There and Back Again

Three weeks ago, after our first restless night spent in creaky albergue bunk beds being serenaded by snoring/farting strangers, Caity and I rose before dawn, laced up our shoes and headed out into the misty morning to walk the first 23 km of our Camino, from Sarria to Portomarin.

A week later, we sat over early morning cafe con leche in a Santiago bar, exhausted to the point of nausea, nearly every bone and joint in our bodies advising us to give up... on the verge of acquiescing...

Yesterday, back home and in the midst of all the noise, fun and frenzy of a classic Cayucos 4th of July, Caity caught my eye and mouthed "I miss the Camino."

Me, too.



We walked 108 miles in ten days. The first 70 miles -- Sarria to Santiago de Compostela -- in 5 days. Then, in deference to our screaming feet and knees and hips, we slackened the pace, taking 5 more days to walk the 38 miles from Santiago to Finisterre.

We walked through dense forests, lush meadows and fields purpled with foxgloves and bordered by blazing yellow broom. We labored up then slipped and skittered down steep hills where the rocky path had weathered into deep ruts just inviting the turn of an ankle. We wandered past mile on mile of dry-stack walls laced with ivy and wildflowers, past ancient stone homes and farms and stilted horreos, through tiny little towns whose names we never caught as well as the fine, crowded, touristy city of Santiago. On the road to "The End of the Earth", eucalyptus forests gradually gave way to windmill-studded coastal hills ("hill" being a deceptively gentle word for some of the things we labored up and over), and finally down rocky ocean bluffs to the silky beaches at Cee and Fisterrae.



We met amazing people: fellow pilgrims, kind locals, and long-suffering farmers and dairy ranchers and other folks who obviously do not love yet graciously tolerate this parade of strangers through their lives with a distant, dignified "Buen Camino." And call "No, no - a dereche!" to help point you back on the right path when you've missed the waymark and lost your way.



This is us, going:

And this is us, coming back:

And that is the sum total of our Camino photos.

I can't say I completely honored my No-Tech promise to Caity. I had a very worried husband at home who constantly wanted to know that his wife and daughter were safe. I texted him daily -- usually just once. This irritated Caity (too much contact) and Ron (not nearly enough).... Oh, well, sometimes the best you can do is to equally disappoint everyone.

But aside from that -- no cameras, no email, no facebook, limited cellphones...pretty damn Acoustic for even a Luddite like me.

We spent the time walking...talking when we felt like it...lapsing into hours of comfortable silence spent deep in our own thoughts...squabbling when appropriate ("Just get away from me!")...singing in harmony...sharing bocadillo queso and oranges and "dos canas, por favor"...

This is how we recorded the journey:



We wrote in journals, and bought a sketch pad and charcoals before heading to Sarria. Along about day 3, when the excitement of being on the Camino had worn off a bit and I was feeling every single ounce I carried in my pack, I pointed out to Caity that a disposable camera would have been a hell of a lot easier to carry that a sketch pad and charcoals... But by that time, she'd sprouted a couple blisters and her knees were killing her, so I didn't belabor the point.

I won't give a step-by-step account of the journey (thank god, eh?). That kind of thing is always better over a glass of wine and a long evening...

But I will share some hard-earned Camino Wisdom:

Sometimes all you can do is accept the pain.

Music always helps.

Everything has weight, so chose your burdens wisely. Know why you carry what you carry. And remember, it's your choice -- so no bitching about how heavy it is if you won't let it go.

"Clean" is a relative concept -- as are "dry", "easy" and "not too far".

Regarding Waymarks, those Scallop Shells & Golden Arrows stitching the Way across Spain:

When you need it, a Waymark appears. Sometimes it's hidden and you must search for it; sometimes it requires interpretation.

If you are tired, or lax, or preoccupied, the Waymark can be easily missed -- then you are very lucky when someone points you back on the way. Return the favor.

Often, the Waymark points where you do not want to go. You need to trust that, no matter how difficult this part of the journey is, the Camino will lead you to your ultimate destination.




At the Pilgrim Office in Santiago, I received the Compostela (for walking at least 100 km for "religious and other reasons") and Caity received a "good on you, girl" certificate (for walking for "other reasons".) The young woman in charge of distribution appeared quite anxious to make Caity understand she couldn't receive the actual Compostela unless her motivation had been at least partly spiritual. But Cait held her own (proud and defiant Agnostic that she is...)



That's it for me, for now. Next time: "Two Caminos".

Buen Camino!

Woke up Tuesday morning, June 1, thinking: "Great! All graduations have been happily, successfully celebrated, Family here and gone. Now, just one week to concentrate on last-minute Camino prep, since everything's all set to go."



Within 24 hours, our flight had been cancelled due to the British Airways strike, and Caity had landed in and hobbled out of the emergency room with seven stitches to the right knee and the top and toes of her left foot badly banged, scraped & swollen. (Note: no more leaping in the dark between an unfamiliar jacuzzi and pool without first making sure there isn't a 2-foot concrete-edged drop in between...)



I'd already been fretting over ash clouds, a looming general strike in Spain, and multiple Forum reports that the Camino Frances is now so crowded that pilgrims are being turned away not only at albergues and refugios but private inns as well. Add the slip-sliding flight schedule and the Limping Girl, and I started to wonder...



Is Somebody trying to tell me something?



So...Hello, 3 a.m., my old friend.



It strikes me this could be one of those moments you look back at and, according to where you are (like jail, or a hospital, or the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night), you think: "Why didn't I listen to all those warning signals -- what the F*&K was I thinking?!"



Then again...according to where you are (like a convivial coastal cafe, sharing a meal with new friends and happy offspring), you might just as easily think: "Man, I'm glad I didn't let all that crazy last-minute stuff scare me off..."

Where's that damn crystal ball when you need it?

Well now here we are, the day we leave. Saying to ourselves...glad we picked the second choice! There was one night where it looked impossible for us to go. Not just all of the physical aspects, but the mental ones as well. But we slept on it, and woke up in the morning with the same feeling. Lets do it anyways.

What's that old saying...? "Sometimes the only transportation available is a leap of faith..."

We got my stitches out, the bruise on my foot is almost completely healed, the flights re-scheduled, stewards managed to stop striking just in time, no volcano ash in the air (for the moment).....and we leave for the airport in ten minutes.

But to be honest, the thing that got me most prepared for the camino was this:

When we'd made the decision to go in spite of everything, it really struck me that this (for me) is as much a spiritual journey as a physical one...and, historically, pilrgims often carried the prayers of others on the way. So, I threw this out to my friends and colleagues at work: if there's a prayer, a concern, a hope or intention you want to share, write it on a scrap of paper or cloth or give me a small memento and I will place it on a chapel altar, or a roadside shrine, or on the beach at Finisterre. It was just a last-minute thought -- but so many people responded. Some shared the stories behind their intention...others just gave it to me with tears in their eyes... And, with each little charge I received, I felt this journey deepen in meaning for me.

When my mom showed me all the mementos and sealed letters, I felt the same feeling as well. Like, this isn't just our journey.

We're going to carry all these people in our hearts, but we're also carrying something for them.

"Prayer smugglers," Nick just said.

So with this, the "prayer smugglers" will sign off and hit the road. Keep us in your thoughts and we'll keep you in our hearts.

Buen Camino!

Carry-On

Thank you

thank you

thank you to Colleen

for lending me her backpack...

...and to Sue

for her bedroll, sleep-sack,

guides and glossaries,

alarmingly short packing list,

and all her Been-There Wisdom...

...two generous, soulful, SPIRITED women I will carry with me on the Camino!

hmmm...That makes me muse on who else I'll be carrying with me. All the family and friends I love, of course. And all those I love and have had to let go...

On Mother's Day I had the profound honor of playing harp for a lovely, beloved woman as she slipped out of this life and into Whatever Comes Next. Part of what I do for a living, now, as Hospice Musician. To be in the presence of someone in that liminal state, actively crossing a threshold...it's a blessing, and a challenge. Brings to mind other, happier thresholds -- the birth of my two beautiful kids, of course. But it also begs the question, the Only Question: What are you doing with your life? Because this is It -- so are you where you want to be, doing what you want to do, with the people you want to be with...and if not, why not?

UGHHHH. There she goes again. Always with the spritual stuff. Every day I learn more about how similar my mother and I are, and how different we can be. I think it has something to do with where we are in our lives, and the different stages that take over at the different parts. Its an exciting, odd, challenging thing, putting two people together with similar and different hopes/expectations/goals. But I'm glad I'm doing it with her, because I know if I tried to do it with anyone else, it just wouldn't work. love you mama....

I know...I'm fun. Enough of that --

check check check...the list gets shorter.

We now have reservations for a hotel in A Coruna where we start and finish our trip....finally! after an interesting back-and-forth between the manager and me, via e-mail in goofy Spanish and English, where my American impulse to nail everything down ran smack into the evidently less-anal Galician resistance to absolute guarantees ("si si, confirmamos su reserva de una habitacion doble, no es necesaria la tarjeta, todo ok, saludos" Translation: Chill, lady. My reaction, after "yikes", can only be: Viva Espana!!)

So that's kinda it for reservations, since the rest of the time we are on the road, and we'll walk till we stop, then find a place to sleep. Or not. Definition: Pilgrimage. Not knowing exactly how far we'll make it every day, Caity has convinced me to forgo guesstimating and trying to secure a place in Santiago and in Fisterra before we actually arrive.

(Though I must admit, I almost made a reservation at one hotel in Finisterra after visiting their website and seeing the plug: "WE HAVE LARGE ROOMS and DRAWERS!" Ya gotta wonder...just how the hell big are those drawers?)

To-Do List(s)...

First off: Thanks to everyone who's following this.

We appreciate your comments, either posted or shared via email, phone, in person/in passing.

And we're sorry for the delay between our last post and this one.

We can only plead "Crazy-Busy"...

so many things done, so many left to do.

For instance:

College trips: been and back.

Decision: made. (San Francisco State!)

Notice of intent to register: submitted.

Housing deposit: slammed down (symbolic cloud of moths flurrying up from empty wallet...)

Knowing that's one big hurdle cleared: Priceless.

(...notwithstanding aforementioned tiny flurrying moths...)

We now turn the Family Battleship toward the next Big Event:

Son Nick's Graduation from Humboldt State University in two weeks. All energies (outside of actually making a living) now focus on organizing the impending transfer of personnel and supplies from SoCal and CenCal to NoCal to celebrate The Great Day. (Memo to self:

warn Grandfolks that ceremony will likely be more headily fragrant than what one might experience at, say, Pepperdine, Southern Methodist, or BYU... )

After that, we turn to Caity's HS graduation, with the Clans regathered in and around our house (and me, for some reason, Chairing the Sober Grad Night Clean-Up Committee...).

After THAT, I plough through the lists of things that must be done to make sure everything at work and at home is prepped, finished, paid or relegated before we leave so that life runs smoothly while we're gone...

And, simultaneous to all this, Caity and I are checking things off the "Camino List": walking, buying, borrowing, walking more, sewing, reserving stuff when possible, memorizing options when not, walking even more, cramming (info), practicing (bad Spanish), and WALKING to get ourselves in the best possible condition -- physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, etceteral -- for our Camino....

Then, finally....we go!

Jeez.

Makes me wonder...a thousand years ago, when someone prepared to go on pilgrimage, what did the To-Do list look like? Maybe:

Feed pigs

Feed cow

Feed chickens

Feed spouse and kids

Remind Sp&Kds to feed pigs, cow and chickens while away

Lay in plenty of feed for pigs, cow, chickens, Sp, Kds

Patch old cloak

Find really big stick

Dig up those few farthings/francs/pesetas hidden under bed

Secure blessing from Parish Priest...

and...Ambulatore, baby!

Sure, I'm being facetious...I'm sure it only seems like it must have been simpler...

Actually, I suspect that Simplifying is challenge for many modern-day pilgrims. I know it will be for me. My days are so Busy, so full of Stuff; all of that weighs me down and stresses me out...but it also kind of props me up, too, persuades me of my importance (...a feeling as heady and habit-forming as anything they're smoking up in Humboldt!...)

In this a world where one is constantly on-call, ever-connected via the FaceTwitSpaceTube social matrix, and occasionally cranky because a volcanic eruption in Iceland has upset our luncheon plans in L.A., how difficult will it be for me to unplug from all that noisy voltage and focus only on meeting the needs of the moment. To let go, and pack light?

Saint Augustine wrote: Solvitur Ambulando..."It is solved by walking".

Yeahwell...here goes.

Oh, yes -- one more thing crossed off the "Camino List":

Our Credencials Arrived!

We ordered these, for a small donation, from "American Pilgrims on the Camino". They don't replace our US Passports, of course, but they do identify us as Pilgrims, eligible to stay at albuerges and refugios. There's plenty of space for all the pilrgims stamps, or "cellos", that we'll be collecting to prove we walked the last 100 km to Santiago to receive the Compostela.... and, beyond that, the 78km to Finisterre.

So,

during the next 6 weeks,

as we fly around at turbo speed,

trying to complete all the

tasks and duties and responsibilities

still crowding our many To-Do Lists...

...we can finger these occasionally to remind ourselves that soon, all this Crazy-Busy will be left behind, and we'll be walking at the heart's pace.

one down, one to go: second try

Sorry about that last publish, technology is so tempermental....

Anyways, I got my backpack!!! My lovely, wonderful, adoring relatives-by-choice -- uncle Tony and aunt Hilary and cousin Annie -- graciously bought me a new hiking backpack for my graduation present! It's so high tech too, it's even got a waisty belt type thing that was put in a microwave and molded perfectly to my hips, and it has like 12 compartments, and 103 dangly straps. (Obviously, as you can see, I am not the most knowledgeable when it comes to this stuff, but luckily wearing the backpack is not as difficult as finding the right one.)

Anyways, it's beautiful, and wonderful and I'm so very thankful to them for my beautiful wonderful backpack.

One more step closer to the Camino! (Now we just have to get mom's.....)

In The Groove

(Nearly) Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, mom and I wake at 6 a.m. and take an hour walk before school/work. Now, considering I am a high school senior and most days don't have to be at school until 9 a.m., I think this is a HUGE sign of my immense love for my momma.

We've gotten into our swing of things: we both have our favorite knit hats that we wear and we grab a few cuties to eat on the way. We always walk to 24th Street Beach on the pavement (3 miles round-trip) and point out houses that we've never really noticed before, even after 15 years of living here. There's a few people we're beginning to see each day, walking their dogs or running.

Now that Daylight Savings Time has kicked in, we start out in the dark and walk by lamplight and leftover moonlight. By the time we hit the beach, the sun is just starting to come up and the birds are raising a ruckus about it.

Once we reach 24th street. We stop for a moment to glance at the beautiful view, then turn around and go home, to jump in showers, get ready for school/work, and to get hot coffee.

Weekends, we take longer walks -- ten miles last Saturday, past 24th Street Beach and Dog Beach down to the rocky edge of North Morro Bay ("Justin's Point") and back in about 3 hours. It was one of those perfect Central Coast days, bright and sunny, when you can sense summer's heat coming just behind the still-chilly breeze. Everybody was out playing with their kids and dogs, building with sand toys or heaving dog-slobbering tennis balls with those long red hand-catapult things. We settled into a rhythm that was easy but not lazy, broken only when we had to jump the creek near the old Exxon mooring station (Caity cleared it: I got a chance to learn just how quickly my new walking shoes dry out.) Our conversation matched our pace, and we meandered between topics: what goes in the backpacks...when to fit in upcoming college visit trips...re-revisiting the camera issue (NO! AAUGH!!)....and wondering, after trekking Cayucos, how different it will be to walk the hills of Galicia, and the beach at Finisterre...

I know that this routine we're in won't be the same on the Camino, and I'm glad for it. I'm looking forward to a completely new thing, even if it means culture shock, travel shock, everything shock.

And I know that, for both of us, this pilgrimage will be a kind of bridge between life as it has been, and life as it will be once Caity leaves for college. We'll walk this leg of Camino (hopefully making it all 108 miles), return home and, after a whirlwind of prep...she'll keep on walking...

So...here's to the Shared Road, and Grateful Hearts!

Soles & Souls, part 3

...plus

....plus

EQUALS....

HAPPY PILGRIMS (in Training)!!!!!!

Aaaugh!!!

This was Caity's reaction when I received in the mail 3 very small, very slim, extremely practical little booklets of invaluable information from the Confraternity of Saint James.

"We said no guides, no tourist crap -- are you trying to ruin this?!!"

So. An interesting mother-daughter dramatic tension is developing here...above and beyond the usual interesting mother-daughter dramatic tensions...

Obviously, Cait wants to plunge, tabula rasa-like, into this experience with no preconceptions or expectations -- lovely, wonderful idea. Life lived straight-out from the heart, bobbin' and weavin' (as my brother says...) around the obstacles. Unimpeded by actual information.

Yeahbut, me...can't help myself. At the very least, my Maternal Instinct nags me to gain a passing knowledge of places to sleep, things to eat and where all the hospitals are located along the route. But more than that...I want to know the stories! We'll be walking through a thousand years of history and legend -- I want to be able to "read" the sturm-und-drang captured in carved stone and stained glass and recognize at least some of the characters and plotlines -- gruesome, goofy, romantic -- attached to this camino. The more obscure and implausible, the better; for heaven's sake, the pilgrimage only exists because someone once found a pile of Holy Bones in an empty field and...

You know this, right? No?

Well, then....here's what I know about Saint James the Great. (If this reads like a jumble, well, it's not surprising considering the wide variation between sources. Mine include the Oxford Dictionary of Saints, the New Testament, Wikipedia, a few Saints-R-Us blogs and my very pretty French book, "Compostelle, le grand chemin", by Xavier Barral I Altet, which has the best illustrations and buckets of satisfying little details...which we're just going to assume I've translated correctly...)

Fisherman by trade, brother of John (together they were known as "sons of thunder" for their hot tempers and impetuous natures), James the Great was one of Jesus' earliest disciples, and the first apostle to be killed/martyred after the crucifixion. He was "put to the sword" by Herod Agrippa -- a poetic term for "decapitated". Now, here's where things get confusing: one legend says James' remains were placed in a tomb "under marble arches." Another says the body was placed in a small boat, which was pushed into the Mediterranean and, seven days later, miraculously arrived in Galicia, where the body was then interred in stone that formed a natural sarcophagus. (Another legend claims that small boat was actually made of marble....so...you're seeing the theme here, right?) At any rate, James' remains were lost to history...Time Passed...Charlemagne established Christianity as the (literally) reigning religion of the western world... Then, one night, a shepherd saw a divine light shining in a field and discovered the holy bones in their natural sarcophagus of stone...which had by now become marble (thematic resolution!) An angel revealed to the local archbishop that this was the body of Saint James, and a church was built on the spot. During this era, the Christian Royals were having a hell of a time trying to rid the land of invading Muslim Moors. During one decisive battle, Saint James appeared on a white steed dressed as a Cavalry soldier and charged the Moors, leading the Christians to victory. Thus, Saint James became the "Matamore" -- Moor-slayer -- and the political and religious symbol of the Catholic church's struggle against The Infidel.




For centuries, the Spanish Army rode to war with the battle cry "Santiago!" In due time, James became the patron saint of knights, horsemen and blacksmiths. For rather more obscure reasons, he also eventually became the patron of pharmacists, tanners, people who suffer from arthritis and rheumatism, furriers, day-laborers, veterinarians, Guatemala...


And, of course, pilgrims.

Okay, one more story. Long ago, a pilgrim family -- father, mother and handsome young son -- stopped at a tavern in the town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada. A randy barmaid came on to the son, who passed. Dissed, and pissed, the barmaid sneaked silver from the tavern's till into the Son's pocket, and loudly accused him of stealing (see: A Woman Scorned). The son was hustled before the town judge and summarily sentenced and hanged. Distraught, his parents continued to Santiago, weeping and praying for help. On the way home, approaching Santo Domingo, they were shocked to find their son still hanging from the gallows -- not dead, but very alive, and being held up by Saint James himself. Overjoyed, and eager to have their son released from the noose, the parents hurried to relate this miracle to the judge, who had just sat down to his midday meal of roast chicken. Irritated at the interruption, the judge scoffed, "Nonsense -- your son is no more alive than this chicken!" At that, his luncheon entree stood up crowing, scampered across the table, sprouted feathers and flew away. To this day in Santo Domingo, a pair of white chickens is kept on an elevated ledge in a niche on the cathedral's western wall. We won't get to see them (this trip...). But folks who have been to Santo Domingo say it's good luck to hear the chickens crow, or find one of their white feathers....

Just...beware of the barmaids.

Soles & Souls, part 2

Friends, strangers, my mother-in-law have asked: "So...why this Camino thing, exactly?"

Even Ron, my Worried But Supportive Husband, pointed out: "A hundred and eight miles -- hell, you and Caity could just walk to Santa Barbara. And go shopping."

True. Except...we hate shopping. We're good for, like, an hour and a half, then we both get splitting headaches and we're done. Time for lunch. Or at least caffeine and cookies.

"What about hiking the John Muir Trail?" someone asked. "It's amazing -- and you wouldn't be out the airfare."

True. Except....just as the Muir Trail isn't any old walk in the woods, neither is the Camino just a stroll in Spain.

"Ohhh...so, you're Catholic!"

Nope. Although I do love all the candles and incense and mystic choreography of that beautiful, ritual-laden tradition. And I'm frankly fascinated by glittering reliquaries and their gruesome contents (a freeze-dried Pope...the Holy Prepuce...the age-blackened Skull of Mary Magdalene) -- such gorgeous theatre!

But, when pinned, I identify as a Cranky Protestant. I favor clean walls, lean words, minimal clutter so as not to cloud the truth. At least I did, back when I absolutely knew The Truth. Back when scripture read like Directions, and not ageless, deeply-layered poetry that confounds as often as it consoles. Back when sitting through a sermon didn't seem like more of an ordeal than walking 108 miles...

"...okay....so....why...??"

The "Inferno" begins: "Midway this way of life we're bound upon, I woke to find myself in a dark wood, where the right road was wholly lost and gone..." When I read that back in college, I didn't get it -- I wasn't supposed to. Dante wasn't writing for 19-year-olds.

I get it now.

That's why, for me, the Camino -- an ancient path rooted in a tradition that is not mine, and a faith I'm not certain I still hold. I don't expect absolution, epiphany...mostly, I expect blisters. But slamming into anxious, messy Mid-Life has made me confront the burden of accumulated guilt, grief, fear and regret I lug around daily. So, with my daughter, and despite my doubt-riddled Cranky Protestantism, I'm embracing the Metaphor: I want to take a long walk on a right road, and lay that burden on some altar in Santiago...or heave it into the ocean at Finisterre... or drop it gradually, in shards and splinters, all along the Camino.

Or, maybe, just learn how to carry it better...with more wisdom, grace, and compassion.

Soles & Souls, part 1

These are all the shoes we did not buy last weekend.

We started out very hopeful, but after seeing thirty different shoe types, extremely varying prices, and multiple (radically different) vendors, we ended up having more questions than we started out with.

Personally, I think it's all about the socks. So, new plan -- This Saturday: socks, this Sunday: shoes.

I'm not very patient when it comes to buying shoes, so I've been wearing the same tennis shoes for the past 1 1/2, maybe 2 years? While the shoes were perfect, the sales guy who sold them to us was....well, creepy. Old, balding, slightly sweaty, foot fetishy type of guy. Just saying, the entire time my mom and I were giving freaked-out looks to each other. But we got great shoes...I guess everything comes at a price.

So this time, planning to go back and get the same type of shoes from the same creepy guy, we walked in hesitantly, determined, eyes darting anxiously. But he wasn't there! yay. We did however meet a lovely girl named Heather who really knew a lot about the few styles of walking shoes she had. She really understood what we were looking for, and since she didn't have it, suggested we go to another, BIG sports store. (This was of course after my mom tried on a pair of painfully squeaky white old lady walking shoes and after Caity tired on men's golf shoes for God's sake...)

ANYWAYS. We headed over to this big store where we met...The Dude. He was just that. Not helpful, and was merely sent to babysit us after they saw we were taking pictures. When we asked him some questions, he responded with an "umm..," deer in the headlights look, obviously his second day on the job. So needless to say, we didn't find what we were looking for there.

But at the next place we met Kelly, The Footwear God. We told him what we were doing and he asked us all kinds of questions about terrain, skill level, backpack load, stride length, etc. until Caity and I both had splitting headaches and had to stop shopping. But we DO plan to go back. So it wasn't a total loss--we didn't find the shoes, but we found the place where we will get the shoes.

(we darted into one last place where WWIII was exploding. Customer and clerk yelling at each other the proper fit of uggs. We ran out when we heard:

"They're too tight!"

"Well they're going to stretch"

"But what if they don't"

"They will."

"But I can return them if I hate them?"

"If you hate them...?!")

And that concluded our first day of shoe shopping.

(by the way, this blog site has a mind of its own, so if the pictures are in funky places and there are huge spaces, we apologize!!)

3 a.m.

Last night, I woke at 3 a.m. Worrying.

This is nothing new. I'm up worrying at 3 a.m. all the time. 3 a.m. and I are old friends.

Mostly, I agonize over financial catastrophe, looming health crises, the State of Every Union in my life...you know, the ususal.

But, as this dream trip becomes a reality, I now have a refreshing new collection of fears and anxieties to keep me awake and in a cold sweat (or maybe it's a hot flash....)

Attack dogs and dislocated knees and bedbugs -- those are just the warm-up worries. I really hit my stride with stuff like: What if we can't catch a weekend bus from La Coruna to Sarria? What if all the beds are taken in all the albuerges -- do we sleep in a doorway somewhere? Cash or Credit or Debit -- and how much? What if we can't catch a bus from Fisterra back to La Coruna (and why do they call that stretch the Costa del Muerte?!) What if this sorta-skiffy knee of mine completely gives out in the middle of nowhere? And what the hell is that sudden stabbing pain in my head -- migraine? aneurism? brain mets?...

Along about dawn, when the rain lets up a little and the cats start yelling for breakfast, I start to settle down a bit and recognize that none of this stuff is insurmountable: Caity is smart and resourceful and I'm not idiot, so whatever happens, we'll probably figure it out just fine.

Which is what I feel -- what I know, what I'm sure of, right now, after a good day at work and a glass and a half of sauvignon blanc...

We'll see how I feel at 3 a.m.....

How many modes of transportation does it take to go on a walk?

So a bit of history behind the Camino (taken from the website American Pilgrims on the Camino, great site, you should check it out). El Camino de Santiago means "The Way of Saint James." Legend has it that the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela holds the remains of Jesus' apostle Saint James. This pilgrimage has existed for thousands of years, and there is even evidence of pre-christian route as well. While the peregrinos (pilgrims...gotta start using that spanish) of the past used to start their walking of the Camino from their doorsteps, the most-used route to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela begins in France at Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, at an amazing 774 km away, at the French/Spanish border in the Pyrenees! Since my mom and I unfortunately don't have a free 3-6 weeks to complete this whole Camino, we're starting around 113 km away at Sarria.

Alright, so here's the route we will be taking on our pilgrimage: (roughly laid out on this map)

We will be flying into La Coruna, taking a day to rest, hopefully to get rid of the jet lag so we'll be ready to hit the Camino. Then we'll take a bus to Lugo, then take another bus (or possibly a taxi, since it will be the weekend and we hear that bus schedules are iffy on weekends...) to Sarria. (Amazing, how many different modes of transportation it will take for us to get to the place where we actually start walking...)

We'll walk from Sarria to Santiago de Compostela, stopping to sleep in refugios/albergues (hostels). Now Santiago is commonly where people stop, but my mom and I have decided to continue on to Finisterre (The End of the World) where we'll walk the beach and (hopefully) find our own scallop shells which is the symbol of the Way of Saint James pilgrimage (Jerusalem's is a palm frond, Rome's is a Papal key) Anyways, thats the plan, then we'll take a bus back up to La Coruna and fly home. Exciting!!

Yesterday we booked the (ridiculously expensive considering we're traveling there to walk and stay in hostels) plane tickets, and we'll be leaving June 9th and returning June 25th. Can't wait!

(by the way, I think I should let you know that my mom is trying to convince me to let her have a camera on the plane/buses/taxi, but not be allowed to take any pictures while on the Camino. I don't know about that...think it's still cheating. O wait, here's her reasoning: "we're going to be traveling in completely modern ways until our first step on the camino, so let me be able to document it." Oh no she's now playing the "we're never going to do this ever again in our lives so give me this much" card. typical mother. haha. we'll see...)

Oh My God.

Yesterday I went into work, armed with a marked-up calendar page of June 2010, and the request for 72 hours of PTO (paid time off), so that my daughter and I could walk the Camino de Santiago de Compostela together....

My mom is currently thinking what to say...creating a blog with her could be a bit of a conundrum since she is a writer and feels the need to write, re-write, then throw that out and completely re-write again everything that she wants to say. (this includes birthday cards, which have at least 3 drafts at a minimum. shes laughing while reading this...)

About five years ago, I read this great book: "Pilgrimage to the End of the World" by Conrad Rudolph. He walked a thousand miles from LePuy in France through Santiago to Finisterre, extoling the beauty and history through which he trudged while detailing his aches and pains and layers on layers of blisters. I was hooked. I shared this with a dear friend -- a like-minded, simpatico sister -- and we dreamt of taking this trip together...when we could find a spare three months away from work, home, husbands, kids...all that. But life happened, and that became impossible - a dream I let go.
Last summer, while walking Cayucos beach with my smart, beautiful, talented, big-hearted, 17-year-old daughter, I said "How do you want to celebrate your graduation from high school? We can take a trip...shopping in Paris, pubbing in Dublin (kinda kidding...)" and she replied: "Let's do the pilgrimage." Ah...smart, beautiful, talented, BIG-hearted, 17-year-old daughter!
Although - not a thousand miles. Sarria to Santiago to Finisterre...108 miles. That should be enough of a mother daughter walk.

And a great one at that. My family and I have traveled since I was young, to amazing countries like Italy, England, and France. My generous and loving dad had always organized the trip so we saw the amazing museums, resturants, wonders, tourist attractions, etc. which was great, but being a 17 year-old about to go off to college, jumping into a new city and lifestyle, I was craving a trip with a bit more, how shall I say...danger, uncertainty? (this is what my rebellious stage in life includes: a pilgrimage with my mom. haha)
Well, we thought this trip needed to be written down, since it not only includes a different way of traveling, but also a journey of 108 miles, hostels, a new language to learn, plus the physical, mental, and spiritual aspect of it. Alright, who's excited?!
I guess we should introduce ourselves. The contenders:

Caity: Theatre geek. Likes long walks on the beach, sunsets, and cliches. Can't imagine going 3 weeks without eating a ham and cheese sandwich. Learned three years of french in high school and can barely speak it. Now having to try and conquer SPANISH?!!?! (this will be an interesting and possibly stress-filled journey before the actual journey) Will be writing in this font for the duration of the post.

Cindy: Writer (formerly full-time, currently part-time). Musician (formerly part-time, currently full-time). 51 (so yes, this might be part of a mid-life crisis). Craving a journey on several levels... keen to share it with my daughter (who is NAGGING ME for taking so long to write anything, so I will stop now....) (Should be an interesting 108 miles....) (and she loves to use parentheses and elipses...haha)

So here's the catch: As another facet of my oh-so rebellious ways, I have convinced,
(ahem...arm-wrestled, forced) my mother to agree that the actual trip be solely our own. This means...no cell phones, no blogging from the road, no quick stops into internet cafes to check our e-mails/facebooks, and NO CAMERAS. Yep. But an interesting idea, don't you think?

We will have only our memories, and possibly what we write and sketch in a journal. As close to traveling like medieval pilrgrims as we can get in this day and age.

So this blog will track our preparations for the trip, and our recollections after our return. I absolutely love this idea. Hope you all do too. As for the blog, we're not going to try to be witty or funny or deep, just going to share our experiences, thoughts, and feelings. We both hope to be entertaining but we promise to be honest, with each other and ourselves. (which is a big part of this pilgrimage...)