations, clean and tidy. The bathroom consisted of a couple of shower stalls with shower curtains, a row of sinks and two toilets with doors. The bathroom was clean and tidy but cold with no discoverable heater. The hostel was Spartan but very affordable, 10 euros

I unpacked my sleeping bag, laid it on my bed and passed out exhausted.

 

I have always believed that people come into my life for a reason; either I have a lesson to learn or I am needed in their life to help them. And so it was with the Camino. I met so many wonderful pilgrims on my way. Each one was a “gift”, helping me walk the distance. I hope that I helped them along the way as well. Valcarlos is where I met my first Camino gifts.

 

By the time I finally awoke and joined the land of the living, the bunks all around me were filled with either backpacks or pilgrims. Everyone one seemed energized and excited to be there. Directly in front of me were two American women from Montana.

It was early evening still light outside and I was hungry. Out I went to discover this little and very interesting village. I was amazed that people lived in such small communities. I wondered what they all did for a living. As I walked around the main street for lack of a better name, I found a small store/ deli. Ah.. Finally. my first coke cola of the day. I did not order anything else because I was afraid to speak my broken Spanish. The little Spanish I did speak confused the poor man. The man was very pleasant but had limited English skill so there was a lot of smiles and nods but not much information about this village.

I wandered back down the main road toward the hostel in hopes of finding a bigger store and or a restaurant. Shortly after passing the village church, I spotted what appeared to be a restaurant and grocery store combination. I was greeted by very friendly staff in both sections. They genuinely seemed glad to see me. I noticed that many of the people from the hostel were either sitting at tables eating in the restaurant or in the store buying food to cook for dinner.

I went into the grocery part first to buy some cans of coke cola, cookies, fruit and nuts for tomorrow’s journey. By the time, I went into the restaurant section it appeared to be closing. I checked the sign on the door for the operating hours. Yes it was closing time. However, the waitress smiled and told me, “go ahead sit down. We will fix you some food.” Wow! Now that is customer service!

I choose a table where two women from the hostel were sitting. I asked if I might sit with them. They  quickly pointed to sit down.   They were the  Americans from Montana. Their food look delicious so I ordered a similar plate. Both of the women spoke Spanish fluently so whatever trouble I had ordering was easily remedied. We talked about why we were walking the Camino, about the work we did and family and where we lived. It was a delightful supper.

After supper they went into the store while I made my way back to the hostel. The main street had a few more pilgrims and natives walking in the street, but still not a lot of people. The village was clean, well maintained with no lawns; however, there were many flower boxes and pots of flowers which adorned the front of the buildings which were either apartments/homes and local specialized stores. You could almost feel that life was good here.

Meanwhile back at the hostel, everyone I looked at greeted me with a warm smile and said “hola”  or hi. There were Germans, Frenchmen, Americans and Koreans.  The main room where the tables and the kitchen was located was now filled with active pilgrims fixing their supper. Cooking supper were four Korean woman who came as a group to walk the Camino. They have been friends for over 30 years, taking vacations together without their husbands. They were cooking something that smelled very tasty. It was very apparent that they loved each other’s company. Also I noticed a very friendly older Korean man, but younger than me. He seemed to beam with happiness about being on the Camino. I had a pleasant chat with him. I discovered he was an owner of a successful biotech company he owned in Korea. His name was similar to the American name, John. His happiness and enthusiasm was contagious.  I was to have many conversations with him in the future. He was a truly kind and gentle man.  What a wonderful place to be with all these interesting and friendly people.

The manager of the hostel finally arrived. We all met with her to pay or hostel fees, which were like nothing. I think it was seven euros. Also found out how to ship my backpack to my next hostel where I will be staying. You fill out an envelope with your name, contact number, and the place where you will be staying. You take five euros out and place it in the envelope attaching it to your backpack with a rubber band. My backpack was aligned by the front door with the other packs which were to be transported the next morning.

I returned to my bunk bed. It was apparent that sleeping arrangements were first come, first serve and communal, male and female in the same room. Since I am not use to this situation, I was concerned about dressing and undressing. From my observations, Europeans are comfortable with co-ed situations. They dress and undress without a concern. Well….. for me….. well that doesn’t work for me. Most of the occupants just stripped to underwear and dove into their sleeping bags. Did I mention most were younger than me?

I devised a plan which I did for the rest of my days on the Camino. I would arrive at the hostel immediately take a shower and put on the clothes for the next day. Go to bed in the outfit and bounce out of bed at 6:00 am ready to challenge the day. It turned out to be quite a time saver.

All in all it had been a good day with good decisions made.

 

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Before I started this journey, I promised myself that I would approach each unexpected event or difficult situation without panic. I would hold the event in a frame, “this is my adventure, destiny take your best shot.”

I knew I had placed myself in the sphere of uncertainty with my decision to walk the Camino. Further more , I knew that I would have to face my fear about being alone and responsible for all my outcomes. Although the mere thought of all this scared the shit out of me; it also excited me to see how I would handle walking into a world which was virtually out of my control. I would have to be open to the universe and let the moment unfold without expectation.

I took a deep breath and sat down in the train station and started to plot my plans for the night and tomorrow’s journey to Bayonne.
Once I collected my thoughts fortified by a can of Diet Coke (no Pepsi sold …Coke is the carrier of choice in France and Spain) my corrections started to unfold.

First order of go was to purchase my train ticket to Bayonne. Thank God they had ticket machines in the station since all the Station personnel had left for the night. I went to the ticket machine to find that the instructions were in French. Did I mention, I have limited understanding of French. However, I had enough to transact the purchase of my ticket.

Interestingly, this was also my first experience with helpful locals. But being a suspicious American, I was rather illusive with the French man who came out of nowhere standing intimately next to me by the ticket machine asking me where was I going. A little taken back I immediately looked around to see if he and I were alone in the station. There was a small group of young people within shouting distance. Good- quick relief.

I told him Bayonne. He started to tell me, no not that train. “You take the train to Hondo (or something like that) not Bayonne.” I thanked him for his help, but stated, I could handle it. He insisted again… not Bayonne. As he kept talking in French/ English, I went ahead and purchased the first train scheduled for Bayonne.

Fortunately, the train station in Bordeaux is located in the town. I found a room at the Hotel Ibis which was across the street from train station.

The next day came quickly because of little time left to sleep. At the train station early the next morning I found that the helpful French man was correct, the train to Bayonne was also going to “Hondo” village. The train ride was uneventful. I arrived in Bayonne and quickly found a bus to St Jean Pied de Port .

The bus was not crowded because this was the beginning of the Camino walking season (March 26th). The numbers ramp up with more pilgrims as you approached the summer. Summer being the height of the pilgrimage. Most of the bus riders sat in small groups of two or more. There were just a few of us which sat in seat without companion next to us.

The conversations were hushed but filled with growing anticipation as we moved through the beautiful country side.

St Jean Pied de Port is a commune in south-western France in the Pyrenean foothills. The town is also the old capital of the traditional Basque province of Lower Navarre. It is a small medieval town, population of approximately 1,500.

Once in town the bus parked. We all off loaded with no pomp or ceremony. No one said anything. There was no direction announced. Like, ” This way to the Pilgrims’ office.” A couple of people walked over to a government type building or down the street to some houses. The rest seemed to start walking collectively toward the hill where the town was located. I stepped into line with the rest of the bus riders.

The pilgrim’s office was on main street. I entered to register with the Camino volunteers. During the registration process the staff provide me with list of hostels to stay each night, their corresponding rates, and a map of the Camino. If you had not purchased your pilgrim credential, you can obtain one at this time. I had purchased prior to arriving. They helped me complete the first page. The credential is stamped and dated where you stay each night as well as anywhere you may eat.

The staff also provide up to date weather information. The reason being is the start of the Camino has two routes to choose from, the Napoleon Route (25 km) or Valcarlos Route (24 km) to get to Roncesvalles. They informed us that the Napoleon Route was closed due to snow, which was fine with me. I wasn’t going to go that way. It is straight up the mountains.

 

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• 

• 

After all the registration business was done I was off to find a hostel to spend the night and place to get something to eat. After eating and securing my lodging for the night, I went out to discover this picture post card town.

There was very little people milling about because it is early beginning of the Camino. There were not very many café or restaurants open. Part of the problem was the time of day. It was that period of time when most places shut down. I was to find out that in Europe the timetable for eating dinner is much latter than in America. The real activity starts in late evening, around my bedtime.

I decided to locate the signs of the Camino (a yellow arrow on a wall or a shell) so I would be sure to go the right way because it would be dark when I started to walk.

As I wandered back to the hostel where I was staying, I could not believe I was finally here. All my training is now over… This is it!

On March 25th my Grand daughter Christy and two of her kids and I along with my well packed Osprey backpack loaded up in her car to finally make my way to the San Francisco International Airport.

I purchased my round trip airline tickets to Paris, Charles DE Gaulle International Airport almost 6 months before my journey. The purchased tickets cemented my commitment to the trek, arrival date March 26th and departure date May 4th. I decided to fly to Paris instead of Spain, because I had been to the Paris airport in the past. I was afraid to arrive in an airport I had never been to.

My excitement heightened as we neared the airport. Everything about what I decided to do stretched my life’s experience boundaries. I was committed to this adventure even though it scared the “shit” out of me. For most of my life, I had planned things. I knew where I was going; where I would be staying and eating. I never traveled by myself. In addition, I enjoyed staying at 4 – 5 star hotels. The hotels with the scented soap, thick towels, big bath tubs, and plush robes. I was not a camper type of person who enjoyed living out in the elements. In fact I was never a “hiker”. I would always make my way around driving a car or taking a taxi.

In this journey, I knew nothing. Up front I decided I would not let fear dominate nor direct my actions. I told myself, don’t anticipate what is going to happen, be open to the moment. Let the events in the moment lead you to your correct path. It was as if my internal being was challenging my external self.

I arrived at Charles De Gaulle airport tired but ready to go. I had purchased my train ticket to Bayonne , France which had one change of train from Bordeaux to Bayonne in advance. I figured I would take the train from Charles De Gaulle to Bayonne, where I had reserved and paid for a hotel. The next day I would take the bus to St Jean Pied de Port where the Camino Frances begins. Sounds simple, no.

It was fairly easy to find the train station connected to the airport with a minimum of direction from the “information Booth”. Before hopping on to the train I purchased a soda and a sandwich. I found my seat on the high speed train and started to relax into the journey. Half way into the trip, my train was delayed at one of the stations.. train engine problem?? It was a very short delay around twenty minutes.

Still enjoying my time on the train I settled into reading a book on my kindle. As the time went on I started checking my watch to see about my train change. There are signs on the train that shows the various stops. I might mention at this point that all the train staff are giving directions in French. My French is weak to say the least, but I can usually get the gist.

I am suppose to make a train change at Bordeaux which was coming up in the next couple of stops. At this point the stop before the Bordeaux stop, the train conductor started to give a long discussion in French about the up coming stop. I am slowly trying to decipher the meaning. My second sense picks up that something is different. I am still trying to understand as the train comes to a stop. Everyone gets off who were sitting in my coach, not a good sign. By the time I figured it out I needed to get off to catch the train to Bayonne. The door had closed and we were high speed training to Bordeaux. “Not to worry,” I thought, there will be another train to Bayonne.

The distance to Bordeaux was further than I expected. By the time the train reached Bordeaux, it was dark and late. I entered the vacant and empty train station.. No more trains to anywhere tonight. I had been “abandoned” in Bordeaux.

Interestingly enough, I thought I was alone in my adjustment to Michael being gone.  It became clear to me that all of the family and friends were in distress.  The void was there.  My decision to walk the Camino seemed to (somewhat) fill the void. This surprised me.

Amazingly, my far flung idea to walk the Camino captured their imagination.  It gave the younger great-grand children something tangible to focus on.  I was going to walk the Camino as a pilgrim in honor of their Great-grand Father who they dearly loved and missed.   At Christmas time a number of the family gifted me Camino gear.  Cap, neck and head cover, light sleeping bag, head lamp and other helpful things.   Days before my departure for Spain, my Grand Daughter Christy gave me letters in envelopes from family members to be read on the Camino.   She handed one which was from her to be read only in the event that I thought I was going to give up.  I never opened it.  Just knowing it was there in my backpack was all the encouragement I needed.

A month before leaving for Camino I purchased a map of Spain which marked the El Camino de Santiago Compostela Frances route.  I picked up post-it arrows for my great-grand children to mark each town   where I stayed the night.  Each day I would take pictures and post information and the photographs on Facebook about the things I saw along the way, hopefully interesting and educational.  They hung it on the wall next to the front door, where it was not to be missed.

During a run with one of Christy’s long distance running friends and her son, Cody’s 3^rd grade teacher at the local elementary school, Christy shared with her my intention to walk the Camino.  Her friend was intrigued with the plan.  She indicated that she wanted to be added to my Camino Facebook group to follow my adventure.  I think that may have been the run when Christy asked her friend if she would like me to come to her class to talk about the Camino and perhaps follow me on the map of the El Camino.  She said … of COURSE!!

A week before I left for the Camino, I had an appointment with MS Harvey and MS Noriega to give my Camino talk to their 3^rd grade classes.   Packed in my car was my completely filled backpack, my carefully broken in trail boots, my light weight titanium walking poles, my Camino guidebook, and trail hat, post-it arrows and their map of Spain Camino route.

Giving talks are easy for me, I have given many talks and presentations over the years.  In fact, unlike most people, I enjoy giving talks.  However, giving a talk to about 50 nine year old kids is a first for me.  The attention span is quite limited.   As a side note, I take my hat off to all the teachers who teach our children.  It is not easy to keep the attention of the little souls.

Christy gave me supplies of construction paper and red string for students to make a paper shell, which is a symbol worn by pilgrims.   She said, to make it interactive and to have them wear it for a group picture.  Very good suggestion, they loved it.

The kids from MS Noriega’s class marched into MS Harvey’s classroom and took their places on the floor, followed by MS Harvey’s students.  All my stuff I brought was placed interestingly in front of them on a nearby table.

I started by asking some questions to see if I could engage them. I asked, does anyone know what a “journey” means.  Several eagerly raised their hands.  I picked the boy in the front row.  I was stunned at his response.  He said, “A journey is when you discover something along the way”.   Wow I thought.. I was surprised at the depth of the answers to the questions I asked.   We talked about doing things that push our boundaries and limits.  We talked about never being too old or young to try things.   In addition, we discussed trying to meet goals and meeting them.  If we found we didn’t to be brave and reset our goals.

I asked if any of them had traveled to other countries.  They raised their hands or excitedly shouted out the places.  One kid said he had been to Detroit.   I told him that I could see where you might think Detroit was foreign.  Shortly after this I asked for volunteers to hold up the map that they would be tracing my way across Spain.  A boy and a girl came forward and proudly held the 48 inch map.  My finger followed the route across northern Spain all the way to the end of the held up map.  Pointing to the end of the map,  I asked the kids is this the end?  … Heads shook yes… I instructed the map holders to flip the map.  All their eyes opened wide when I traced most of the other side to the end, Santiago.

After the talk, the children constructed their shell necklaces with glee.  I walked around checking each student’s progress until finally all the shells were strung with the red string and proudly placed around their necks.   So off we went to the outside school steps to take our pilgrim picture.  This group would be known as Team Harvey and Team Noriega my own “Camino Cheer Team” along with family and friends and co-workers past and present…. Go Team !

 

On the September 1^st, 2017, I began to train for the Camino.  I started by reading books and watching “YouTube” documentaries on other pilgrims’ journeys.  Just to set the record straight I am not a hiker. To say I was clueless about hiking and backpacking would be an understatement. So based upon my limited knowledge base my research began.

Based upon my studies, blisters appeared to be the most problematic issue.   Advice from my sources was to break-in my hiking boots for about 6 months, which I did.  Thus, no blisters.  In addition, staying dry was another issue. I had to remember that my walk in any rain would be more than a few minutes until I reached a near by building. No, I would be walking hours in the rain with no chance of a “near by” building. Therefore, it was paramount that I selected the lightest and the most rain repellant jacket and pants. By the way rain resistant and rain repellant are not the same protection. Another much discussed topic was to poncho or not to poncho. My testing determined rain jacket and rain pants (Geotech) And you will notice I stated “lightest” weight.

What you carry in your backpack is measured by need (not want or would be nice) and weight in ounces.

I trained near my home which is similar terrain found on the Camino.  I started out walking a mile on a local bike path.   Then I upped the ante to two miles in a week, which quickly became four miles.  No problem.  Surprisingly within two months I was walking at least 7 miles a day during the week day and 10 to 15 miles on the weekend.  In another month I was carrying my backpack.

The beauty of walking is the slowing down of the world around you.   You are not quickly going anywhere at 2 to 2.5 miles an hour.   I remember early in my training how excited I was to get the walking done each day. 

Everyday of training for the Camino made me more and more excited to get to the Camino.  Then it dawned on me, training and preparing for the Camino is the beginning of the journey .  I was wishing away the current moment to another place.   That understanding changed the context of my training by opening my mind to explore my “here and now” moments during training. For example, I found little things became very important to enjoy, like on a continuous walk up a steep hill finding a brief flat area to stop and catch your breath before you move on. Or on a hot day, some shade from a tree with a momentary light breeze which cools your face.

Another purpose of training is to explore your reason for walking the Camino.  In order to walk for more than a month requires you to mentally train to ask myself the simple yet profound questions and wait for the answers: What is my spiritual purpose? What do I really believe?

In a moment of clarity, I realized I have always had these unanswered questions, about purpose, finding out what is really important in my life, my beliefs and my faith. Then it became clear to me, I have been walking the Camino all my life.  I just was unaware of the name of my journey. I think I am finally ready to explore and listen.

My “Camino” journey started upon the death of my husband at the age of 86 (22 years my senior). He was a 21 year heart transplant survivor who finally passed from renal failure after a year on peritoneal dialysis.   He lived a quiet yet heroic life with his catastrophic illness.  Never complaining about his illness or letting it impede him from living a life in a state of “grace”.  Our connection to each other during our almost 30 years of marriage was deep and intertwined, an organic unit.

His death ripped me from my life’s journey leaving me in agony as to what is or was my “purpose”.  Lost in grief I read Pema Chodron’s book, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times. A passage from her book, caught my attention   regarding deep pain.  The advice was to “not focus on the pain, but on the lesson”. This statement reached out to me in the darkness.   I literally cried out in desperation….. “What is the lesson, what am I to learn?”  A profound lack of understanding enveloped me.   I had no idea who I really was or why I was here.   My faith shaken to the core.  Questions, swirled around me,  “is there anything after death?  Will I see my loved one again?  Is the life we live the sum and total of being and that is it?”  I was not at peace with the fact, that someone I loved beyond belief was here and now forever gone.  He only exists now because I and the family have a memory of him.”    I anguished over the fact to “let go of the pain” did I have to let go of my love for my husband.  “    I remember reading somewhere that our suffering is created by longing for things to be different than they actually are.   I wanted the pain to stop; the suffering to end.

How to stop the cycle of suffering? I needed to sit with it.  How is that done?   Out of the questions came: I need to be with this pain, the lack of knowing, and to stare at the questions.  Running away is over.  The answer came to me, ” I need to walk the Camino.”  I had read that this lengthy walking journey was a ritual to spiritual understanding which tested your body, mind and soul.

I questioned myself about this decision.   “Are you crazy?  You are 64 years old. You are too old to walk that far.  You are not fit.  You are overweight.”  I stoically informed myself, “You are not going to be any younger.  You have to try.”  A sense of peace and acceptance fell over me.  It was not something to do; it was “a calling”.  A “calling” cannot be ignored. It is just done without further question.

Without looking at a map or having a clear understanding the actual terrain of the walk, I announced to the family, “I am walking the Camino in honor of my husband” at his Celebration of Life gathering.  Dumb founded they looked at me as I explained the venture.  I am sure after I made my proclamation some of the family and friends just shook their heads in disbelief and concern about my mental state.

*****the training begins