Ready to talk about the Camino

And really? Thanks for waiting, I just had to wait until it felt right.





PRE-DAY: I checked in to my hotel in Madrid around noon on Oct 24, after getting ripped off by my cab driver (future tourists, beware!). Kelz had booked us in to the Hotel Europa on the Puerta del Sol, and there couldn't possibly be a more exciting, more convenient, more in the middle of everything base in a thousand years...and it freaked me out. The noise coming from the square outside our balcony was astounding, so many people going in so many directions with so many different goals.... it was truly beautiful to watch from my third floor balcony, the doors thrown open wide to capture every sound, every whiff of the street vendors selling flowers or watches on blankets, or newspapers...but it was very different for this small town girl to leave the safety of her balcony and wade in to this cosmopolitan crowd.

I had eight hours to kill until Kelly arrived, so I took the advice of the front desk agent and took off in the 25 degree Celcius (read: HOT) weather to see the big attractions near the hotel. That afternoon, I visited the Royal Theatre, the Royal Palace (they don't allow photos so I bought postcards), and a local cathedral. Inside the cathedral, I was shocked to see so many people taking photos..... you need to understand that in some regards, I am a VERY old fashioned person, and even as I myself raised my camera to my eye, I felt weird about it: it's a church, therefore you pray, you don't take pictures.

I felt very out of place with my old fashioned hang-ups and my modern beliefs, until I saw a small chapel off to the side inside the cathedral. It was separated from the main church by silent glass doors, engraved on which was the following message: "No tourists allowed. This room for praying ONLY."

Perfect.

I let myself in to this quiet, homely chapel as several other people let themselves out. Outside was all tourists and flashbulbs and noise. Inside was total silence, adoring a simple altar. It was a totally different church and even though I have many MANY issues with my Catholic faith, I was able to get to my knees easily, to pray very simply, "On this Camino, let me see Your lessons...On this Camino, let me see Your lessons..." I kept hoping that something more poetic would come to me, that I could say something "nicer", but no, that's what came and so I went with it.

(MAJOR ASIDE: I have told parts of this story to some of my friends, and spiritual questions have obviously arose from these conversations. So let me cut to the chase and say this: I call the forces that spoke to me over the next few weeks "God" and "angels"... you may call them "energy" or "the gods" or "the mother" or "chi".... Call it whatever you believe, ok? I just use the words that are easiest for me. We all mean the same thing. (Seriously, we DO.)

So I got on my knees and prayed that I would understand whatever my Camino brought me. And when I got up and left the room? The crazy part is that I felt BETTER, I felt more energized, I felt more excited to get started.

I made it back to my hotel by 6pm and then sat in to wait for Kelz. For whatever reason, I had it fixed in my head that she was only arriving at midnight,so when she arrived at 10pm? I was like a little kid. I get to actually lay hands on her so rarely that, when she walked in our door, it seemed like THIS would be the ultimate experience of the Camino, so thrilled was I to see her.

We grabbed at each other and squealed in tones only understood by dolphins, and both tried to talk at the same time, and it all made perfect, beautiful sense. And less than five minutes later, Kelz said, "Let's go out!"

I had been tired. I had been overwhelmed by the noise, by the sheer number of people. I wanted to sleep.

But, hello? We're going out? In Madrid?? I'll race you to the elevator.

We walked the busy streets for an hour, talking the entire time, taking weird pictures (WHY we thought pictures of Spanish garbage trucks were funny still eludes me, but I have about a dozen of them.) before settling down in a street bar...which happened to be the street bar of OUR hotel.





DAY ONE (OCT 25)

We took the subway from our hotel to the train station (thank GOD Kelz had checked out the subway system on-line, otherwise we might still be there), then spent three hours on the high speed train from Madrid to Leon, both of us occasionally commenting on the scenery along the way. It was a very comfortable time for me....we would both spend long periods of time not talking, but when we had something to say? We said it. And when we didn't? We didn't. Perfect.

We arrived in Leon around 2 pm and immediately picked up the Camino. I can't speak for Kelz, bu that kind of shocked me, how IMMEDIATE it was. I had been dreaming about this for almost a year, I had spent a lazy day in Madrid, I honestly didn't expect the whole vibe of "Welcome to Leon. Start WALKING, bitch!"

But I loved it. I loved stretching each pace just a little bit, the way my thighs were reacting to the exercise. As the kilometers went on, I loved tracking first the cement clam shells in the sidewalk to guide our path, and then the random spray painted yellow arrows. I loved re-adjusting the straps on my backpack so that the fit was better.

And as the kilometers went on, Kelz was quickly made aware of my darkest fear: walking in the dark. No, I'm not afraid of the dark in any way, but my terror was that there would be one, solitary arrow painted on a wall telling us which way to go,and we would MISS it.

As it turns out, after 20 kilometers we reached our very first refugio looong after dark (Thank GOD -- or whoever-- that the last few kilometers of the path were along a well travelled and well lit road). The refugio was somewhat desterted, we had no official Greeter, only three other pilgrims who told us to make ourselves comfortable, surely the innkeeper would be back soon...

Kelz immediately made friends with the three strangers. I don't have her confidence or moxie or whatever it is, so I hung back. They offered us the rest of the pasta they had cooked; Kelz was able to say, "Great, thanks!", while I hung back in shy-person agony, just hoping they would stop being so nice to me. (Yeah, I have "acceptance" issues.)



DAY TWO (Oct 26): (in future, to be referred to as The Bad Day) I can not even begin to explain how excited I was to begin our first Full Day of the Camino....so excited that I was up by 3:30 am. (a combination of jet lag and displaced Christmas-morning excitement.) Kelz and I hit the trail out of Mazarife at 7:30 am (we were out the door and our room-mates weren't even UP yet...I can't speak for Kelz but I KNOW I felt superior to them.)

So off we marched, on the trail Astorga, 31 kilometres away. We had walked 2o kms the day before, only starting at 2:frigging:pm, so I figured that today? by 1pm? We'd be sitting in a bar with our feet up.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha omigod KILL ME ha ha.

Worst flipping day of my LIFE. Now to be fair, and to put it in context, at the end of the day, we spoke to several people who had started the Camino much further away than we had, people who were already used to the physical demands the Camino places on pilgrims. And even they? THEY said, "Holy shit today was crazy hard."

Yeah, sounds like a good idea for the First Full Day of Walking.

Kelz and I did our own thing, taking our time, stopping at least every 90 minutes for 5 minutes (at my insistance), and then finally arriving in Hospital de Orbigo around 11:30 am. We traversed a PAINFUL cobblestoned bridge (ouch! ouch!) before arriving in the town square. Kelz and I had all the supplies we needed with us, so no need to hit shops. Instead we sat in the town square in the hot sun, peeled off our boots and socks and placed our bare feet on the cold cobble stones. After a few minutes, Kelz donned her flip-flops, but I opted to stay "naked" for our entire stop. We pulled a make shift lunch out of our bags (Kelz in particular being generous with her sharing, having learned from her time in Scotland: "Here, Irma, EAT CHOCOLATE, I know you don't particularly like it but you need to." She was right.)

While we were relaxing in the sun and shade, two things happened: First, the civic team of garbage collectors walked by. "Buen Camino, pelegrinas!" the younger woman cried.

I remember thinking, "FINALLY someone has wished us "Buen Camino"!! Her obvious support for what we were attempting made everything else that followed that day easier, it reminded me that we were not trail blaizers, we were only doing what hundreds of thousands have done before us. It only occurred to me, weeks later, that it FELT like I had been walking forever but in all honesty I had been walking less than 24 hours.

Also during our lunch-with-feet-up-under-the-olive-tree, a strange man approached us. Strange because he was balancing himself and his backpack on top of a uni-cycle. I don't think we ever asked his name, but he was from Sweden, he was curious where he could wash his laundry in that town (something we couldn't help him with) and he was insistent that he would not take the secondary path offered in the guides, because it wasn't as traditional as the first. (The idea of a dude on a UNICYCLE insisting on the Traditional Path tickled me beyond belief.)

After our lunch break, Kelz and I took off again. And things started to go very, very wrong.

I need to step back and give some backstory, if it's not clear on this blog: I got ready for this trip. I HIKED. I packed my packpack and walked with it. And then? With the fully loaded backpack? I walked and walked and WALKED. And then I walked some more. And plus I walked.

After about 15 kms, I started to complain. Not loudly or insistently, but I did start to say things like, "Huh. This is funny, at home I felt fine but now my ankle kind of bugs me. Funny, right?"

At 20 kms I said,"Hon, I need to stop for five minutes."

At 25 kms, I said, "OMIGOD I can't keep walking, are these people CRAZY??"

At 30 kms, I was in full on tears-are-a-fountain mode. I was in so much pain I didn't think I would make it to the albergue.

I now need to step back, to use the Distance I have carved from this experience: In the future, I can now tell you that Kelz developped incredibly painful blisters on her heels that day, blisters that plagued her the rest of the way. But she never complained ONCE.

Me, on the other hand? I complained PLENTY about the pain in my ankle. Wah wah wah, get over yourself, I was really THAT bad. Also projecting in to the future, I can now tell you that it wasn't the distance I covered that day that did me in (Wait and see what I did next if you don't believe me!!), it was the type of terrain.

Stupid, loose rocks. I HATE YOU.

But towards the end of the day? When neither one of us could see straight, except through a veil of pain? Weird INSPIRATIONAL grafitti started showing up.








To be continued....

Not sure I can do this

I don't think I've mentioned this before, but I am growing my hair so I can donate it to Locks Of Love, an organization that creates wigs for cancer patients, particularly children.

Contrary to popular belief, it IS okay if donors have dyed their hair. (Dye = fine. Lightening or highlighting = bleach = NO.) The other requirement is that the donated hair be twelve inches long.

The hair on the top of my head is much, much more than that, I'm just waiting for those wisps on the bottom to catch up (probably ten inches now).

I am soooo close.

For most of my life, I have had long hair. I have flirted with super short two or three times,and loved it at the time, but I always go back to my comfort zone, to hair I can pick up in my hand. That feels like me.

But I hate my hair so much right now that I'm not sure I can keep at this. It is sooooooooo LONG. I look like a freaking drowned rat, and in the past two weeks I have noticed that every time I try to eat and move a fork close to my face? My hair gets on it. Seriously, you guys, it's GROSS.

And now that I have grown accustomed to having long hair? I'm really not sure I can face the once inch shag I'll be left with once the whole Locks of Love thing happens.

I have been working towards this goal for over three years. But now I seriously think I'm going to throw in the towel, say, "I don't care, I want to cut my hair to the shoulders, and some poor nine year old girl with cancer won't get a wig because of it."

I feel soooooo selfish and shitty, does anyone have any advice??

Happy birthday, Carleton

I think we all know that my name isn't really Irma. And surprisingly enough, I am not in love with a guy whose driver's license reads "Husbandly One", although that would be very cool. I keep up my thin veil of secrecy because it feels right to me, but I am not obsessive about it. Tonight's post is about my brother, and seeing how I am going to link to his web page at the end, I may as well call him by his rightful name.

Happy birthday, Carleton.

Not in a thousand years could I ever explain the ways I love you. We are only one year and thirteen days apart, so we were always together as children, we got to really HAVE each other in a way our much younger sister missed out on. We have a history between us that needs no explanations, no back story, no discussion.

I remember going to kindergarten with you when I was four and you were three in the Baptist church up the street, the way Mummy used to stand on the corner at 11:30 waiting for us to emerge, and how thrilled she was to see us.

I remember how angry --well, let's not mince words, how unbelievably fucking pissed off you were when I went to grade one the next year, and you had to go to kindergarten without me.

I remember all the nights we begged our parents to let us sleep in the same room. (they wisely usually did.)

I remember one afternoon a year later, when you were going over to Dale's house to play with Dale and Peter. You wanted me to go too, so I did, and the other two boys loudly announced they wouldn't play with a girl and I had to leave. I remember you got in trouble back home for punching Dale in the face....but you didn't get in too much trouble.

Even earlier, out of context, I remember the only time Mummy every spanked either one of us: you were two, and you took off across the frozen pond in early winter near our house in Birch Grove, across ice that was paper thin. Mummy didn't dare step foot on the ice, knowing she would fall through with the very first step, so she kept calling to you in her sweetest voice. You kept giggling and running further out... I can only imagine what terror lived in her heart. Finally her sweet sing-song lured you in, and as soon as you were within arm's length, she turned you over on her knee, your face inches from the snow, and sobbed as she let her worst fear out with each raise of her hand. (You never went out on the pond again, by the way.You may have needed to learn things the hard way, but at least you learned.)

I remember our confusion, but particularly your confusion, when our parents split up. I remember all the times we just looked at each other, each of us unsure what was now expected of us at any moment or in any situation. I remember we had wonderful parents and then wonderful step parents who loved us, and who we loved in return.... but only I can remember that it was the two of us clinging to each other; everything else might change, but we never would.

Fast forward. I remember when we both thought we were grown ups (ha!) in our twenties, I remember you flying from Toronto to come visit me in the Rockies. I remember being so proud that I could pick you up at the airport in a car I had bought all by myself. I remember you asking me to pull off the highway, so you could get out of the car and really LOOK. You were blown away, you just needed to stop and take it all in. "Look how beautiful it is", you said with wonder.

I had lived there for several years, had ceased to see the beauty of what I took for granted. But through your eyes, I really saw the mountains for the first time in years. Thank you for that.

Fast forward. I remember the day after Mummy died in January 2006, going through her closet to pick her last outfit. I remember you taking a pair of her tiny embroidered jeans and folding them carefully. "I want these."

I remember you playing and singing at her funeral, a song that you had written with her in mind, and how your song ended on such a jarring, unfinished note, with the words, "She's listening."

I remember calling you three months later at one in the morning, to tell you that Daddy had died. And I will never, ever forget how you sighed, how the first words out of you mouth were, "How did I know."

Fast forward. I remember standing in the lobby at Toronto's city hall on your wedding day, you were inside filling out the necessary paperwork, when your beautiful bride arrived late. I had never met her, but the white dress kind of gave her away. "Ai", I said gently,"Carleton needs you to do the paperwork." She left without even saying a word to me, intent on reaching you and the formalities, but I already knew this stranger was my sister.

Fast forward. We don't talk as often as we once did, but that is because of mismatched schedules and obligations, not because of a lack of love. We have grown apart geographically, but every time I talk to you, we are once more two little kids, curled up in the same bed, hoping we are whispering quietly enough that Mummy and Daddy won't burst in to the room and separate us so we'll go to sleep.

Happy birthday, Carleton.



http://www.automan.ca/

It's beginning to look a lot...

Today Son and I put up the Christmas tree. Yes, it's early, shut up. He is only here every other weekend, and it is an important tradition for the two of us that we decorate the tree together, and I wasn't willing to wait til his next visit to do it.

A lot of our ornaments are just ornaments, but there are also several dozen that Are Important. We take our time unwrapping them, and we re-tell to each other the reasons they are significant:

"Look, this from our trip to Disney."
"Look Amah, I made this for you when I was eight."
"This one is the ornament my parents gave me when I was sixteen, the one that started me collecting ornaments..."

Son knows the story each bauble contains --I know this because I check every year, repeat details he may have forgotten or that maybe he was too young to hear before. It is important that he know and remember these stories, because someday these pretty bits will be his. And I can't even begin to tell you how sad it would make me for him to inherit a lifetime of dreams and memories, without knowing what they are.

Still lurching along

YES, I am going to write all about my Camino; I even thought I was going to start writing about it tonight. But I just looked at a few of the pictures I want to post here, and I realized I'm still not ready. It's weird, because I know what I want to write about, and most of it is really just travel details, "today this happened, I saw the following, Kelly said....." but it still all too fresh in my mind if that makes sense. I still need to digest the whole thing.

What I CAN tell you is that my ankle is still messed up. I developped tendonitis in my right ankle on Day Two, and --with a lot of perseverance, stubborness, and tears of frustration and pain-- kept walking another eleven days (look at me giving away the ending, ha ha!) before I had to accept that I had to stop walking, that I was risking hurting myself in a permanent way.

Long story short, I have been back in Canada for almost two weeks, taking it VERY easy, and walking is still a struggle for me, I'm still using the hiking poles I acquired in Spain just to help me get from my desk to the photocopier. Early morning is the absolute worst: I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, grab my poles, stand up.... and then literally stare at my feet, trying to get one of them to take the first step, trying to figure out which foot first will mean the least amount of pain (because it seems to change all the time!).

Still, there HAS been definite improvement, in the last few days I have been able to go short distances without the poles. If things keep getting better, then I will let nature take its course. As soon as I feel that progress has slowed too much, I will consult a doctor here in Canada. In te mean time, I'll keep icing my ankle, taking the wicked strong ibuprofen I was prescribed in Spain, and looking forward to long walks once more.

Next post....Camino stories and pictures, I promise!

So it was my birthday

Turned forty the other day.

I can honestly say I was ready for this, I was actually looking forward to this based on the personal high I was still riding from my trip to Spain. Woo HOO, I'm FORTY!!! I am ready to celebrate, ready to laugh at myself, ready to spend time with those I love, ready to start this next part of my life.

My son gave me a hug and a book. Hug was the best part.

And I'm pretty much done telling you what happened on my birthday, because that was pretty much it.

I'm baaaaaack

So hard for me to believe my trip to Spain is over. My fabulous, perfect, not-what-I-expected, amazing trip....which I will tell you all about, but right now I am fighting both my jet lag (just got home late last night) and nursing my poor right ankle, which I injured on the second day. Yeah, looooooooooong story there, and the reason there are walking poles in the picture above.

Anyway, so far today I have taken my drugs, iced my ankle, taken a nap, had more drugs, currently have my foot up with an ice pack....I think there may be a pattern here!

I can't wait to tell you all about the trip, and show you some of the great photos Kelz took. For now, though, I think another nap is in order.