F
Former member 49149
Guest
Summer 2019.
A few days in Pamplona, a week in Zabaldika, some days walking from Puente la Reina to Estella, a few days in Soria, and then: Santiago and on to Ferrol, and back to Santiago via Camino Ingles , and after that to Ribeira Sacra, circling around (by car) the names of places I have seen that are on the Invierno, and the Playa de las Catedrales on the North Coast, and back (home) to Pamplona... and finally, back home to Dublin.
Zabaldika: a week of welcoming pilgrims, being available at the church, and at the evening prayer. As ever a joy to greet those who wanted such. A wide berth for those who strode across the grass, apparently seeing nothing, hearing nothing, leaving them to their journey. Always, always, time to be aware of the deep impression of so many feet, so many hearts, so many prayers, so many songs, the hungry heart...
Camino Frances: warm, walking from Puente la Reina. Too warm. Casa Magica, indeed it was. Stopped for two nights in Estella, helped out in parochial albergue as Janet had to go early to help at home.
Sta Maria de Huerta, Soria. Dry, hot. in the shadow of a railway line, and of a Cistercian Monastery. Who and how and why? Not today, it would not be built today.
Santiago: Ah! Santiago! the end, the beginning, the springboard. Mixed memories.
The first time: an esoteric Albergue, such excitement, I walked all the way. Me! Imagine.
The second time, a luxurious albergue (El Ultimo Sello), a kitchen big enough to cook in, and invite pilgrims with whom we had walked to share a meal....
Previous camino, Leon to Oviedo, no Santiago then.
This time, opening and closing the Camino, Santiago.
So, what’s it all about?
I could list the stages, where we stayed, what was hard, what was magic.
You are right: I am not going to do that. You can find all that information online very easily.
As I walked along, I asked myself: why are you doing this, Sandra? why are you getting up and slinging on your (little) backpack, and heading out to cover kilometres of walking, day after day?
This time, yes, my little backpack was a blessing. First time to send on my real rucksack. That made it possible for me to walk without complaining, without visible damage to my damaged knee. Also, my companion took advantage to lighten her load. It meant we had to use accommodation from a list approved for collection of rucksacks/luggage by Correos.
(By the way, did I tell you about Angela? My new rucksack is called Angela, in memory of a dear friend who died suddenly just before I left to go to Spain. My Compostela is dedicated in Vicarie pro in her name. For her family.)
What difference did it make to pre-book? It meant I could leave in the morning without a care in the world about two things: being assured of a bed, and of a bed on the flat, not an upper bunk. Sometimes we were in private rooms with ensuite bathroom, sometimes we were in shared dormitories with shared bathrooms. Sometimes, we felt the care and concern of the owners for pilgrims, sometimes that was not so evident. Every day we met pilgrims and had more or less contact with them. Over the six days, we kept on meeting the same pilgrims, striking up conversations, or not. One particularly wet day, we met a couple who had left at 5.30am, to assure themselves of a bed in an albergue. They didn’t make it, so had to come to the hostal where we were lodged.
The infrastructure on the Ingles is at an in between point: the pilgrim numbers are swelling, but the possibility of albergues as on the Frances, that will take a good while to be put in place.
As usual, I imagine the behind the scenes includes balancing the current economy of hotels, hostals, and private albergues, and the needs of pilgrims who will increasingly be looking to be fed before 9pm… that was something that we did find awkward.
So, back to the question: why? (you can fill in your own answer)
We took three words, given by @JJinWI: gratitude, will-power, rejuvenation.
Each day there was fluidity, movement back and forward among the three words, as the demands of the terrain, or of interior processes called for awareness of the moment we were in.
The rejuvenation matched another word from a previous experience of reflection and discovery: re-soulation. I am still not sure if the person who wrote that word made a little spelling mistake, as it could have been resolution…. But re-soul-ation fitted just as well!
We also had three questions at the end:
What did you need from the Camino?
What did you bring to the Camino?
What will you keep/take away from the Camino?
A couple of small changes in my life as a pilgrim: I will no longer wear liner socks, and I will use sheep’s wool as my buffer to avoid hot spots.
I have never hugged any statue, so that was not on my list of things to do.
There was a visit to the Portico, reminding me indeed of arriving in 2006… and then a wonderful celebration of mass in San Agustin parish, followed by some energetic conversation with a number of people over lunch…
Later that same day… off to begin a two day whirlwind tour of the Ribeira Sacra. Untold ermitas, impossibly steep and narrow roads, paths… and again: why? how? How did those intrepid or mad souls manage to construct the basilicas of their deepest longings? It would not be done today… but it is a testament to the enduring search, the hungry heart, that is visible, even faintly, in the never ending stream of people seeking out these places that speak so eloquently of things beyond telling.
For now, that is my accounting of my summer, with Camino Ingles, 2019. A gift, a blessing. Many more things happened but this is enough. Buen camino, folks.
A few days in Pamplona, a week in Zabaldika, some days walking from Puente la Reina to Estella, a few days in Soria, and then: Santiago and on to Ferrol, and back to Santiago via Camino Ingles , and after that to Ribeira Sacra, circling around (by car) the names of places I have seen that are on the Invierno, and the Playa de las Catedrales on the North Coast, and back (home) to Pamplona... and finally, back home to Dublin.
Zabaldika: a week of welcoming pilgrims, being available at the church, and at the evening prayer. As ever a joy to greet those who wanted such. A wide berth for those who strode across the grass, apparently seeing nothing, hearing nothing, leaving them to their journey. Always, always, time to be aware of the deep impression of so many feet, so many hearts, so many prayers, so many songs, the hungry heart...
Camino Frances: warm, walking from Puente la Reina. Too warm. Casa Magica, indeed it was. Stopped for two nights in Estella, helped out in parochial albergue as Janet had to go early to help at home.
Sta Maria de Huerta, Soria. Dry, hot. in the shadow of a railway line, and of a Cistercian Monastery. Who and how and why? Not today, it would not be built today.
Santiago: Ah! Santiago! the end, the beginning, the springboard. Mixed memories.
The first time: an esoteric Albergue, such excitement, I walked all the way. Me! Imagine.
The second time, a luxurious albergue (El Ultimo Sello), a kitchen big enough to cook in, and invite pilgrims with whom we had walked to share a meal....
Previous camino, Leon to Oviedo, no Santiago then.
This time, opening and closing the Camino, Santiago.
So, what’s it all about?
I could list the stages, where we stayed, what was hard, what was magic.
You are right: I am not going to do that. You can find all that information online very easily.
As I walked along, I asked myself: why are you doing this, Sandra? why are you getting up and slinging on your (little) backpack, and heading out to cover kilometres of walking, day after day?
This time, yes, my little backpack was a blessing. First time to send on my real rucksack. That made it possible for me to walk without complaining, without visible damage to my damaged knee. Also, my companion took advantage to lighten her load. It meant we had to use accommodation from a list approved for collection of rucksacks/luggage by Correos.
(By the way, did I tell you about Angela? My new rucksack is called Angela, in memory of a dear friend who died suddenly just before I left to go to Spain. My Compostela is dedicated in Vicarie pro in her name. For her family.)
What difference did it make to pre-book? It meant I could leave in the morning without a care in the world about two things: being assured of a bed, and of a bed on the flat, not an upper bunk. Sometimes we were in private rooms with ensuite bathroom, sometimes we were in shared dormitories with shared bathrooms. Sometimes, we felt the care and concern of the owners for pilgrims, sometimes that was not so evident. Every day we met pilgrims and had more or less contact with them. Over the six days, we kept on meeting the same pilgrims, striking up conversations, or not. One particularly wet day, we met a couple who had left at 5.30am, to assure themselves of a bed in an albergue. They didn’t make it, so had to come to the hostal where we were lodged.
The infrastructure on the Ingles is at an in between point: the pilgrim numbers are swelling, but the possibility of albergues as on the Frances, that will take a good while to be put in place.
As usual, I imagine the behind the scenes includes balancing the current economy of hotels, hostals, and private albergues, and the needs of pilgrims who will increasingly be looking to be fed before 9pm… that was something that we did find awkward.
So, back to the question: why? (you can fill in your own answer)
We took three words, given by @JJinWI: gratitude, will-power, rejuvenation.
Each day there was fluidity, movement back and forward among the three words, as the demands of the terrain, or of interior processes called for awareness of the moment we were in.
The rejuvenation matched another word from a previous experience of reflection and discovery: re-soulation. I am still not sure if the person who wrote that word made a little spelling mistake, as it could have been resolution…. But re-soul-ation fitted just as well!
We also had three questions at the end:What did you need from the Camino?
What did you bring to the Camino?
What will you keep/take away from the Camino?
A couple of small changes in my life as a pilgrim: I will no longer wear liner socks, and I will use sheep’s wool as my buffer to avoid hot spots.
I have never hugged any statue, so that was not on my list of things to do.
There was a visit to the Portico, reminding me indeed of arriving in 2006… and then a wonderful celebration of mass in San Agustin parish, followed by some energetic conversation with a number of people over lunch…
Later that same day… off to begin a two day whirlwind tour of the Ribeira Sacra. Untold ermitas, impossibly steep and narrow roads, paths… and again: why? how? How did those intrepid or mad souls manage to construct the basilicas of their deepest longings? It would not be done today… but it is a testament to the enduring search, the hungry heart, that is visible, even faintly, in the never ending stream of people seeking out these places that speak so eloquently of things beyond telling.
For now, that is my accounting of my summer, with Camino Ingles, 2019. A gift, a blessing. Many more things happened but this is enough. Buen camino, folks.
Maybe it'll be his turn to stay home with the dogs so I can walk...
