Recently I spent a whole month away from my everyday life, walking along an ancient trail, carrying nothing more than a nine pound back-pack and a litre of water. I am now in the process of considering what lessons I have learned from this experience and of examining how I can use them for the rest of my life.
There was some question in my mind, before I left as to whether I could, at my age and considering my physical shape, walk more than 25 kilometers every day for a month. This adventure required a different mental attitude than I am used to. Normally I approach a problem head on, look for resources, and tend to follow a bull-in-a-china-shop approach. In the past I have not been much of a strategist or planner. I have just done whatever had to be done without a thought to following a plan.
A month-long walk over mountain and plain, in rain and blistering sunshine, over soft and hard terrain, requires a different approach. One day I arrived at a foot bridge over a river only to discover that the rain had washed it away. This required backtracking many kilometers to find an alternative route. Another time I stood, nailed to the ground, because my boots had been swallowed up by thick, sticky, wet clay. Such experiences teach you humility. They make you realize the importance of having a plan and of considering alternatives.
From these experiences I learned, again, about the importance of cultivating a group of supporters, about being able to ask for help, and about showing proper gratitude.
Walking up unbelievably high inclines, and going down equally steep hills, I discovered that it is not really easier going downhill. You still have to expend the same amount of energy and effort. What is different, perhaps, is that you use different muscles and resources.
There is not much privacy in a room with 32 other walkers. I learned to preserve privacy while having available to me only the small space of a lower bunk of a three-tier bunk bed. I learned to handle the challenge of uncertainty regarding personal comfort. As I walked on any given day, I did not know if there would be room in the next shelter. Not every village had a hotel, or an inn, or even a room over a bar. This taught me to be ready to sleep outside and to look for safe spaces as I walked along.
I learned to travel light. Keeping my hair short meant I did not need to carry a hair brush. I chose clothing that would serve a double or triple purpose. Sun screen had high priority, but cosmetics became superfluous.
Luxury took on a different meaning. I valued standing under a tree. I learned to zig-zag on an uphill path, to make the uphill less steep. I sat for hours in ancient churches not only for the art and spirituality, but also for their cool, dark shade. I happily spent money at Internet cafes because they enabled me to keep in touch with my life in Canada.
These experiences were a gift to me. I will continue to explore how I have changed as a result of my adventure. There are lessons here to be applied to community service, such as being able to improvise, to plan and explore alternatives, to ask for help, to value simplicity. And learning that no matter how long the journey, how big the task, how far away the goal, it is accomplished one step at a time, one day at a time, one person at a time.
Would I go back? You bet! But I am becoming aware that there is a more perfect challenge: to apply the lessons I have learned, right here, in my everyday work, in our beautiful Twin Cities. I suspect that that requires more courage, more concentration. It will also yield richer rewards.
My backpack.
I am leaving. Tonight Thursday I shall take a bus to Madrid, get there in the morning, and by one thirty on Friday afternoon I shall be homeward bound, on an Air Canada Flight. I have packed my back pack for the last time.
It is a little yellow backpack. A lot of people commented on its size this month. I only allowed myself 9 pounds, plus one liter of water, and the odd tomato or slice of cheese. Never more than 11 pounds. Lots of pockets, even hidden ones that I just discovered this morning. Yet, how much is packed into that little backpack!
I have packed my memories of all my colleagues at the Multicultural Centre: Pilar, Neera, Patti, Tanya, Chinh, Gada, Lucia, Rukhsana, Pina, Ohayla, Jen, Cheryl. I carried with me their laughter, their good humour, the pride they take in the work they do. Packed in one of the imaginary pockets I have carried our Board -- they represent our community, they are the owners of the firm, and they have always supported us. I also carried the memories of many volunteers without whom we could not do our work.
A special pocket in my pack is saved for our partners, not the least of which is Working For Work: Fartun, Eltag, Dennis, Celso, Ewa. There, too, is a Board that encourages and supports and represents the best our community has to offer.
My family and personal friends took up a big pocket. The support, encourage, love; they never, never say: "You are crazy!"
So much for what I brought with me. What am I packing to take home?
Memories to last a life time. Especially the memory of how our community, clients, friends, and colleagues have supported this quest. We were looking for lots and lots of donations from many, many people. This project would provide the leverage with the large foundations and donors. We would be able to say: "we have the support of our community and our clients, the people we serve support our work and they stand behind us". Thanks to all who are supporting us, we can say that with pride and satisfaction. I am also taking with me many lessons re-learned and re-examined. I am making a list. They will appear in the following section, because I cannot list them today. They are too fresh and vivid. My heart is too full, and so is my backpack.
So, I am here. There is a heavy transition from pilgrim to tourist. First of all the clothes you wore on the Way no longer seem to fit life in the metropolis You don´t recognize your walking companions, and they don´t notice you. It is the dress, the walking style, the way one looks. On the second day you start to notice them again, and you greet one another joyfully.
It is not possible to explain the feelings of relief at having arrived. Even the evening before arriving, I was fearsome, thinking that something could yet happen and I might miss my goal. Silly, you say. I agree, but I felt apprehensive nevertheless. And so, even though I had planned to do my last 13 kilometers in 2 days, I rushed to get here. I needed to get here, and 13 kilometers is a short distance.
What am I saying? Normally, walking 13 kilometers is not part of my daily routine! Why am I calling it "a short distance"? I have changed. The kilometer is now something else, it is a 15 minute moment, a series of steps, one, two, three, four, or rather: "click, two, three, four". Must not forget the sound of my walking stick. 189 steps per hectometer, ten hectometers to the kilometer. Life was simple then, on the road: my backpack, my walking stick, my cap, and one liter of water. A slice of bread, a piece of cheese, one tomato and one green pepper.
Life was simple on the road: "Must wash my socks this afternoon. Hope they dry before I leave in the morning". Getting to the shelters, meant only one hope: "please let them give me a lower bunk".
Reading matter on the road? The road map for the following day, and a small Book of Common Prayer that belonged to my father. And always looking out for an Internet Café! How much I looked forward to mail from home. My children, my colleagues, David, my sisters made sure I had lots of news and encouragement. And, always, The Record. News from home mattered, even hockey: "The Rangers won again, great!
Yesterday afternoon I visited the Pilgrimage Office of the Diocese of Santiago: "Where did you start", "How much of the way on foot?", "Why did you undertake this pilgrimage?" I was granted the title "Peregrina", and was assured that my country would be mentioned in today´s noon mass: "What is your country?", they asked. What is my country, I thought? Born in Puerto Rico, lived in Paraguay and Venezuela, educated in the United States. Lived and worked in Canada since 1969. When it really matters, where am I from? This morning I attended the Pilgrim´s Mass at noon. The priest read out all the countries where pilgrims had arrived from yesterday: there was one Peregrina from Ontario, Canada. It was I.
Eltag, my friend: you wished for me that God will accept my pilgrimage. I have no way of knowing if it is acceptable or not. I am here, hoping that we have together raised the awareness of the need for a new home for the Multicultural Centre. I am here, on a personal level, grateful for my 59 years and looking forward to my sixties. And, I am here, praying for good health and continued faith for my friend Bob.
Now, I will go to the Hostal of the Reyes Catolicos, the oldest hotel in the world, (it was founded as a pilgrim´s hospital by Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand) and certainly now the most luxurious. With my credentials as a Peregrina, I will claim my pilgrim lunch.
See you all soon, on the way to our own wanderings and endeavours. The real pilgrimage begins now.
"How will you know how to get there?" my friend Sal asked me. I remembered her question today, as I thought of the hundreds of yellow arrows that I have seen this month. All along the Camino de Santiago, painted on stones, on curbs, steps, road signs, walls, I have seen the yellow arrows that signify "this way", for the pilgrim who is walking to Santiago. They are the most welcoming of indications, a generous gesture long ago established by the people who live "on the way".
I have not yet counted how many villages and towns there are on the way to Santiago, not have I yet looked up how many of them have the appellation "del Camino" (on the Way) as part of their name. There are scores of these, and there were many more, now lost and in ruins.
Living "on the Way" has a special grace. People who live on the Way consider themselves special, understanding that they make the way easier for those of us who venture to come from afar, hearing the call of Santiago. It is their role to make the way easier, the paths more straight, the churches more inviting, the shelters more welcoming.
In ancient times many pilgrims left their homes knowing that they would not return. Many died on the way, of illnesses contracted on the way, wars, accidental mishaps, food poisoning, or of the illnesses that they knew they had before they left. There have always been charitable people who have made it their mission to care for pilgrims, and often to bury them, if they should die on the way to Santiago. This tradition continues. I passed several memorials along the way to people who have ended their pilgrimage on the way. One stands out in particular. Yesterday I passed the memorial of Mr. William Watt, who died one day away from Santiago, some years ago. His walking shoes have been bronzed, and they stand by the road side next to a small plaque, erected in his memory.
There have been many people who have been "yellow arrows" in our lives, both our personal lives and our working lives. I remember them today with special love and respect. What would social services in Kitchener Waterloo have been like if we had not had them among us? How would the lives of so many refugees turned out if we did not have the benefit of the Mennonite Central Committee? How many services were started and continue today because the Social Planning Council of Kitchener Waterloo has been among us, pointing to a better way? How many people had lunch today because the Working Centre and the St. John´s Soup Kitchen exist?
And what about special people who have befriended us and given us their balanced and studied opinions? How different Kitchener Waterloo would be if we did not have people like Ernie Ginsler, Theron Kramer, Arli Klassen, Eliseo Martell, Casey Cruikshank and so many others among us?
Today, as I come close to Santiago, I want to honour their work, their friendship, and the work and friendship of so many other men and women who have supported good projects, and pointed the way to a more straight path when things got a little muddied and bent up.
Working with them is a pleasure, and I look forward to going back home.
Going on walkabout is good, but the return is even better.
My walking stick:
It is a lovely lightweight aluminum thing, with adjustable length, and a good foam rubber lining on the top part. It has a knot of hardwood on top, which enables me to lean on it, and it has a handle soft handle-belt that enables me to hand my cap from it.
It has become my best friend - giving me balance and helping me go both up hill and down.
I wonder what it will feel like when I go home? I suspect that I will miss it. It has become such a good companion and help. Life is like that, we often find helpful tools along the way, and we become attached to them. I have had friends and co-workers who have been excellent helpers and companions. They have provided support, but also balance. Can't´t imagine what work would have been like without their sturdy support, compassionate help, and well-balanced criticism.
If I should start naming them, I am afraid the secret would be completely out of the bag: I have not done much without them! To all of them, my sincere thanks, and my good wishes for a bright future.
Two in particular, must be mentioned: Lucia kept the Centre staff supported, and the funders busy, while I have been gone. When I return, she will be going to another challenge, and God knows how much we will miss her, and how pleased we are about her move.
And Marco? Marco Campana has kept our Web page healthy and meaningful since its beginning, has kept this log working, and has done all this as a dedicated and competent volunteer. With such friends, the Centre is in good hands indeed.
Yesterday I crossed lovely forests, and gurgling creeks to get to where I am today. And I was greeted by rhododendrons, azaleas, fuchsias, honeysuckle and roses, always roses. The crows no longer mock me, asking me why I am doing this. They are far too busy with their own works.
I will be talking with you again soon. Wish me "Buen Camino", and we will see each other around, on the Way to Santiago, 13 kilometers away this morning.
Am in Palas del Rey today, trying to get over sore knees. The weather
is changing, surely, if we are to go by how my knees feel. I am 65
kilometers from Santiago, and hope to take it a bit easy.
It was moved stone by stone, to a higher location when the town was "drowned" to make a conservation dam.
It was originally built by the Knight Hospitallers of St. John (they were a military order charged with protecting pilgrims -- hence the St. John´s Ambulance group, by the way). You can see that it was originally built to serve a function as a fort, from the solid look of it, and the top lookouts.
Inside it is simple, plain, almost austere, beautiful. None of the Baroque stuff of later centuries. Many churches built during the Romanesque period are being stripped of their Baroque additions nowadays, and their lines are much simpler.
As I write, I have done 10 km. and had breakfast a few minutes ago, in a small town called Portomarin. This town was further down than it is today, but the government decided to make a conservation dam on the River Miño, and the entire town was drowned under the dam. So everything has been built new, up the hill a ways. And they saved the 12 century church, by taking it down stone by stone and carrying it up the hill and building it again. It is beautiful, and I hope to take some pictures later today.
As I write, most of you are still sleeping, although my little grandson Jacob may already have been up with his mother, and Dan my son-in-law may be up getting ready to go to work. If David was in Kitchener last night, he will be leaving soon. Let me tell you, that today will be a beautiful day until noon, which is as far as I have seen so far!
I am in a bar-cafe, where they have computers at the back. This is a lovely time to come to use them, later on, all the teens will be here playing games.
I have come to the fourth autonomous region that I had to cross on the Way to Santiago. I started in Navarra, in the Basque region, then entered La Rioja, where there are lots of vineyards for wine. Then I entered the Region of Castilla and Leon. This area has been very crucial in the history of Spain, and it is the language of Castilla and Leon that won out and became the "norm" in terms of dominance. During the years after the civil war in the 30´s and up to my thirties, it was difficult for the other languages to thrive, and education was in Spanish only.
Since then the other languages - Gallego, Basque, Catalan etc., have seen a renaissance in terms of education and of the numbers of people that speak them. There are many things that Spain and Canada could talk about in terms of language survival and tolerance. Ah, well. Someday all Canadian children will grow up to be bilingual, and maybe someday all Spanish young people will feel that there is no need for violence in order to ensure autonomy.
But I digress. The last Region, which I crossed day before yesterday, is Galicia. There is a soft spot in my heart for this region.
I know for a fact that my forbears came from here, and as I walk, I imagine that I see my grandfather Bernabe´ walking around, since many people look like him. I am about 19 kilometers from a small village called Piñeiro, which is my mother´s maiden name. And walking along the forests in this Region, I can hear and feel the music of my own mountain in Puerto Rico. We came from here, and this place has special significance for that reason.
Yesterday´s walk took me through old style Celtic fields, the earth divided in Celtic fashion with slate stone fencing. Looking at the fields from high up the hill, they look like hands, with the veins showing. The stone fences are the veins.
The forests were extremely thick, with old, ancient, oaks, growing sometimes on top of stone fences, if you can imagine. And the stones, completely covered with lichen and moss. All along the path, there were streams, running downhill, with their musical sound. It was cold, but the sun was shining through the openings between branches.
The birds were singing their praises, and encouraging me on, as I walked toward the village. The day before, the crows mocked me as I walked along a hot path:¨"Craaw, craaw" they seemed to be saying, asking me why I was doing this, and wondering why I had thought that I could do it. It was only my imagination, but the crows did challenge my thinking, and it was not pleasant. So, you can understand that it was good to cross into Galicia and to hear soft streams, and encouraging bird song.
I send you my best greetings. This evening I will sleep here, I think. Last night, the shelter was very noisy with a group of men who were behaving like teenagers, chattering and giggling until they finally slept, and then they snored noisily for most of the remainder of the night. So, I figure, if I keep walking today, I will have to share the next shelter with them. Give them space, and let them get to Santiago a day ahead of me, I say. Since they won´t stay in this town, I am guaranteed a good night´s sleep!
Mind you they were very polite, just giggly. Amazing what 50-60-year-old men can talk about when they are off on a pilgrimage ...
Wish me buen camino, and I will see you around, again, on the way to Santiago.
I am in villa Franca Del Bierzo, one of the last stages before entering the autonomous region of Galicia. Leaving from here is one of the most high climbs in the whole way, and one that I don´t look forward to. There are many legends about this climb, one of which concerns a man who climbed in the Middle Ages, in a horrible storm, to attend the church service. When the priest saw him, he disdained him, thinking "What an idiot! Coming all that uphill distance for a bit of bread and wine." The legend says that immediately the priest became aware of his own stupidity, and of the presence of God in the little bit of Bread and Wine! It remains to this day as the miracle of el-Cebreiro. Look up Cebreiro,
http://galice.net.free.fr/galice.net/Que_ver_esp/que_ver_en_cebreiro.htm
so you will see where I will be soon.
This is a nice town, formerly populated by the French in the Middle Ages, since they controlled the Camino de Santiago around here, that is why it is called Villa "Franca". There is a beautiful castle, and some lovely church buildings,:
http://www.caminosantiagocompostela.com/narrative/villafranca.htm
The above page will show you where I walked today. The shelter is to the left of the first picture.
Yesterday I walked the highest, highest places of the Camino, at 1500 meters high. It was wonderful, with my steps guided by beautiful single peonies, lavender, daisies, poppies, lilacs, and roses, roses everywhere. My best visual memories will be the roses.
My most memorable moments in the past few days have been Sunday services in small churches, masses celebrated by a 30 year old priest in running shoes. when it was time to exchange the peace, he came down and shook every person´s hand.
Saturday night´s mass was celebrated in Italian, German, English, Spanish, Portuguese and Dutch. An Italian priest, Father Angelo, who was a priest in Ecuador for 19 years, is walking along the same paths as I am, and we often get to the same shelters. Lovely to arrive, and see him serve mass.
This has been a homecoming for me. I have always been moved by the fact that some generations ago my forefathers came from this part of the world. It is meaningful to me to see how life has developed here, and to see what I might have been like, had they stayed.
The Multicultural Centre continues to receive donations, as well as pledges for our campaign. The Record published an encouraging article recently, and we are all grateful for the support.
We will see you soon, in Kitchener, but before that, in Santiago, God willing. Until then, see you around in the Camino.
Friday, May 16, 2003
Good day to you from the beautiful city of Astorga. I have made good time, with good cool weather, and flat roads, close to the main highways.
This is the city where the great architect Gaudi is well remembered. He designed the palace of the Bishop, and it is a fantastic structure that stand in modern but elaborate contrast to the Gothic cathedral next to it. Check out the following:
http://www.gaudiclub.com/ingles/i_vida/fotobras/astorga/astor01.jpg
for a picture of the Gaudi palace.
Astorga is in the middle of an area populated by the Maragato people. An distinct ethnic group of unknown origins, they function for many centuries as the muleteers of Spain. Their cooking is quite famous, and their meals include special soups, dishes with seven kinds of meats, dishes with chick peas, and wonderful sweet creams.
There are three Cyber Cafes in this city, two of which do not open till evening. So I am glad I found this one, first in the morning. Mind you, "first in the morning" in this field of endeavor in Spain is about 11 o´clock. As in many other places, the Internet is still the province of young men, who are night owls. So these places are open well into the night. Alas, not for me. My life these days if from 6 a.m. till 9 p.m., anything after that is too late.
Our staff is hard at work at the Centre, continuing the work of Immigrant Settlement, while I keep walking. I thank them all, and my colleagues at Working For Work, for their efforts on my behalf. Walking in this cause is not lonely, knowing that you are all hard at work. Please give my greetings to all who ask about me.
Funny thing: before I left Canada, someone told me they were worried about me. I replied that unless they pledged a small gift to our campaign, even a very small one, they should not be worrying! I did not mean to ridicule their concerns. But I did mean to emphasize the fact that this is a positive project, not a project about fear and worry. We are grateful for all the gifts and offers of help we have received, and I am grateful for all your good wishes and prayers.
From what I hear, the First Nations community in Kitchener Waterloo is facing hard days. This reinforces the need to promote awareness and understanding among all people.If Canada does not belong to the First Nations, to whom could it possibly belong? Last week in one of the shelters, run by the Church, here in Spain, I saw a poster that stated: "If your understanding of God comes from Judaism, and you enjoy Italian pizza and Brazilian coffee, and like potatoes first developed in Peru, and take your holidays in Morocco, how dare you call your neighbour a ´stranger´"? The Church in Spain is very active in Anti-Racist Education, especially in the past decade, when Spain has become the home of many immigrants from North Africa and Latin America. They come and work at menial jobs that no one wants to do. Many live in rural areas, and yesterday, the Feast Day of Saint Isidro the Labourer, was dedicated to migrants who work in the rural areas. Very moving and significant for me, at any rate.
I leave you now, soon to meet you again. My good wishes to all. Think about me and thanks for supporting the work of the Centre.
Wednesday, May 14, 2003
Hello from the Autonomous Region of Castilla and Leon. Yesterday I walked the beautiful, flat, flat, flat (!) kilometers from Fromista to Carrion de los Condes. Easy walking, but very hard on the body. The trail was made of hard surface, and every step sent sharp vibrations up to my back. I enjoyed the straightness of it, though, and was able from time to time to read. Walking straight, there was no fear of missing a turn!
What did I think about? I thought about the Church at Fromista. Imagine! The Queen called Mayor, left instructions in her will that a church be built there. It was begun in 1066. And as usual, I became fixated on the bottom layer of building stones. Who put them there? What were they thinking? Where were these people from? What did they fear, hope, expect?
The building is beautiful. Check out "Fromista" in Google, and you will be able to see the church I saw yesterday.
The shelter last night was run by a lady in her sixties, a classic lady of a certain age and lifestyle. She was wonderful. Reminded me of the lady from Boston who said "Why should I travel? I am already here!" I kept thinking that I was inside an old Spanish novel. And, late in the night, or very early in the evening, an Italian gentleman got sick. My heart went out to him. It must not be fun, getting sick in a strange place. Nothing that a little Gravol could not cure, but at that hour of the night, and in that location, mind you, I am sure he felt very alone. Today, I saw him sitting in a cafe, holding his head. Oh, dear. So, today I have been extra careful washing my hands with plenty of soap and water...
I get news from the Multicultural Centre from time to time. I understand that our friends are still being generous, and making gifts and pledges. I thank them all, and hope to hear from many more. This project is not about how much you give, it is about how many will help. Let us make this a community project in every way.
I have been thinking about Norman Lynn, of Good Memory. He was one of the founders of the Multicultural Centre. He had a passion for service and for anti-racist education that was very contagious. I am sorry that he did not live long enough to see us move in to our own building. He did, however, live long enough to see us grow into a community organization, offering needed services and education. He was proud of us, and today I honour his memory.
So, wish me "Buen Camino", and let us meet again on the road to a new Multicultural Centre.
Friday, May 09, 2003
Life has continued on the Camino de Santiago, in spite of torrential rains. Yesterday, on the way to Najera, my foot got stuck in the mud, and the boot was sucked in. It would not come out by any means, and I had to stand there, nailed to the mud, waiting for other pilgrims to come by and pull my boot out.
The fields are lovely. I continue to walk through vineyards, of course, since this is the wine region. A couple of days, at the fountain of Irache, I was able to see wine flowing free, to be enjoyed by pilgrims. Pity I am allergic to wine.
This is a good month for going on pilgrimage. Not too hot, not too many pilgrims. But, lots of people already. All the shelters are full by early afternoon. The priority is always given to people who come from more than 30 kms. away, then to people with health problems, and lastly to people coming from shorter distances.
Many people walk 30 kms., every day. There is great camaraderie and sharing among pilgrims, and in the shelter kitchens people enjoy sharing what they have. I have shared a number of recipes for zucchini, and there is usually olive oil available. Yum. I have been amazed by the degree of trusts that exists among people who would not normally behave this way in their cities. The Camino is not yet commercialized. Alas, give it time, though I hope it will stay as it has been all these centuries.
My formerly beautiful boots were baptized in red Riojan clay, they look unreal. Ah, well, no time for vanity. They don't look too good outside, I am afraid, but extremely comfortable on the inside. I would buy them again.
Most shelters charge a donation for one night. One is expected to keep going. Accommodation is basic. What can you expect? A cot, a shower, a kitchen sometimes, some reading material. And the snoring is out of this world!
The Multicultural Centre continues to receive gifts and pledges. Our thanks to you all. This is a community project, no less than the sharing that goes on in the shelters along this blessed road.
I have learned a lot from this journey. Life is a pilgrimage. You think you know the goal, you move towards it. But you do not know how far you will get. You struggle, strategize, move, make mistakes, go back, walk sideways... one day at a time. Sometimes ten minutes at a time. There have been days when I have told myself: "Walk as far as that tree over there, then you can stand in the shade! Just as far as that tree" Then, from somewhere you get the strength you need, and you walk past the tree and on to the next one!
If I were only thinking of getting to Santiago, I am afraid I would give up. We will get there, one day at a time, one step at a time, one dollar at a time. Just as we serve at the Multicultural Centre: one person at a time. Is there a better way? I don't think so!
We will meet on the Camino again, God willing. Come and visit again. Myrta
Thursday, May 08, 2003
Greetings to you from Najera, in the Rioja region of Spain. Lots of wine, furniture making and pottery. For the wine and for the pottery good clay is needed, and this region has the best clay. I am a witness to that! For the past three days it has been raining and the quality of the mush that I am stepping on is exquisite!!! I am not minding it too much, because it is supposed to be sunny tomorrow, and my boots will dry. Otherwise, the mud has addess about one kilo to each of my feet as I lift them.
Today I walked on the highway for a long while, not on the actual trail. I can witness to the excellent driving skills of Spanish truck drivers. I tanked each one of them as they passed me, grateful that I had still my life. But enough of these scary tales.
What am I seeing on the walk? Beautiful flowers! Roses enchant me with their fragrance as I walk. Also I have seen potentilla, with the little yellow flowers greeting me and wishing me well. I saw lilacs in bloom yesterday, and lots and lots of delightful alpine ground cover, growing wild. I have also seen many pine trees of different kinds, oak trees, and lots of poplars.
There are many beautiful almond groves full with the promise of delicious almonds later on, and the vines are getting ready for the harvest that will come. I was able to pick dill to my heart´s content, for a roadside salad, and plenty of dandelions. And everywhere as I walk, I find olive trees.
What do I think about while I walk? I think about many things and I promise to write a whole chapter on my daytime musings. There are times when I can hear my footsteps: one, two, three, four, click, two, three, four, click, two, three, four ... "Click " is the sound of my walking stick as it hits the ground.
I have figured that I take 180 steps to the hectometer. So, since there are 10 hectometers to the kilometer, Ken Summers, how many steps will that be in all, I wonder? en is the treasurer of Trinity United Church, and a wizard with numbers. His wife, Gail, volunteers with us at the Centre on Monday afternoons.
While I walk I think about many things, and many people. I especially think about my friend and minister Bob Hyde. I pray for him. For good cheer, for grace, for smiles, for a good life.
I think about my grand children. When I am thirsty, I "hear" my grandson Gabriel, the first-born son or two first-born parents, who themselves are the children of two first-born mothers, saying: "Not yet, soon!" Thank you Gabriel, for teaching me patience. Just don´t get too bossy!
These days I am thinking about the work of our Centre a lot. And about the people we are privileged to serve. We live in a beautiful Region. It is becoming more vibrant and diverse every day. We must keep our services up to date, relevant, useful, timely, accessible. And with your help, we will.
See you around. Wish me "Buen Camino" and remember me in your thoughts.
Monday, May 05, 2003
Greetings from Puente la Reina, where it is raining, but otherwise it is a beautiful day!
I spent Sunday in this town of 2,000, and attended two church services at 2 churches built in the 12th Century. I am always moved by these old churches. Looking at the stones, I can´t help wondering -- what were the workers like, what did they talk about? Were they from this area, or were they itinerant, moving about as building projects started and ended? They certainly built two beautiful church structures here, and the bells are sounding the time, as I write.
I heard good news about the Kitchener Rangers! How wonderful that they are moving on to their next challenge. And by now Petr Kanko should be able to play, so the game should be even better. Good luck to the team.
Yesterday, the priest spoke about immigration, and mentioned the Spanish migrants of the past centuries, and how they went abroad to make a living for their families, often making it possible with their help for the people in these towns to survive. Wherever they went they took the jobs nobody wanted to do because they were too dangerous or too yucky for the native born in those countries. He then spoke about how many refugees and migrants from third world countries are coming to Spain, and how it is now the responsibility of Spanish people, even in this town of Puente la Reina, to look after them and make sure they are dealt a just deal. I have seen migrants from Argentina and from the Dominican Republic, as well as several North African countries here. Was it ever instructive and relevant to me!
Puente la Reina is very much associated with the Camino de Santiago, being one of the early stages in the Spanish part of the route. The King Sancho and his wife Dona Mayor endowed a bridge in the 12th Century, which still stands to this day, so that pilgrims could cross the river safely, on their way to Santiago. Hence, the name of the town (the Queen´s Bridge)
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I hope you are all well. If you think of me, send a prayer. It helps to know that you are there, supporting this challenge.
Friday, May 02, 2003
Greetings from Pamplona, where the sun is shining and it is 18 beautiful degrees. So far my feet are holding up quite well.
Before leaving Kitchener, the total of gifts and pledges had passed $13,000! How wonderful it is to be able to have the support of so many friends! Can we do this? Can we collect the down payment from friends and clients? We are almost halfway there!!!
Pamplona is an important City on the Road to Santiago, and today all the shelters are full. Many pilgrims are walking at this time, but not too many tourists yet, which is nice.
The traditional greeting is: "Buen Camino", so wish me Buen Camino and send me an e-mail at ultreia_2000@hotmail.com
Love to you all.
Myrta
