How Did It End?

Well, that was an anticlimactic ending to a blog, wasn’t it?

The last I wrote, I had just glimpsed the Pyrenees and was joyfully happy that the flat forest of Les Landes was behind me.  A couple of days after that I arrived in St. Jean Pied-de-Port to an overwhelming amount of pilgrims and tourists, and the start of a new kind of adventure, abruptly transitioning from a solitary journey to a shared one.

I’d like to say walking the Camino Frances exceeded my expectations, but it didn’t.  I enjoyed it, I met wonderful people, I sighed dreamily over the Spanish landscape; but I had already experienced months of beauty and tranquility, without the Pilgrim-littered trash behind every bush.  My meditative days were over, and I was just another in the crowd.  A different journey, a nice one, but different.

The reason I didn’t update my blog again wasn’t because I had nothing to write, but because I was having back problems and I sent my netbook home to La Coruña.  Without my tent, sleeping pad, and netbook life became much easier, although my sciatica left me struggling through Spain for the rest of the month.  (Even now, I cannot get back to running because my back is too messed up).

As for the month of September, most of that I’ll keep private.  I love writing about my travels, but keeping some things only for me is nice as well.

I hope you enjoyed reading something about my adventure, and I hope that it showed some hesitant travelers that crazy-sounding ideas really aren’t that crazy at all.  Doing something outside the box brings great rewards.  Sleeping in a tent every night should be seen as a blessing, not a struggle.  Sometimes all you need to be happy are some good walking shoes and a block of cheddar cheese (my main food source in England).  That cool things happen when you walk for a long time alone, like someone picking you up on a motorcycle to give you a private chateau tour.

In closing, I want to thank everyone who donated to the Trailblazer Foundation.  Traveling is an integral part of my life, and my happiness, and it means a lot to me to be able to give back to a place which I have traveled through.  I hope by donating you also felt connected to the world, wherever you may be reading from.  We are all a lot closer than you think.

August 25: Mountains

 

Walking through Les Landes was a mental strain.  For six days, from Bordeaux to Dax, I walked through a dead flat land of timber, which resembled at most times more a desert than a forest.  When I read I would be walking through the forest, I was excited for a change of scenery, and a little tree cover in the 30 degree heat.  I love forest!  However, the economy in Les Landes revolves around timber, and you can see it in every mile.  Miles and miles of evenly spaced out pines, devoid of undergrowth, permeated by wide, white sand roads.  Sometimes the rows of trees turn into rows of cut down trees, and more miles of clear cut squares.  Around some of the towns I saw some more natural looking forest, but only in thin buffer zones around towns.  If somewhere else beautiful trails wind through Les Landes, unfortunately all I will remember is a long, straight, flat walk.

The effect of this flat, straight walking is that it is easy to feel like you aren’t even walking towards anything.  Like on a treadmill.  I lost the sensation that I was even hiking.  I was just going.  A few mornings the trail would wind merrily through a natural wooded area and I’d regain hope, but it wasn’t enough to redeem its blah-ness.  Other than that, there were a few hours of thrilling highway walking.  These 6 days I was going through the motions physically, but mentally I had to occupy myself in other ways.   I probably recalled every single moment that has ever happened in my life.  I probably thought about every person I’ve ever met, too.  If you’re reading this and we’ve met before, I’ve probably thought about you too.  There’s a lot of time for thinking.

This is why on the morning I set off from Dax my mind was probably already in another place, I was probably calculating the kilometers until the next town and converting them into miles and into time, when I rounded a corner and suddenly there were mountains.  Great big ones, barely visible in the distance through grey layers of clouds and haze.  But they were there.  I was so surprised, and so grateful, I nearly cried.  I smiled and clapped my hands and said, “yay!”.  I stopped and stared, and although they were far away I was utterly happy.  I felt a wave of joy like nothing I had experienced.  Suddenly it had hit me that I had actually walked towards something, and the Pyrenees were proof of that.  After hundreds of miles of sunflower fields, and vineyards, and flat fake-forest, there they were, the most perfect thing I had seen in a long time.

That day rolled out towards Sorde l’Abbaye along winding country roads, creeping towards the Basque Country, a landscape of green hills, and white houses with red shutters.

Today I went up and down for 21 miles, but I always had my head up, waiting to catch the next glimpse of the mountains which crept more clearly into sight.    I was also consciously aware that these are my last days in France, as well as the last days of the solitude I’ve grown accustomed to.  I’ve had three months of being a lone traveler, one which most people I’ve met consider “brave” to be walking all these miles alone.  Soon I’ll just be someone who is doing what everyone else is doing.  I’ve been looking forward to arriving in St. Jean Pied-de-Port, but now that I’m so close I’m sad my solo adventure is coming to a close.   Tonight over dinner I was anxiously worrying to myself about whether I should have taken the less traveled Camino del Norte over the popular Camino Frances, and then I was like, “Hey!  Stop worrying and go make friends!”

Because three months is enough time to be alone, and now it’s time for a different adventure.  And besides, my Camino is still my own, even if I share the road with others.

Pays Basque

5:30 wake up calls are harsh, but at least I get a sunrise.

Picking out my future houses along the way

solitude and meditation in a village church

St. Jacques de Compostelle

Love you boots, but after 1000 miles you have been replaced.

inside of my beloved, and retired, boots

 

 

 

So early, walking by moonlight.

 

August 16: Wine Country and a Chateau Detour

Vineyards are now in site, acres and acres of them.  Much of the Camino has been through the fields, which are mercilessly free of shade.  The southwest of France is getting hotter and hotter, and I will soon have to do something that is very hard for me, which is get up earlier.  I am already getting up by 6:30 every day, (and my earliest waking was a record 4:15), but it takes me about an hour to get packed up, especially if I’m camping.  By 7:30 or 8:00 the sun is already up, and the temperature is already rising.  If I was wise I’d start walking by 6.  I’m not that wise.

Vineyards in all directions

Last night I camped in Blaye, in the coolest campsite I have seen yet.  It was a hot, long day of 35 km, and I had just powered through the last two hours at a brisk 3 miles per hour.  I arrived into a shuttered town, searching for the campsite sign, which I found eventually.  It pointed towards the citadelle.

One of the entrances to the citadelle

The citadel in Blaye is a fully intact walled fort, with a beautiful view of the sun setting over the Gironde estuary, and a small “medieval”, pedestrian-only village inside.  Through the fort walls is also the entrance to the campground, and I was enthralled at the idea that the city of Blaye was forward-thinking enough to designate part of the citadel as the municipal campground, instead of renting it out to a more commercialized campsite.  My night there was an affordable 5.50 euros.    Since it is literally surrounded by a moat, it was completely free from traffic noise-pollution, though not so much by my neighbor’s crying child.

Citadelle Entrance

The camping office– literally inside an old fort

Another eventful thing that happened in Blaye was that I ate a whole pizza.  I don’t usually eat at restaurants, but I decided that that night was a pizza kind of night,  and I walked around until I found a pizza place, and even had to wait an hour and a half for the restaurant to open, but I HAD PIZZA!!.  And I was the first one sitting down at a table, until the entire patio was full.  Then I was a little self-conscious about all the people watching me eat a table-sized pizza alone.  Eh, who cares.  Pizza is amazing.

Then this morning, somehow to my surprise, (my guide book finished in Mirambau, that’s how), I got to take a boat!  In order to cross the estuary, that is. It was fun.

Here’s a photo of me, alone in the “Grand Salon” of the ferry, if you’re wondering what I look like these days.

Then I walked through woods and the vineyards.  The sun was particularly scorching when a man on a motorcycle drove by one of the gravel vineyard paths.  A little while later he came back the other way and stopped besides me to chat.  We had the usually Pilgrim-Curious person conversation, and I asked if he lived there in the little house up the path, and he said no, he was at the chateau a couple of kilometers away, and would I like to go visit the chateau?  And, yeah, since I always say yes, I said yes.  Of course.

So I awkwardly climbed on the back of his BMW, and the three of us (him, me, and my pack “Pit Stains”) rode off to Chateau Lascombes, in the village of Margaux.

Now jealously view my private trip to a chateau, in which I drank a beer and pretended I was rich, and my private tour of the wine cellars. (I even saw the four remaining bottles of an 1881 vintage.  It sounds cool, but I don’t know how I’d feel drinking something that old).

Chateau Lascombes

wine cellars!

So, thanks Dominique, for the chateau visit!

Unfortunately, the day was far from over, and I still had to make it to Le Bouscat, on the outskirts of Bordeaux.  Thankfully, the refuge “housekeeper” was there when I arrived, (after a happy English speaker on a bike stopped for a chat and gave me directions), and took me in like a mother hen nursing her tired and heat-stroking chick.  Seriously though, the volunteers at these halte jacquaires are saintes.  Not a lot of pilgrims pass through this route, but the refuges have been so nice and welcoming.

Anyway, she gave me the advice, and pretty much made me swear that I’d follow it, to take my time tomorrow, and SEE Bordeaux.  She very much emphasized that I was to wander around Bordeaux happily, eat breakfast in the city center, take in all the sights, and then leisurely make my way to the next refuge, a measley 17 km away.  That’s fine with me.  Bordeaux is supposed to be beautiful, so tomorrow I will unleash the tourist side.  Bon Nuit!

August 12: Cool Things About Saintes

Well Saintes sure was a sight for sore feet!  Just shy of 36 kilometers walked today, but I’ve been worse.  Across from the Tourism Office is the Arc d’Triumph, a long river park, and an arching pedestrian bridge, with the top of St. Pierre’s Cathedral peaking out across the river.  So, well done for good first impressions.

Another thing I like is the refuge des pelerins which is actually connected to the church of St. Eutrope in a little annex.  It’s a tiny cupboard sized room with 3 bunk beds, and all of them are full!  6 pilgrims at once!  That’s more than I can get my head around.  Four are going off in another direction tomorrow and the other one is Cyprien, who I’ve caught up with.  I’m still the only one who doesn’t speak French.  The host of the refuge welcomed me literally with open arms, pulling me into the little room and sitting me down at the kitchen table.  She then brought me a vase of cold water and some mint syrup, a mix which is very popular here.  She was such a wonderful warm soul at the end of a long day, I absolutely fell in love with her, as I’m sure many a weary pilgrim have.

Another thing I like about Saintes:  When I was walking to the boulangerie to pick up my daily pain au chocolat, I passed an open door with a sign “CRYPT”.  Well I’m not one to turn down a crypt!  My day just got suddenly much better!  The last time I was in a crypt, in Dublin, I got to touch a mummified finger, so this one had some competition for Best Crypt.  Oh, and it wins the prize.  First of all, this crypt is so cool, that it literally is cool.  Upon entering I felt an icy draft coming out of the doorway.  Spooky.  Two people exited as I entered, and then I had the place to myself.  It was dark with high arches and air so chilly it gave me goosebumps (or maybe that was the ghosts).  Seriously, it was a different climate down there.  It’s a crypt so cool, it creates its own weather.  Candles flickered with orange light and a tomb dominated the middle of the crypt, a macabre centerpiece.  It was right out of Phantom of the Opera. 

Another cool thing is that Saintes has a Roman amphitheater.  But since I’m a cheapskate, I refused to pay 3 euros to go inside, and was satisfied with the view outside the fence. 

And a final good thing that happened in Saintes, was the nice lady at the boulangerie who let me hmm and hah over what I wanted to eat, and asked my silly questions and made suggestions, and didn’t laugh at my “French”.  People make good days better, don’t they?

Bon nuit!

May 29: Excitement, Excitement

Only three days remain before I set off with Rachel and my backpack away from La Coruña and towards Barcelona, where I will fly to Edinburgh to start the West Highland Way.  I’m tingling with the anticipation of travel, a feeling that cannot be replicated.  That feeling that you are like a bird, just about to be set free.  It’s exciting, and who knows what’s going to happen?  Nobody.  Nobody knows.  Not you, or me, or the immigration official at the airport.  The feeling of going-a-travelin’ never fails to provide that feeling of optimistic expectation.  (Not to mention a whole basket case of anxiety, but that’s another story).

I am excited about every part of my trip in much different ways.  Each section satisfies some part of “The Perfect Trip.”

Starting with the West Highland Way, I’ll dive right into 4 or 5 nights of wild camping, in the beauty of the highlands.  Preparing for those pesky Highland Midges by eating cloves of raw garlic and sprinkling my food with brewer’s yeast.  (I read somewhere that helps to ward off the little critters).

On the Ayrshire Coastal Path I’m looking forward to some beautiful coastal views and a bit of an off-the-beaten-path experience.  Maybe that wouldn’t be true for a U.K. citizen, because it’s not exactly un unknown destination, but nobody I know has ever been there.  The Ayrshire Coast is my wild card, and I’m glad it is.

The Offa’s Dyke Path brings me inland, weaving across both sides of the England-Wales border, through places with fairytale names which I can’t pronounce.  Llanymynech?  Hay-on-wye?  Llandegla?  Bodfari?  Furthermore, on this section of trail I have reached out to farms and hotels that offer camping and got so many positive responses allowing me to camp for free, I’m looking forward immensely to meeting these kind strangers.  I hope they’re prepared for all my questions about how to manage those Welsh words.

The South West Coast Path offers an epic adventure and beautiful scenery.  At 630 miles this is one of those “check off the life list” trails.  Regarded as one of the best long-distance hiking trails in the world, this is my antidote for not taking a multi-week hike back home.

And then there’s France.  Well France is just France.  I am nervous for France, I am excited for France.  Nervous because I don’t exactly have any maps yet.  No big deal.  Excited because I’ve found out that I really, really enjoy learning French.  Nervous because although I like learning French, that doesn’t mean I can speak it.  Excited because it’s a new country, a beautiful country, a complete immersion into something new.  Plus I heard they have good food there.

And that last little 500 miles.  That would be the Camino Frances, the most popular branch of the Camino de Santiago.  I definitely won’t find any solitude or great wilderness.  However, what sometimes drives people from the Camino Frances is what I’m excited about: it’s a little crowded.  Or so I hear.  You won’t find yourself alone.  But you will find a social camaraderie unlike any other.  And after three months walking alone, I sure hope there will be people willing to talk to me.

And so.  Three days until I’m outta here.  Let the panic attack ensue.