Although I was on the Camino only a short time, it was a great experience that has only whet my appetite for more.
If you would like to follow the trail that I'm on, you can access the same map that I'll be using:
http://www.chemindecompostelle.com/Selection/CartePuy01.html
Green dots indicate the route (the GR 65), orange dots indicate the variants. The route goes heads southwest to the Pyrenees mountains and the border with Spain. Click on the "Pyrénées" arrow (on top) for the next map (there are many of them!). Lodging is shown in beige, and gray/red markers show mileage [which is rendered in kilometers (1 kilometer = 0.62 of a mile)].
For a country that has so much history, I was overwhelmed to discover how rural France is. This was exacerbated by walking on a GR (Sentiers de Grande Randonée - long distance hiking trails). This wonderful French system of trails was meant to avoid highways, roads and towns whenever possible. But still, I was in a desolate area. Since there were no other hikers that I saw (they were wise enough to be resting in their warm homes until warmer weather), I thought that if an accident happened, it would be a long time (perhaps spring!) before help came.
Some have questioned why I'm attempting the Camino alone. Well, it's very hard to find someone who wants (is able) to:
• Take three or so months off work/family life to make the Camino;
• Walk 1,000 miles;
• Walk at the same pace as I (might be slower or faster);
• Want to walk the same number of miles as me before calling it quits for the day (I probably want to stop to get food more often, walk fewer miles, and eat longer meals!);
• Put up with me.
Some have asked about the repetitive nature of walking. Well, if I walked the same path to work or school every day, it might be boring (without distractions). But the topography is so varied on the Camino. You just never know what you're going to encounter, or what French food delicacy may be just around the next bend! There is something so human, so healthy to walking. Yesterday, I hiked in Rock Creek Park in Washington, D.C. After the 8-mile hike, I felt so relaxed, so wonderfully tired; it was if I had left all my problems there. Walking has to be the most natural of exercise.
Walking alone also allows one to make this a more meditative journey, as for most of the day the only one to talk to is God. As we begin Lent in just three weeks, I think of Jesus in the desert for 40 days. Many ask why he went there, and for so long. Well, he certainly wanted a quiet place to pray to his Father. It was also a chance to rid himself of the rat race of daily life that enmeshes us all. Also, he knew that the Devil would tempt him there, and Jesus never shied away from confronting evil, knowing how destructive it is. I don't pretend to have as lofty goals as Jesus, but going away to a quiet place to pray is always a good idea. Of course when it comes to the confrontation with the Devil, the Lord will have to get me through that. His strength is the only thing that will get me this experience.
I will be among other pilgrims, who will be walking at the own pace, as well as staying in guesthouses with them. So there will be plenty of interaction with others.
So, God-willing, I return to France on March 15th, to continue the journey. Please pray for me!
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Pélerinage suspendu ! (pilgrimage suspended) -- Part 2
It was a cold morning when I departed from Faÿ (around 25ºF), accompanied by the proprietor of the gîte « Le Refuge ». She walked me back to the GR 65 (GR is short for « Grande Randonée », which is French for long distance hiking trail, in this case the Camino de Santiago/Chemin de Saint-Jacques/Way of St. James). She told me to be careful, because there are many twists and turns to the route, including a junction with the GR 40, which leads to... well, an even more rural place than I was. She also pointed to a high ridge on the mountain, saying that that's where I would be hiking to. All I could think about was Dorothy, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man going into the Forest, dreading the "Lions, tigers and bears" that they might encounter. Following the yellow brick road seems to be a recurring thought for me.
I did end up taking a wrong turn. The route is well marked, but there are exceptions. I continued down the wrong path for about a quarter-mile, and not seeing any other waymarkings, l I knew that I had to turn around. So I retraced my steps and got back on the correct path. After about five miles on foot I came upon the hamlet of La Chier, which was about eight farmhouses. I spoke to one of the farmers, hoping he would say something to his dog that was about ready to make me his mid-morning snack. Continuing on the path I encountered some of the most beautiful scenery that I've ever seen, all the while walking along streams, ascending and descending hills, following rock paths, etc., through high country. I finally arrived at the town of Saint-Privat d'Allier. I saw a sign for a coffee shop, but I figured it to be a mirage. When you're cold and soaked, the idea of a coffee shop is as appealing as a man in the desert thinking he sees an oasis. Could there actually be a warm place open for business?! I walked in and almost broke into an alleluia chorus. I spoke to the couple who ran the bar. They spoke of the economic privation, and how a lot of the businesses are closed permanently. Business was scant while I sat sipping tea.
While I was there I began shedding all excess baggage that I possible could from my backpack. The websites about the Camino advise you to carry no more than 16 lbs. I think that I was a little over that. Every pound becomes important, as you have to carry it for so many miles. So I shed about two pounds. After I felt dry again, I headed out. I still had another 3.5 miles to make it to Monistrol d'Allier, where I would stay the night.
Those 3.5 miles seemed like 10, as I was feeling worse and worse, the day was becoming colder, the trail seemed endless, and and it began to flurry. I came upon the town of Pratclaux, which I thought was Monistrol d'Allier, but because I was too cold to stop and take out my guidebook, I assumed it wasn't. A little dachshund alerted the town to my presence. I saw a guesthouses, but closed due to season. I thought I might be lost, but I kept seeing the white and red waymarkings (which are painted on trees, rocks, whatever).
I finally made it to Monistrol d'Allier, and found the hotel « Pain de Sucre » (which means "sugar loaf" in English). It was the only thing open in this town of 213 people. The town is economically depressed, with a falling population. There is little industry and few opportunities to find work. I was warmly received at the hotel, which functioned as 1) a guesthouse for pilgrims, 2) the town's restaurant (mostly to feed the pilgrims, in-season), 3) a coffee bar in the mornings, and 4) a bar in the evenings. I was taken to my room, and very glad to be kind of warm again (as long as I stayed right next to the heater). I asked what the weather forecast was for the next day, and was told sunny. I washed my clothes in the sink, and tried to feel better.
In the morning, I felt cold coming from the window. I looked outside and saw snow coming down -- hard. The road had disappeared under the white stuff and I didn't have any cross-country skis. After breakfast, I headed out. I almost slipped and fell on the snow on the stairway, which wasn't a good sign. I stopped at the town's post office to mail home a letter to my mom (no, not my last will and testament). The postal clerk was incredulous that I was going to attempt the trail in the snow. Barely able to navigate walking uphill on the streets (and providing comic relief to the local denizens), I was soon out of the city limits and on the trail.
The departure from Monistrol d'Allier is difficult as the trail rises 400 meters (1,300 feet) pretty quickly. The trail was basically rocks and stones, and I was slipping badly. After a little progress, I looked down upon the town. I was thinking that with one bad slip, I would be back in the town. I thought, this is ridiculous, and possibly crazy. I returned to the hotel, asking for advice. I saw the manager ironing uniforms (possibly a side business to sustain the hotel during the lean, winter season). He recommended that I regroup, for a weekend or longer. Since I was feeling worse by the hour, I thought about returning home, getting well, and trying again in the spring. He told me that whatever I do, the train from the town left in five minutes (fortunately it was just down the block). That train would take me to a bigger town (Clermont-Ferrand), and then I could get a train connection back to Paris from there. Well, I made that train, then made the train to Paris by the skin of my teeth. In Paris I got to an internet café run by an Italian ("Alessandro") whom I befriended when I was in Paris previously. I found a relatively bargain flight from Paris to Washington-Dulles (non-stop, no less!) that departed the next morning. I could not believe how seamless this all was, all at the last minute. And so, on Saturday, January 22nd, barely 24 hours after being on the trail in a secluded part of France, I was winging my way back home.
P.S.: I believe that I had a bad chest cold and serious congestion while on the trail. Fortunately, I feel a lot better. Hopefully I'll be feeling perfect when I return to France and tackle the Camino again on March 15th.
I did end up taking a wrong turn. The route is well marked, but there are exceptions. I continued down the wrong path for about a quarter-mile, and not seeing any other waymarkings, l I knew that I had to turn around. So I retraced my steps and got back on the correct path. After about five miles on foot I came upon the hamlet of La Chier, which was about eight farmhouses. I spoke to one of the farmers, hoping he would say something to his dog that was about ready to make me his mid-morning snack. Continuing on the path I encountered some of the most beautiful scenery that I've ever seen, all the while walking along streams, ascending and descending hills, following rock paths, etc., through high country. I finally arrived at the town of Saint-Privat d'Allier. I saw a sign for a coffee shop, but I figured it to be a mirage. When you're cold and soaked, the idea of a coffee shop is as appealing as a man in the desert thinking he sees an oasis. Could there actually be a warm place open for business?! I walked in and almost broke into an alleluia chorus. I spoke to the couple who ran the bar. They spoke of the economic privation, and how a lot of the businesses are closed permanently. Business was scant while I sat sipping tea.
While I was there I began shedding all excess baggage that I possible could from my backpack. The websites about the Camino advise you to carry no more than 16 lbs. I think that I was a little over that. Every pound becomes important, as you have to carry it for so many miles. So I shed about two pounds. After I felt dry again, I headed out. I still had another 3.5 miles to make it to Monistrol d'Allier, where I would stay the night.
Those 3.5 miles seemed like 10, as I was feeling worse and worse, the day was becoming colder, the trail seemed endless, and and it began to flurry. I came upon the town of Pratclaux, which I thought was Monistrol d'Allier, but because I was too cold to stop and take out my guidebook, I assumed it wasn't. A little dachshund alerted the town to my presence. I saw a guesthouses, but closed due to season. I thought I might be lost, but I kept seeing the white and red waymarkings (which are painted on trees, rocks, whatever).
I finally made it to Monistrol d'Allier, and found the hotel « Pain de Sucre » (which means "sugar loaf" in English). It was the only thing open in this town of 213 people. The town is economically depressed, with a falling population. There is little industry and few opportunities to find work. I was warmly received at the hotel, which functioned as 1) a guesthouse for pilgrims, 2) the town's restaurant (mostly to feed the pilgrims, in-season), 3) a coffee bar in the mornings, and 4) a bar in the evenings. I was taken to my room, and very glad to be kind of warm again (as long as I stayed right next to the heater). I asked what the weather forecast was for the next day, and was told sunny. I washed my clothes in the sink, and tried to feel better.
In the morning, I felt cold coming from the window. I looked outside and saw snow coming down -- hard. The road had disappeared under the white stuff and I didn't have any cross-country skis. After breakfast, I headed out. I almost slipped and fell on the snow on the stairway, which wasn't a good sign. I stopped at the town's post office to mail home a letter to my mom (no, not my last will and testament). The postal clerk was incredulous that I was going to attempt the trail in the snow. Barely able to navigate walking uphill on the streets (and providing comic relief to the local denizens), I was soon out of the city limits and on the trail.
The departure from Monistrol d'Allier is difficult as the trail rises 400 meters (1,300 feet) pretty quickly. The trail was basically rocks and stones, and I was slipping badly. After a little progress, I looked down upon the town. I was thinking that with one bad slip, I would be back in the town. I thought, this is ridiculous, and possibly crazy. I returned to the hotel, asking for advice. I saw the manager ironing uniforms (possibly a side business to sustain the hotel during the lean, winter season). He recommended that I regroup, for a weekend or longer. Since I was feeling worse by the hour, I thought about returning home, getting well, and trying again in the spring. He told me that whatever I do, the train from the town left in five minutes (fortunately it was just down the block). That train would take me to a bigger town (Clermont-Ferrand), and then I could get a train connection back to Paris from there. Well, I made that train, then made the train to Paris by the skin of my teeth. In Paris I got to an internet café run by an Italian ("Alessandro") whom I befriended when I was in Paris previously. I found a relatively bargain flight from Paris to Washington-Dulles (non-stop, no less!) that departed the next morning. I could not believe how seamless this all was, all at the last minute. And so, on Saturday, January 22nd, barely 24 hours after being on the trail in a secluded part of France, I was winging my way back home.
P.S.: I believe that I had a bad chest cold and serious congestion while on the trail. Fortunately, I feel a lot better. Hopefully I'll be feeling perfect when I return to France and tackle the Camino again on March 15th.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Pélerinage suspendu ! (pilgrimage suspended) -- Part 1
Sorry that I haven't written in a while. Some have probably worried that I fell off a cliff. Well, close...
As you can see from the title, my pilgrimage has been suspended. No, I didn't do anything wrong to cause the suspension, like spit or litter on the trail. I got sick... fairly seriously sick. I became ill almost immediately after arriving in Paris. I saw a doctor and took medication (I found socialized medicine in France to be very accessible and inexpensive), but perhaps I wasn't well enough to start the Camino de Santiago in earnest.
Starting the Camino was incredible. After dreaming and planning it so long, to actually start it was a rush of emotions. I took a train from Lourdes to Lyon, stayed overnight, then took a train from Lyon to Le Puy-en-Velay, a traditional French starting point for the Camino. I checked into the gîte (a hostel/guest house), prayed and braced myself for the upcoming day.
On the first day, I walked from Le Puy en Velay to Faÿ (Bains). That sounds pretty straightforward, but it wasn't. I almost had to call it quits before I got out of the city limits of Le Puy, as it was all uphill. I anticipated a dirt path, but much of it was rocky crags, streams, and cow paths. The route from Le Puy is very remote -- a "big" town might be 2,000 people, but most places are far smaller. I passed through several towns comprised of only 15-25 homes.
On coming into a small town, I was immediately greeted by all the dogs. They had to come out and see what was going on and who was this stranger with an unusual apparatus on his back.
It was very cold -- every day. I had researched the average temperatures in January, but I had taken the highs for the day. The day's temperature doesn't reach the high until the afternoon, and is much colder at dawn, when one starts walking. Also, I didn't think about the difficulty of climbing mountains then descending -- a lot! So you are sweating on the way up, then on the way down you start freezing. This contributed me coming down with (what I think was) a very bad chest cold with sinus problems.
Attempting this pilgrimage in January was probably a bit too rugged, as so many of the places that cater to the pilgrims (food and lodging) are closed. The season is roughly mid-March through October. While walking on On Day 1, I saw small, quaint, homemade signs on the path that described delicious croissants, crêpes, and hot tea in the next village, only 1 kilometer away. My mouth was watering thinking of sitting down in a warm café, eating a croissant and washing it down with herbal tea. When I arrived at the village, I saw a sign on the café saying that the establishment was closed for the winter, much to my chagrin. I think that my mouth is still watering for that croissant.
I finally made it to Faÿ (Bains). I had called ahead and left a message to the gîte proprietor (called "The Refuge" (and boy did I need a refuge). I arrived in that village (a delightful clump of 18 stone homes dating from the 19th century) and found the place. No one was there and it was getting dark -- and already was cold. I was thinking just what I was going to do if the proprietor didn't show up. I was thinking that my sleeping bag would keep me warm to about 25º F, but it would be soon be colder than that. It was up to God (as it always has been) to make something happen.
Within minutes, the proprietor showed up. I was soon in a old farmhouse with a roaring fire in the country dining room and hot tea at my side. I could now dry off and get warm. I was the only guest that night and she prepared a delicious dinner of mushroom soup, then sausage and lentils for the main course. Dessert was a freshly made crêpe. It was glorious. I was humbled for someone to put out that much effort in the meal for just one guest. The proprietors who run these hostels make it a special mission to be kind and welcoming to the pilgrims.
In the morning I had breakfast of hot tea and bread with butter and homemade marmalade (that I'm still longing for). She then walked me out the tenth-of-a-mile to the Camino so that I could get back on track. It was reminiscent of the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy was led out to the yellow-brick road. Instead of following yellow bricks, I follow the white and red painted waymarkings. What an adventure!
As you can see from the title, my pilgrimage has been suspended. No, I didn't do anything wrong to cause the suspension, like spit or litter on the trail. I got sick... fairly seriously sick. I became ill almost immediately after arriving in Paris. I saw a doctor and took medication (I found socialized medicine in France to be very accessible and inexpensive), but perhaps I wasn't well enough to start the Camino de Santiago in earnest.
Starting the Camino was incredible. After dreaming and planning it so long, to actually start it was a rush of emotions. I took a train from Lourdes to Lyon, stayed overnight, then took a train from Lyon to Le Puy-en-Velay, a traditional French starting point for the Camino. I checked into the gîte (a hostel/guest house), prayed and braced myself for the upcoming day.
On the first day, I walked from Le Puy en Velay to Faÿ (Bains). That sounds pretty straightforward, but it wasn't. I almost had to call it quits before I got out of the city limits of Le Puy, as it was all uphill. I anticipated a dirt path, but much of it was rocky crags, streams, and cow paths. The route from Le Puy is very remote -- a "big" town might be 2,000 people, but most places are far smaller. I passed through several towns comprised of only 15-25 homes.
On coming into a small town, I was immediately greeted by all the dogs. They had to come out and see what was going on and who was this stranger with an unusual apparatus on his back.
It was very cold -- every day. I had researched the average temperatures in January, but I had taken the highs for the day. The day's temperature doesn't reach the high until the afternoon, and is much colder at dawn, when one starts walking. Also, I didn't think about the difficulty of climbing mountains then descending -- a lot! So you are sweating on the way up, then on the way down you start freezing. This contributed me coming down with (what I think was) a very bad chest cold with sinus problems.
Attempting this pilgrimage in January was probably a bit too rugged, as so many of the places that cater to the pilgrims (food and lodging) are closed. The season is roughly mid-March through October. While walking on On Day 1, I saw small, quaint, homemade signs on the path that described delicious croissants, crêpes, and hot tea in the next village, only 1 kilometer away. My mouth was watering thinking of sitting down in a warm café, eating a croissant and washing it down with herbal tea. When I arrived at the village, I saw a sign on the café saying that the establishment was closed for the winter, much to my chagrin. I think that my mouth is still watering for that croissant.
I finally made it to Faÿ (Bains). I had called ahead and left a message to the gîte proprietor (called "The Refuge" (and boy did I need a refuge). I arrived in that village (a delightful clump of 18 stone homes dating from the 19th century) and found the place. No one was there and it was getting dark -- and already was cold. I was thinking just what I was going to do if the proprietor didn't show up. I was thinking that my sleeping bag would keep me warm to about 25º F, but it would be soon be colder than that. It was up to God (as it always has been) to make something happen.
Within minutes, the proprietor showed up. I was soon in a old farmhouse with a roaring fire in the country dining room and hot tea at my side. I could now dry off and get warm. I was the only guest that night and she prepared a delicious dinner of mushroom soup, then sausage and lentils for the main course. Dessert was a freshly made crêpe. It was glorious. I was humbled for someone to put out that much effort in the meal for just one guest. The proprietors who run these hostels make it a special mission to be kind and welcoming to the pilgrims.
In the morning I had breakfast of hot tea and bread with butter and homemade marmalade (that I'm still longing for). She then walked me out the tenth-of-a-mile to the Camino so that I could get back on track. It was reminiscent of the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy was led out to the yellow-brick road. Instead of following yellow bricks, I follow the white and red painted waymarkings. What an adventure!
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