This week, Carol (my first Camino angel back in 2012) came down from Portland for a walk and catch-up visit. Together, we did 10.7 miles around north Salem and explored a whole agricultural area where I’d never been before!
I confess, I was fine up to about six miles and then started getting crabby, sore, and tired. Thank goodness for interesting, chatty friends whose natural energy keeps me going. ❤
And! News!
Finally! All the details have been hashed out so I can share with you some exciting Camino developments!
Back in December, I mentioned that it was very, very likely I would be joined by Muriel—the sage and funny French librarian I met on my first Camino—for the last part of my Camino.
Now it’s confirmed and I’m squee-cited! PLUS, an additional exciting thing has developed.
Marisela, the city-savvy girl from Bogotá I met on my very first day in Saint Jean Pied de Port, is flying to Europe from Colombia to meet us! NO WAY! Yes, way!!
Peregrina reunion
The three of us will reunite in Pamplona and then take our time crossing back over the Pyrenees together. Muriel and Marisela (plus Katrin, another peregrina) were a little Camino family in 2013. After weeks of walking solo this year, I can only imagine how wonderful it will be to see these two beautiful, beloved faces again after three years apart.
Marisela and I are especially excited to cross the Pyrenees via the higher, Napoleon route since it was closed due to snow the day we left SJPP. The Valcarlos route was lovely, but we’re eager to see the shrine to Mary and have the whole experience.
Best of all, we already have a confirmed reservation at Orisson (the only place to stay on top of the hill), and two days at Beilari, where Marisela and I first met.
As if I needed more reasons to be excited, I already know this peregrina reunion will be the icing on my Camino cake!
Also!
Right out of thin air, I’ve got two Camino speaking gigs on the calendar for fall!
In October, I’ve been invited by the Las Vegas REI to give a presentation about my Camino experiences and meet up with their newly-hatched APOC group. I’m also invited to give a Camino talk at Salem Summit Company this September in Salem, OR.
Group events like these are one one my vary favorite things to do. When the dates are firmed up, I’ll be sure to post them here. I’m super jazzed!
Now, if I could just find enough time to walk daily. It’s coming up SO fast!
Scallop shells are showing up in unexpected places. Everything is clicking. And then another song came tonight as I was putting away the dinner dishes.
Kyrie eleison down the road that I must travel Kyrie eleison through the darkness of the night Kyrie eleison where I’m going will you follow Kyrie eleison on a highway in the light
This song by Mr. Mister was popular when I was in middle school, but I haven’t thought about it much since then. (That’s how I know it’s one of those messenger songs.)
Lord, have mercy on this road that I must travel.
Give it a listen. Yes, the band is 80’s electronica, but the chorus harmonies nail it. A plea, a prayer, a belief in the sacredness of walking your path. A wind reaches in to where we cannot hide and sets us on the road.
Packing my bags (almost)
That song came after a day of running errands to get my last bits of gear. Although I’m mostly reusing everything that went to Spain the last time, thanks to Amazon and several local businesses, I’m literally ready to pack my bag.
Here’s my haul:
Here’s a full list of items (feel free to ask about them in the comments):
shoe inserts for arch support
a fleece neck gaiter which triples as a night-time mask and daytime hat
probiotic that doesn’t need refrigeration
hair ties
sunblock with no bad nasties in it
Mack’s ear plugs — I’m bringing these in addition to my trusty Hearoes
a compass/thermometer (my other one broke)
plastic S-hooks for keeping clothes dry in the shower
brand-new blank journal (AKA my camera, address book, planner, and journey-memory recorder)
a fanny pack
This is literally all the extra gear I needed. Next week I’ll be packing up my bag and test driving it for weight.
While I was out, I also got a short haircut that will be easy to take care of in Spain.
Feeling groovy
Despite gaining all these items, I’m happy to report that I’ve lost sixteen pounds since I bought my tickets last fall. Though I haven’t measured, I’ve lost a lot in inches. Some of my clothes are looking a little baggy. I feel terrific. If I eat wheat, however, I feel terrible–my knee aches for days after. So I’ll keep avoiding it and loving this new skin I’m in.
“How are you going to see behind you as you walk?” (does a backwards-walking demonstration)
“Yeah, you’re going to wear a rear-view mirror on your hat, right?”
“You need one of those backup beepers like trucks have.”
Guffaw, guffaw. Yes, you’re hilarious.
Even if it’s getting a little old, I still remember my astonishment when an east-bound pilgrim approached me in 2013. I stood stock still to gape at her, bouche bée. She looked tired and weary, uttering only “Camino?” with raised eyebrows. I pointed the way, and she passed us with a nod.
I wanted to ask her. “You’re walking backwards?” Despite it being so obvious. “Why?!”
She got me thinking. I mean, isn’t Santiago the destination? Isn’t getting there the whole point? As if walking 500 miles wasn’t hard enough, why on earth would anyone willingly turn around and walk back?
My incredulity at encountering that brave Frenchwoman and the myriad jokes of my friends makes me think about the word backward. It’s a mild insult that implies slow, behind the times, and incorrect. Bass-ack-wards, my family says playfully.
It’s curious. If backwards is bad, is the past not valuable? Do we think what’s behind us is less important? It would seem if we’ve already “been there—done that,” the only way to live is to move forward. We have science and technology to thank for that inclination, but perhaps there’s also a cost.
Now that I’ll the one on the receiving end of stares and incredulous questions (and, according to another reverse pilgrim, the refrain “You’re going the wrong way!”), I’m rather excited! There I’ll be, causing countless pilgrims to question the point of walking to Santiago. Or even the point of striving at all. What if it’s all part a larger journey? What if where you are is perfect? Wouldn’t that be great!
That’s partly why I decided to make little question cards to give to pilgrims I meet. (Not everyone, of course. I can’t handle the pack weight!) I made a hundred or so with questions on them and quotes that make people think.
I anticipate feeling so grateful for good directions, for meaningful connection, for inclusion in Camino families, I just wanted a little something to say thank you.
Making these cards was so fun and satisfying, I decided to make sets of them for friends and clients (here’s info if you want some too). And although my intention isn’t to make people think differently about doing things backwards, maybe the practice of being reflective can heal a tiny bit of what is happening in our world. Or explore the value of our past. In my small way, maybe I can use this pilgrimage to give back and contribute, not just walk. This feels really good to me.
So, as I’ve already said, I’m getting excited about this journey. I wonder who I’m going to meet. So many possibilities lie ahead of me—and perhaps behind me, too!
This morning, I sat down to confirm all my Camino transportation details and discovered a mistake in my flight schedule. My mistake.
My original plan was to:
fly to Dublin on a red-eye
fly to Santiago the same day
stay in town that night to rest up
then take a bus to Finisterre in the morning
Well! Precise scheduling details like this are not my strong suit. I transposed a date on my spreadsheet and gummed up this tidy little plan.
So now I will:
fly to Dublin overnight on that same red-eye
stay in Dublin that night at a hotel
Take my flight to Santiago the next day
and hope to catch an evening a bus to Finisterre or Cee
Even though the tidiness is gone (and a degree of uncertainty and the need for hope inserted), it’s not that big a deal. My ego is just a tad bruised. I want to spend as little time getting there so I can be there.
In other news!
Training Hike #8
Distance: 7.2 mi Elevation gain/loss: 1000 ft. Pack weight: 10lbs
Martha is a new Camino friend I met back in December when I attended the Portland APOC Christmas potluck. She met me at Silver Falls State Park for a hike despite mud, rain, and wind. It’s a beautiful place in any kind of weather!
We hiked for several hours and even with the steep elevation gain and loss, my knees didn’t hurt or swell at all! Woohoo!
We had Camino-quality conversations too. My favorite part about walking is the freedom and spaciousness to discuss whatever topics come to mind, to listen, to share deeply from the heart. I want to remember that conversations like these aren’t just a Camino thing. They come from making a choice to show up authentically and vulnerably with others anywhere.
Training Hike #9
Distance: 8.2 mi Elevation gain/loss: 1240 ft. Pack weight: 12lbs
Then! Last weekend, I got to stay with my friend Nancy. You remember her, right? She is my right-hand training buddy and Camino soul sister who walked the Way last fall.
When Nancy was preparing and training last year, I was living vicariously (and a little enviously) through her. Now that I’m getting ready, she confesses to the same.
We agreed to do a hard hike and chose Cascade Head on the Oregon coast. I love this hike. In terms of geology, it’s a lot like Finisterre—a tall, narrow landmass that juts out into the ocean—only with more trees. The elevation gain is 1,200 feet up and back down again. And the views? Stunning.
Except when you ascend into the clouds.
At the top, we met a tall, hip-looking woman and talked together for a few moments. Then she disappeared into the mist.
Nancy and I had decided to be clever by leaving one car at a different trailhead so we could walk just one way, Camino-like. What we didn’t plan for was the scary trail closure sign (threatening a $5000 fine and 6 months in jail) that met us as we proceeded into the woods toward my car.
We agonized, really. We’re both first-born big sisters and good girls with a strong sense of responsibility.
“We should probably go back the way we came,” Nancy said.
“But I really want to have our adventure!” I whined.
“Me too!”
We scrutinized the sign: TRAIL CLOSED TO ALL FOOT, BIKE, AND MOTOR TRAFFIC. When I’d parked my car, a similar sign specified only a single trail to avoid. I’d thought we were in the clear. Now doubt set in.
“I know this is to protect a fragile butterfly species,” I said. “I guess we should do the right thing.”
“Yeah. We should.”
On the way back down the hill, the tall lady passed us.
“Where did you go after we talked with you?” I asked.
“Oh, I walked down the road a way.”
“Did you see the sign?” Nancy asked.
“Oh, yeah. I didn’t think it applied to me,” she said pragmatically. She was right. It was only the side trail we needed to avoid.
Nancy burst out laughing, “The two good little Catholic girls followed the rules.”
“And this Jewish girl ignored them!” We all laughed.
For me, the lesson is to not make decisions from a place of fear. Choose because of love, because of passion, because of joy. Don’t step on butterflies, of course, but don’t diminish your truth and your calling out of fear.
There’s a big difference between fear and actual danger.
Getting ready!
These two hikes really tested my body and allowed me to discover what it’s capable of doing despite the diagnosis. I’ve felt a little sore, but my knees felt terrific. I couldn’t be more thrilled.
I’m getting really, really, REALLY excited for Spain.
Ever since my Camino, I’ve come to believe that invisible spirits look out for me, guide me, support my path. Yours too. Although my logical side wants to deny this, sometimes the coincidences are too numerous to ignore.
The key is being open. It’s about remaining unattached to How Things Will Turn Out. A few days ago, I surrendered the need to know.
Not surprisingly, signs started showing up. My blue mood lifted. Hope and excitement began bubbling up in its place. By doing my part and letting go, I started hearing the messages that were there all along.
Song angels
When I was on the Camino, song angels would come and whisper lyrics of a long-forgotten melody into my ears. Receiving these songs was a profound spiritual experience. When Desperado came to me, for example, I remembered to come down from my fences and open the gate of my heart. Each song that arrived carried with it a message my soul needed to hear.
Styx and Sparks
Now they’re showing up before I leave. One song came in the grocery store last week. Two days ago, it was Show Me the Way by Styx—a tune I haven’t heard in years. Its message of surrender and trust reminded me not to worry and to trust that the Way is there for me to find.
Show me the way, show me the way
Take me tonight to the river
And wash my illusions away
Please, show me the way
The next day, a more contemporary song—One Step at a Time by Jordin Sparks—came to me like a silver thread. The drum beats are actual footsteps, and its message is about taking your time, making one choice, taking one breath, and focusing on what you can do.
When you can’t wait any longer
But there’s no end in sight
It’s your faith that makes you stronger
The only way we get there
Is one step at a time
I needed to hear these words. We all do.
People angels
The Divine uses people as messengers too.
Three songs and then a day later, dear Meg, the original Camino archangel, called me out of the blue.
As we caught up, it became clear that both Meg and I are walking at life’s edges, challenged by conflicting choices. We talked about the difference between thinking and knowing. How to make everything more complicated with cruel self-judgment. How hard it is to really change your life.
We also reminisced about our Camino when the topic of gear came up. Meg told me about a sweet woman she met who was carrying a third of her own weight on her back. When Meg eventually helped lighten this woman’s load, she revealed she was carrying no fewer than a half-dozen knives from well-meaning friends.
Meg contagious laughter got me going. “Why would anyone need six knives?” she asked.
“It’s not like the Camino is in the wilderness!” I said. “No hacksaw necessary!”
Meg cracked up. “Right! Do you even really need one? I mean, if you have cheese, you can just bite some off with your teeth! And the lightweight sporks, Jen! What the fuck?”
Our laughter was cathartic.
You can pack your bag full for every contingency, and it will physically hurt you—even end your Camino early. In the same way, you can fill your mind with every worry, doubt, and fear—and ruin a perfectly lovely walk. That mental mess makes you miss the blessings, the serendipity, and life-changing messages.
Wake up
As we discussed Meg’s current big decision, I suggested the best way to get the outcome she’s looking for is to get really clear about what she wants.
“I have to disagree,” she said, surprising me. “I fuck up everything I try to influence. I really think the point is to let go of control.”
As a lifelong control freak, this got my attention.
She continued, “Someone asked me once why I should set the bar myself, when I have no idea how happy I’m capable of being. If you try to control everything, you limit the outcomes of what’s possible. Your ideas of what you can create are too small, too limited. Let go instead and see what shows up. It could be even better than you can imagine.”
Wow. Just whack that nail on its shiny little head.
Stay open and let go
These words, from exactly the right person, were just what I needed to hear. Her humor lightened my worries, and our conversation reminded me to open my heart to the wonder and miracles everywhere.
When we were just about to hang up, she said, “If I don’t talk to you before you go, have an amazing time, Jen. Don’t pack too much.”
“In more ways than one, right?” We both laughed.
“Yeah,” she said. “Try to keep it to just one knife.”
Lately, as I wake in the morning, I can feel the realization dawn over my body like a wave of prickles cascading from head to toes: Jesus. Seven weeks. In seven weeks, I’ll be in Spain. In seven weeks, I’ll be walking every day.
I haven’t been blogging because I’m feeling pretty discouraged at the moment. Not with my body or my training, but with what’s happening in my country. On one hand, I want to stay informed. On the other, everything I see about the presidential race shocks me, appalls me, and scares me. What are we doing? Most candidates are sleeping with Big Money (or want to) and another is talking about the size of his sexual organ. What on earth is happening?
It feels as though the very fabric of this country–one with so many kind and generous souls–is being stretched and torn. Is it race? Is it sexuality? Gender? A growing millennial generation with wholly different values than the old, dying guard? I have no answers, but a growing dread of September elections.
With all of this going on, I’m deeply in doubt about the usefulness and relevance of pilgrimage in a modern, connected age. What’s the point of unplugging and walking? Why spend all that money, time, and energy? What does it accomplish, and how does it solve anything?
I am having a dark night of the soul. It’s not permanent, but it is real: Part of me truly and earnestly does not want to walk another five hundred miles. It feels like such an interruption of my life that, in many ways, I haven’t learned to live since my Camino three years ago. Yes, despite the fact that I’ve assented to this calling, I am not thrilled with it. I’m resisting it still because I don’t see the point.
Maybe that’s the way a calling works. A yes is required before anything will be revealed about the journey or its purpose. The messages I heard over a year ago were clear and unequivocal, “You will walk again. You will return to the beginning.”
I assented. I will go.
It’s then I remember that the Camino is life. There is nothing we can do that isn’t part of the journey. I can walk in Spain, or I can walk through my own neighborhood. I can open my heart to other pilgrims as we share a meal, or I can open my heart to the person behind me in the coffee drive through or give a five bucks and banana to the homeless guy with the cardboard sign. It’s all part of the same journey. There is nothing outside it. Everything is included.
This helps me remember that my country is on its own journey—of which I am a part. We are called to create a more perfect union. That is our purpose. We said yes to this over two hundred years ago, but we don’t know where that will lead. Our country’s journey is a camino.
So with all of this swirling around in my mind this morning, I walked into the grocery store to pick up a few things, and I received another message. A confirmation. A benediction: The song playing on the PA system was a Camino anthem, “I will walk five hundred miles, and I will walk five hundred more…”
I get it. This path I walk is blessed. All our paths are.
Every pilgrim I’ve ever met longs to reconnect with the Camino experience after they return. Sometimes you feel it so deeply, it’s like a physical ache—yet it goes mysteriously unnamed. What is this? Why do I miss it so much? What can I do to make this uncomfortable feeling go away?
This feeling reminds me of the springtime buds about to pop where I live. How uncomfortable to be a swelling flower, furled up and encased in a husk. The Camino revitalizes the soul after years-long winter. Post-pilgrimage longing is an urge to burst into bloom, to be radiantly alive every day, the way we were as pilgrims.
Out of that feeling, at least for me, comes a desire to connect meaningfully with other pilgrims. Nothing nourishes me more than connecting with other souls who willingly challenge themselves and ponder life’s deep questions.
Walking is a kind of meditation. To intentionally walk with others can be a sacred, moving ritual.
Training Hike #5
Distance: 5.5 mi Elevation gain/loss: 25? ft. Pack weight: 8lbs
Although the easiest, most obvious choice would be to participate in the monthly event hosted by my closest APOC chapter, the idea of gathering with friends to do longer walks held more appeal.
So, for training hike number five, I met up with two aspiring peregrinas and a veteran. Together, we walked along the interconnected paths and parks of Salem. The weather was astonishingly beautiful for early February.
The walk was full of happy accidents. One in our group realized she needed a hat just as we approached Salem’s independent camping gear store. From a hilltop in one park, a guy practicing his trombone, giving us a free, quarter-mile performance. When we stopped for a restroom break, we broke metaphorical bread by sharing chocolate (maybe that’s even better).
Along the way, we compared the merits of gear options for long-distance walking. The aspiring pilgrims asked wonderful questions about the Camino, probing especially for the meaning, the significance, and the moments that made it so much more than just a walk, but a life-changing, soul-healing experience.
Knees
Addressing my arthritis diagnosis is still a relatively new thing for me. I mean, how can I be old enough to have arthritis in the first place??
After finishing the previous training hike with Nancy, it was clear my knee had had too much. Within a few hours, it tingled, felt mildly warm, and was a bit puffy. I suspect that the combination of a ten-pound pack and almost 1000 feet elevation loss and gain over 2.5 miles had been too big a change from all the mostly-flat walking I’ve done so far.
On training hike number five, I was glad for the flat walking, but my knee was still uncomfortable. A few times, it even hurt a bit. This was new and unnerved me. I can’t be messing with this in Spain. I can’t just walk the way I did last time with only meager training. I’ve got to be ready.
Writing it will make me accountable, so I’m recommitting here to doing my daily physical therapy exercises and taking all of my physician-prescribed supplements. Doing yoga was really helping me too, but I just got bust. So I’m going to do that at least every three days.
I do not want to be caught by surprise while walking the Camino. I want my body to be in great shape before I get there.
On the up-side, I’ve lost seven pounds so far. This is helping lighten the literal load on my joints. I would like to lose another seven before I leave (10 weeks left!), so I might have to forego the chocolate I love so much—at least until I’m walking on the Camino!
Simulating the Camino at home
I loved walking with these ladies and talking about life, our respective journeys, and the Camino.
The need to connect, to gather, to share unstructured time in community is a deep human need. As hard as it can be to find, all we need is a clear intention to create it. Although not everyone can walk (or return to) the Camino for various reasons, the experience can be simulated or recreated to similar effect.
After the walk, we gathered at my home to share a potluck meal—a cozy end to a beautiful day—all vowing to walk again soon.
With almost no advance planning, Nancy messages me to ask if we’re going for a hike tomorrow. A hike. Did we talk about a hike?
Nancy and I bonded a year ago as she was planning for her September 2015 Camino. Now that I’m planning my return, we regularly walk and talk about Spain and Camino memories, and ponder life’s deep questions together.
“Yes,” I reply, “of course we’re going on a hike!”
Training Hike #4
Distance: 2.47mi Elevation gain/loss: 974/978 ft. Pack weight: 10lbs
The cold weather inversion is making the valley smoggy, so we bee-line up to our favorite park up in the Cascade foothills, Silver Falls State Park, like we’d just skipped class without getting caught.
The seven-mile loop in this stunning park features no less than ten waterfalls. Its trails are excellent training—with steep climbs and descents that thread through a deep, river-cut gorge.
On our initial descent into the canyon, the largest of the falls, Winter, is roaring with the power of water as it cascades 134 feet onto basalt rocks below. We pose to take a quick photo.
Although we can manage an arm-stretch selfie, instead I ask a couple nearby if they’d take our photo. Asking this is a small, but conscious effort on my part to meet other humans and get out of my comfort zone.
Further down this trail, I’d discover why I’m glad I observed this practice on this particular day.
“I’ll take two,” the woman smiled, turning my phone to show vertical and horizontal. I grin back. On the second shot, she says playfully, “Change your pose!” Be playful! Do something different! Those words are ones to live by. I give Nancy bunny ears.
After thanking them, we go on our way, descending deeper into the gorge. The river gurgles gaily beside us as we talk about footwear, catch up on mutual friends and family matters, and share about our dreams and aspirations. With a Camino under our respective belts, there’s always lots to talk about.
One of the things I love about Nancy is how she gets death. She’s one of the few people I know who can talk about the reality of one’s eventual demise. Comfort with mortality isn’t morbid; it’s actually a way of celebrating the precious time we have on the planet. It’s a reminder to live fully today.
Mud! True Camino training!
After several miles, we slowly ascend a steep hill and come to a fork in the woods with benches for resting. Under a tree there’s a heart made of fir cones. How lovely. I’ve come to trust in signs like these.
photo thanks to Nancy!
While we nosh on chocolate, the couple who took our photo shows up. In their mid-thirties, the man is sweating in his well-tailored navy blue peacoat. The woman, our funny photgrapher is in a white jacket, white hijab, and white knit newsboy cap. We greet them as they approach, smiling.
As the man sets down their pack on the bench near us, the woman looks at me and asks, “Would you like some coffee?”
I’m flabbergasted by the question. Coffee? Out here in the middle of nowhere? I don’t know what to say. I look at Nancy. (Nancy loves coffee.)
“Suuure,” we both say in unison.
“It’s . . . Arabic coffee. Do you know it?”
I shake my head, but the combination of her accent and the offer of a new kind of food delights me. I’m excited to try it, still stunned by her offer.
“It’s not like—how do you say—dark coffee. It is lighter. It has cardamom and other spices maybe you’ve never heard of.” She pulls out two paper cups—certainly they were intended for her and her husband—and sets them on the bench.
“Why don’t we share a cup?” Nancy suggests. Perfect! That way they still have their own.
From the pack, she pulls a large white carafe.
“You carried that all the way out here!” Nancy exclaims with a smile. The woman laughs, and doesn’t seem to mind the playful teasing. She pours out the steaming orange-brown liquid.
Though scalding hot, the coffee is amazing. Milky with a flavor is reminiscent of chai, it tastes of cardamom and a hint of flowers. “Mmmm! Wow!” I hand Nancy the cup.
“It’s my mother’s recipe,” she offers.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t ask your names,” I say apologetically.
“This is Ali, my husband,” the woman says, “And I am Fauzia.” Nancy and I introduce ourselves.
I want to know this couple’s whole story. Where are they from? How did they get here? What to they think of the US? How did they come to learn English? None of these seem polite, and I don’t want to assume anything.
“We are from Saudi Arabia,” Fauzia volunteers.
“Oh! What part?” I ask. I regret I don’t know this country’s geography at all, but have found this question handy for learning all kind of tidbits someone’s homeland. It keeps people talking about things they like and what features are nearby and spares me from looking like an ignorant oaf.
“We are from the south, where it is cold. But we also lived in Riyadh before coming here.” I’ve heard of the city, and am certain the country borders the Red Sea. I resolve to look a map later to see what is there. (When I get home, I learn that Saudi Arabia is the birthplace of Islam. Mecca is there. It is mostly unforested, but has several wildlife preserves.)
As we sip the coffee, the warmth and kindness grow as Ali shares about the English language program he’s attending at a university. Fauzia teases him laughingly about practicing more.
“Would you like a date?” she asks, pulling a Tupperware container from the bag.
She opens it and extends them to us. “Thank you!” They’re almost round, taupe-colored, and have an almond inside. Heaven. Pure, sweet heaven.
“Did you bring them from home,” Nancy asks. Fauzia nods proudly.
I offer them some chocolate, and Fauzia grabs her stomach and says, “I am too fat!” This isn’t true, but I wonder about cultural rules about offering gifts. In Ireland, you are expected to take a cup of tea on a visit, whether you want one or not. To do otherwise is highly offensive. In one Native American tribe, Nancy shared later, if you compliment something belonging to a person, they must give it to you. In some cultures, an offer must be declined at least three times or you risk appearing greedy (even if you want it!).
I offered again a few moments later, but they both turn down the chocolate.
Before we go, we thank them profusely for the coffee and treats, wish them luck in their studies, and joke about pacing themselves with that big carafe in their pack.
The hill back to the car is staggeringly, gaspingly steep, but I feel like I’m floating on sunbeams of happiness, a bounce in my step. The exchange with Ali and Fauzia touched something within me.
“I can’t seem to name it,” I tell Nancy, “But something really good and beautiful happened back there.”
After a pause, she says thoughtfully, “Maybe it’s because they showed us hospitality in our own country.”
“That’s it. That’s exactly it, Nancy. They had no reason to be kind, to reach out to us, and yet they did.”
“I really wanted to ask them about how they’re being received here in the US with all the anti-Muslim sentiment lately. I wanted to know if people are treating them well.”
“Me too,” I say. “On the other hand, maybe it’s enough, or even better, that we met heart to heart and shared laughter with them.”
In Hebrews, it says, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”
My lesson on this training hike is that Camino angels are everywhere. Look for them. And, miraculously, sometimes it’s the angels themselves who offer the hospitality. Stay open.
For all the certainty I feel about my call to walk the Camino in reverse, it feels strange not to be walking toward something. Saint Jean Pied de Port is a lovely Basque town, but it lacks Santiago’s saint and the epic coastline of Fistera and Muxia.
If I were European doing this trip, I might literally be walking home. Though few modern pilgrims do, ancient peregrinos left a cozy bed—and voila!—their pilgrimage began. All they did was step out the front door and go to their closest cathedral, where pilgrims united with guards in tow. Once the whole band walked to Santiago, they turned around and walked home again. The closest I can come to simulating that experience is to return to the beginning of my original journey (SJPP) and hope to get a bed at the albergue where I spent my first night.
In reality, my walk is not a return to a location, but to a place within. To walk the Camino backwards and arrive in the Pyreneen foothills is to revisit who I was on April 18, 2013. It is an practice in noticing how the Camino has changed me and how I’ve used the experience to grow in the time since.
Oh, I was so adorably naive!
That day, I was so tired and jetlagged when I arrived—and so clueless. Where do I go? Why is the pilgrim office so far from the train station? Did they really have to put everything at the top of a hill? Why do the welcome center volunteers seem so gruff?
That newly-arrived pilgrim was so eager to have other people like her. So willing to put her own needs in second place to get along. There was no way this journey wouldn’t change her, make her more resilient, but it would have to break her first. It would have to challenge her so profoundly, that her old ways of being would break under the weight of their ineffectiveness.
Pretending nothing was wrong would stop working when her feet hurt so badly, she could barely walk. And later when she got a fever and an ear infection. Denial stopped working. Her body’s needs forced her to wake up and take action.
The pattern of trying to get other people’s approval would break when she repeatedly ignored her own needs to keep her Camino family together. Then, when they were all gone, she would face loneliness head on and discover what it would teach her.
Pushing down her emotions would stop working when she experienced a profound and magnetic attraction to another pilgrim. The feelings couldn’t be banished. This unfamiliar situation would push her to the edge.
At the beginning, I had no idea how the Camino would test me. Maybe it’s better I didn’t, but I’m glad angels showed up.
Camino angels
On that first day in Saint Jean Pied de Port, I met a man who told us how he left his wife and four children for a Camino romance. Even now, I marvel at how irrationally angry I felt about his story. (Chicken shit, I believe, were my inner words of choice. Not a very nice thing to call an angel.)
As I sat in judgment of him, I was blissfully unaware. I couldn’t have known I would meet someone who’d take my breath away 500 miles from that very place. I would face the very same dilemma.
Now, having lived that dilemma, I understand how human it is to want the more exciting path over the harder one. I’d been emotionally absent in my own marriage long before I left for the Camino. When I returned home, I faced a decision: to be as open with my wife as I’d been with Meg—or leave. There were really no other alternatives.
Would I have chosen the same if that Camino angel hadn’t crossed my path and given me fair warning? Had I not been so furious at his choice, would I have been as informed about making my own? In the end, I opted for integrating the Camino’s lessons. I chose to transform myself and re-choose my marriage with an undivided heart. That’s not the right choice for everyone, but for me, it was a path toward wholeness, of living an undivided life.
The power of intention
As I arrived in Saint Jean Pied de Port, I didn’t know any of this awaited me. My stated hope had been “to be changed” by the Camino, and I was. Or, more accurately, the Camino shaped me. And then I used the experience to change my life.
Looking ahead, retracing my steps will give me time to consider the soul-ground I’ve trod the three years since, and invite completion.
At least, that’s my intention for this return trip. Who knows what else it has in store for me?
And for you too…
If you’ve already walked the Camino, reflecting on the journey, its angels, and lessons invites profound spiritual and personal insights. You don’t even have to walk it backwards for this to happen! It’s enough journal, share, reminisce, and connect with others who’ve walked similar paths. What’s important is to make the conscious choice to apply these insights to your life and live them.
Everyone has been asking me when I see them—at work, socially, my family—how’s the training going?
It’s going!
Training hike 3
Distance: 5.55 miles Pack weight: 5lbs
A peregrina friend sent me her Altus poncho to borrow for my upcoming Camino. The morning of my third training hike, I saw the threatening clouds and drizzle and was excited to test it out! (Only in Oregon are we excited about this kind of weather!)
Honestly, I’ve been kicking myself since April 2013, when I passed up the opportunity to purchase an Altus in Saint Jean Pied de Port. They’re part-poncho, part-raincoat with sleeves, but not sold outside of Europe. In fact, today they’re not available at all because they’re not made anymore. When my peregrina friend offered to lend me hers to use in Spain, I was tickled!
As soon as I arrived at the park, got my pack on, and the poncho situated, this happened.
The sky cleared.
Even with only a slight mist, the wind was strong. Ponchos are notoriously billowy, so I was curious to see how it responded in the wind.
The hood has tiny clips allowing for adjustment of fit. The wrist sleeves are elastic. The zipper was surprisingly tiny–maybe to keep out water? There’s a protective flap over the zipper with velcro closure to keep out the rain. My favorite part is the back which works like a wedding-gown bustle. Snap it up, and it’s short when you’re around town. Unsnap the three fasteners, and it’s longer and pouchy to fit over your backpack.
Like a floating bright blue cloud, I passed three women with five small dogs. One quipped, “The rain won’t get you today!”
The earthworm game
After a night of rain, the paved footpath had thousands of tiny earthworms all over it. They reminded me of the little snails on the Camino path every morning. I hated stepping on them, so I turned it into a game. At my walking speed, I stared at the ground as they “sped” by placing my foot so I wouldn’t squish one.
This nightcrawler was so huge (I wear a size 11 shoe), he insisted we take a selfie together.
It’s amazing how your mind can wander as you walk. Seeing this sign along the road into the park made me recall my early driving days in high school.
“Bump ahead!” yelled my impish, slightly younger-than-me brother.
The yell was followed by a shove to my forehead, bumping the back of my skull into the car’s headrest. “Hey!!” I replied in protest.
“Sign says ‘Bump a head,’ so I did!”
A grin. Do all siblings mildly torture each other this way?
Back to the poncho again
After 20 minutes, I was hot. I was afraid that would happen. The Altus has no side or pocket vents, no tiny armpit holes to let out the warmth the body produces while exercising. After 40 minutes, I took a short rest. When I took off the Altus, I discovered the chest and shoulder area drenched with condensation.
My first reaction was disappointment. I really wanted to use this poncho, so lovingly shared by a friend. There’s just no way to hike for hours with this much moisture inside. My next reaction was profound remorse: I had steered my friend toward purchasing this jacket for her own Camino. (I’m so sorry, Sarah!)
The danger in non-ventilating rain gear is hypothermia. All that condensation makes your clothes wet, makes you wet, and can lower your body temperature—especially if the air is cool, if it’s windy, or if you need to rest, sodden, for any reason. Wet and cold are not a good combination.
The problem is that the better your rain gear vents body heat and dampness, the chances of getting rain under the protective barrier increase.
So, I’m back to the drawing board. I do have my original Camino poncho, the model that leaked and is on the heavy side. If I can tape the leaky seams, it could work. It’s not ideal, though.
The other idea I keep tossing around came from a convincing article I read about hiking with a lightweight umbrella. A reflective parsol takes the place of rain gear, eliminates the need for a hat, allows for complete ventilation, and protects against sun (portable shade!). The average price is about the same as a decent lightweight poncho or rain suit. The down side is that legs can get wet, but that’s true with ponchos too.
So rain gear is on the agenda again.
In the meantime, I walked my longest training distance yet five and a half miles, and felt really good. No funky knees, no soreness the day after, just a touch of stiffness in my right foot toward the end. I’m averaging fifteen minutes per mile too, which is about right for me.
More hikes are in the plans!
Do you have a good rain gear solution? I’d love to hear about it!
Jen's Journey - Camino de Santiago 2013, 2016, & 2019 