2MoreMiles…

(Day 7: 22 KM)
Estella – Los Arcos

Up early in order to make it to the wine fountain (next to the Monasterio Irache) and at least a taste before the day’s allotment is totally consumed, we exit our albergue (on the hill of hills) and initially wander about the dark trying to find the next yellow marker pointing the way to Santiago.  After much mumbling in “tongues”, we find our way.  As the crew clicks their way up another hill, I duck into a just opened market whose doors are wafting the smell of chocolate filled croissants.  I purchase four, willing myself not to eat them right there and then and scurry up the hill.

When we reach the wine tap, there is a bottleneck (pun intended) of pelegrinos waiting impatiently for their chance at the spigot for wine.  The wine is “church wine” and not worthy if more than a taste.  Maybe it was just the fact it was 7am. I don’t know.  Onward we tred.  The weather was pleasantly overcast and the tred was easy on the feet.

I walk ahead with headphones on listening to a classical guitar compilation… Mozart in E minor. It’s like having your own soundtrack as I/we meander through corridors of oak trees that open to rolling farmland creating a mosaic of color that changes with the streaks of sunlight that sneak through the rich puffy clouds that dance gingerly overhead.

We reach a hilltop hamlet (Villamayor de Monjardína) and find all the “bars” closed, but not to worry as a kind man has stepped up and has provided “gratis” fresh coffee, tea and cookies for the pelegrinos. We leave a sizeable donation, so that he may continue this Camino “trail magic”.

I continue ahead once again, to the next town and in search of the allusive internet.  No internet to be found. I sit on a bench and start to pen my blog.  An older gentleman approaches, and asks in accented and broken English, ” You walk the Camino with me?”.  I hesitate, then think, why the hell not.  He is Daniel and he is a 72 year old French man who now lives in Germany with his second wife…first wife (and love of his life) died of cancer a few years ago.  We talk in broken English/ French and German about life, love and the Camino.  This is his second time, the first being with his first wife.  He is happy and healthy and full of life.  I hope I am just as energetic, fit and full of life and happiness as Daniel is when I am his age.

We pass a sheepherder as he and his dogs wrangle the sheep across the road.  Eventually they cross Paul, Sue and Jerry’s path.  As we walk an Oasis appears literally in the middle of nowhere. Some enterprising Spaniard has set up a rolling cafe at a crossroads of sorts 6KM from Los Arcos. We stop for an orange juice and to air out our feet as the skies have cleared.

From where we sit, one can see the ruins of an ancient “hospital de pelegrinos”. Before long, Daniel is ready to start again. We part here, as I decide to wait for the rest of my clan, who arrive in no time and are just as happy and surprised to discover this Oasis as well.

Once refreshed we begin our final approach to Los Arcos where we check into Casa de Austria, an albergue run by an eclectic group of people who’s primary language is German.

It is a colorful and full service place. Los Arcos is a small town with big walls that have harbored millions of pelegrinos. We dine at a restaurant adjacent the city’s church who bells keep time hourly. I order paella as a full pelegrino meal is just too much these days. Once again the food is splendid and relatively inexpensive. Another good day on the Camino. As with each days walking, thoughts and prayers for the healing of loved ones continue, as well as prayers of thanks for this wonderful opportunity to walk the Way.

Be Strong! Austin Strong!
Buen Camino!

(Day 6 – 26 KM)
La Reina – Estella

Todays plan is once again to divide and conquer.  Yesterday’s trek took a lot out of Sue and Jerry, and frankly we were pretty surprised and proud of them for hanging in there and doing so well.  As we were a bit bushed, they had to be seriously whipped.  We drop our “heavy” stuff (extra clothes) with them into the “bus bag” and head out.  We cross the river Arga via the modern bridge so as to see the puente del Reina in full (actually morning) daylight.  It’s reflection off the lazy water flowing under the bridge creates a mirror effect and if you didn’t know any better, you have a hard time figuring which was which.  As with every morning we start with an eventual uphill or our morning “vitamin” as we have taken to calling it. 

We look behind us at the morning’s rising sun and we catch contrials in the sky whose shape resembles a star. 

Up we traverse atop old Roman highways whose rocks still lie permanently wedged in the earth.  Giant slabs of stone show divots and troughs of wear from innumerable travelers. We climb up to a hilltop town and there I find, for me, the first signs of true civilization… Chocolate Milk! at a small shop.

We weave our way through numerous vineyards and sample the grapes.

As I am easily distracted, I notice that some of the vineyards are meticulously manicured into unique shapes.

I bkew this up for better definition

Again, most people pay no attention. The KM roll by almost effortlessly. We pass through several tunnels that run under the highways, some have “Camino” graffiti, while others are left untouched.

We pass an old church and take a peak inside, while others take pictures from afar.

As we descend, and of course climb, into the outskirts of Estella, we are greeted by great buildings boasting of times filled with the Knights Templar and are in awe at the artistry and history. We feel small and somewhat insignificant. We assume Sue and Jerry must already have checked into our albergue (Oncineda), and we assume correctly, but have a hard time finding the place. Once we locate it (on a major hill) all thoughts of wandering the city and viewing the additional Knights Templar and other historic sites goes out the window. We are trashed. Sue and Jerry are out and about, and not at the albergue so fresh clothes are out of the question, so we nap and wake up a little before a massive pilgrim’s dinner, and then retreat to our room for a good nights sleep via food coma.

A room to ourselves...a converted high school, now an albergue

(Day 5: 24km)
Pamplona – Puente la Reina

Young entrepreneur, and eventual millionaire, Nicolas.

The best part about today was stopping; a random lemonade stand in the middle of a steep hill climb; and the refreshing shower (we were able to have a “un-interrupted” shower as in it ran until we turned it off, and at the temperature we wanted).  The views were beautiful, but the walk was brutal.  The sun was hot and we used our umbrellas to the amusement and envy of most of the pelegrinos that passed us, and we passed as well.  Seeing that I was extremely tired and therefore super grouchy, I walked alone for most of the day so as not to snap and say things I regret.  The night was rough for me in that I had very little sleep, and not much of it was refreshing. I awoke around midnight to the sound of what I thought was “mooing” (something about dreaming of walking by a pasture and chocolate milk), but quickly realized that it was a symphony of snoring. I ended up retreating to the albergue’s couch (that was one foot too short) for a bit of “sleep” as my earplugs were no match for the snorefest.

Anyhoo, back to today’s trek.

We tread through the city of Pamplona that is just starting to wake. The trail outside of Pamplona was rock filled and climbed toward the ridgeline pocked with white winged windmills.

Our destination was to the famed “monument pelegrino”, with the iron figures bracing against the wind. Reaching the top is exhilarating, then anticlimactic once you see the “roach coach” perched atop the peak and several other cars. WTF?! You can drive here? Now how is that special?

A futile attempt to move the rocks off the trail

As with all steep ups, it is usually followed by a steep down over rolly rocks of bedrock and marble size.

Not mich difference between the trail and the farmland

Even the farmland is teaming with rocks. Maybe they are cultivating them? This would explain the fact that most of the buildings are made of stone…they are so plentiful. We wander through quaint medieval towns perfectly kept and manicured, yet seemingly devoid of humans. (They take Siesta time very seriously here)

An ancient Camino marker tells us we are headed in the right direction

It feels like we are in an episode of Walking Dead, and we are the “walkers” as we shuffle through town moaning about our feet, the heat, or the last hill. Each town we pass through is perched on a hill of sorts, with a church in the center that is generally located upon its’ highest point.

Fountains disperse fresh cool water. We are tempted to stop and soak our feet, but then are fearful we will not get going again. We finally wander into Puente de la Reina, and check into our albergue.

View out our "dorm" window

A bar next door (that is open…it is still siesta time) with refreshing beer beckons. A quick (Ok, not so quick) shower, a short wander to a farmacie for a resupply of vitamin I (ibuprofen) and we are seated at an outdoor cafe sipping nectar of the gods (beer) recapping the days events, which were uneventful in themselves, but memorable all the same due to some inside jokes that just don’t/won’t translate well to others. We find a pelegrino dinner for 10€ and eat beyond our stomach’s contentment.

Pelegrino dinners are 3 courses and always include desert in which flan is always and option.

After dinner I, and several other pelegrinos, walk down to take a peak at the puente de la Reina, of picture fame.

It was built in the 1200’s specifically for the pelegrinos for safe passage over the Arga river. Once back at the albergue, I work on the blog a bit and have a nice conversation with a German woman we have been seeing with regularity on the trail, before heading off to bed. She is happy to converse in her native tongue, and I am happy to brush up on my German.

Buen Camino!

(Day 4: 21Km)
Zubiri – Pamplona

Jesus picks up Sue and Jerry and we walk out of their albergue and onto the Camino sans 2km…excellent!

The trail is fairly benign and we breakfast (again.. toast and coffee don’t really cut it) after another 4 km purchasing tortillas (omelette) wedges and a bocadillo (sandwich) for the road. As we walk Sue and Jerry tell us about their “albergue” experience. Apparently where they were staying, the Bell tower to the church or town hall chimed every quarter hour on the dot until midnight, and their apartment was a perfect location in which to get the full effect of the bells. So maybe being able to do laundry was not an equal benefit to our pool and beer experience. Onward we walk. Stories continue to flow. Pamplona beckons. This time we have gotten smarter and have secured a place near the Cathedral for the night, so the need to press hard onward is not such a necessity.

Sights along the Camino

Signage in Pamplona

We enter the outskirts of Pamplona and walk over an ancient bridge. We are still amazed at the engineering marvel of these bridges. We lunch in a park and notice that the city appears “asleep”, as it is siesta time and not much is open. Traffic is sparse and we cross one of 4 bridges built in the 1200s across the Arga river specifically for the Santiago pelegrinos. This one leads to the (at the time) only entrance into the fortress city of Pamplona.

Medeival entrance to Pamplona

We cross the functioning drawbridge and wander the streets of Pamplona looking for our albergue.

Cathedral of Pamplona

We locate it next to the Cathedral of Pamplona where the Roman general Pompey stayed before a battle in 74-75 BC. Since then, this area has changed hands more times than a Las Vegas card dealer on New Years Eve. We walk the streets where the loonies who think it’s ” muy macho” to run with (actually from) the bulls is held. No way in hell would we ever do something so idiotic (even with alcohol).

The streets are narrow and there is no place to hide or escape to. Your best bet is to trip the guy next to you in hopes of slowing down a bull or two. I would rather spend my time in Spain drinking their wine and eating their Tapas, which we did tonight.

Yummy Tapas

Things like this make me want to ditch the U.S. I can think of no place in the U.S. where you can get a $6 bottle of wine and sandwich snacks at $2 a piece besides your local 7-Eleven, and where’s the ambiance in that? (There is NO comparison…really).

Before discovering the Tapas and wine, we “pre-snack” on bite sized salami and parmesan cheese chunks from what we would call an artisan butcher shop. I swear to God, I will probably (if not gain a few lbs) break even with regard to my weight on this trip no matter how many miles we walk a day. I don’t understand how they stay so slim in Europe, as their everyday food is waaay better than ours. In Pamplona, near our albergue, is a Camino pilgrim’s shop, that sells just about anything one would need whilst walking the Camino. Paul purchases a new pair of shoes (Columbia) as his Altras are starting to hurt the top of his foot, as they did mine. For some people these shoes work great. For others, not so good. We are of the “not so good” group. Our good fortune, however continues with finding good shoes for Paul. In no time it is time for bed.

Buen Camino!

(Day 3: 24 km)

We set our alarm for 5:45am, however this was an act in futility and completely unnecessary.  Promptly at 0600 the lights go on and a lovely old gentleman/ hospitalier walks the dormitory singing Ave Maria.. loudly.  The sun has not risen and the air has a refreshing chill in it.  We pack up and don our headlamps.  Without our headlamps, it is pitch black, a phenomenon that is rare where I live.  We walk in the dark under a canopy of trees.

As the sun rises a mist hovers over the rolling fields of farm and ranch land.

Pelegrinos speak in quiet whispers as they make their way upon the Camino. A calf threads his way under the stretched barbed wire to literally see if the grass is greener on the other side. His mother, alarmed, tries to follow but gets caught in the fencing. Just as we are about to climb into the pasture, she frees herself…thankfully.

We breakfast in Burgette and then carry on.

The tread is initially easy on the feet and then morphs into inclines and descents over square and jagged marbles that fill the trail.

The final descent is brutal and my knee is screaming in muffled tones as we make our way into Zuburri hopefully in enough time to secure a place for the night. As luck would have it, there is no room at any of the albergues. Apparently one needs to book ahead if you are to arrive after 12 pm or so. We are in luck, as the hospitalier for the Zuburri albergue that Jerry has shipped his bag to is able to find us two places in which to stay. Sue and Jerry are given a room in an apartment next to the albergue and we secure a bed at an “albergue” 2km away.

One of the owners, Jesus picks us up. He understands enough English and I understand enough Spanish to be able to communicate in bits and pieces as we travel to his home. At first we are a little apprehensive about going to a private home, but we arrive to a refrigerator full of beer and a pool and find ourselves at “home” and a little sorry for leaving Sue and Jerry in town. We are met by his wife, Pury who speaks splendid English and gives us the lay of the land. We bask in the perfect chill of the pool in our skivvies (because they don’t care and neither does the 70 year old Dutchman in his underwear as well) drinking beers and trading stories of life, love and travels. When I check my phone to confirm our dinner plans with Sue and Jerry, Sue advises that they are able to do laundry…for “free”, so I guess there is a trade off of sorts. Jesus graciously transports us back to town and the local brassiere (brew Pub) to have dinner with Sue and Jerry. He has arranged to have the bartender call him when we are done. In the Pub we find several other pelegrinos that we have met along the way and have grand conversations and hearty laughs. The world shrinks again and again. Once back at our ” albergue ” we are able to make arrangements with Jesus and Pury to pick up Sue and Jerry in the morning and bring them here, saving them 2km. We roll out our hide-a-bed couch and along with the father and son Spaniards in the next room snicker loudly and lament the fact that we have not fallen asleep before the snore-fest begins. As with everything it seems, timing is essential.

Today’s plan is divide and conquer.  Paul and I will finish the trek from Valcarlos to Roncesvalles, which we are told is uphill all the way for 13 km.  Sue and Jerry opt out for a cab to Roncesvalles.  The good thing is that they will be able to take most of our gear with them so our packs will be extra light. Jacket, water and lunch. Muy Bueno.  We take off with a Via coffee I had packed in my bag and some yogurt we had bought the night before for breakfast. For lunch we have a potpourri of choices; a can of Pringles; some cheese wedges; the equivalent of a Spanish “slimjim” on steroids,for lunch (a 1.5″ wide x 1ft long stick of fresh salami, that would be a gourmet “snack” back home); a pack of chocolate donuts…at least that was the rough translation (it was actually chocolate coated cookies shaped like donuts); a package of creme filled wafers; left over chilli lime beef jerky from Costco; and an apple. All in all and interesting combination of edibles. We say our goodbyes and head up the road while Sue and Jerry head to the coffee shop.

The morning is cool so we walk at a brisk pace. We have the road to ourselves. The first part we walk against traffic on a narrow winding two lane roadway, expecting to and preparing to leap over the k-rail if necessary.

Eventually the trail drops off the roadway and follows a wooded path just below and parallel the roadway. It reminds us of walking through Oregon by Eagle Creek. The lush greenery, the water and the uncomfortably rocky tread. For a while we are lulled into a comfortable and easy pace, that requires little effort. I thought this was supposed to be a climb.

Oops, I speak too soon, as what goes down (or reasonably flat for that matter) must go up, and up the trail goes. It’s that long up at that semi steep angle that just won’t quit. As we huff and puff and our thighs burn, we realize that Sue and Jerry made the right choice, and that maybe we should have gone to breakfast and hopped in the taxi as well. We make good time, even though it was strenuous and arrive at the albergue in Roncesvalles. The exterior is castle like, reminiscent of a monastery. We are early and the hospitaliers (Camino volunteers) are still preparing/cleaning the albergue, so even though we are checked in, we can not go to our bunks till 2pm.

Scout (Jerry) has already found a place for us to get a beer. We follow eagerly. Once 2pm rolls around, we head for our bunks. They are on the first floor and are set up in pods of 4 bunks with large lockable cabinets for each bunk. I can’t help but notice that I’ve seen this bunk set up at IKEA. This place will hold several hundred people at a time, and is the first place wherein the two routes converge and join the Camino in Spain.

There is a pilgrim’s mass in the adjacent church just before dinner. We attend. It is a small church, but a beautiful one, with cathedral ceilings, stain glass windows and gilded gold accents throughout. The church choir, all of about 10 people begin to sing the opening hymn. The acoustics are mind blowing. You can’t get better sound from Bose speakers.
I’ve added a small clip to post, as I am at a loss for words at how to describe their performance. Although the mass is held in Spanish, you get the gist of the homily. At the end of mass the pelegrinos (us pilgrims) are asked to come forward for a special blessing. You can’t help but feel that this is a special journey, so much more and certainly far from just a simple long distance hike.

Paul and his sister Sue in the courtyard of the albergue

After our pilgrim’s dinner we head to our bunks and eventually nod off to a cacophony of farts and snoring that echoes throughout the building, that even earplugs can’t mute.

Train station at Lourdes

(Day 1: 13km)
This morning we hoof it to the train station to catch a train first to Beyonne and then to Saint Jean Pied de Port.  When we get to Beyonne we are directed to a bus, as are nearly 50 other pelegrinos.  By the time however we get to Beyonne, I, as well as Sue and Jerry are in serious need of a toilet.  The only problem is that there is one at the train  station and it is currently occupied with one gentleman before us (not Jerry).  We wait impatiently as we have only 20 min before our bus is to leave.  I see a sign on the outside of the one stall toilet door that advised there is a “20 minute limit” to its use.  Who requires use of a public toilet for 20 minutes and why would there be a notice with a limit? Apparently there is a regular problem with excessive use, and today, at this moment is one of them. …And I was beginning to think that Mr. Murphy had gone home or had someone else he’d rather annoy.  With minutes to spare, no relief was apparent as it was time to board.  Hastily we board the bus after throwing our packs haphazard under the bus (storage). Once on board, I can not find my ticket. WTF? I search franticly for it and even get off the bus for a moment to retrace my steps. It is no where to be found. I take my seat as the driver starts her engine. I just had it…please don’t check for tickets I plead inside my head. Paul is annoyed, “How can you lose your ticket?”, he snorts. Maybe I handed it to you when I checked about the bus, I reply. ” Don’t go blaming me now”, he retorts. Just check and see if you have it I plead. He digs through his stuff and tucked inside all of our papers AND with his ticket, it miraculously appears. Phew, I sigh, and the driver begins to pull out. All that stress for nothing. Paul is still annoyed, and tells me not to hand him anymore of my stuff…to carry. We’ll see. The bus winds through idealic countryside, something you would see in a travel brochure. It is barely two lanes wide. With every hard turn and bump my bladder is reminded of how full it is. My brain tells it to be quiet, “you’ve survived worse, and for longer, go back to sleep”, it orders.

We arrive in St. Jean Pied de Port at the train station and offload from the bus. No one is certain where to go. I’m not concerned with where we are going unless there is a place to pee. At this point I miss hiking the PCT, there was no waiting to pee. Of course the train station and its one bathroom is closed, so off to follow the herd to the Camino office to check in and get our first stamp of this 800km journey. We wait in line and finally check in.

They convene an orientation for those English speakers and then proceed to confirm who we say we are and stamp our official Camino passports.

Paul getting his Camino passport stamped

We learn that the albergue at Orisson is full and will be full for the next two days. Now for Paul and I, there would be plenty of time for us to make the mileage up to and past Orisson and to the albergue at Roncesvalles, but we don’t want to kill Sue and Jerry (just yet…just kidding…we don’t really) our first day out. Plan ” B” is to take the “lower” less traveled route through Valcarlos. It will be 12 km, as opposed to 8km but we are told it’s an “easier” route.

There is a bit of road walking, a “gentle” incline to Valcarlos, and then a straight climb up and over the pass and then down to Roncesvalles. 6 km in, and Jerry appears to be having problems with his leg. He recently had a stint put in one leg and was scheduled to have another, but not enough time in-between the procedure and our travel date. Luckily we have arrived at a shopping center, gas stop area on the edge of a small village and it is decide we (as in I, based on my poor but greater than the rest of the groups command of French and Spanish) will call for a taxi to ferry Jerry and most of our “heavy” stuff (why not) the rest of the way to Valcarlos. While there he can scout it out and get us a place to stay. Meanwhile Paul is at the roadside bar having a beer. I return after a bit of pantomime and mixture of languages (they speak Basque here) I secure Jerry a taxi, but it will be a bit of a wait, nearly an hour. Jerry is fine with that and exclaims, “In that case I’ll have a beer…or two”, and laughs.

We saddle up and Sue, Paul and I peel off to finish the remaining 6km or so. When I asked how far Valcarlos was, no joke, I was told 2km. That was via car though. By foot/trail it was 6 km and finished with a massive uphill to Valcarlos.

The trail was a combination of paved and sparsely traveled blacktop road and would drop down into a deep green wooded area that paralleled a fast running river. We found out quickly, as with the PCT, if one is in doubt of which way the path/trail goes, take the one that goes uphill. We arrive finally at the Lizette albergue, and Jerry greets us on the trail, all smiles. He has us all dialed in and has the 411 of the town and its amenities. Good job Jerry, I shall name you ” Scout”.

The albergue was less than full, which allowed us to have one bunk room to ourselves. The shower was glorious, as it is an amazing treat to have even after one day of walking. We head to the Super mercado (super market) which also has a restaurant. A little shopping for tomorrow’s trail lunch, and then dinner. We ask for a menu, and the shop keep, waitress, bartender asks us what we want, “no menu”. I then ask her what they have. We have our choice of beef steak, lamb, or trout. “Do you want first or second course”, she asks, ” or both”? Hmm. “Both” includes salad, wine and desert. Easy decision when wine is involved…both is our reply. Paul has steak and the rest of us choose the trout. Their preparation of the Brook trout takes me back to a father’s day backpacking trip with my dad and his friend as a kid.

Started eating then thought I should take a picture

They cooked up Brook trout for every meal. I loved it so much, they gave me their tails, as they were like potato chips for me. Amazing how a simple dish can conjure up such memories.

We finnaly waddle back to the albergue (because we are full, and just a little stiff now), only to discover that it’s past 10pm. Shit. We read something, somewhere about being locked out after 10 pm. Sure enough, we were locked out, and no bell upon which to bail someone, or a window where the others are sleeping to bang on. After shaking the door, like that was going to help, we discover a key pad and a phone number. We call the number (thank God for our International calling plan). Spanish ensues. Shit. I start with French. Shit wrong language. German now comes to mind. The wine is NOT helping. Finally I conjure enough Spanish to get the point across that we are pelegrinos and are locked out. He gives me the code in Spanish. I plug it in, hope I got it right, cause he just hung up. Walla, we are in. We laugh nervously knowing that that could have been an interesting night, and make a point to set our alarms so as to be in by 10pm…lesson learned.

Buen Camino

This morning we wake to grey and drizzly skies. Sue has scheduled a walking tour offered by the hotel we are staying in (La Solitude) of the Domain and all that is contained therein. We learn the history and timeline of the evolution of the Grotto. There are no less than 5 main churches, and within each church are several chapels in which to perform adorations or mass. The first of the churches (the Crypt) was built atop of the Grotto as a result of Bernadette’s Marian apparitions, 8 years after her first apparition (February 11, 1858).

Two more are essentially stacked on upon the other above the Grotto and around the Crypt. The Basilica of the Immaculate Conception, or the “Upper Basilica” was completed in 1866 to accommodate the growing number of pilgrims sojourning their way to Lourdes and the Grotto for healing and renewal. The third church was dedicated nearly 25 years later (Rosary Basilica) in 1899/1901 and holds up to 1500 people.

The mosaics commissioned within are some of the most visually stunning and emotionally touching I’ve ever seen.

On the 100th Jubilee, after Bernadette’s first Marian apparition, a new Basilica, the Basilica of Pius X, was completed.

Entrance to the Basilica

It is as subdued and innocuous as a church can be with one exception. It is underground and MASSIVE.

This engineering marvel houses 25,000 people, and on holy days and special occasions and masses is filled to the gills with the faithful from all over the world. Another more recently built church, the Church of Bernadette, is dedicated to the infirmed and holds up to 5,000 people. Thousands of volunteers come annually, mostly at their own expense, often as a pilgrimage of their own, to care for and assist the infirmed and elderly, who appear to be the majority here. The foul weather does not appear to dampen the resolve of the faithful, some of which who have saved all their life to make this pilgrimage. Many at the evening’s end endure the procession as it proceeds from Easter through October each night at 9pm regardless of weather, through pouring rain.

Being at Lourdes for the beginning of our Camino holds a special significance for Paul, Sue and Jerry having been raised Catholic. For me, it’s purpose, intention and design has evolved somewhat, for two reasons. One because my beautiful daughter suffers from fibromyalgia, and two, because at the start of our summer league of which I am an assistant coach for the JSerra Catholic High School Boy’s water polo team, we learned that one of our fine young men (just barely 15 yrs old) broke his neck while vacationing in Florida upon unknowingly diving into shallow water. His injury left him paralyzed from the chest down. It was unclear initially as to whether he would survive and/or ever regain any useful motion. This young man (Austin Brotman) and his family however, are strong of spirit and faith. Our Boy’s water polo team and the community of JSerra immediately rallied with prayers, well wishes and words of encouragement. As Austin was always known for never missing an opportunity to flex his muscles and show how strong he was, we coined the slogan of “Be Strong! Austin Strong!” as a battle cry. The boys have taken it on as a means in which to push through their gruelling workouts, figuring that this was nothing compared to the work and determination that Austin must and is enduring. Not a whimper, not a complaint was uttered. Some pushed to and through point of injury not wanting to betray the inspiration that Austin has brought to the team.

Before this happened I already had our trip planned and booked. Once this happened, and my daughter’s diagnosis, our visiting Lourdes has taken on a special meaning, one of reflection and at times overwhelming emotion.
Often and without explanation or understanding, I am overcome with emotion, of which feelings, I can not place. I think of my two children, especially my daughter and Austin each time we pass through the Grotto;

as we view the intricate stained glass and mosaics that adorn the interior of the churches and Basilicas we tour; as we walk in the evening’s procession; as I sit waiting patiently for my opportunity to “bathe”, if only for a moment, in the healing spring water;

as we light candles in offering for continued prayer. I pray for myself, that my body will hold out on this walk as ironically I awake this morning with near debilitating sciatica… What a better place than Lourdes to have this test of faith. I wonder if my faith is strong enough and if my prayers for the healing of those I love will be enough to provide respite from their suffering. Will I recognize the windows of opportunity placed before me and will I have the faith to walk through doors, open but a crack, to enjoy the possibilities that lie behind them. I find that without forethought this journey, our Camino, has begun to take on greater meaning and purpose than a “shorter” long walk along a historical path through the beautiful countryside of Spain. Go figure.

Be Strong! Austin Strong!

Buen Camino!

As we head west towards the Pyrenees, the rolling hillsides become more pronounced and wooded. Wide green rivers meander nearby. The farmlands morph from sunflowers and vineyards to endless rows of corn with small herds of cattle huddled up on freshly mowed fields. We make our exit towards Lourdes.

The road narrows and the markings of an alpine village begin to take form. In our wildest dreams none of us expected what soon unfolded before us.

Not one of the gigantic buses (too bust getting out of the way), but one of the many transports

This seemingly sparsely populated outpost quickly turned into a bustling metropolis, with gigantic buses filled with “pilgrims”, deftly snaking their way through the narrow twisting and crowded streets.

Over 200 hotels and twice as many shops all cater to the millions of visitors to the Grotto enclosed within The Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes (or the Domain) in search of healing, be it mind, body or soul for themselves or loved ones.

Thousands of people, in upwards to 30,000 occupy the 51 hectare grounds and 22 chapels of the Domain daily. We arrive with plenty of time in which to return our car to Tarbes, take a train back to Lourdes, make our first visit to the actual Grotto and

In the que, waiting for the procession to start at 9pm

take part in the nightly procession with what appeared to be over 3,000 other people from all over the world.

No words or even pictures can capture the sense of reverence, sincerity and community that you feel as you follow en mass the hoards of people both “able bodied” and infirmed as we walk (amble, crutch, roll, push or carry) holding candles as the Rosary is prayed aloud in multiple languages along with the singing of Ave Maria.

It is like a Catholic Disneyland. It is an experience that touches all your senses.

The tile on the ground to the left is where Bernadette saw her first Marian apparition whilst kneeling to remove her shoes and multiple socks before crossing the small river that once flowed from the spring water of the Grotto

People wait patiently to set foot in the Grotto to touch the walls and sample the spring water that dribbles from between cracks in the dense stone. Spigots are nearby for those who wish to drink from or capture in various size bottles, the “healing waters” of the spring.

From ounces to gallons...

While there is nothing “special” about the water itself as far as its chemical makeup, it has been known for more than one miracle, as faith has a way of making the impossible, possible. Baths are available, in which to immerse ones body, if only for an instant, in the healing spring water of the Grotto as well. Souvenirs and trinkets de Catholic are in great supply for purchase at the shops that encircle the area of the Domain grounds.

Several Gypsie children at the behest of their parents tug at visitor’s coat tales, stopping just short of the gates to the Domain grounds. Whilst on the grounds, words are softly spoken. Not an angry tone is heard or felt. We are One at this place and time. God is good…All the time. May the healing of our intended commence.

Buen Camino!

Today’s excursion into the countryside of France was to the lovely town of Albi, the birthplace of Toulouse-Lautrec, a famous French painter.

Here we tour the museum that houses a good portion of his work (to include 31 of his famous lithograph posters).

The Cathedral Sainte Cecile

Adjacent to the museum is the Cathedral of Sainte Cecile, of which we tour as well. 

To access the sites, which are also listed as World Heritage sites by UNESCO, we find parking across the river Tarn and walk over the Point Vieux (The Old Bridge), that was built of stone in 1035.

It was later widened with brick in the 1200’s to increase trade opportunities.  The thought of, and act of viewing, let alone traversing this bridge, first via automobile and then via foot was hard to process when you think about the “evolution” of the human condition.  The Cathedral of Sainte Cecile (patron saint of musicians) began its construction in 1282 following Pope Innocent III brutal crusade against Catharism (a dualistic Christian movement) seeded in and around the region of Albi.  The Cathedral, whose exterior design was of austere brick was to downplay and counteract the criticism of the Catholic Church’s extravagance and tendency toward flaunting opulence in the face of abject poverty, and its fortress like appearance was intended to convey the power and authority of the Catholic Church. 

The interior is another story.  The interior face of the brick is plastered over and covered in symbolic frescos, intricate carved limestone and statues.  Another audio tour allows us to learn of the history, construction and interpretation of the intricate and elaborate symbolism of the art within.  Nothing, it appears, has been left to chance in this building. 

The chapel inside the Cathedral wherein only the Canons and clergy were originally allowed is actively being restored. 

While it took just under 200 years to complete this Cathedral, it is built in the Southern Gothic Style and boast of a bell tower 78 meters tall. 

Sainte Salvy

Nearby is the original and slightly older church (Saint Salvy) for the area and former College of the Canons.  It’s original construction was of stone then was later expanded with brick, due to the costs.

After a day of wandering about Albi we head back to Toulouse.

Okay, so we (as in Paul and I…it is”fend for your self night)spend our last evening at the Thirsty Monk (of which we’ve taken to calling the Drunken Monk…seems more appropriate) after getting a gyros at the nearby gyros place. Here we consume our gyros and have a drink, or two. It is Tuesday so naturally it’s whiskey night, which frankly is awesome…I like whiskey, and remarkably it is “Happy Hour” (930-1030 pm). Tonight’s whiskey is from Ireland of which the English barkeep says is horrible. So I ask him which he would recommend. He hands me a bottle of Japanese whiskey, places it on the bar and tells me to “take a snort”. I am amazed that he has said this, and both reluctantly and with great enthusiasm ( we are in another country) I raise the bottle to my mouth and take a “snort”, which in my world and Webster’s dictionary, is a drink or on this case a swig. This results on great uproar, as the British barkeep can not believe I have actually taken a drink from the bottle. Dude what do you expect, the term comes from your silly country, I think to myself. Paul is laughing hysterically, ” I can’t believe you just did that “, he chortles. The barkeep shrugs and shakes his head, ” This is the first time I’ve ever seen someone do that. Remarkable”. Paul quickly offers to buy the whole bottle. The barkeeps responds, “Don’t worry, no one saw anything” as he laughs. Well dipshit, I think, but say, ‘you told me to take a snort dude’. I meant smell it, he tells me. ‘Then you should have said that in French or English and it would have been fine’, I tell him. He pours our shots and we toss them back. When we get back into our hotel room we reflect on what happened, and laugh until our stomachs hurt. While it was somewhat embarrassing, at least I got a free drink. What an adventure…it’s barely week one. Now off to Lourdes.