Hommage to the Pilgrimage

One Year Later...

So here it is, September 26, and I realized yesterday that I began my Camino from Roncesvalles, Spain, at 6:00am on the morning 25th of September, 2012. It has been one full year, and memories of my walk still strike me every day. When I walk from my new house down along Wascana Creek, and into the Crescents of the Cathedral area, along McIntosh Street to my office in the Court House, I'm thinking of the time I spent following yellow arrows and scallop shells through the narrow streets and valleys of Northern Spain.

Yesterday, last year, I was taking my first steps in the dark of the Pyrenees, following the pathetic glow from my headlamp, wondering where my day was going to take me. That first coffee in some little Basque town, and the sunrise over the hills. The first sight of rolling hills and stone pathways, up and down the little valleys on the way to Zubiri.

That first day was such a pleasure -- and a pain (in the shoulders, the back, the hips, the feet, the knees) -- meeting new people who were just as giddy and yet unsure about what the Camino would be like. The excitement was brimming over, and I really had no idea what was in store for me over the next 6 weeks. I remember barely making it to Zubiri that afternoon after an 18km day, my knees and ankle (I'd sprained it a few weeks before my trip, silly me!) were aching from a 3km trek almost straight downhill on the roughest terrain I'd ever walked on. Little did I know that that would be one of the easier days.

I met some of the people that day that I would end up running into over and over again for the rest of my journey, and some of those people even stopped by to say congrats when I finally rolled into Santiago! It was the strangest feeling knowing I'd met them somewhere, but not knowing when or what town. Over the course of 6 weeks walking, you meet a whole lot of people!

That might be the most memorable thing of all -- the constant ebb and flow of strangers/friends you meet in a day. You stop in one town for a coffee and then bump into the same people when they stop for a coffee a few kilometers up the road. The constant "Buen Camino" that sounded like a broken record by day 4 was such a novelty in those first days. So many wonderful people crossed my path along the way, and I feel like I haven't done enough to keep in touch. But the truth is, I am in touch. They are in my memories and I wish them well every time I think of them. I wonder if they do the same.

So much has happened this year, and being home with my family has been a wonderful experience. I try to live day by day, not wanting too much, not taking too much. The biggest lesson I learned on the Camino was the pleasure of living in the moment. Life really comes into perspective when you focus only on your basic needs and the kindness that comes naturally to each of us. When life gets overwhelming, I think it is because I've let my desires take over and my wants have become too big for the world to accommodate, so it throws a wrench in my life. When I stop to reflect on why I'm overwhelmed, I usually find that a simple tweak to my perspective can change the game. I can handle anything when I take the time to reflect on my priorities.

 For the most part, I've chosen to live simply, without much need for flair or extravagance. That is not to say boring. Quite the opposite. I take pleasure in sitting in my backyard watching the birds or just listening to the leaves fluttering above. Even when I have to jump in my car and race around, I can still appreciate the sun on my face when I'm stopped at a red light, or I can take the time to smile at that pedestrian as he crosses the road, because, well, I remember what it was like to carry that heavy backpack and face crazy drivers from the side of the road. You see so much more of the world around you when you take the time to walk through it. The view from behind the wheel of a car or the window of a bus just can't compare to the connection you get from breathing the air and feeling the gravel beneath your feet.

So many things we take for granted in the busy world, but I remember those water fountains that appeared just when I needed a drink, or a bench that would creep up on me just when I thought my feet couldn't handle a single step more. I remember walking 35km on one of my last days before reaching Santiago, and never having wanted a bed so much in my life. I almost cried when the hostel came into sight. Wanting something so desperately after putting in such an effort makes the little things so much more precious and worthwhile.


 Life has a way of presenting us with what we need, we just have to be ready to work hard and be open to the gift when it comes. It helps, I think, to be kind to those around us and put our trust in the universe. Nothing could be simpler than that.

Toques and Mitts.

It always seems such a surprise these days when I find the time to write or just contemplate the day. Lately my world has taken me in a new direction, and just a few months ago I would have scoffed at the idea of moving "home" and starting a life in the city I couldn't wait to leave ten years ago. But the last six months have brought so many changes into my life that settling into a routine again,  surrounded by familiar faces, has been a real pleasure.

I've come back from an epic journey to the middle of a real Canadian winter - the kind that inspired the stories of our parents, those "back in my day, we had to walk twenty-five miles in minus fifty degree weather just to get to school each day" kind of stories. And no jokes, minus twenty has been a treat this week after a January filled with minus thirty or worse conditions. Coming home to that after walking through a Spanish autumn was truly a shock to the system.

My first weeks back were spent in the automotive shops getting my car ready for the harsh world it was now to drive in. A good friend of mine from the temperate coast of BC thought I was joking when I told her I had to plug in my car all winter. She had no idea what I was talking about since she knows I don't own a Hybrid. Then when I told her how much I spent on winter tires, she just about choked! All in all, my car conversion from Victoria summer to Regina winter has cost me almost $2,500 all told! And that doesn't even include all the gas wasted in warming up said car so my butt doesn't stick to a frozen seat and my breath doesn't fog up the windows! I'm surprised anyone can afford to live here in the winter at all!

But we humans are amazingly adaptable. From the first few weeks of my family laughing at my uncontrollable shivering in minus five degree weather to the seasoned prairie girl who wears her coat open and no toque or scarf in minus twenty, you'd never have guessed I'd been a pampered West Coast winter dweller for the last ten years. I can scrape windows with my bare hands! (To clarify for my Victoria pals, I've invested in a window scraper because no credit card would survive the inch-thick frost we get out here! But I do it without mitts.)

Anyway, the point of all this is to say that what I thought would be the hardest part about coming home, namely the deep freeze, has become one of my keenest pleasures about being back. The razor-sharp hoar frost clinging to the top branches, set against the icy blue sky, sun glittering off the ice crystals in the air, all in a 360 degree wedding-dress-white prairie skyline...well, I guess the beauty of this place is in my blood. I never realized till now how much I'd missed it.