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Field trips with CH-CH-CH-CHIA (Children's Hope In Action) ;) (à Quảng Nam Province)

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First week in Vietnam

Capital city, Hanoi, and Tam Coc National Park.

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Oh Sir Elton, couldn’t have said it better myself

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What 500 miles of walking does to your shoes..... luckily for us there has yet to be a scratch and sniff photo app to accompany photos (note: shoes are in the hallway for a reason folks ;)).

Shoes pictured from left to right: Pete’s, Dom’s and mine.

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You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees  For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.  You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on.  Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes,  over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -- over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

Mary Oliver

Thanks for sending the quote Gillybean :) 

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We’re Off to See the Cathedral, the Wonderful Cathedral of Santiago

A total of 900 +/- kms

 One month. 

30 sum odd days of roughly 8,450 days I’ve lived.

 After all the kms had been walked, the goodbyes to fellow pilgrims, the people that both kept me insane and drove me insane for the past few weeks, had said goodbye, and I was sitting in Isabel’s car heading out of the city of Compostela towards Galicia’s countryside, did I start to come to terms with the fact that my days of walking with an oversized backpack, held together by a rolled up rain jacket, were over. Too tired, smelly, and both physically and mentally exhausted to do much, I turned my head backwards, took one last view of my Emerald City, at those spiral pillars on the Cathedral, closed my eye thanked the heavens I wouldn’t have to sleep in a dorm of hundreds tonight.

At that moment, and all those quieter moments on the trail, you tend to find yourself in this cosmic-questioning stratosphere.

I had first heard of this walk earlier in the year during French class.  My closest companion in Brussels, Isabel, was scheduled to give a 10 minute presentation on Galicia, her home region of Spain.  An hour into monologue, she mentioned the now infamous route of “El Camino de Santiago de Compostela.”  A walk that has spiraled into this entire community, ambiance, and way of life.  Although there are many “official” routes of the Camino, that all intersect in the town of Santiago, the “original” route, El Camino Frances, the one Isabel was speaking about, turns out passes her hometown of Montorosso.  For some reason, unknowing to me at the time of her presentation, I was intrigued. For the rest of my year, I couldn’t really shake that particular bug off.  I knew that I would be done working for my host family in July, and was searching for somewhere and something to do before my visa would expire and I would have to return to America.  Almost as seamlessly as this idea happened to fell into my lap, did I find myself at the foothills of the Pyrenees in southern France about to take my first official steps on the route.

What followed that day, and subsequent days after, was an experience that I can only express through the aid of  L. Frank Baum and his concocted mixture of misfits.

I’m speaking, of course, about one girl in plaid, a scarecrow without a brain, a wizard with no magical powers and one long, windy yellow path that guides those daring enough to travel on it, towards the city made of green. A city that promises enchanting powers, experiences, and people waiting at its shiny gates.

However, let me make just a few minor changes.  Replace the wicked witch and her ruby slippers for a pair of hiking boots and their ensuing blister forming powers, Toto for the stuffed versions of Milou and Tintin (Herge’s famous travelling duo that I travelled with, in stuffed animal version, and at times, the only companions I would encounter in a day), a tin man for a retired Irish doctor, a luscious field of poppies for arid fields of wheat, and a non-magical wizard for a Cathedral encased in scaffoldings. 

Everyone that asks me about my journey on the Camino wonders why I did it, if I enjoyed it, if I would ever consider doing it again, and most importantly, if it is something I think they could do.  A little public service announcement for you all, if I answered those questions one by one, we could be here for days.  So instead this is the medium I’ve found to explain it both to myself and to you. 

The Wizard of Oz.  A cultural phenomenon that has and will be used for centuries to come.  The amount of different stage performances, films, books, etc. that have taken influence from Frank Baum’s imagination is astounding.  It rings so true for far too many of people throughout the world.  At the core though one should wonder, “why is that?” 

For me the Camino was a very challenging thing.  Looking at your travels in retrospect is a hard thing to do.  We like to cut and paste all over our experiences, and it usually results in us taking out the bad and trying to just remember the good. Sometimes, our favourite memories from past trips, when looked back upon and long for, were moments that we didn’t even feel very significant while living them. It’s a very tricky thing, nostalgia, and I don’t want my cut and paste mode to tarnish the difficulties of that portion of my life.  I did this hike this summer, not having done anything like it before.  I was a newbie to the idea of caring all your processions on you back for hours at a time, in squandering heat, always on the look out for water and, as Dom would put it, a snacky doo. I had no prior experience to this type of life, and I accomplished it, so people who wonder if they can do it, of course you can.  Anything that you will ever need will present itself to you while on the route. Perhaps not in the exact shape and form you want it, but it will, and access to a hospital, if ever needed, will never be that far off.  Nevertheless, there is a weird energy that illuminates that gravel trail that I think bares no more explanation, it’s an experience one must discover yourself.

And, with this discovery, we are pulled back to the reality that The Wizard of Oz may just be the answer to the never-ending question, “what does life mean?” Even though a lot of character traits from the books I could find home to in many people I met on the Camino, I will not be boring you with how I can find traits of the flying monkeys in crazy Scandinavians (yes Finny, hello).

The core theme of the book, and film, is a journey of childhood.  Dorothy from start to finish remains in a state of childhood.  Her journey is about her way back home and with it she ends up learning way more about the world and its inhabitants through it. The Camino is not a journey of childhood; however, one could argue that a lot of people’s attitudes revert to the childish ways of thinking we grew up with.  I’m speaking of happiness of course.  I’ve found that whenever someone has a positive mood, people like to think that they are “just being childish.”  I ask you though, what’s so inherently wrong about wanting to be happy? The answer, absolutely nothing. The Camino, no matter which route you forgo, is tough.  Wanting to subject yourself to hours of walking with so many kilos on your back can be a weighing experience, not only physically, but also emotionally, mentally, and all the in between. However, just like the Wizard of Oz, it’s a walk, and sometimes the people you meet along your to route to the Emerald City, will surprise you.  Nearly everyone you meet on this route, no matter how complicated their back story is, reasons they are on this route, is one of happiness.  Even if someone is struggling, the band of brotherhood mentality that every one pilgrim has, proves stronger.  

This route is still a road paved with people in search for something.  Whether you’re on a spiritual journey, a self-improving route, or trying to overcome a difficult obstacle in your life, there are hundreds like you that look towards a long, draining physically journey as their self medicating vice.  Some do the walk just to be alone, to do this just for themselves, while others do this so they can be in a community of support. However you decide to forgo the Camino is on you, and you have your reasons for that.  One thing that you will find, even if you decide to walk the entirety by yourself, is that everyone that passes you, and those that pass you is the alarming amount of positive attitudes.  The thing that this walk teaches you is to smile and to deal with the hard times with a happy twist.  The emotion of being happy weeds its ways through all the emotional bits, all the moments of soreness, the countless injuries you and other pilgrims will undoubtedly find yourselves in.  In moments of your own despair, another person struggling more than you will walk past you, and even if it’s just a quick encounter, you’ll find yourself with a little pep in your step.  The infectious bug of smiling will bite you, and suck out the poisonous venom of self pity. It was amazing to me, to find people who have come from more challenging backgrounds than I, have a difficult time in the blinding heat, and still be upbeat and cheery when I would see them at the end of a long day.  If you find the happy, whether that be your own internal doing or spawning off the glow of a fellow pilgrim, you will be surprised by how many more kilometers you can push yourself to go.

For me, I wanted to do this alone.  I wanted to walk alone and prove to myself I was physically and mentally strong enough to do so.  I started off by myself, but sure enough I met some funny people my second day in. People who taught me a lot about how to pop my own foot blisters, taught me how to push myself further than I ever thought I could, and at the end of a challenging day, we could sit around drink a cold beer and still find a way to laugh and enjoy our time.  Ultimately people who taught me I don’t have to be alone, at least not all the time.  After spending two weeks together however, we split up.  Allowing ourselves to walk how we had intended this walk from the beginning, answering to no one by ourselves.  It was tough, hard, but also super rewarding.  Not having a solid way to communicate, we relied on that weird energy of the Camino that, if fate allowed it, would give us the chance for a reunion somewhere along the route.  The morning I walked into the city of Santiago, a block away from the ending location, the Cathedral of Saint James, I was walking past a café when I looked through the window and saw a familiar looking neck tie and hat.  I open the door, muttering the words “Peter?” in a tone mustered with confusion.  Sure enough, there was Petey boy fueling up on his morning ritual of a pain au chocolate and a café con leche.  I plopped myself on the nearest available bar stool and chatted about what our lives had been like for the past two weeks.  He told me he was in contact with our other comrade, Dom, who said he was going to tray and accomplish 40 +/- kilometers and meet us in the City in the afternoon.  What followed, was a day and evening filled with the biggest A-lister Hollywood reunion with the weirdest characters I’d ever met (step aside Miss Garland).  People whom I owe a lot of beautiful and hilarious travelling moments to.  A true reunion among reunions.  Cheers to you Dom and Pete! 

However, perhaps the most striking similarity between the Camino de Santiago and The Wizard of Oz is the illusion of “the end.”  In the Wizard of Oz, Oz is portrayed as a shinny beacon draped in emerald and gold. The city, the people, the magic allows the viewer, and Dorothy and company, to create this dream land where everything will be taken care.  It becomes apparent that once Dorothy, Tin Man, Scarecrow, and Lion arrive at the magician’s home, they come face to face with the crushing reality that the magician is no more than just an ordinary person.  The very traits they were hoping to be granted with were already apart of their characters. 

When you start the Camino, you’ll hear people discuss more about the experience they’re expecting, not so much the arriving in Santiago.  It’s a known walk where people are craving the experience more so than the end goal. It’s easy to see how you can meet so many people who have been walking on this route for months.  Getting lost in the romanticism that a long journey can make.  It’s seducing.  While on the route I would always refer to Santiago as the Emerald City while no one really thought that was very clever nor understood where I was going with it. In fact, I didn’t even know myself at the time.  I started the Camino about four weeks too early.  I had some rough travelling experiences beforehand, and decided I had waited long enough, I might as well just begin.  Seeing as I now had two months to finish this walk, I figured I would take my time on the trail.  Daydreams filled with lying on wheat fields, reading as the sun drifted off into the distance with a nice glass of Rioja wine at my side. Walking 15 kilometers per day, or rather taking a whole day to gently walk what would take a normal person 3 hours to walk.  I knew that once I reached Santiago I would be this person who was stronger, and more fulfilled.  However, it turns out that is not how my route went.  Like I said, my pals taught me that I wanted more than that fake image of trekking across a whole country.  I found that I liked pushing myself, the pain was like a drug that I didn’t want to come down from.  It was grueling, hard, and yet I somehow thrived in it.  Once Dom, Pete, and I split up I thought I would walk more slow.  But, as it turns out the most extraordinary things started happening.  Now that I was on my own, and I wasn’t trying to keep up with the boy’s crazy schedule, I was walking even further than we would as a group.  The day I walked 53 kms solo, is honestly a day of my life I will always be proud of.  Soon the game changed, no longer was I thriving for this “romantic” notion of the walk, I was enjoying it, all of it, in all of it’s various forms.  Tired, unrequainted sores resting on top of unaccounted for blisters, and numerous rollercoasters of emotions per day, and still finding reasons to laugh until I cried, even if I had no other company besides Tintin and Milou.  I was excited to reach Santiago so I could say that I did it, to prove to myself that I was wrong, that I could accomplish it.  I was wanting to reach this Emerald City because, unlike the Scarecrow, I knew the ending of the book. I knew that once I reached the destination, I would be stronger for it, and whatever I was searching for would just appear in me, just like how the lion came to understand that he in fact have the biggest heart of them all.  All I had to do was walk there, and I would be this new accomplished person.  

I believe Pete can attest to this, that once I reached Santiago I felt very weird.  I was waiting for this ordinary Wizard to tell me that I had already proved I was strong enough and that the other questions in life I still had, I would soon find the answers to.   Waiting to be told exactly what powers I already possessed. 

However, that’s not how it goes, and I was greatly upset at how underwhelmed I felt due to the lack there of.  Sure I had just accomplished an amazing feet, something I will always smile and be proud of, but I felt as if I hadn’t really figured all that much out about why I was actually walking it.  I wanted a challenge and sure enough that’s what this was, but there is no way that this thing allows you to figure out your calling in life, your self worth, where to go from here, and how to return back to a life that doesn’t require you waking up at 5am.  If anything the walk is selfish, but I mean this is as a positive thing. 

What’s the reason you want to walk the Camino?  Why did you decide on this route and not a different one?  For me, I wanted a tough challenge.  I wanted to see what it would be like to walk for hours at a time. After a few days on the trail, you get used to it.  You learn how to love little aspects that life can bring to you.  A cold sip of water, a tree that can hide you from the blaring sun in the middle of a deserted plain field, a beautiful flower or fragrance you pass that suddenly becomes the newest accessory to your pack. You learn to live a rather simple life, not just worrying about yourself but everyone you pass along the route, everyone you smile and wave “buen camino” to, and those wonderful people that you bond with for a moment. 

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You never walk alone, even the devil is the lord of flies.

Gilles Deleuze

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Me and all my friends... Typical mornings on the route ;)

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“To laugh is to risk appearing a fool To weep is to risk being called sentimental To reach out to another is to risk involvement To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self to place your ideas and dreams before a crowd is to their loss to live is to risk not being loved in return To live is to risk dying To try is to risk failure But risks must be taken Because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing The people who risk may avoid suffering and sorrow, But they cannot learn, feel, change, grow, or really live Chained by their servitude they are slaves Who have forfeited all freedom Only a person who risks is truly free.”

William Ward

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All the different routes that lead to Santiago.

The place you are supposed to dump a rock from your home country.  I didn’t know about this tradition, so Tintin had a photoshot there instead...

reunions are always nice ;)

sitting outside the cathedral in SANTIAGO

walked across an entire country to look at scaffolds..

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“The journey makes you a pilgrim.  Because the way to Santiago is not only a track to be walked in order to go somewhere, nor it is a test to reach any reward.  El Camino de Santiago is a parable and a reality at the same time, because it is done both within and outside in the specific time that takes to walk each stage, and along the entire life if only you allow the Camino to inhabit you, to transform you and to make you a pilgrim.

The camino makes you simpler, because the lighter the backpack the less strain on your back and the more you will experience how little you need to be alive.

The Camino makes you brother/sister.  Whatever you have you must be ready to share because even if you started on your own, you will meet companions.  The Camino breeds about community: community that greets each other, that takes interest in how the walk is going for the other, that talks and shares with the other.

The Camino makes demands on you.  You must get up even before the sun in the spite of tiredness or blisters; you must walk in the darkness of night while dawn is drawing, you must get the rest that will keep you going.

The Camino call you to contemplate, to be amazed, to welcome, to interiorize to stop, to be quiet, to listen to, to admire, to bless...nature, our companions on the journey, our own selves, God.”

Taken from the Donativo albuergue I stayed at with Dom, Peter, and Linda.  The Sisters of the Sacred Heart.  I’ve already made a post about a poem we recited  in four different languages while we stayed their one evening.  It was called The Beatitudes of the Pilgrim, scroll down if you feel like reading it.  This place was a beautiful little gem found rather early on during the walk, but apparently its magic has stayed with me.  Including finding this piece of paper in a notebook while unpacking my belongings in the confines of the United States. 

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The gift, I think, is the ability to be able to go into your subconscious, come back unscathed, and present something from it.  Being able to disappear into something that's bigger than you, and returning from it with something to show.

Jeff Tweedy

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I haled me a woman from the street, Shameless, but, oh, so fair! I bade her sit in the model's seat And I painted her sitting there. I hide all trace of her heart unclean; I painted a babe at her breast; I painted her as she might have been If the Worst had been the Best She laughed at my picture and went away. Then came, with a knowing nod, A connoisseur, and I heard him say; 'Tis Mary, the Mother of God.' So I painted a halo round her hair, And I sold her and took my fee, And she hangs in the Church of Saint Hillaire, Where you and all may see.

My Madonna

by Robert W. Service

Old mate Peter was a lover of poetry.  While on the route he would recite poems to himself and once and awhile I would be graced with a recital. 

I cannot exactly remember where Peter recited this one to me, but I remembered the name because of its beauty. Looking back on it, it seems as if that happened a lot. Having no idea where I was or really where I was walking.  I was just walking...somewhere in Spain, finding magnificent gems along the way, such as this poem.  

Cheers.

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Ladies and Gentlemen, live (at one point) from Calzada del Coto, Spain, it’s Saturday night live! Featuring a lost needle and foot care remedies.

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the one time I set up my tent...located on dead grass and rocks

donating said tent to the “spirit of the camino” after pitching it and realizing I’d rather not.

Dom upset about waiting in line

the first sign of colour and flowers in over a week...actual tears were wept from this sight.

I’m afraid you’ll only understand this if you follow Danny DeVito on twitter #trollfoot 

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#SundaySoul camino edition. 

The second section, from Burgos to Leon, also known as “the Meseta.”  Some 200 kms accomplished in the span of a week.  

I had been debriefed on this section of the Camino from the very day I began this walk.  Words synonymous with “deserts,” “arid humidity,” and “nothing for miles” were swirling around the confines of the albuergue walls, while visions of heat strokes and emotional breakdowns were dancing around in my dreams.  Clearly I was surrounding myself with the most uplifting gents and gals around. (I kid pilgrims, I kid). 

However, much to my greatest shock and wonderful pleasure, this section turned out to be, undoubtedly my favourite part of my route.  Sure it was met with terrible feet injuries, sunburns, and a never-ending landscape, but I think that is why I appreciated it so much.  To paint you a mental picture, I came to describe the terrain as if we were walking on a large treadmill with a green screen set to one single monotonous wheat field and hay barrel landscape.  This treadmill would continue to move around and around, as if you had ceased movement.  However, one quick look down at your feet, and the never ending pain from a backpack that doesn’t fit you properly, and you realize that’s a false claim.  It was one of the weirdest, surrealist feelings I can ever soberly describe.  This terrain, even though it would be the flattest section I’d walk on, was a genuine battlefield.  Not so much physically exhausting, as it was mentally.  Walking for hours on end, without a tree or anything resembling shade in sight, and miles upon miles of the same scenery and gravel trail, there wasn’t much else to occupy your time besides walking and pondering.  Walking to push yourself, exerting your body and feet in a way you never thought possible, and slowly but surely, inching your body to that Emerald City, Santiago de Compostela.  

I was walking at this point with three of the wildest and entertaining comrades I met on the trail.  My ultimate mates. Peter, a retired radiologist, whom I quickly dubbed as the crazy, up-to-no-good uncle (we all have one), Dominic, my Australian ‘brother’ so to speak, who could talk a mile a minute and was never dull of charisma, and Kathryn, a gentile soul, but also a strong, empowered woman from Quebec in search of independence.  I met Dom and Peter the second day I started this whole thing and apart from the two days I went rouge, had been walking together ever since.  Kathryn I met while struggling to make it the 35 kms I wanted to do solo (without the two lads).  Somehow, by the force of the trail, we all rejoined one another, and continued to walk this section of the Maseta together.  When I say we walked together, we we very blessed to have this effortless and essential routine.  We’d stop and rest along the trail together, but, while walking we typically fell into a single file line, spread apart from one another, as so we could be alone with our thoughts, and give us space to ponder what we needed, and not so much needed, to ponder.  And that right there is exactly why I loved this part of the Camino so much. 

Mental fortitude became the new goal.  No longer did I care that my body was in pain, or that I was a constance, self-inflicting source of breakdowns.  Tears quite literally pouring out of my eyes straight onto the sandy-colored trail. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed of that, in fact, I’m quite proud of it.  I viewed it as a natural cleansing of my thoughts, my struggles.  Having to focus yourself while walking in a desert, with no sign of absolutely anything in sight, not even so much as a succulent to distract you from the static golden wheat and blue sky horizon. Knowing that if you wanted shade or even a nice, cold pint, you would have to figure out a way to push yourself there.  The best way to combat the millions of thoughts that could dangerously enter into your brainwaves, meditation.  Had I not lost my harmonica, I clearly would have opted for that practice, but seeing as I generally cannot keep things in my possession for longer than a few weeks, meditation it was.  Something that I technically couldn’t lose, seeing as all the essential tools for it for being stored in the inner workings of my being.  (However, one could argue that I also may have in fact lost a part of my brain on this walk...).  

Having to focus on nothing at all.  The definition of meditation constitutes an idea of this “third party.”  This party that tries to resolve conflict.  In my case, my two conflicting agents, the wondering thoughts of my conscience working against each other.  As if I was on a cartoon and one shoulder, a devil, trying to steer your inner peace further and further away from you, and on the other, an angel, trying to discredit anything bad that ever happens in the world (I hope the reader notes I dramatize in a way I, myself, have deemed necessary).  I love to kid, but in all actuality, being alone with one’s thoughts in a quiet, unmoving scenery, can force you to think of things you typically try to push out of your brain.  Topics that you can typically avoid if you’re at the comfort of your home with modern day technologies or friends to distract you.  Here I was though, walking hours upon hours, day in and day out, and trying to process my life, with nothing but the bare landscape and footprints of previous pilgrims to guide my thoughts forward.  Having to work to push out any thought that would try and enter your brain, when there is nothing near to deflect is away, is a terribly hard thing to do. 

My trusted comrade Peter, before he began on his Camino, bought a superb booklet that mapped out each kilometer of the Camino Frances. This tiny, well informed guide would show you signs of what would you could find in each village you passed along the route, including where potable water could be found distance wise from other villages, as well as how many meters high you’d climb. According to this, it was most advised to do this section of the Camino, also known as the Meseta, at a pace of 20 to 25 kms per day.  Essentially, 4 to 5 hours of walking, and be finished by noon, if you started early enough.  However, for some reason, we decided we could knock it out in under a week.  Meaning, walking on average of 7 to 8 hours per day.  There’s no way I can really make you understand how terribly awful that could be at 3pm in the afternoon, in 40 degree Celsius heat, at the hottest point of the day, in the hottest month of the year, completely lacking of wind and shade, and an unnecessary weight attached to your back, and still having an hour more to walk until you could be finished for the day.... or perhaps, maybe I can. When we would finally arrive at an albuergue, we were, needless to say, tired.  Not only tired physically, but also mentally just drained.  

You tend to get into your own groove of what you do once you arrive at an albuergue.  While some want to get themselves all in order, such as showering, changing into clean clothes, washing their pair of walking clothes undoubtedly drenched in sweat, or, if your Peter especially, going to the nearest pub to drink a local brew of San Miguel to toast your hours of agony in a nice, freezing, cold pint.  I would, without fail, fall on the ground, unwilling to move for hours.  How easy it would have been to stay there for the entirety of the day if it weren’t for Dom or Peter to tell me in the nicest ways possible that I smell and it would probably be in my best interest for anyone in my immediate vicinity to go shower.  After all the “essential” human items were done, the chaps and I would retire to the pub to eat, drink, or chat...more often than not, our evenings consisted of all of the above.  We’d talk about our experiences on the path, random topics and references from pop culture, and dissecting all the levels of people we’d met on the trail, etc.  For some reason, and I forget quite how exactly, Dom and I became obsessed with the the culture phenomenon Billy Ocean. 

I’ve always been a sucker for the song “When The Going Gets Tough, the Tough Get Going,” mainly due to the fact that Danny DeVito graces the music video and gives the audience a beautiful saxophone solo.  When Dom and I discovered we were both lovers of the song, we began this weird tradition of singing Billy (Dom doing most of the singing while my forte gravitated more towards the instrumental hymns and subsequent background vocals).  When we finally were able to connect to wifi so Kathryn and Peter could hear and see the music video, the spirit of the Maseta section of this Camino were lifted.  Everyday would be revived when we could listen to the mystical 70′s musician, who’s lyrics could eerily translate to our day to day experiences. A rockin’ beat, some silly lyrics, and an genius cast of extras, how could one simply not find the courage to finish ones daily kilometers? 

Whoever says music cannot transform your mood has clearly never walked hours in a desert.  My dear Billy, my dear camino comrades, I thank you for the mystical week we shared.  This post is to you. 

Also. Have you never seen the music video, I strongly believe you should rectify that situation at your earliest convenience.  Luckily for you, I’ve posted the link below. 

(for your information, the scenes come from the film Jewel of the Nile. Equally as wonderful, and I would recommend that your explore it further, in your own time ;) ).