Poles Together

A word about my walking poles. The one in my right hand is Iago - named after St James, the patron saint of Spain, the saint of Santiago de Compostela, where all the Caminos lead. The one in my left is Thérèse - named after St Thérèse of Lisieux and St Teresa of Avila. (The name also gives a nod to Mother Theresa and recalls, too, Fernando and Tere, the sweet brother and sister couple I met in Pamplona on my first Camino, and continued to bump into all the way to Belorado.)

Iago I bought for my first Camino. I hadn´t ever had trekking poles before. It took a day or two to get used to him, to accustom myself to this strange extra limb. But he soon felt like an old friend. In Conques a kind girl in the tourist office gave me Thérèse - she´d been left behind by an American pilgrim - and I quickly found out that two poles were much better than one. Thérèse lost her pointed tip some time ago, but she still performs well.

Iago and Thérèse, my right hand and my left hand. I really couldn´t manage without them. They help me up and down steep mountain slopes, they stabilize me on rock and in mud, they protect my knees from strain and injury. They give me confidence to ford rivers and streams. They warn off any dogs which turn out to be aggressive rather than simply curious. They embody the polar principles of the very Camino itself, both its yin and its yang, its sun and its moon, its positive and its negative. They are poles working together, always in rhythmic harmony, never apart. They are both the Spanish and the French halves of the Camino´s soul. They connect me with the earth below, yet also point up to the sky above. They keep me grounded, yet also promise the radiance of the stars.

(Posted from Cáceres, on the Vía de la Plata, Spain.)

Camino Fever

I must go down to the South again, to the lonely road and the sky,
And all I ask is a winding path and a star to see her by;
It´s a long road, it´s a hard road, it´s a strange road to the end,
And all I ask is a loaf of bread and a jug of wine, my friend.

The wind is whistling through the oaks, the larks are singing sweet,
And all I ask is a stranger´s smile and some balm for my aching feet.
How dark the soul in the dead of night! But how bright the morning sun!
And all I ask is a warm bed before the day is done.

I must go down to the South again, the Camino is calling me,
Down to a place of love and grace where the heart beats wild and free,
And all I ask is a rinsed-clean mind, and some clarity of thought,
And a book and a staff and a scallop shell, and to find what it was I sought.

John Masefield wrote reams of poems which are little read today - perhaps deservedly so in most cases. They haven´t really stood the test of time, and are not today´s style at all. But two of his poems I´m rather fond of: Cargoes, which I recall having to learn at school - it´s a dazzling little poem, full of onomatopoeia - and Sea Fever, which I remember my mother used to recite (she was of a romantic turn of mind, and was forever escaping a humdrum existence by immersing herself in a world of novels and poetry). I´ve parodied Sea Fever in the poem above, which I knocked together in my head today as I walked from Mérida to Aljucén. As far as I remember, Sea Fever begins: I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky, / And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by...

(Posted from Aljucén, on the Vía de la Plata, Spain.)

Flamenco Dancer, Seville

The singer´s voice quavered and droned, thin and nasal like a muezzin´s. Jazzy chords spilled from a guitar: major then minor, fast then slow, confident then unresolved; cool and dark as a shaded courtyard in old Seville. Suddenly the dancer, Ascunción Pérez - dressed in red and black, with flashing eyes and jet black hair - strode quickly through a high doorway and mounted the small, wooden stage on the patio of the 18th century palace which is the Casa de la Memoria. All three - singer, guitarist, dancer - were young, local artists from Seville, performing flamenco in a modern style: fresh, unsentimental, but still firmly rooted in the old tradition. This was the real thing - not the castanet-clicking touts chasing the quick euro, nor the rough amateurishness you get from the hillside cave-dwellers above Granada. These were three serious students of the dance.

Complex rhythms flowed, faltered, petered out. Then began again, sinuously following a different direction, half-scripted, half-improvised. Hands clapped on the beat, off the beat. The dancer arched one arm over her head and stamped diagonally across the stage, head bent back, her body-shapes changing second by second, fingers stuck out at crazy angles like the tentacles of an octopus. She hitched up her dress, slapped her thigh. She was proud, provocative, defiant, sexy, coy, tragic, strong, yielding, ecstatic; one moment a majestic matriarch, the next a bashful señorita. Studied awkwardness gave way to still composure. She squatted, legs akimbo, as if giving birth - grotesque as a figure from a Paula Rego painting - then became all beauty and grace, like a Velázquez princess.

Her red heels went clack, clack, clack. Clack, clack across the wooden floor, as the tempo rose and quickened. All hands clapped in unison, as faster and faster she twirled and spun in a vision of red and black, in a frenzy of movement. Clack, clack, clack. For a moment she became all the women of Andalusia rolled into one: the smart, Spanish women parading in the gardens of the Alcazár, the Arabic gypsies scraping an existence in the shacks by the Guadalquivir river. At the crescendo she stood face-on to her spellbound audience: stiff, erect and proud; all fire, all heart, all corazón. The house erupted in swift, spontaneous applause. Olé! The lights came on and we shuffled off, mesmerized, as if a dream had ended.

(Posted from Mérida, on the Vía de la Plata, Spain.)

The Last Word. Really.

Okay, okay, I haven't forgotten! Here's the kit list - specially for any walkers out there more serious and 'proper' than I will ever be...

Backpack (North Face Terra 40)
Trekking poles (Leki)
Sleeping bag (Vango Venom) and silk liner
Walking boots (Merrell Mids - Goretex-lined, Vibram-soled)
Light sandals (Reebok)
Hiking trousers (North Face)
Waterproof Gore-Tex shell (Berghaus)
Waterproof overtrousers (Regatta)
Fleece (North Face)
Hat and gloves (North Face)
Balaclava
Neck warmer
Technical shirts (Technicals/Regatta)
Merino wool base layer (Icebreaker)
Base layer briefs (Helly Hansen)
Socks and sock liners (Smartwool/Bridgedale)
Bum bag
Headtorch (Petzl)
Compass (Silva)
Swiss Army knife (Victorinox)
Cigarette lighter
Plastic spoon and fork
Water bottle
Compact camera (Panasonic Lumix TZ7) and charger
Mobile phone (Nokia) and charger
Travel adaptor plug
Wrist watch (Casio G-Shock)
Spanish phrase book
Camino guide book
Notebook and pen
Needle and thread
Ibuprofen, Compeed, plasters
Blood pressure tablets
Tissues
Pegs and line
Nail file and clippers
Comb
Vaseline
Lip salve
Antiseptic cream
Razor and shaving oil
Toothbrush and paste
Sunscreen
Plastic container of all-purpose soap
Microfibre travel towel
Anti-perspirant
Passport
Debit card, credit card, European Health Insurance card
Cash in euros
Credencial del Peregrino
Scallop shell pendant
Plastic rosary
10 jar maxi-pack of Marmite

Total weight of backpack: 14 lb (6.3 kg)

(Only joking about the Marmite...)

IN MEMORIAM: FLW. My father died a year ago tomorrow. May he rest in peace. I dedicate this Camino to his memory.

Lonely Travellers All

Farewell, farewell, to you who would hear,
You lonely travellers all,
The cold North wind will blow again,
The winding road does call.

And will you never return to see
Your bruised and beaten sons?
Oh, I would, I would, if welcome I were,
For they loathe me everyone.

And will you never cut the cloth
Or drink the light to be?
And can you never swear a year
To anyone of we?

No I will never cut the cloth
Or drink the light to be,
But I'll swear a year to one who lies
Asleep alongside of me.

Farewell, farewell, to you who would hear,
You lonely travellers all,
The cold North wind will blow again,
The winding road does call.

Lyrics: Richard Thompson; Voice: Sandy Denny

We've all heard of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. But I read on a blog the other day about another type of OCD: Obsessive Camino Disorder. Is this such a bad affliction? Perhaps less debilitating than some. Indeed it may be empowering. And you never know - some kind of order may arise from the disorder. And those wings may fly - at least part of the way.

Once bitten, forever smitten...

Hasta luego :-)

Broken Wings

'Take these broken wings and learn to fly...'

A Jug Of Wine, A Loaf Of Bread, and Thou...

My French and German are OK, but my Spanish speaking skills are fairly poor, so I've been doing some brushing up. Food and drink words are some of the most essential to know - at least in my case, for I love food and drink. I can now ask with confidence for dulce de membrillo (quince jelly) - which is rather good with a spot of manchego cheese - and los mariscos (seafood), which is invariably excellent all over Spain (crustáceos = shellfish, langosta = lobster, langostinos = king prawns, pulpo = octopus, calamares = squid). However, it's likely that I won't be eating out all that much as I'm on a limited budget, and food isn't always available at pilgrim-friendly times (ie before 9 pm - at which time most knackered pilgrims are crawling into their sleeping bags). So thank goodness for the old staples, getting staler by the hour in one's backpack: chorizo, queso and una barra de pan.

Thanks to my Lonely Planet Audio Pack I now know how to say: 'No, I don't want a blood transfusion' (No quiero que me hagan una transfusión de sangre), 'Please use a new syringe' (Por favor, use una jeringa nueva), 'Are there any eco-lodges round here?' (Hay algún ecolodge por aquí?), 'Where can I buy a padlock?' (Donde puedo comprar un candado?) and 'I need a pregancy test' (Necesito una prueba de embarazo). So, you see, I'm ready for all eventualities.

Packing The Essentials

Well, I'm half-prepared, for a change. Normally, due to personal circumstances, I more or less just get up and go (which, I can tell you, has caused me more than a few problems in the past - too heavy a backpack, and painful, pinching walking boots, being just two). But this time I'm carefully packing only the lightest and most essential items. And I've splashed out on a brand new pair of Goretex-lined Merrell Mids - half-way between a walking shoe and a walking boot - which are lighter and much more comfortable than any hiking boots I've ever worn before. In fact they fit like a pair of old slippers. You can slosh through the snow in them and still keep your feet dry. And there's plenty of snow round here right now in which to practise...

(The pic shows Alison Raju's two guide books to the Vía de la Plata; a virgin Credencial del Peregrino, just waiting to be stamped; the blue plastic crucifix and rosary beads given to me by the Bishop of Le Puy at the start of my 1st pilgrimage in October 2007; and the simple coquille pendant I bought from a nun in the sacristy of Le Puy Cathedral, again in October 2007.)

O'Cebreiro Revisited

There's snow in northern Spain and deep snowdrifts in O'Cebreiro, the gateway to Galicia - according to Johnnie Walker who's just walked through. I remember stopping an hour or two at O'Cebreiro in December 2007 on my own pilgrimage along the Camino Francés. The weather then was frosty and piercingly cold - but a brave sun shone in blue skies, burning off the valley mists by midday. O'Cebreiro (1293 m, 4242 ft) was for me not only a physical but also a spiritual high point of the journey. Although there were more hills to climb as I walked across Galicia, I seemed to coast effortlessly from here all the way to Santiago. I saw this statuette of Saint James in the Church of Santa Maria Real in O'Cebreiro:

In a bar in O'Cebreiro I met by chance an American lady from The Confraternity of Saint James who was interested in my journey. She was doing some research on the route for the Confraternity. When she heard I lived not far from Nottingham, she urged me to go to one of the Confraternity's local pilgrim reunion meetings when I got home. But I never went. I'm sure she said the Nottingham group was run by Alison Raju, who's written various Camino guides. In fact I'll be using Raju's guide to the Vía de la Plata in a couple of weeks' time.