Across Navara, through Pamplona

For the sake of time, just a few highlights from the last week:

-trekking past fields of golden wheat, ripe for the harvest, with the Pyranees (which I crossed!) in the distance

-getting my first good night of sleep, after 3 sleepness nights, thanks to the snores

-enjoying Pamplona on a Saturday night. (It is an experience!) Everyone out in the streets, drinking vino and eating tapas, dancing and talking. A marching band came down the street, followed by a crowd of children and slightly borracho men.

-An entire day of hiking sola. It has been amazing to meet people from Germany, Belgium, Holland, Spain, Mexico, Italy, France, etc. and I try to walk with someone different nearly every day in order to have conversations with people of different cultures and perspectives. But, to have a day ALONE on the Camino is amazing. I walked along, picking wildflowers and singing Bob Dylan out loud. Came upon a stream and stopped for a swim. Sat by the bank of the river in the afternoon and sketched what I saw. Laughed out loud for joy. And arrived, exhausted, at my albergue.

-Passing past vineyards, through forests and over fields to enter a small village. As I walk, it feels as though I am lost in both time and space. I could be in the wine country of France or in a Tuscan valley. Upon seeing the stone walls of a medeival town and the terra cotta roofs of buildings, I could be centuries past.

-eating paella and drinking ample Spanish wine

-shedding extra clothing, books and things from my backpack like a lizard sheds skin. It is incredibly freeing to be "homeless" in this way, to be able to carry all of my belongings on my back.

-standing on a ridge, flanked by giant windmills and looking down on tiny villages, cars and homes

-Connections with people, despite cultural and language differences. I have had conversations about everthing from David Bowie to religion to punk rock music to cooking spices to weird dreams to relationships to family with amazing people. You have alot of time while on the Camino. I am struck by the fact that we are all the same, despite our differences.

A little bit of pilgram history

Ive learned a lot about the history of El Camino in the last few days, while walking.

Firstly, El Camino during the Medieval times was a Catholic pilgramage often for penance, made by people to had committed a crime or a great sin. Leaving their homes, people made their way towards Santiago de Compostela, walking many miles across Europe and often dying along the way. I imagine that many sick or elderly people were walking to get healing in Santiago, but could not cross the mountains or the desertous meseta. So, vultures followed the pilgrams, circle to pick the carrion from those that fell by the wayside. Upon arriving in Santiago, pilgrams received their official pardon from the Catholic church and a certificate saying that their sins had been forgiven. From there, pilgrams walked to Finesterre ("the end of the world"), to the Atlantic Ocean, to burn their clothes and wash in the sea. Can you imagine arriving at the very edge of the world, as it was known in Medieval time, to see the setting sun on the ocean? Also, pilgrams took from the ocean a scallop shell to bring home, as proof of their journey and a sign of their forgiveness. When pilgrams were received back, the scallop shell was proof that they could be reconciled and brought into the life of the community.

The scallop shell is a beautiful symbol of the Camino. Along with yellow markers, scallop shells painted on buildings are signals that you are correctly following the trail. Also, all of the different lines along the edge of the shell that lead to the middle is symbolic of the many paths that join El Camino. I like this idea that people come from many different places, many walks of life, many motivations and walk along the same path in the end.

I was taught the ancient song about El Camino by a french woman and man named Isabel and Allen one day as I took a break to drink cafe au lait. The chorus is in Latin and says "ultreia," meaning "walk on, keep walking," an encouragement to finish the trail. There is imagery of Santiago (Saint James) standing by the ocean, arms stretched out, calling to the pilgrams. Some of the words tell of following the stars and walking through the trials along the path. It is beautiful! I think that if you google it, you could find a link.

Crossing the Pyranees

A very short one, since my internet might run out at any minute....

I´m on the trail--today was day two. Yesterday was KILLER. Straight up and down the mountains. I unloaded about half of my pack at the first refugio--anything not totally necessary (the definition of which is changing often for me. "Do I really need this second pair of pants?") When you are walking all day, carrying everything on your back like a mule, any extra kilogram matters. The Pyranees are beautiful...lots of vistas of rolling hills, misty mountain peaks, sheep grazing, through the pine forests. At every turn I felt like I was in a painting. So far I have met amazing people--a Mexican dad and son walking together, a German priest-to-be walking from Germany fully clothed in the garb of a Templar Knight, an Argentinian woman. Today I walked with two hilarious Italian friends. It was like a language triangle--they spoke Italian to teach other, one could speak English with me and the other Spanish with me. El Camino is such an amazing multicultural experience....

Now I am in the town of Zubrini (?). There is a medieval stone bridge that crosses a small river.Spend time time skipping rocks and splashing in the water, to cool our tired feet, on arrival. I am thinking about spending the afternoon with a siesta in the shade on the banks. Then, some tapas perhaps and a bottle of vino. (I think that a little wine is good for the muscles :).

La fete du anniversaire et la mer

The french know how to party! Even the best American bash really cannot compare.... I went to the birthday party of 70 year old Marcel (Dominiques father). There were about 100 French cousins, aunts, uncles, neices, nephews, friends, random foreigners (just me, actually :). I was explained who was related to who, but it was quite confusing (in French) and I would be lost if asked to make a family tree. Lots of kids running around, people smoking, talking Cup du Monde futbol, joking and laughing. At one point in the day, a whole group of men gathered to play les boulles (bocci ball), to jokingly argue over whose ball is closest to the target and to drink beer. The party lasted from 12 noon (aperativ and snacks) until way past 1 am when we left (by that point everyone had moved on to dancing, karioke, wine and drinking songs). There was a series of courses--breads, salads, meats, dessert, cheese and eventually back to the beginning again. As le americain, I participated mainly by lots of broken french and hand signals, as wrll as dutifully drinking whatever alcohol was put in front of me "por un souveneir." As soon as one cup was drained, I would miraculously find a full cup in my hand, placed there by an elderly frenchman with a twinkle in his eye. To finish off the night I was given a 20 year old cognc, illegal in France because it is so strong and hidden in the bottle of a tamer drink. Everyone was super kind to me and I had an interesting "conversation" with some of the younger, university crowd who lamented the stereotypes of the French--baguette, biciclette and beret. I argued that the American sterotype might be worse--loud, fat and imperialist. We laughed at that.

On Sunday, we took a drive along the Breton shoreline. So beautiful! Craggy rocks, rugged beaches, a blue sky. We parked by the side of the road and explored among the tidal pools, climbing rocks and trying to catch crabs, barnacles, shrimp, fish and clams. Frederique and Dom taught me some of the french names and we all jumped and hollared when a big crab lept out from under a rock. Then, to the town of le Croisic for crepes and to enjoy a local festival, with folk dancing, folkloric costumes and music. Believe it or not Brittany is very heavily influenced by Gaelic culture, so there were bagpipes and flutes typical of the region. We drove past the salt marshes of Gueronde. When the tide comes in, it brings briny water into shallow pools. The sun makes the water evaporate, leaving course sea salt behind, which is swept up and sold. I plan to bring some along in my pack, along with the blue-white striped Breton sailor shirt that I bought.

en Brreton (Brittany)

Made it to Trinac, the town where my mother and father spent time when my dad played bball. Arrived at the house of Cecile, Dominique, Frederique (7) and Marc (3) last night. They have been so sweet to me and made delicious Breton mussels (mos) from their region for dinner last night. The children are so cute and we managed to play Ce est? (Guess Who?) last night with translating help from Cecile and lots of hand signals.

Today I went to school with Cecile (she teaches English to Jr. High students) to speak with her classes. I felt like a movie star! They asked me a million questions and wanted to talk all about George Clooney, Twilight and futbol du WorldCup. I talked to ~7 English classes and my brain is fried right now from being guest speaker for the day. They gave me a standing ovation when I was done! I also felt like an American bum in my shorts and hiking shoes. Even teenagers in France are tre chic; I dont think that the awkward period exists in such a fashionable country. Spanish served me well today, as I was able to communicate with the Spanish teachers at the school. It makes me anxious to go to Espana where I will no longer be le verbal enfant. Not being able to speak a language that you are surrounded by is like being lost in an ocean of noise, but alone and silent. This experience is showing me the importance of learning a foreign language; I feel quite bad coming to a country and being totally incapable of communication and reliant on others to speak English or be willing to use hand language.

Paris, je taime....not really :)

I stepped off the plane at Charles DeGaulle airport this morning shaking in my hiking boots. The reality of being in a foreign country where you dont speak the language has finally sunk in, I think. I've gotten many disgruntled looks from Parisians who are not happy with my methods of pointing at things and speaking "fr-anglish."

But, all in all, a successful day.

So far Ive managed to maneuver the Paris subway system with relative ease (thank you, Chicago, for the practice) and spent some time on the Left Bank. Lots of tiny winding streets, fountains, braissaires (sandwich shops) and street vendors. I strolled along the Seine and sipped some cafe con leche at a cafe, desperately trying to keep the exhaustion away (it's been 36 hours without sleep so far). Paris really is the most romantic city in the world. Or maybe we have just shaped our idea of romance around this iconic city? Either way, it was lonely to look across the river at the cathedral of Notre Dame and watch couples strolling hand in hand.

Now I am in Montremarte, the famous home of the Moulin Rouge. Right now there is a jazzy band (tuba, sax, bango) playing in the plaza and it is nice to walk past shops selling cheerful flowers, fresh fruit or dried sausages. I will sleep tonight in the abbey of the Catedral de Sacre-Coure de Montremarte. I am expected to stay up for an hour to pray with the sisters (they only let pilgrams stay in their monastary and you have to "prove it"). Considering my jet lag, this sounds like an impossibility. I think that I will pray that I can stay awake. :)

a little Dylan for the road....

I'll let the poets say it best:


Oh I'm sailin' away my own true love
I'm sailin' away in the morning
Is there something I can send you from across the sea
From the place that I'll be landing ?

No, there's nothin' you can send me, my own true love
There's nothin' I wish to be ownin'
Just carry yourself back to me unspoiled
From across that lonesome ocean.

Oh, but I just thought you might want something fine
Made of silver or of golden
Either from the mountains of Madrid
Or from the coast of Barcelona ?

Take heed, take heed of the Western wind
Take heed of the stormy weather
And, yes, there is something you can send back to me
Spanish boots of Spanish leather.....

Adios and au revoir

Hi all,

Well, I am heading off in a few hours, as some of you may know, to take a trek around Europe. And, to best help with keeping in touch over the next 6 weeks, I thought I would start a blog that you can check as you like. There may also be a mass email or two to keep you up to date. I do apologize if you would rather not be on this list and i included you.....i guess you can just ignore my blog. :)

My plan is to fly to Paris today (June 15), arrive tomorrow and spend the jet-lagged day in a coffee shop before I stay at Basilique de Sacre-Coeur de Montmartre that night.

Then, up to Brittany, to St. Nazaire, I go to visit dear friends, Cecile and Dominique and their two darling children Frederique (7) and Marc (4). They have big plans for me, which include a trip to the salt flats, the birthday party of a 70 year old Frenchman and a visit to a french middle school to be the "guest speaker." I arrive loaded with Disney paraphanelia (per request) and several other typically American items as gifts.

From, there I begin the true journey by hiking El Camino de Santiago (check it out: http://www.caminodesantiago.me.uk/) , an ancient pilgramage route that begins in St. Jean de Pied (in Southwestern France), which crosses the Pyranees Mountains, the Basque country, the dry, arid meseta, wine country and into lush Galicia. I plan to take the train all the way to the Atlantic Ocean so that I can stick my feet in, look across the sea and think of home. This trek takes about a month and I will be staying in refugios (hostels) with hoardes of other pilgrims, carrying my gear on my back and eating at bars/from cans of tuna along the way. I do plan to do some thinking, reflecting, adventuring and relaxing; to have my own retreat away from life and to meet some awesome people.

At the end of the trip, I finish in Santiago de Compostela where I hope to receive my official certificate of pilgramage (thank you, Pope), burn a dirty sock to celebrate, buy a scallop shell (the symbol of El Camino) and hop in the fountain there. Then, I make my way back to Paris (though Madrid? Barcelona? Taize Community?) to catch a flight home on July 27.

As always, I welcome your thoughts/emails during this time, but can make no promises about how much email access I will have. Love to you all.

Au revoir,

Lindsay