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 20: Flat and Straight

I went to Bordeaux, and here is what I saw!  I wandered around and around and finally headed on to Cardingan.

 

Since Bordeaux I have taken two photos.  One is this one:

Almost there, right?

I haven’t taken photos honestly because there really isn’t anything to show you.  I could pick out some details of the refuges or campsites I’ve stayed in, or take a photo of the long, straight, flat road through plantations of rows and rows of pine trees, but in the heat of southwest France, reaching for my camera is too sweaty an endeavor.

Having nothing to take a photo of doesn’t make it an unworthy place though.  A lot of us, myself included, are always looking for the next thing to photograph, especially now that every man, woman, and child has a camera phone.

I’ll remember this section of Camino as the Meditative Phase.  With hours of flat, straight walking my mind enters an almost trancelike place.  It’s a very relaxing place.  Some people may only see boredom.  I never really feel bored though.  I feel hot and tired, but not bored.  I think after days and days of walking my mind very easily falls into a tranquil state, where I forget about walking and start working out problems that I’ve been thinking about, or things I never knew was a problem in the first place.  Memories from long ago, and that I haven’t thought about since, pop into my head.  It’s like my mind is searching for something to occupy all this time, and so it sends me memories to amuse myself with.  I also talk to myself a lot, admittedly, not usually in full voice, but in mouthed whispers, so if you see me I probably very much look crazy.  And then when I need a little bit of energy I sing loudly to the trees.  It’s hard to sing and walk with a big pack on, so sometimes I just stop so I can sing a verse or two, and then I move on.  In a week I’ll be in St. Jean Pied-de-Port, with many, many other pilgrims, so I should sing now while I have the chance.

 

 

 

 

 

July 29: Oui, Oui!

Not a moment too soon, I have arrived in France.  It may sound weird to you, but I feel like I’m traveling again.  I had never stopped travelling—technically—but it felt like I had.  England was feeling all too familiar, and without a concrete destination to walk towards, I was lacking purpose.  Not to mention the last few days which I’ve spent “resting”, which is really hard to do, because it feels more like wasting time than resting.  I did do some things:  I saw two movies (Despicable Me 2 and The Wolverine; I have now met my yearly movie theater quota.  By the way, I loved them both.  I’d like to say that each speaks to a different side of my personality…)  I got a haircut.  Now I don’t have that “matted” look anymore, as the hairdresser termed it; and I went to Bath for a couple of days.

Visiting the Roman baths was worth the long bus ride—it was by far the best museum/ interactive exhibit I’ve been to.

It also made me miss living in the “hot springs neighborhood” of Busan, (which is how my old neighborhood, Oncheonjang, would be directly translated to.  Living in a spa neighborhood made the bitter Korean winters much more bearable, as in my third year I pretty much shunned my shower during the winter and did all my bathing in the bathhouse.  And if you’ve never been in a Korean or Japanese bathhouse before, learning to be comfortable bathing naked with a bunch of other women is one of the best experiences I’ve ever had.)

Back to France.  After Bath I needed to go back to Poole to catch the ferry to St. Malo in the morning.  I wonderful couchsurfer, Tom, pulled through for me, and although he couldn’t host me, he passed me off to another wonderful family who had just recently decided to start hosting.  After a little chit-chat in their orange dining room, Daisey led me back to the “shed” where there was a comfy bed, and I fell fast asleep.  Too soon it was time to wake up, and they drove me to the doorstep of the ferry terminal, which I am so grateful for, since that saved me an early morning bus journey.  The beauty of couchsurfing.

The ferry wasn’t as long as I thought it would be, only 5 hours total, but my ticket said 9 hours which had me believing that I was going to do a lot of reading that day.  Then I was informed that we’d be stopping in Guernsey for 4 hours, and yes, that was the first I’d heard of Guernsey.  I’m embarrassed to say I wasn’t quite sure upon disembarking whether Guernsey was in the U.K. or France.  (It’s in the U.K.)  In fact, I was handed these beautiful Guernsey pound notes in change after buying a Guernsey ice cream (that’s for you Rachel).  I said, “Oh, WOW THESE ARE SO COOL!” and the ice cream lady replied by saying, “thank you!”

Guernsey pounds

Only two hours away from Guernsey we arrived in St. Malo, where my travelling met a bit of a hitch when I couldn’t contact my couchsurfer and hadn’t received an email for a few days.  After telephoning unsuccessfully I decided to find another place to stay, which had me walking around St. Malo for about 3 hours looking for WiFi and then walking to a youth hostel (full) and finally a campsite.  (I just kept repeating my mantra: it always gets better, it always gets better.)

This is when I start speaking French.  Or “French”.  Some strange sounds have been coming out of my mouth, which some endearing Frenchpeople have been pretending to understand.  And then they say things back, which makes me think that these weird sounds are actually words; however, sometimes I say words which I was positive were French, but apparently not, and we just look at each other with awkward misunderstanding.  In that case I just yelp a big French-sounding “Hohn, HOHN!” and we move on like nothing happened.

But really, France has me excited.  After a bit of a worrisome search for accommodation yesterday, today could not have gone smoother, considering the amount of information I had (little).

I decided to hitchhike from St. Malo to Tours, where I’m starting the Camino, and only four cars, five hours, and 320 kilometers later I was there!  It must have been the smoothest hitch-experience I’ve had, and took less time than it would if I had tried public transportation.  It included a nice seaman who drove me to a better spot in St. Malo in which to wait for cars (I love when people do that); a couple of young ladies heading to Rennes on a shopping trip; a technician for Mercedes driving to Paris for work, who didn’t mind when I continuously dozed off; and a chatty guy heading to Tours for work (I want to say he was a vending machine repairman?  But there’s my French for ya), who probably gave me the equivalent of an hours French lesson through his patient listening.  But then again, we were stuck in a car together.  Miraculously, although he spoke no English, we talked about quite a lot, which is definitely a confidence booster.  He had even been to Portland!

Making things even smoother, he dropped me off right at the tourist information center in Tours, and much to my delight, inside was a “Walking Specialist” who lit up when I said I was starting the Camino and needed a guide book or map (I said that in French!  Wah!).  He selected one for me, and I bought my Pilgrim Passport, and headed off to the Cathedral to pay it a visit and get a stamp in my passport.

Only 5km down the Camino, and there’s a nice campsite.  A full day of travel, yet I hardly felt stressed.  Not only that, but now I feel in the company of others.  Although I’m good at being alone, I need to talk to people, and have those people understand what I’m doing.  That’s why it was good to talk to couchsurfers Julie and Tom and Daisey (hey guys!), because couchsurfers generally don’t think crazy trips are weird, they think they’re awesome.  That’s the same reason it’s good to be on the Camino, because I’ve already met other pilgrims (although they’re bikers) and that makes me feel like I’m walking with people, although I’m not actually walking with them at all.  It’s the feeling of common purpose, camaraderie, meaningful social interaction, in which I’m lacking.  Greatly.  Come talk to me.

Buen Camino!