Pause

Day Eight: May 2, 2009

I keep smelling myself thinking it's me, but then I realize it's the whole room that is one big tank of BO. I am using the remnants of the menthol rub on my hand as individuals in the Victorian era might have used bags of potpourri to extract a more delightful scent. I feel fortunate to have a place to sleep tonight. We are sleeping on the floor of a church in Logrono and the stone of the floor cradles my tired body. Yesterday's rest has been rewarded with sunshine- the first day without moisture in the air since we began. I acknowledge that at least some of the creakiness in the beginning is due to the cold dampness and my inability to warm up my chilly hips. We were going to "take it easy" today, and instead ended up hiking another eighteen miles. I wanted to stop at 12 miles in the town of Viana. Alas, the pace with which I want to downshift and Daur's expectations of the trip don't seem to align. Pilgrim's mass tonight afforded me a great opportunity to think. The Spanish mass churned in the background as I lost myself to my own thoughts. Because I can't stand and sit repeatedly, I sat for the mass. For whatever reason I have been to Catholic mass enough times to know when to sit and when to stand, but tonight, I figured if there is a god, she would understand. I was challenged in church by the thought- maybe we will do the whole Camino and the whole thing will hurt and the struggle is what I am supposed to learn; to be uncomfortable and to have to ask for help and to rely on others for help to make it. Or, perhaps this journey is to teach me that it is okay to stop, to acknowledge that it's too physically demanding, that I am uncomfortable and that the physicality of it exceeds my scope, that although there are moments that tantalize me with beauty, intrigue and intellectual and cultural stimulation, perhaps the approach needs to shift if being a pilgrim is possible. 

 

Day Nine: May 3, 2009

Logrono to Navarette

I didn't sleep well in the BO tank. The floor being secondary to the aura of suffocation. I got up early, having no will left to fight off the early rustlers. By 5:45 I packed up. Poured water for Daur and I. Stuffed the sleeping bag into the undersized hole, and crept out of the tank to Vaseline my feet before putting on my socks and shoes in the hall. Thinking it was the light switch, I think I also woke up a whole room of monks by accidentally hitting the doorbell. Somehow, after I said I couldn't continue in the way that we had approached the Camino and offered alternatives like driving ahead to a flat section to walk for the week out of the mountains, taking several days of rest in a row, hiking less of a distance each day, etc. we hiked another five miles. The details of the morning aren't pretty. And to my horror and disappointment, very different philosophy's for the remainder of the trip were exposed. I envisioned a Camino with periodic stops to journal, great conversation with strangers that make the miles float away. Sharing cheese and the cheese knife with new people, and getting so comfortable walking that I could wander in my dreams. An opportunity to enjoy the freshness of the outdoors and the uniqueness of the experience. Instead, I thought a lot about where my next step would land and minimizing pain without slowing down. I felt pressure to keep pace and maintain mileage, as it aligned with a prescribed path designated by the guidebook. We walked all the way to Navarette. Finally, we had a real conversation. Homesickness had intensified Daur's focus on tangibles like distance and time. For me, pain created disillusion. She wanted to do the whole thing or not at all, but really, she wanted to go home. I doubted my ability to sustain at her pace with the level of pain I endured. With one step into a taxi the subculture of the Camino vaporized. 

 

On the train to Madrid I was saddened by the immeasurable increase in speed. The poppies I walked by with individual seedpods were transformed into a blur of color. The birds, once defined in black and white with individual feathers, were now a rush of shadow. 

 

May 4, 2009

Two weeks after we left the states, we were again on a flight, this time, much to my disappointment, back to New York. And it was a good thing we were there. We made friends with a three-year-old boy Jayden and his mom, Doris. They sat in our row a couple seats over, and Jayden really wanted the window seat- which I felt some guilt for occupying. Once we were definitively over the Atlantic, Doris tried to die. Her body slumped down in her seat and her eyes rolled back as her head tilted backwards and her neck curved forward. Daur said, "that's not good," just as I also looked over. Eternity passed as we tried to get tray tables out of the way and coffee settled on the ground and seat belts and headphones off and up and out of our seats. Daur rubbed her knuckles on Doris' sternum and couldn't find much of a pulse. In an awkward transfer where Daur ended up with more of the weight, we moved Doris onto the floor.  I hit the call button and although many flight attendants seemed to swarm, none of them really did anything. I have never seen somebody resuscitated. I have never been expected to participate in the resuscitation of a thirty four year old mother with her three year old sleeping in the seat next to her. I did what I was told, and handed what was asked for. Nothing in her bag indicated she had a medical history. A physician on the flight, also a passenger, came forward. The ambu bag was out and in use. The IV and the increase in blood sugar seemed to be just the ticket. I am purely amazed that Doris survived. It was a close call. It took thirty minutes to revive her. There were a lot of forms. Daur, the physician and the flight attendants worked on paperwork. Doris began to cry. I got her some tissue, and sat with her son. He said, "momma was lying on the floor", so he must have been more awake than I thought. This experience, albeit personally terrifying, presented Daur in a different light. It showed me why Daur is a good nurse, why she is so task oriented, why that efficient side of her personality doesn't bode well with the kind of trip we had in store or deviating from what we had planned. 

 

May 5, 2009

Flabbergasting. The cars and the people. The useless bustle. The total separation from the earth and the weather. It’s so strange to be back in my house and such a strong impulse to leave as soon as possible. 

 

The doctor tells me I need to see an orthopedic surgeon. I said not so fast. It's surmised that I have potentially stress fractured my tibia in addition to tearing the lateral ligaments (or maybe my meniscus) of my right knee. Yep, that sounds like damaged ligamentos to me. I think it's from the mud, day two, and then potentially compounded by the fact that I hiked another 100 miles. 

 

May 6, 2009

One hundred and ten miles into the journey, I am taking a pause. I would like to return to the path and the way of life when I have the opportunity. For now, I had x-rays done yesterday, and I see the orthopedist on Friday. For a number of reasons, we did not complete el Camino de Santiago in a clean sweep, one shot wonder kind of a way. I did learn that there are many ways to wander the way. For a number of reasons, although it sucks to be home, I am glad that we stopped when we did.

 

I am tempted to drive across the country or do something to get the hell out of town! Depending on the timing of medical things, I would guess you could anticipate some blogged adventures in the future.

 

I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Yukon hills

And on the seventh day, rest. Tranquilo. Hydration. Soaking in a pristine bathtub somewhere in rural Spain- Los Arcos, to be more specific. Albergue collective living is one thing, a stop in a hotel is entirely another. Yesterday, hopefully the low point of the physical journey, my right knee pain graduated from continuous ache to impressive, poignant stabs with every pulse. There were still 7 K to get to another town, as we had already travelled 13K with just the regular pain. So, I took a rest, cried a bit, it happens, and took time to refocus. Daur went ahead with great speed to try and book a room with a bathtub before the other pilgrims entered town. (There is a certain point in the day where the local availability of more common stops runs out, and one finds it necessary to keep walking to the next town. As that was not possible in this instance, she went ahead to try and secure a place to sleep.) Shay the Canadian joked that my ¨Italian Knight¨ should be by any minute on his bike. In a way that only the Camino has produced in my life, he soon came up over the horizon. The Italian, who happens to be quite beautiful and full of shit- i.e. lines like mi amore, your eyes are of the sea- had shared dinner with us the night before. He is a fun and flirtatious man who is doing el Camino on his bike, and therefore travelling twice the distance each day. He lended me his ipod to help distract me on what was shaping up to be a very uncomfortable walk to town. Another visitor to where I plopped down on the path was a spanish speaking doctor. A medium aged woman who spoke very quickly. She asked permission to ascertain my knee... not unlike Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility... and soon was talking about ligamentos... I didn´t gather much from her description, but I do know I have damaged a ligament in my knee, and that I need to rest. This actually makes me feel great, because I thought my joints were just going crazy but it´s actually a real injury, which is funny to understand, perhaps unless you live in chronic pain. She asked if I wanted a car. As it were, the four miles seemed close enough, so my wonderful and brand new Canadian friends divided the content of my pack, and somehow I got to walking. El Camino has afforded some strangely mystical experiences in this way. Perhaps it was the warmth and support of those around me, but we managed to get me distracted looking at flowers and teaching Shay about the violin, and together we transcended much of the pain and walked the full distance to Los Arcos. After a wonderful departure from hostel life, I took a hot hot bath, soaked and floated as pieces of my feet skin seem to detach and float to the surface-euw, I know, but also kind of great. Daur and I had a filling tortellini dinner and found Ben and Jerry´s, so life is good. Nothing can beat 12 hours of sleep, and I am feeling much restored. The hope is that in taking good care of myself, taking today off entirely, and then doing shorter distances with less weight for a couple of days, the knee will heal. Every other part of my body feels much much better. To our credit, or perhaps stupidity, we have covered the Pyrenes and 90 miles of distance in six days. Ha ha hahahahaa. Yeah. A day of rest is huge.

Life in the Albergues is intriguing. The cacophany of snore sounds and variety of nakedness makes each place unique. Sleeping through the night is fairly unreliable, even with earplugs. One night I even ran into my Canadian friend Alli in the bathroom, as she was also totally awake from the bullfrogs tearing up the silence of our sleeping room. The cultural differences between levels of nudity-either intentional or not so intentional have been at times a bit shocking. One night, I was mid sentence with Daur when I man in his sixties just took his pants off. I was caught a little off guard but trying to be a grown up about it when Daur also caught sight of our freshly naked friend and started to laugh. We then both caught the glare of his wife, who, I´m sure thought we were totally immature, which made it that much more difficult to stop giggling. I also met a woman from Denmark- well, first I met her crack- she had quite a bit of ass clevage, if you will, and I was in the next bunk over. She ended up being very interesting, and she spoke very much like Meryl Streep´s character Karen Blixen in Out of Africa, which of course I found quite enchanting, even though I pretty much disagreed with much of what Iveen was saying. Needless to say, there are amazing people in the hostel setting, but it´s a tricky place to get restorative sleep. The night in a hotel is a welcomed departure.

I feel I have a better handle on the pace of el Camino, and that it is my own pace that matters most. Yes, mom, I am listening to my body- probably because it screamed so loudly yesterday. The pain has lulled to a mere dull ache today, and I am hopeful for no sharp pain. Happy Spain holiday today- I´m not sure what it is, but the post office is closed.

Love to all of you who are sending wonderful e'mails and good vibes through the universe. This pilgrim has had one hell of a learning curve.

I am a spritual being on a human journey...

Today we decided that you can be a person with joint disease and still do whatever you want in life, it just hurts like a bitch. After, well, let´s get real, the most excrusiating hip pain I have ever endured, and slogging with focused, tedious, step by step progress through a trough of thick cake like mud for nine hours, I thought to myself, I do have the will to do this. I sure didn´t anticipate my body rejecting the experience as it has, but I am pleased to say that yesterday was a turning point. I called home, I think to hear a familiar voice and to be assured that this whole thing is a little bit crazy, and I always have the choice for how much of a pilgrim I would like to be. I think the physical experience and how my body adapts will be a huge part of my pilgrimmage. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, culturally and cognitively I am being challenged and exposed to newness that I have never known before.

Let´s just start by saying I am very happy that I have invested in gortex and that I´m not doing this whole pilgrim thing in a terry clothe robe. Today was the first day of the journey without snow, hail or rain. Amazing the difference it makes to be dry for the day. After horses in the mist, paths degraded and washed out that resembled stream beds more than trail, mud, mud, mud like you wouldn´t believe, we have still managed quite well. Pamplona ruptured the myopic calm of el Camino with its traffic hums and bustle, brick buildings and speeding vehicles. Today, after a wonderful evening of tapas and a single beer that soothed my soul, we walked out of town. As subtly intrusive as the busy city had been over night, it´s rush soon dissipated, slowly fading into the peace of the trail. Birds squable audibly, and green lines trace the valley as we slowly and methodically push up the climb ahead. We are about a mile out of Puente de la Reina, and around four hundred and forty something miles to Santiago. Having met the day this morning with fresh legs, much less pain, and a sense of hope. I feel the road to Santiago is really not too far away.

On the lighter side of el Camino, I have loads of time to think. The sunshine accelorates this process as there is less focus necessary to maintain solid footing. I was thinking today there are many similarities between a worn pilgrim and a person who is intoxicated. For instance, getting drunk on pilgrim magic leads to an unsteady gait and a lack of balance, a feeling of euphoria, the ability to giggle uncontrollably over seemingly small occurances that aren´t that funny, slurred speech and occassional profanity, intense hunger, and a desire to drink beer. Oh, as the welts and swelling dissipate and the path continues to wind away, I wonder what other elaborate and profound thoughts I will conjur. More on hostel life, naked German men, and furry bellies to come. I am off to meet friends for a dinner of unidentified delicacies.

Holy Cheese!

Holy Cheese! If ever there was a religious experience along a pilgrimage, I´d have to say I practically levitated last night. Introduced to two new besties from Canada (Alli and Shay) and my new favorite cheese- this whole pilgrim thing is an amazing way of life. We went out for dinner and a beer and Brebis- a delicate cheese that can be out of the fridge and is perfect for the pack, with a consistency slightly more moist than parmessan, is so delicious I wanted to buy a block, and my new Canadian friend was a step ahead of me and bought one for me. MMMMmmmmmm. Cheese!

Yesterday, Daur and I traveled south on the train from Paris to our starting point at st. jean pied de port. Well, first we got on the wrong train, but luckily- and kind of in a sneaky way- it was attached to the train that we wanted which would take us to Bayonne to connect. After realizing our error we walked the interior length of the train looking for la voiture 20. Alas, we could not get there from where we were in the train that we were in- but we found out that it was connected. After my new favorite game, charades, I discovered the train we were on and the train we wanted to be on that was connected would soon split. At the next, and only stop before the split Daur and I got out with our packs on, ran the full length of the train, and hopped back on to the other end, the train we wanted, as it was rolling out. It was pretty sweet, actually. Well, much more sweet once we had pulled it off. Once on the right train we travelled through Bordeaux-
beautiful mustard fields highlighted the hills in yellow. We switched to a single car train that was full of people of all ages and an inventory of recreational outdoor gear. Daur asked if we were on the right train, which given our morning was a valid double check, but when i pointed out that the entire car was filled with folks in zip off pants, she concurred that we were indeed in the right place. It´s a land of zip off pants.

St. Jean Pied de port is a place that everybody should get to in life. It´s an artisan village situated on the side of the foothills to the Pyrenes. The Pyrenes are so majestic and yet loomed with a heavy presence knowing that today we would be climbing through them with great respect. Oi, the burning and wind whipping- i would say it wasn´t that bad, but it was pretty intense! There was sleet, snow, high winds, low temperatures, exposure, MUD and eight hours of climb. te he heee, this was a crazy day and I am so pleased that the only muscles i am using right now are in my fingers. Really, I have never done anything like what we accomplished today. 5000 feet of elevation gain and 16 miles is a doosey of a way to start 500 miles of walking. We were soaked through from the rain and snow when we arrived eight hours after our departure. We are sleeping in a former monastary, and when I walked in I commented to Daur, well, i´ve never done anything like
this before. There are lines of bunkbeds- think Madeline times ten, or maybe shawshank redemption without the jean shirts. There is room for 100 people to sleep in this huge open brick room, and we are at full capacity. It´s a little village of people who get dressed in techwick. As I sat and enjoyed sitting, and watched folks filter into the space, each went about his or her business of getting settled, laying out a sleeping bag, getting shower stuff together, de-mudding, etc. There was a lot of mud today. What´s amazing about walking is that I noticed how many different types of mud there are-red clay, dark and spongey, yellow and sticky, grey and slick. I like the pace of walking. There´s a commonality with everyone on a similar journey and in the same boat, that we all just help eachother out. We share food, drinks, random toiletries, it´s a delightful utopia- with the exception of the B. O. Lot´s of it!

I am so impressed with the people I have met. Just last night in a room with ten beds there were people from 8 different countries, and 6 different languages were being tossed around. What a fascinating collection of people with such a variety of purposes. I am off to sleep off today and dream of the cheeses to come! Basque country- if only for the local beer and cheese, is a must do for everyone.

j'adore Paris!

Blogging is new to me, and 22 minutes into this internet session i have deciphered not only a French based keyboard but also, quite a bit of French on the screen. It's hilarious that it took me so long to sign into my own blog and figure out how to add to it! What an incredible day! We are here, safely , and for that i am grateful. We seem to have a lot of luck finding the school groups as on our flight we were accompanied by oh, maybe seventy five high school students (who stood up to change seats as we were taking off, which made the pilot in me want to tackle them to the floor for their own safety- luckily the flight attendant -who only spoke English to these poor unsuspecting French lovebirds did the dirtywork for me). I didn't sleep on the plane. I am not sure why as I am usually a champion of sleep just about anywhere. Because I anticipated my ability to sleep, in a cavalier moment of stupidity, I refused to offer 5 euro for a headset. Six hours later after 166minutes of Australia- the silent movie, and and hour and a half into the Secret Life of Bees, surrounded by teenagers making out and Daur sleeping in every possible contortion, I found my decision to be quite funny. In short- the first twenty four hours of the trip went something like this: plane, customs, metro, walking, hotel with a really nice lady who made up for our lack of ability to speak her language with many caring gestures, a long walk via the jardin du plantes to Notre Dame, with a walk through the Louvre- that's right- some folks spend days, Daur was done in a mere fifteen minute walk through- down along the river to the Eiffel Tower. We walked all the way home from the Eiffel Tower to where we are staying near the Gare de Lyon. I think we probably walked at least 15 miles. Walking seems to be a theme this trip. My favorite person on public transportation yesterday is the man who was doing pull ups using the bar on the metro. I think the runner up is the man who carried his own Karaoke machine on the metro and sang along. He was amazing. He should be on American Idol, or maybe he should just have his own show- a real justin timberlake if you will. I don't know if i can do a paragraph without posting this- i'll try it now.

Hooray! We both slept for a solid 12 hours, and I feel much, much better- not quite so hung over! Today, I conquered the Paris metro- it was pretty exciting to actually get on the train we wanted each time. Daur is so trusting it makes me double check myself. The metro really sped up our travel time from walking pace, and we did a huge triangle of Paris. Sacre Coeur as breathtaking as ever, three hundred steps to the top. Oh, Anna B how I almost expexted to see Dominique! The calm of the interior juxtaposed with the boisterous street performers- and my next favorite public person- the man singing a mix of Let It Be- a Beatles classic merged without pause into "a kiss from a rose" the Batman classic. It was huge. We wound through montmartre and jumped the metro to Champs-elysees. As we sat in the park with the incredible tulips and ate a refreshing brownie based ice cream, a woman, who really represents all of Paris in a way, rode by on her bicyle. She was wearing a black miniskirt of say 5 inches in length, and stillettos of equal hight. Needless to say, to pull it off with grace was a thing of beauty and nothing short of a circus act. A few moments later, Daur was almost pummeled to death by a charge of speeding mo-ped-ists. This brings us to our first learning opportunity: cross the street against the little red man at your own risk. Accompanied by several school groups we walked back towards the Louvre. To add to the list of things I've learned in the last couple days- don't stand directly over a grate in the sidewalk, and inhale through your nose on the metro at rush hour at your own risk. Also, Paris is a great place to make out with people- I haven't done it myself, but there are people kissing and groping everywhere- perhaps because of my hightened awareness of singledom, or perhaps just because such a large ratio of the population here is so attractive, and therefore I can totally understand why so many folks have decided to kiss the days away, I am reminded of a song... I'm throwing my arms around, around Paris because, only steal and stone accept my love.

We are off to southern France tomorrow with climbing the Pyrenes on the radar for an all day Saturday excursion. I can only imagine the public transportation stars along the way.