Gratitudes

I am grateful for the stack of mail and the pile of laundry I came home to  – tackling them was grounding and satisfying. I am truly home now.

No one goes on a journey like mine without support from many people.

To Terry, Brad, Linda, Kate, and Karen at McCallum and Mailhandlers – thank you for the stress-free time away from my job.  I am ready to come back to work.

To Poppo, for giving me curiosity about the world and what might be around the next corner.

To Kathy, who took great care of my home and Zoe while I was away.

To Beth, Dr. Emily, and Dr. B for the physical support. You are wise healers and I treasure you.

For my Unity spiritual community and my Wisdom University colleagues – I felt your prayers and good wishes.

To Judith, my advisor.  Thank you for supporting my idea of an independent study course.

To Judy Colanari and Spanish Steps – for your support all along the way.  

To all who read and commented on my blog – your encouragement helped me to capture the experience in real time.  That is a gift I will treasure always.

Santiago de Compostela – Finisterre - Friday May 20th

I went to the End of the Earth today.

The morning started foggy and cool in Santiago. 

There are now double the number of young people having their sit-in and sleep-in protest in the square in front of the cathedral today.  One young man was playing guitar, and a little while later a young woman spoke from a bullhorn.  I love a good protest rally.  This one seems quite earnest, yet cheerful, and the solo police officer in the far corner of the square seems like a lonely chaperone.

At noon I went to the Pilgrim’s Mass at the cathedral – standing room only – I found a spot to sit on the floor to the side and marveled at the pageantry in this huge place.  From my vantage point, I noted the footwear – stylish Spanish women in nice shoes, hiking boots with a few hundred miles of wear and dust, bandaged toes sticking out from sandals. 

I confess I got a little teary when the priests blessed the pilgrims.

After Mass, I hopped in my car and headed west to Finisterre, about a 2 hour drive.  This is the western-most point of land on the continent of Europe - the mythic place where you would fall off the planet if you went beyond the horizon. The King and Queen of Spain ended their pilgrimage here in 1490, and 2 years later, they boldly subverted the dominant paradigm by funding the voyage of Columbus. 

The weather cleared, and as I stood on the rocky bluff next to the lighthouse, I could see the curvature of the earth.  On an outcropping just above the lighthouse, there is a 10 foot high 4 x 4 inch pole, and on each of its 4 sides, in a different language, it simply says:

    

‘May Peace Prevail on Earth.’

Truly, when you get to the end of the road, there’s nothing left to do but turn around.

My alarm is set for 3:45 in the morning. 

I’m going home. 

Santiago de Compostela to Armenteira Monastery and the Outeiro do Cribo Labyrinth

I found it.

Five years ago I learned of the oldest known labyrinth in the world - reportedly carved in stone in Galicia, Spain, near an old monastery.

An hour’s drive south of Santiago is the 12^th century Armenteira Cistercian monastery.  Finding that place easily, I stopped for coffee and asked for directions. 

Silly me.

My Spanish is good enough to ask the question, but my vocabulary is limited, and I was clueless with the answer.  Fortunately, I had pen and paper, and she made a map.  Off I went like little Nancy Drew. 

Down a dirt road was a small little sign with the labyrinth symbol on it, pointing to a trail nearly grown over in the late spring lush.

I parked the car and clambered up over some granite rocks (I’ve had plenty of recent experience with that sort of thing).  A short walk through pine trees, ferns and moss, and there it was. 

No fence. No admission charge.  No gift shop.  Just some large granite stones with carvings, right there, out in the weather, waiting to be discovered.  I gasped.

Shaking a little, my finger traced the familiar swirling turning path.

The simple Celtic 7-circuit labyrinth was about 2 feet diameter. The experts say these carvings date from 2000 BC, and labyrinths have been linked with pilgrimage and travel for four millennia.   

I sat down next to it for a very long time. 

I wondered who carved this, and why here.

I thought about the design and how it has appeared in so many places on the earth.

I thought about how, in our modern time, this simple design still fascinates people.

I thought about how it symbolizes an outward journey, and facilitates an inward journey.

I thought about our human story, of how a few of our ancestors left their home in Africa, and gradually, through thousands of years, kept moving, and now we cover the planet. I think there is something hard-wired in human DNA that asks us to move, to travel, to pick up and go to places we have never seen before, on safari, on walkabout, on a journey. We seek better hunting, better pastures, fresh water, education, love, opportunity, or just to see the wonders we’ve heard stories about from other travelers.

I think we’ve been pilgrims since the dawn of civilization. 

Santiago de Compostela – Wednesday May 18th

I’m going to miss my companions!  They are walking the remainder of the distance to Santiago, and I am driving.

We said our farewells this morning at breakfast, and after my companions set off to follow the yellow arrows to Santiago, I went to the Avis office to pick up my car. There was a little mix-up on the details, and after some crazy drama and chatter in Spanish, my car appeared and I was off.

After traveling at 3 miles per hour for 2 weeks, 60 seemed scary fast at first. Then I put that zippy little 5-speed through its paces, and I covered the distance in 2 hours that it would take 8 days to walk.

Driving in Spain is easy.  The roads are all in great shape and the signage is excellent.  I drove from Ponferrada to my hotel in Santiago without once looking at a map or the MapQuest directions I had brought with me. 

After a siesta, I walkeded up to the cathedral square. Young people are staging sit-ins in town squares all across Spain, including Santiago.  The article I read about it says this:

 “A silent revolution has begun in Spain, a nonviolent revolution which seeks democracy through democratic means, justice through just means, and peace through peaceful means has finally captivated the imagination of the Spanish people, and now there is no turning back.”

If you want the whole story, check this link:

http://www.pabloouziel.com/spain%e2%80%99s-tahrir-square/

I say - More Power to Them!

Walking Day 13 Rabanal to Molinaseca – 24.7 km – 15.5 miles

Last evening my companions and I attended Vespers in a small Benedictine monastery in Rabanal. Gregorian chant - (the real thing) - they’ve been doing it in this 12^th century chapel every evening for 900 years.  Ethereal, absolutely ethereal.

I savored every step this morning. Leaving Rabanal was an easy uphill walk in cool clear air. The hills were purple with heather and wild lavender.

Four miles up the road is the village of Foncebadon – the famed abandoned village in Shirley MacLaine’s book with the mythic vicious wild dogs.  Arriving in the town, it was clear that 15 years of Camino revival have been good to Foncebadon.  I counted 2 albergues, 3 restaurants, a small store, and a coffee bar with free Wi-Fi.  A skinny feral cat was the wildest, most vicious thing there.

Moving on up the trail, there was the famed Iron Cross, surrounded with rocks brought by pilgrims from their homes. Leaving them on this hill symbolizes releasing the burdens and sins of one’s life.  It was a big pile on a big hill. Thankfully I arrived just as the busload of German tourists was departing. 

And from there, it was all downhill.  A 3,000 foot drop over 9 miles.
Steep.  With rocks. 

A big juicy fresh slice of Hell.

For nearly 7 hours I picked my way gingerly down that hill, knowing one false move and I would go down, and it was gonna hurt. Crazed demons on mountain bikes blew through at random intervals.  Focused concentration got me through it.

I’d consumed all my water, the mid day sun was blazing, and then, there it was – the spire of the church in Molinaseca.  One hundred more steps, and I was on flat pavement.     Exhale.

I raised my walking stick and let out a triumphant yell that echoed off the surrounding hills, and I walked across that 13^th century bridge into Molinaseca like a conqueror. 

Walking Day 12 – Astorga to Rabanal Del Camino – 20.6 km – 13 miles

A long slow gentle climb today.  A village every 3 or 4 miles.  Sunny and clear, not too hot. I came upon my friends Nora and Al in the first village and walked with them to the next.

Easy walking.  Easy day. 

I wish I could report something epic, but alas, no, nothing of that sort today.

One must be simply grateful for the ordinary.

And an ordinary day on the Camino is simply extraordinary. Walkers from Finland, Viet Nam, Germany, and Texas.  Old women dressed in black, nearly bent in half from old age, making sandwiches at a bar.  Wild thyme and lavender along the path. Flowers in pots on porches in an otherwise deserted village.  The serenade of crickets all along the way.

I pondered the ideas of faith and devotion today as I walked. 

For so many centuries, people walked from their homes to Santiago seeking forgiveness or a miracle.  They traveled with no detailed maps, no smartphones, no room reservations, no hi-tech walking shoes or backpacks.  They traveled simply with faith that their needs would be provided for along the way, and they journeyed carrying the prayers of their family and friends, asking for a miracle from Saint James.  Along the way, churches and shrines and hostels were built by those devoted to God, motivated by love for their fellow travelers. 

And as millions walked to Santiago from all over Europe, many never went home again.  They fell in love, or broke a leg, or bought a farm, and in that way, Spain was slowly, gently, permanently repopulated with believers.  The art and books and holy shrines they left in their wake are stunning in their beauty.  The love and devotion that went into their creation is visceral.

Tomorrow is my last day walking.  I will start from this village, and go up and over a ridge, and at the end of the day, I will be in the village of Molinaseca - the very place I began this pilgrimage 10 years ago. 

Walking Day 11 – Villavante to Astorga – 20 km - 12.5 miles

The morning started clear and cool, with a dusting of frost on the fields.  It quickly warmed up as we started our walk.  I love Sunday mornings in Spain – it is especially quiet in the villages (they all stay up way past my bed time) and the only activity is around the church.

The earth has changed from brown to red, and the farms have changed from wheat fields to a variety of crops.  We are climbing now, up and out of the Meseta and into the hills of Galicia.  I’d been leaving my walking stick in the van while we traversed the flat lands and I was glad to have it with me today.

I walked past a man attempting to till his field with an old plow pulled by a burro.  The man was yelling a lot.  The mule feigned deafness. Further on, the trail went through a dairy farm, and this well-traveled nose noted that bovine manure smells about the same everywhere in the world.

I met the Buddha on the Camino this afternoon.  On a high ridge several miles out of Astorga, next to an old barn, there was David with his free-love pilgrim stop – La Casa Del Dios – the House of the Gods.  David is a young Spanish man who spends his days taking care of pilgrims.  He invites you to have a drink or a snack and a moment of rest in the shade – offering a variety of juice, water, coffee, fruit and cookies, asking only for a donation in return.  He gives all sorts of encouraging words and sends you on your way with a wave and a smile.  His heart was as big as the vista he looked out upon, and I was charmed and happy as I walked on.

Walking Day 10 - Virgen Del Camino to Villavante – 25 k – 15.5 miles

Leaving Leon was sad for me – I loved that city, I loved the cathedral and the history and the art and the maze of narrow streets inside the old wall.

The morning started with clouds and a chill breeze as we walked over hills and along country roads through small villages. We are gradually climbing up and out of the Meseta, and the land has changed from rolling green hills of wheat to eastern-Washington style scrub lands with spring wildflowers and more trees.

A few miles into the day, I came across my friends Al and Nora from Sacramento.  We shared a few miles and good conversation until my morning check point at a café / bar.  They rested awhile, and I moved on with Jorge.

Later in the day, that hink in my right hip seized up like the Tin Man in a rainstorm. Walking was nearly impossible, even with frequent stops to rest and stretch.  I hobbled to the end point of the day, and when I got to my room, I spent the remainder of the day horizontal. 

Having spent a couple of weeks with companions from South Africa and Australia, I think I will be insufferable with the new bits of slang and figures of speech I have picked up.  English is an amazingly creative language, and my companions are hilarious!  Combined with Jorge’s schoolbook English and innocence, we have had quite the good time with communication amongst the group. 

We are now staying Astorga, another lovely town, for 2 nights, and I have 3 more days of walking ahead of me.

[Sunday morning update]

On this journey, I have been continually amazed and blessed by the restorative and healing power of sleep.  After a very good night of rest, and a lot of stretching, my hip feels stiff but functional, and I am on my way to breakfast. 

Walking Day 9 Leon to Virgen Del Camino – 7 km – 4.5 miles

Today is (mostly) a rest day.  We decided to make the short trek to the western urban edge today, rather than tomorrow, to make tomorrow’s walk easier.

We left the hotel at sunrise, walking a short distance to the cathedral, and picked up the trail of yellow arrows.

I am fascinated with watching a city wake up and go to work. Trucks make deliveries, people take their dogs out for their morning business, children in uniforms walk to school, businesswomen in suits and heels walk with a sense of mission and purpose toward the office.  Buses exchange passengers at every stop.

I love rising early to witness this quickening rhythm. My friend Melissa calls this ‘the translucent grace of the ordinary’ – and I realize how easy it is to take for granted, or even to scorn, the daily patterns of our lives, rather than appreciate them for the stable ground they provide. 

As we walked up a hill at the city’s edge, while waiting at a stoplight, I turned to see the spires of the cathedral rising up in the early morning mist. 

Jorge picked us up in the van and brought us back.  I stopped to pick up ‘the Trib’ at the newsstand, and I will find a quiet shady place to read the paper cover to cover today.

A day of rest is a good thing.

Walking Day 8 - Mansilla de las Mulas to Leon – 19 km – 12 miles

I was so happy to get up this morning and get out of that dreadful town.

I walked for the first 4 miles with Al from Sacramento – he and his wife Nora are walking together to celebrate their 50^th birthdays.  They are Jewish, and we had a great conversation about the roots of Jewish mysticism arising right here in Leon, the town where I have ended my day.

Leon is a large city, and after passing through 3 small villages, the urban edge appeared - more sidewalks, more frequent yellow arrows, and the opportunity to be a voyeur into the open doors of warehouses, factories and stores - real people doing real daily work, transacting business, walking their dogs, carrying bags home from the market.  

Most of them took no note of the pilgrims walking by.  I guess they are used to the endless stream of us.

Crossing the river and walking through the remnants of the old wall, I found myself in the maze of the city, and somehow managed to lose track of the arrows.  A few questions about which way is the cathedral, and I got my bearings again.

Arriving at the hotel, I am amazed to find myself in the same establishment from my solo trip to Leon 10 years ago.

We are staying in Leon for 2 nights and a bit of rest.  Mandi got her hair cut this afternoon.  Sami had left her eyeglasses behind in Burgos, and is getting a new pair made.

We have a new member of the group – Robert, a physician from Sydney, has joined us.

We all went to dinner together to a restaurant in a wine cave south of the city. 

Delicious food, and the wine, divine!

Walking Day 7 - Bercianos to Mansilla de las Mulas – 26 km – 16 miles

Last evening on the Camino was magical – we stayed in lovely rooms above a bar and restaurant in a small farming village, and it was warm until late.  I met two women from Brisbane, Australia and had a wonderful conversation with them. I watched the sun go down, and I watched it come up this morning. 

This morning I woke up with the pain in my ear / jaw much worse, and so I asked Jorge to take me to the doctor.  My experience with the Spanish health system was less than stellar, and since most of the day was spent before I could get out and walk, my trek today was way too short.

The weather is changing and I hear a lot of thunder under gray clouds.  No rain yet, but I imagine it is coming.  The noise from the street below hurts my ear, and my room and bed are dreadful.

On the road if life, everyone gets a bummer day once in awhile.

Today was mine.

Walking Day 6 Terradillos de Templarios to Bercianos – 22.3 km – 14 miles

Today was a perfect day on the Camino.

We started early with the plan to take the alternate route through the fields rather than the route parallel to the road.  My companions and I followed the map out of the village, and at the place where I was sure we were to turn, the others disagreed, and we parted. 

I walked on, alone, and shortly on, over a hill, in a little valley with trees, there was a rest stop with benches for pilgrims.  In the small clearing, I could see a small 3-circuit labyrinth made of stones. 

Thrilled with my discovery and my solitude, I entered the sweet familiar path.  In the center, my eyes welled up, and I said a prayer of gratitude for the person who created this little oasis. The labyrinth has historically been a symbol for pilgrimage, and here, the metaphor met the real thing.

It is a Camino ritual to bring a stone from home and to add your stone to stacks that have been created by all the pilgrims symbolically leaving their burdens behind along the way.  I found my stone in the bottom of my day pack and left it in the center of the path.

After my walk, I tended the labyrinth, picking up a bit of litter, straightening a few stones, and praying a blessing for all who would follow me.

Walking on, I found myself on a stone trail through endless wheat fields up and over rolling hills.  At one point, I stopped, and the vista to the south was nothing but green rolling hills of spring wheat.  No trees, no villages, no wires, just waves of green meeting blue sky.  I am certain that if I had tapped my heels together, I would have slipped right into heaven, never to be seen or heard from again…..

The day grew hot, and I took a break at noontime for about an hour, and then walked on to the day’s ending point.  The path out of Sahagun to Bercianos is lined with young sycamore trees planted every 5 meters (20 feet).  In the mid-day sun, the intermittent shade was a gift. 

Arriving at the room, I opened the window, and with the sound of a cooing dove and Spanish chatter from the bar below, I stretched out on my bed and slowly, quietly, gently, passed out.

Walking Day 5 Carrion de los Condes to Terradillos de Templarios – 26 km – 16 miles

My feet are a calloused, blistered, bandaged mess. 
My ear still aches and my left foot is swollen. 
There’s a hink in my right hip.

And I’m fine. 

I knew to expect some discomfort on this journey, and well, here it is.  None of it is life-threatening, and none of it is a stopper.  A couple Aleve and I’m rolling.

This morning we set off before the sun was very high.  Walking west, my shadow in front of me was tall and thin.  So I kept walking – about 7 miles to the morning check point. Jorge hopped me to the next village, and I walked an hour more to the lunch stop, then on to our final stop for the day. 

Flat, flat, flat.  The villages are dusty and old. Very few trees, but lots of distant green rolling hills, wildflowers and birds. 

Simply a fine day on the Camino.

Holy Moments

Walking all these miles gives ample time for the mind to do whatever it wants to.

When I am not walking and chatting with someone, I revel in my alone time.

The sages tell us that to be truly happy, one must be present in the moment – to simply Be Here Now.

The bonus of traveling, of being in motion at the speed of 3 miles an hour, is the added dimension of moving through space and being in a Larger Here and a Longer Now.

Every travel junkie knows of this – it’s that moment of bliss when you realize you are in a very special place, laced with history, soul and spirit.  You get the sense of those who have been here before you, who have stood where you are standing, and walked the path you are walking. 

And it can also happen in the simplest act of walking to the corner store in your own neigborhood.
When it does, it is always a surprise, and a gift.

Yes, it’s kinda woo-woo, and those of you who know the feeling are nodding your heads and smiling right about now.

Walking Day 4 – Fromista to Carrion de los Condes – 20 km – 12.5 miles

The day started with me walking off with my room key still in my pocket, so I had to go back to the hotel with it.  My companions were then far ahead, and when I came to a fork in the path, I took the way along the river rather than the path parallel to the road.

For 6 miles I walked blissfully, quietly, under big blue sky with nothing but birds, my breath, and the crunch of my feet on the path. 

Eventually, my path merged back with the main path, and near the road, I stopped under some trees for a little break.  My companions came along and were surprised to see me, saying I had missed the checkpoint break stop and Jorge was still looking for me.  I phoned, apologized profusely, and walked on.  Mind you, not a bit sorry I took another path, just that I gave him worries.

The wind kicked up from the south, and while walking west, my left ear got a steady blast this afternoon, so I write tonight with a bit of an earache. 

After a short siesta, we went to see the ruins of a 5^th century Roman villa, excavated in a farm field not far from here.  Amazing mosaic tile work reminded me once again that people have trod this land for many centuries.

We are staying in a monastery tonight – quite old, quite lovely.  The water is hot, the bed comfortable, the Wi-Fi is free, and so the monks have done quite a good job of it all.

Walking Day 3 - Castrojeriz to Fromista – 23 km – 14.25 miles

This morning was a bitch.

The trail out of town led to the last of the major hills of the Meseta Alta – 1050 meters (about 3400 feet) with a 12% grade up and an 18% grade back down.  It kicked my butt.  And I made it up and over and down.  Done.  Behind me. Over.  Exhale.

A weather front moved through the Meseta last night – at a quarter to 3, I was awakened with lightning, thunder, torrential rain and huge hail.  I looked out my window to the street below to see a river of ping-pong balls illuminated in flashes of lightning.  I closed the shutters, unplugged my computer, and pulled the covers over my head.

After the hill from hell, I walked a few more miles, and realizing I had a couple of blisters brewing, I took a rest and rode in the van for 5 miles to the next town, changing shoes and doctoring my feet.  As soon as I got in the van, it started to rain sideways. 

Smart girl, yes, I’m one smart girl.

We stopped for lunch at a small restaurant connected to an albergue.  Eduardo took my order.  In his late 30s, with wild curly black hair and a charming way about him, he flirted shamelessly with all of us.  I gave him a small tip and he raved that he loves American women - so generous, so kind……I laughed to myself and thought this guy has it made with a steady stream of pilgrims coming through his town. 

As we left, I said to my companions – ‘I imagine Eduardo gets laid a lot!’  They agreed.   Jorge, our young Spanish guide asked ‘what you mean - get laid?’  I left it to grandmotherly Hazel from South Africa to explain.

The sun had come out and I decided to walk the remaining 4 miles to Fromista, and met up with Mary Jean from San Diego – we chattered the whole way about everything, and said ‘see you tomorrow’ as she headed for her albergue, and I to my hotel. 

I’m hearing live music coming from the square in front of the church, and since I’m never one to miss a party, I’m off to check it out.

Walking Day 2 - Hornillos to Castrojeriz – 20 Km, 12.5 miles

The day threatened rain, but none came.  A second day of impossibly green rolling hills and good walking. 

Hazel, my companion from South Africa, looks for angels in the cloud formations.  She pointed one out for me today, and I will tell you, it wasn’t just a Rorschach angel, it was the real deal.  It made me smile big.

The pilgrims along the way are such a mix – about half women and men, from France, Holland, Germany.  Mostly older – in their 40s and 50s, some 60s. No other Americans yet.  Some seem happy.  Some are suffering. 

My feet are moving me right along without a problem, and we have ended the day in an old village with narrow streets.  I’ve had my siesta, and am ready to venture out for some food. 

All is well!

Martin Sheen Slept Here

At the end of our day of walking, Jorge brought us to Casa De Sol a Sol – a farmhouse not far from Hornillos.

As we drove up the dirt drive, chickens, ducks and geese scattered.  A couple of dogs silently took notice and went back to sleep.  A peacock strutted by.

The Spanish government has a program whereby farm owners can get a loan to remodel a few rooms for travelers, then after 10 years, the loan is forgiven.  The results of this plan are construction jobs, farmers are able to stay on their land with an alternate source of income, and there are warm unique B & B’s all through the countryside.  A winner deal all around.

We were shown our rooms, and I unraveled for a siesta. I must say that peacock was quite full of himself – interrupting my nap several times with his screeches.

One of the benefits of walking all day is real, genuine hunger.  Our evening meal was served at a big long table – cheese, ham, fresh tomatoes, roasted peppers, bread, roast pork, soup, and a simple apple crisp for dessert.  All local.  All fresh.  All delicious.

On the wall next to our table was a photo of Martin Sheen.  The woman of the house said, yes, he had stayed here while filming “The Way” – the movie about the Camino that will be released in the states at the end of September. His son (the normal one) married their daughter. She proudly showed us the wedding photos.

I ate my fill and strolled a bit to see the animals before sundown.  When I came across that peacock, I had a stern word with that bird. 

And I slept soundly.

Walking Day 1 - Burgos to Hornillos – 20 km, 12.5 miles

Thursday May 5^th

We set off this morning after breakfast and a tour of the cathedral, following the yellow arrows out of town, along sidewalks for awhile, and then on to a dirt track.

The morning was sunny, warm, with a light breeze.  Chatting a bit with my new companions, the conversation soon waned and I found myself just being in the moment – smiling to myself, realizing that I am really here.

It is late spring on the high plains of northern Spain – it is light by 6:30 until after 9, the lilacs are in full bloom, red poppies dot the fields, and the roses are beginning to bud. The wheat fields are planted - the young wheat is the deepest shade of green you can imagine – and as I trekked up a hill to the summit, I could see nothing but rolling green fields, with a blue sky and fluffy white clouds. 

For a moment, I stopped, and breathed, and took it all in. 

Companions

My companions arrived last evening - they have been walking for 10 days, from Roncesvalles, the same route I traveled 5 years ago. There are two women from South Africa, one woman from Australia, and a young woman from Austin, Texas.  Jorge is our guide.

After our evening meeting, we went into town for tapas - sort of the Spanish version of happy hour, and ice cream cones as we walked back to the hotel.  We all got acquainted (at least I know their names and home towns). The extrovert in me is full of questions and I look forward to walking with each of them.

I’ll meet them downstairs for breakfast soon, and then we’re on our way.  Vamanos!

Burgos Day Two

Small European cities are so civilized.  They are made for people, not cars.

Each night in the old town, the streets are washed.  In the morning, the trucks arrive to bring food and beverages to the restaurants, and goods to the shops.  The trash is taken away. And then in late morning, the bollards go up, the vehicles are prohibited, and pedestrians take over.  The bars and restaurants set out their tables, and for the remainder of the day into the evening, real people spend real time in public places without the noise and exhaust of vehicles. 

So very civilized.

I am enjoying my second day in Burgos.  The sun is shining, and my jet lag seems to have abated.  I found a place to buy the International Herald Tribune (the international edition of the NY Times) and a place to enjoy a simple breakfast and café con leche while leisurely reading the entire paper.

I am walking the city and have climbed the hill to the old castle twice.  The group I am meeting up with is walking into Burgos today. The Camino passes right through the heart of Burgos and I have watched the pilgrims pass through. 

Tomorrow I will be one of them.

Burgos

I have learned to love jet lag – that sort-of-out-of-body, not-quite-in-tune cadence of mental fog and the bliss of being a stranger in a lovely place.

My journey to Burgos was relatively easy.  The little nagging fear of lost luggage was put to rest when my bag appeared on the carousel moments after I arrived at baggage claim. A taxi to the bus and a taxi to the hotel, a meal and a nap and a stroll through town near the cathedral on a sunny afternoon – all good.

After my nap I went back to the cathedral for evening mass.  The lilt of Spanish Hail Mary from the priest, and the responsive mumbles from the congregation were delightfully hypnotic.  Taking the communion wafer, I said a prayer of gratitude for strength for the journey. 

After mass, I quietly strolled around the cathedral, looking carefully at the small chapels and the stained glass illumined in the evening light. As I prepared to leave, all of a sudden I was being yelled at – it seems the cathedral was now closed, and had the caretaker not seen me, I would have spent the night locked inside. 

With an ancient key chain (right out of the middle ages, I swear!) he unlocked two large locks on the inside of the door and shooed me out.  With my hiney puckered up, and profuse apologies, I exited into the evening light with the sound of Spanish scolding as he slammed the door behind me.

I Heard The News

I heard the news from a British woman in the Madrid bus station this morning. The TV news is all in Spanish, and yet the emotion of the moment rings clear.

The death of Osama Bin Laden should be a time of profound reflection. With his death, we remember and mourn all the lives lost on September 11. We remember and mourn all the lives lost in Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan. We remember and mourn the death of our soldiers. And we say, “Enough.”
I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy.

Martin Luther King, Jr. said it well - "Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."

A trillion dollars spent. 10,000 lives sacrificed. A 10-year manhunt.  And one bullet to the head.  I honor the work of our warriors, and I am so very grateful this chapter is over.

May Peace Prevail.

Departure

It is early on Sunday morning, and I am dressed, packed and waiting for my friend Faith to pick me up and take me to the airport. 

I have enjoyed the past couple of days, wrapping up everything at work, attending the Western Washington Labyrinth Network meeting yesterday, and carefully packing my bag. In and around all of the doing, I am also prepared mentally and spiritually for this journey.

One of the most difficult things for me is to let go of work and home and dog and friends and routine, and yet, when every last little detail has been attended to, when every item on the list is checked, when every farewell has been said, it is time to go.