tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68167942101506465652024-02-06T21:51:01.033-07:00Pilgrimage of Gratitude: My CaminoThis blog is a record of my observations, experiences and crazy thoughts about my 800 kilometer pilgrimage across northern Spain: the Camino de Santiago de Compostela (April-May 2009).Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.comBlogger93125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-68630713644594852672018-03-06T12:37:00.000-07:002018-03-06T12:37:08.484-07:00Hospitalero at San Anton (Castrojeriz) May 2017The Camino, the Way of St James, is never far from my thoughts. Over the years the lessons have unfolded and helped me become more authentically me. Today, on a rainy Spring day, I am looking through some papers and discovered my journals from my first Camino, the one detailed in this blog. I decided to provide an update which may be of interest to those who followed my walk in 2009. In 2016 I attended the annual Gathering of the American Pilgrims on Camino (APOC) and went through training to serve as an hospitalero. I loved the training and the camaraderie the Gathering provides. In April 2017, I set out to serve at the rustic albergue at San Anton (Castrojeriz). I worked with a delightful companion to provide a safe, inviting, comfortable space for weary pilgrims. The albergue has only 12 beds, no WiFi, only cold water, no electricity and is a few kilometers from town. The pilgrims who elected to stay there helped prepare wonderful communal meals, shared songs around the<span style="text-align: center;"> fire, danced in the courtyard under the full moon, rose in the dark to a candlelight breakfast that included wonderful espresso. The </span>hospitalero experience is among the best experiences I have had in my life. Pilgrims opened their hearts to me and shared their stories. I encourage you to consider giving back to the Camino by serving in this way. Contact APOC to find out how to get training and how to get posted. I will close now - I must care for my zen-hens now. Life is calling! - Ginn, Crazy Chicken Lady in SC <br />
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tVirginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-51611752418456781962013-06-04T08:17:00.000-06:002013-06-04T08:17:45.751-06:004 Years Later - My Camino Notes on FacebookEach day for the past 40 days I have been transcribing my Camino notes from my 2009 Pilgrimage of Gratitude into the note's section of my Facebook page. I have numbered each day (1-41) and included a few photos. The entries have been edited/revised a bit from those originally posted here.<br />
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It was a wonderful experience to re-read my handwritten notes. It was like reliving the experience. My walk from Roncesvalles to Santiago de Compostela taught me many lessons, many too personal or esoteric to share in a forum like this. And some of the lessons are still unfolding.<br />
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In reading my notes, I see my fears in a way that wasn't obvious to me at the time. I also see some examples of being judgemental. I seemed caught up in a sense of homelessness and being an outsider.<br />
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I can see that in respecting the privacy of others and keeping a distance,setting boundaries I also lost out on much of the bonding and camaraderie. My decision to not ask names or collect addresses, etc doesn't seem so good, in retrospect. <br />
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Overall, when I read my notes, I find myself wishing I had been kinder to myself. I think I learned something about the man in my life too: he is the one who encourages me to stop and smell the roses in ways that I often fail to do when I am on my own. Had he walked by my side on this Camino, there would heave been more picnics and more lingering over meals, perhaps.<br />
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So here I am 4 years later and my Camino epiphany about returning to our SC bungalow, getting some hens and an orange cat named Marmalade and just being happy came true! Yes it did. Even though, frankly, I struggled against it.<br />
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Yes, I had NO INTENTION of returning to this place when we left for Peace Corps Ukraine (2005-2007). When we followed our intuition to Santa Fe, NM in 2007, it seemed to be the place for us to be. The bungalow in sunny SC, was meant to be just a temporary stop on my life's journey - I came to this small town to serve as a USAF Junior ROTC Instructor in 1999. But by 2002 after a 3 life-changing events (an eye-opening trip to a rural, mountaintop village in Malawi, Africa; the events of 9/11 and the death of our 25-year-old son) my life's path seemed to change. I certainly did not expect to find myself happy in a small town southern town, happily raising hens...<br />
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When I returned to Santa Fe, that epiphany kept popping up...I fought against it for about 15 months. When I finally let go it was as if the sun had come out after a long dark winter. <br />
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Guess what? I am here in the sunny south land, lovin' my hens and bein' happy. And my happiness and creativity keep growing along with my gratitude and my sense of abundance and my authenticity. When I say, life is good. I speak from my heart.<br />
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We are all just walking our Camino each day...be kind, be you, be happy and give thanks as you make your way in the world.<br />
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Gotta go - time to feed my big orange guy, Vladymir Disputin and his lil orange buddy Lebowski - yep, orange cats. (My epiphany said get an orange cat named Marmalade and sure enough, the cat that adopted me was named Marmalade! But he really is more of a Vlad the Impaler type!) <br />
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Life is good - Ginn<br />
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<br />Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-2310861041826483032011-08-10T11:14:00.002-06:002012-04-23T09:28:46.090-06:00Following the Yellow Arrows<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjGrWV9F9GLGj6YCeAMVAFLOvtDOCHbExwapAGw5jDBK9XYt5zcxJ5oFGiSbgXcl_2U0BoCGw5hEdSEpUAfjtH4woLslvXd5c4dhlO5EaWJ5xbP_FU-d0xK4kHFo3f1t6T60n-NvQWXY/s1600/Camino+Trip+April-May+2009+315.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639279290889505762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjGrWV9F9GLGj6YCeAMVAFLOvtDOCHbExwapAGw5jDBK9XYt5zcxJ5oFGiSbgXcl_2U0BoCGw5hEdSEpUAfjtH4woLslvXd5c4dhlO5EaWJ5xbP_FU-d0xK4kHFo3f1t6T60n-NvQWXY/s200/Camino+Trip+April-May+2009+315.JPG" /></a> <span style="font-family:verdana;">Following the Yellow Arrows* </span>
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<br />At last night’s meeting of the writer’s guild someone tossed off a remark to me. The off-hand comment was a little like a sprinkling of fresh, cool water on seeds still warming in the dark, dank earth.
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<br />I stopped in my tracks. The idea was perfect. I could never have thought of it on my own! The casual suggestion mirrored thoughts I had been having, but took my ideas one step further.
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<br />I sat silently, taking a moment to absorb the synchronicity of this event. I took another moment to say a quick prayer of gratitude to God, and then moved on with the business at hand.
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<br />I felt buoyant when I left that meeting and now I am eager to move forward on this fledgling project. I can clearly see the direction I need to go in order to move forward.
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<br />The remark was unexpected, but grabbed my attention and seemed as bold and bright as any of the many yellow arrows (flechas amarillo*) I followed on my almost-1000K pilgrimage-walk across northern Spain.
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<br />On the Camino, I travelled for 40 days with a minimum of things in my backpack – a map was not among my belongings. I knew I could follow the yellow arrows that served to mark the path to Santiago de Compostela. For me, walking this pilgrimage was about trust and faith. There were days when I walked and walked and walked, never seeing a yellow arrow, or even another pilgrim. I would almost give up hope. I would feel a small panic (OK, maybe a large panic!), thinking that I had missed a turn or failed to see one of the arrows. But I would calm my panic, re-commit, and simply move forward with grace and faith, like a sheep, following my shepherd.
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<br />Surrounded by chattering pilgrims, or pilgrims who used GPS (global positioning systems) to navigate or others who had designed elaborate schemes for their journey, it would have been easy to be caught up in the planning and implementing, the business of the journey. It would be easy to be distracted or take short-cuts or even to ignore the humble yellow arrows. And there were days when I did share my walk with other pilgrims. But ultimately, I preferred to without that human need to orchestrate and say “what if…?” and to plan for every contingency. It is humbling and takes character. (Did I mention that my MA is in Organizational Management and I am a Virgo and career military – all of which makes me vulnerable to having plans, strategies, etc…this pilgrimage represented quite a leap of faith for me!)
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<br />My Camino was about trust in something bigger than myself. It was about listening for that still, small voice and being attentive to those yellow arrows. I wanted to move forward in faith.
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<br />I know that sometimes “what is essential is invisible to the eye,” (The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry). Love is certainly an essential we cannot see. And so is faith. That is what faith is all about – faith does not demand proof. Faith demands a willingness to be humble, to listen and accept. The path unfolds in unexpected ways and it is my job to simply trust and move forward, with thanksgiving and joy.
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<br />So at the meeting last night, that unexpected, off-hand remark represented a lovely yellow arrow pointing to a grand vista ahead! Today, I am moving forward on that project; step-by-step I am getting closer to my destination.
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<br />Buen Camino Peregrino! (Our Camino NEVER ends!)
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<br />*Flechas amarillo, or yellow arrows mark the various ancient pilgrimage routes on the Camino to Santiago de Compostela in northern Spain. (It is often called the Way of St. James.) At the risk of sounding irreverent: following the yellow arrows over the mountains and through the woods and cities I felt much like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz when she was told to just “follow the yellow brick road!”
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<br />Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-82231351748324900082011-07-14T13:58:00.004-06:002012-04-23T09:28:46.107-06:00Who Rescued Whom?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl80wswIO1VaE9wWhIbMJ7Q5mGoXXICLhJNJekTbQ-FlizOJl2QltfLV_wRVxjYHBlU970-6xEWQL9Xzn3EgoLH5UkuEjVtnfYHmI8IeRsYKJMR7eUEDsF9LToGES3qGGJApP1LDfTgIA/s1600/012.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 236px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629301520921970082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl80wswIO1VaE9wWhIbMJ7Q5mGoXXICLhJNJekTbQ-FlizOJl2QltfLV_wRVxjYHBlU970-6xEWQL9Xzn3EgoLH5UkuEjVtnfYHmI8IeRsYKJMR7eUEDsF9LToGES3qGGJApP1LDfTgIA/s320/012.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><strong>Thursday, 14 July 2011</strong><br /><br />Today at a local consignment shop, I was happily chatting away with the woman who runs the place. Since I am usually such a shy, quiet person, that may come as a surprise to you (or not). The conversation centered around my Miss Zia-Maria (my three-legged rescue dog who is the heart-of-my-heart these days).<br /><br />The woman asked me how old she was and (typical of my communication style) I gave her the long answer. "Let's see, we got her just after we returned to the USA fro our Peace Corps Ukraine adventures. That was in 2007. She was about a year old then and had just recovered from having her leg amputated several months before.” I said, babbling along in my usual fashion.<br /><br />The conversation moved on to what it is like to have a three-legged dog. This is typical.<br />When people see me with my three-legged dog, they often say something like, "How wonderful of you to take her in."<br /><br />What is that all about? She's just missing a leg. It is not as if she has major issues to deal with. She is not handicapped in the least by missing that limb. In fact the word “missing” is inappropriate in that sentence - I don't think Zia even knows her leg is gone!<br /><br />But walking a three legged dog does require some skill. At least if you are walking my three-legged dog. It is the rear left leg that is missing and what that means is that she tends to lope along rather than to actually walk. It is easier on her hips if she can get up some momentum and let gravity help her move forward. What that means for me is that I am trailing along behind her, moving just short of a run myself.<br /><br />We make quite a picture I’m sure. My own left arm extends straight out in front of me and I have to move along at a rapid pace, trying to keep up, sweat rolling down my forehead and into my eyes. Trying to keep my dignity is about all I can do.<br /><br />I am sure the locals do think we are a bit eccentric. I live in a mill village and most people around here just don’t take their dogs walking. So there I am, my long locks (below my waist now) flying out behind me as I move quickly behind my dog who seems to think she is the lead dog in a team running at the Iditarod. Miss Zia typically wears a bandana and often, despite the heat and humidity, she sports a Thundershirt (to help her with her anxieties about some dogs, balls and other assorted moving objects) so we do make quite a picture when I take her out for her morning walks.<br /><br />"There's that crazy old, grey-haired, over-the-hill hippie-woman trailing behind that skinny, three-legged, red dog again," says the neighbor lady as she peers out from behind the curtains. “And the dog is wearing clothes!” People stop what they are doing when we race by.<br /><br />I spend lots of time flying down the street behind my spunky pup. I’m very grateful Miss Zia came into my life, but it occurred to me today she gave me some gifts I never have really acknowledged. With her left rear leg amputated, she is the one who would seem to have special needs, but it was actually me who needed some rehabilitation.<br /><br />In 2005, I lost my left breast to cancer. The reconstructive surgery involved cutting muscles from my back and ended up leaving me unexpectedly rather helpless. I had a hard time using my left arm to even get up out of a chair. Months and months after the surgery, even trying to turn over in bed was a logistical challenge. I could not lift things nor carry much of anything. For a woman who used to make her living toting heavy tool boxes and tech data out to repair radar systems on fighter aircraft, this was all very humbling! Even a year after the surgery, I couldn't carry my laptop bag on my left shoulder for more than a short walk.<br /><br />So in 2007 when the exuberant, rambunctious Miss Zia-Maria danced into my life, I had an opportunity to grow stronger. I had an obligation to grow stronger. She needed me to take her on daily walks. Her way of walking challenged me, but it also helped me grow strong. Miss Zia also helped me re-gain my confidence and my independence. She helped me feel whole again. Who is helping who here?<br /><br />In 2008, I decided I wanted to walk the Camino (about a 1000K walk across a couple mountain ranges in northern Spain); I knew I would need to carry a backpack. I knew I would need to train. So Miss Zia became my coach and motivator. She made sure that I took twice-daily walks across the high desert around Santa Fe (which is where we called home during the first three years post Peace Corps.). I would load my pack with gallon jugs of water and we would tramp at her frenzied pace for miles and miles. Without her, I would never have been able to undertake my Camino. I had to leave her home with Man while I spend 40 days making that pilgrimage of gratitude, but without Miss Zia’s help, I probably would never have had that life-enhancing experience.<br /><br />We all learn lessons in life...if we are paying attention. Sometimes we do not even realize who is teaching us those lessons. My delightful three-legged friend taught me how to just get moving...the momentum will keep you going. And that is how you take a walk of 1000 kilometers: one step at a time. And she has taught me a lot about what it means to have heart and to share joy. I am lucky (and grateful) she came into my life.<br /><br />Standing in that consignment store having an animated conversation with dog-loving strangers, I realized that I am one lucky human. I sure am glad Miss Zia was there to rescue me.<br /><br />My Camino, my pilgrimage of Gratitude, continues in unexpected ways. Life is good.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wBh4BmBtomM/Th9HL4kuVRI/AAAAAAAAE8s/9x71Payt5DI/s1600/012.JPG%22%3Ehttp://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wBh4BmBtomM/Th9HL4kuVRI/AAAAAAAAE8s/9x71Payt5DI/s1600/012.JPG%22%3E%3Cimg%3C/a%3E%20style=%22float:left;%20margin:0%2010px%2010px%200;cursor:pointer;%20cursor:hand;width:%20148px;%20height:%20200px;%22%20src=%22%3Ca%20href=%22http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wBh4BmBtomM/Th9HL4kuVRI/AAAAAAAAE8s/9x71Payt5DI/s200/012.JPG%22%3Ehttp://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wBh4BmBtomM/Th9HL4kuVRI/AAAAAAAAE8s/9x71Payt5DI/s200/012.JPG%3C/a%3E%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22id=%22BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629296328726959378%22%20/%3E%3C/a%3E•%20%3Cstrong%3EThursday,%2014%20July%202011%3C/strong%3E%3Cbr%20/%3EToday%20at%20a%20local%20consignment%20shop,%20I%20was%20happily%20chatting%20away%20with%20the%20woman%20who%20runs%20the%20place.%20%20Since%20I%20am%20usually%20such%20a%20shy,%20quiet%20person,%20that%20may%20come%20as%20a%20surprise%20to%20you%20(or%20not).%20%20The%20conversation%20centered%20around%20my%20Miss%20Zia-Maria%20(my%20three-legged%20rescue%20dog%20who%20is%20the%20heart-of-my-heart%20these%20days).%20%3Cbr%20/%3EThe%20woman%20asked%20me%20how%20old%20she%20was%20and%20(typical%20of%20my%20communication%20style)%20I%20gave%20her%20the%20long%20answer.%20%20%22Let"><br /></a></div>Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-71556726258127589472010-09-28T10:20:00.011-06:002012-04-23T10:59:54.859-06:00My Walk in 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilhVD_eONwCXDzzEMab5wV1G3unJXErt4qtbJ5unck2_FlI-95FJIqWLvn_NteVProGhCaQVt_4nLE8sXw3atrBE2Tyg24K3kLmQ2_a_zkrMm74dVuTTTfEketPTJ_HoejmIdZmN5whbI/s1600/007.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523845908181584114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilhVD_eONwCXDzzEMab5wV1G3unJXErt4qtbJ5unck2_FlI-95FJIqWLvn_NteVProGhCaQVt_4nLE8sXw3atrBE2Tyg24K3kLmQ2_a_zkrMm74dVuTTTfEketPTJ_HoejmIdZmN5whbI/s200/007.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 160px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWYltrAcnNmIsIkJ5yDwbq8wC89sJvoEpTqL8wUH9g7iyiLBPIHU7Ufxoai_aBEBuvVsjZkXde3ebMdNUjzxviseuQLrma5RkcFNEKvJqLHFU08-Tr9bOsYRmbAyZd5JYUtiMnG-URl30/s1600/WalkingRibbon.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522002604802497330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWYltrAcnNmIsIkJ5yDwbq8wC89sJvoEpTqL8wUH9g7iyiLBPIHU7Ufxoai_aBEBuvVsjZkXde3ebMdNUjzxviseuQLrma5RkcFNEKvJqLHFU08-Tr9bOsYRmbAyZd5JYUtiMnG-URl30/s200/WalkingRibbon.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
In 2009, I walked the Camino. It was, a pilrimage of gratitude, a walk of joy, a time to reflect on a life well-lived. It was a prayer of hope and a journey of peace and a pathway to renewal. <br />
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My Camino continues and as always, there are stones in my path, challenges to face and opportunities to be patient and humble. The Camino was and is so much more. It was (and is) a gift to myself. <br />
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This year I am celebrating 5 years as a breast cancer survivor. Not everyone survives.<br />
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This year, I am making a gift to that community, a gift to those who suffer from breast cancer. This year I am making another walk. As part of my celebration of life, my daughter and I will be in Charlotte, NC on October 23-24th to walk a marathon and a half (that’s 39 miles!) in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. I am honored and humbled to be among the thousands of others who will walk with us as part of a commitment to end breast cancer. I will walk on behalf of those who are no longer with us, those who cannot walk, those who cannot celebrate the gift of life. <br />
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Five years ago I was medivaced out of my Peace Corps Ukraine site and underwent three major surgeries in three short weeks. My dream of serving in Peace Corps was crushed; my body was ravaged; and I still have the scars of my personal battle. But I got off easy. Many of our sisters, grandmothers, mothers, wives, daughters and best friends die of this insidious disease. Families are destroyed. Lives are ruined. Dreams evaporate. Tears fall.<br />
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Did you know that breast cancer kills approximately one woman every 13 minutes (Someone’s dying as I write this e-mail.). One in eight women will develop breast cancer. Breast cancer is the second leading cause of death for women right now, and the leading cause of death in women between the ages of 40 and 55. Every woman is at risk, because we don’t know how to prevent it. There’s no escaping it, each of us will be touched by the effects of breast cancer. <br />
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The Avon Foundation is doing something about it, but it takes money. I’ve pledged to raise $1,800. If you would like to help me in my fight against breast cancer, please visit my webpage: www.avonwalk.org/goto/Virginia.Pulver.Walk (or go to www.avonwalk.org and click on Charlotte - then type in my name). You can also access my fundraising site from my Facebook profile: look at the tab on the top of my profile page. It is soooo easy to make an online donation, but you can just snail-mail a check if that’s easier for YOU. Make it out to “Avon Walk for Breast Cancer” and mail it off to me at 3355 Governor Miles Road, Santa Fe, NM 87507. I will mail you an official receipt. <br />
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If you’d like me to walk in honor/memory of anyone close to you who has battled breast cancer, please drop a note along with your pledge. I will write that person’s name on a ribbon and pin it to my pack so others can read their names and we can honor their memory as we walk and talk and share.<br />
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One of the things I discovered as I went through my own cancer experience is that I am blessed with an amazing circle of friends and family. The love and support was so unexpected. Something else that was unexpected was the wealth of stories people shared with me and continue to share with me. Once I mention that I am a survivor, the dam breaks and a flood of stories pour out. There is so much pain, so much sadness…let’s change that. Let’s change the story…let’s celebrate instead of commiserate. Let’s write a happy ending! Let’s end breast cancer.<br />
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Life is good…and we each have the power to make it better. Thank you for the good you do in this world. <br />
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Sincerely,<br />
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Virginia J. Pulver<br />
vjpulver@pulverpages.com<br />
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P.S.<br />
My sweet spouse will be working behind the scenes as part of the crew that makes the Charlotte Avon Walk for Breast Cancer a success. He won’t be camping with the walkers, sleeping in a tent or making the 39 mile walk, but I bet he will come home with wonderful stories of courage and love. Being face to face with so many people who have been touched by breast cancer will be amazing and cathartic for us all.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-17605025355860334722010-03-22T18:55:00.002-06:002012-04-23T10:48:48.760-06:00If You Can't Say Something Nice...<i><b>"For twenty-three years I've been dying to tell you what I thought of you! And now... well, being a Christian woman, I can't say it!" -- Auntie Em; Wizard of Oz </b></i><br />
<br />
If you cannot say something nice, then say nothing at all. My mother used that phrase quite often and I know from experience that it is excellent advice. I have been thinking about that phrase a lot during the past few weeks. <br />
<br />
I recently received a certified letter asking (demanding) me to retract my 10 May, 2009 blog post. <br />
<br />
The individual who sent the request is not happy with the way I depicted my experience. <br />
<br />
My narrative is representative of my experience. And I was not the only one who felt bullied and ill-treated that night. Other pilgrims who shared accommodations with me that night were equally angered and bitter about their experiences. Several times in the next few weeks I would cross paths with two fellow pilgrims (one a Canadian minister and the other a grieving woman from the USA) and listen as they vented and raged about their experience.<br />
<br />
I truly believe the hostess was totally oblivious to how uncomfortable she was making here boarders feel (though when you make people weep, that is usually a clue that one has pushed the limits of civility.) <br />
<br />
Part of me is inclined to simply remove my earlier comments. Let it go. Take the high road. Do not get down on her level. Consider her intentions.<br />
<br />
I guess I could tone down my comments a bit or even rescind them, but the more I think about it the more manipulated I feel. <br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
I am still struggling with this.<br />
<br />
Despite it all, I am grateful I stopped there. The museum is beautiful. And I learned a few things about human nature.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-86676483029454659432009-12-23T07:44:00.003-07:002012-04-23T09:28:46.118-06:00Merry Christmas!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ1sFEeSlmZjiotvvx1-RgO5j1ribFRn2Ywm0DLYK8hQuZVtpzqYdqMRzIeLszqDyZAkDb0ue5y3GopiN7aUNirFCyIfsdpbb5A4Ib9FJ1fxUQEPqqtRc2CFMndG0-iEX_gNNx3228UUU/s1600-h/045.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ1sFEeSlmZjiotvvx1-RgO5j1ribFRn2Ywm0DLYK8hQuZVtpzqYdqMRzIeLszqDyZAkDb0ue5y3GopiN7aUNirFCyIfsdpbb5A4Ib9FJ1fxUQEPqqtRc2CFMndG0-iEX_gNNx3228UUU/s200/045.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418442906660075746" /></a><br /><br /><br />Happiest of holidays fellow pilgrims on the Camino that is life! And may the pathway through 2010 lead to all you dream of.<br /><br />Life is good!<br />"Ginn"Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-86662773889323294342009-10-19T21:50:00.004-06:002012-04-23T09:28:46.112-06:00Delights on the Camino of Life<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wYSsEztkaJJKshExKphtXmqEg8pngI1EPYIizs4Yz_1yqTe8cu5GAaAX9BzRItT9whOcSSmzdPOO1ifuebDOO8MmSC6S6BD1IWtPogG6BxtCLoYVj7ccPXeftkL6Xld1m2Bi8jXo2dE/s1600-h/IMG_0321.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 152px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wYSsEztkaJJKshExKphtXmqEg8pngI1EPYIizs4Yz_1yqTe8cu5GAaAX9BzRItT9whOcSSmzdPOO1ifuebDOO8MmSC6S6BD1IWtPogG6BxtCLoYVj7ccPXeftkL6Xld1m2Bi8jXo2dE/s200/IMG_0321.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394524771616476946" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSIsS7SR81M1gkSYkyqf5fYL4tCwpvhlX7aBjjB0ELigZ66o6W2qdfRfUXa6MKTkyof2fmuWNkcI_wfWRlCl5pfz6b429bpgDBX4xzpUteXep7ZtCuei-Z6Y9rTMNkXRc6dGpVNh4an_A/s1600-h/IMG_0317.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 138px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSIsS7SR81M1gkSYkyqf5fYL4tCwpvhlX7aBjjB0ELigZ66o6W2qdfRfUXa6MKTkyof2fmuWNkcI_wfWRlCl5pfz6b429bpgDBX4xzpUteXep7ZtCuei-Z6Y9rTMNkXRc6dGpVNh4an_A/s200/IMG_0317.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394524762620269250" /></a><br /><br /><br />The beautiful castle at Ponferrada on a sunny spring day in May. There I was staring up at this beautiful castle and wishing I had a camera so I could share this amazing piece of history with my sweet spouse back in Santa Fe. I had come to terms, for the most part, with the fact that there would be no photos to record the last several hundred kilometres of my Camino - technology just failed me and I was trying to take it in stride. But as a woman who has long held romantic notions about castles, I was feeling a bit disappointed to not have just a snapshot of this beautiful fortress to post on my blog.<br /><br />So, imagine my delight when a fellow pilgrim sauntered up to me and offered to take my photo. Always a little magic on the Camino. I hadn't seen Miguel in days and thought he was probably far ahead of me. My last view of him was from behind - he was wheeling away on a bicycle, yet there he was with his sweet, broad smile, aiming his camera at me and offering to document this moment for me. <br /><br />We hugged and laughed and took the basic tourist photos of one another and then moved indoors to swap stories over large cups of latte. We ended up as walking companions for the day and shared dreams and secrets and laughed a lot as we walked westward toward Compostella.<br /><br />I never saw the photos, but they were clear and bright inside my head. Then today, out of the blue, they arrived in the magical inbox of my laptop. What a delightful surprise.<br /><br />I am grateful and filled with good memories. I am also filled with expectations for delights in the future - what delights are ahead on the Camino of life? <br /><br />Like I often say, life is good...<br /><br />(Thanks Miguel, my thoughtful pilgrim pal!)Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-51539950710914119012009-10-11T18:12:00.004-06:002012-04-23T09:28:46.096-06:00Flea-Market Finds<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis10j-D2QI9cevlMGg412maGRPKbqaYn2UW7Q40EWoAQh_pzEAKFpd5goGFwz2WI2LFfC1hFF0BZpGcAQBLDQHu2KRzhDWzLpOW8hv3eNH1zfHIa3cPWFh9BgCTCyu0Z9NSi61m6TBBw4/s1600-h/012.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 144px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis10j-D2QI9cevlMGg412maGRPKbqaYn2UW7Q40EWoAQh_pzEAKFpd5goGFwz2WI2LFfC1hFF0BZpGcAQBLDQHu2KRzhDWzLpOW8hv3eNH1zfHIa3cPWFh9BgCTCyu0Z9NSi61m6TBBw4/s200/012.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391500725992684882" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49g1avHtouadQzTqBTYIxFFjEzTXxYuGPkwYaSeoIOx8Ds6yrAV3RTw-cK7BEdzmowHEawF9UJUVeAlH4t37XLZH0GB6pwVtHK1GOUiZjV4dYJqYlk4nZQvOujfYYwmFMCbhonD-8kDo/s1600-h/009.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49g1avHtouadQzTqBTYIxFFjEzTXxYuGPkwYaSeoIOx8Ds6yrAV3RTw-cK7BEdzmowHEawF9UJUVeAlH4t37XLZH0GB6pwVtHK1GOUiZjV4dYJqYlk4nZQvOujfYYwmFMCbhonD-8kDo/s200/009.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391500713750055954" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHYoFYgjh1pMROzDMLp4_ym8rNA40-YAaR5Ley3aQsG_BbLc9r7fHW2n3h4hAc_19zxxwwqf8YmPn22yh_ghNOwk_0CbhrEPvWCMsJQu54IYW1axzf5HJLI837OqTqfhCaQTS1AK2g84U/s1600-h/003.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 185px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHYoFYgjh1pMROzDMLp4_ym8rNA40-YAaR5Ley3aQsG_BbLc9r7fHW2n3h4hAc_19zxxwwqf8YmPn22yh_ghNOwk_0CbhrEPvWCMsJQu54IYW1axzf5HJLI837OqTqfhCaQTS1AK2g84U/s200/003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391500709738640226" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBuRjrFb58KfpR9aJkHySBvIsL5iioV3z1Ewfao3YLF5YANvf-HmxRq1Cvvr2PnWZI_XEyCeaIA4Pi-VeKC9N1a1KTVu9TbAp5xx-4LhCnZtQy0w9aQAtjFq60Ohyfr_9A7-bFRANA9DM/s1600-h/005.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 196px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBuRjrFb58KfpR9aJkHySBvIsL5iioV3z1Ewfao3YLF5YANvf-HmxRq1Cvvr2PnWZI_XEyCeaIA4Pi-VeKC9N1a1KTVu9TbAp5xx-4LhCnZtQy0w9aQAtjFq60Ohyfr_9A7-bFRANA9DM/s200/005.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391500694205250610" /></a><br /><br /><br />These are a few recent flea-market finds. Today the lovely silver, handcrafted shell found me as I was wandering back to my car when the flea market was closing down. The delightful shell called out to me. Because it was day's end the artist who made it gave me an excellent bargain. I plan to find a black band and wear it around my neck. I have a tiny sterling milagro shaped like a leg. I will tuck it behind the shell and have a very special souvenir. <br /><br />The tiny pewter salt cellars delight me too. I found them a few weeks ago at the same market and once again they were a real bargain and mean so much to me. The napkin rings are living a full, rich life on our kitchen table - they were $1 each. <br /><br />Tuesday, I have the opportunity to speak to a group about my Camino adventure. This will be my first talk about this very personal advneture. Funny, I have no problem with public speaking, but I feel a bit shy about speaking about this persoanl pilgrimage. <br /><br />I still have not posted my packing list to this blog. Perhaps after I speak to the group I mentioned above, I will feel motivated to post some more of my thoughts on this poor neglected blog.<br /><br />We shall see...Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-90474921096948576632009-09-26T12:22:00.010-06:002012-04-23T10:49:16.174-06:00Steep Hills & Facebook Links<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9qLzyuvinEOnC-TTgMWvgQiwAtFzgvcovn3aa2nbMHIX5itC49m192IQdGb9u2CpbYHaUX_Gwr34XQgE9BaRNQki8yYmdU3KsTb9OVrGqRVHMojBeowEghxSlY70rZJGEB0z__YIkKmk/s1600-h/047.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385846247006674866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9qLzyuvinEOnC-TTgMWvgQiwAtFzgvcovn3aa2nbMHIX5itC49m192IQdGb9u2CpbYHaUX_Gwr34XQgE9BaRNQki8yYmdU3KsTb9OVrGqRVHMojBeowEghxSlY70rZJGEB0z__YIkKmk/s200/047.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 188px;" /></a><br />
I've reposted "The Word of the Day" from gratefulness.com (see below). I expect my fellow pilgrims will appreciate it. Read on: <br />
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<i>Researchers studied 34 students at the University of Virginia, taking them to the base of a steep hill and fitting them with a weighted backpack. They were then asked to estimate the steepness of the hill. Some participants stood next to friends during the exercise, while others were alone. The students who stood with friends gave lower estimates of the steepness of the hill. And the longer the friends had known each other, the less steep the hill appeared.<br /><br />Tara Parker-Pope<br />"What Are Friends For? A Longer Life" in the NY Times (April 20, 2009)</i><br />
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Today I discovered a Facebook page for pilgrims who walked the Camino in May-June 2009. Search for this name: Camino de Santiago 2009 (Mai/Juni)<br />
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There are many Facebook pages filled with photos and observations by a variety of pilgrims. <br />
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I recently received a link from a pilgrim (from Poland I think) who walked last spring. He captured me in a few shots and kindly forwarded them to me. What a delightful surprise to open the link and see familiar faces and locations that conjure up meaningful memories. The gift was even more meaning ful when I realized he had posted THOUSANDS of photos. Imagine him taking time to e-mail individual photos to strangers he befriended along the long walk. <br />
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Isn't it wonderful how we can reach out and touch other pilgrims who have had similar experiences. We can also mentor those who wish to make the walk themselves. I am so grateful for the technologies that bring us all together as friends. <br />
________________Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-90911817602433836632009-09-10T15:43:00.003-06:002012-04-23T14:25:14.786-06:00Day 43 - First-Class Seat Home - Tuesday, 2 June 2009The Flight Home from my Camino.<br />
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I took the night bus from Santiago to Madrid.<br />
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I arrived at Barajas airport, early in the morning, still wearing my walking clothes. I hadn’t dared remove my walking shoes on the bus – my left foot and ankle was swollen. I was afraid I would not be able to get the shoe back on if I took it off. So I had been wearing my clothes and shoes for over 24 hours. I was wearing the same walking clothes I basically wore every day for 40 days. I made the whole trip with only one complete change of clothing in my pack, <br />
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I had anticipated shopping for clothes in Santiago and maybe even going to a beauty shop for a shampoo and cut and maybe a manicure and pedicure. But here I was in beautiful Madrid, limping around in my tattered, tired clothes. <br />
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I hadn’t expected to be so exhausted and so ready to simply be home. Don’t misunderstand – the Camino was a wonderful experience and I treasure the people I met and the experiences I had…but I was tired, tired, tired.<br />
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At Barajas I saw that my flight was delayed several hours. I let out a big sigh and then found a cup of cafe con leche to comfort me while I waited for more information. I had to connect with another flight in the USA and make two changes. My estimated arrival at the airport and hour from home would be around 2300 PM. Now a delay which would no doubt complicate my schedule. <br />
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After my coffee, I headed over to the counter to see about the status of my flight. I could see on the board that it was cancelled. I took a deep breath. I teased a smile onto my face. As I approached the counter the ticketing agent beamed at me and said: “I wondered when you would check in! I’ve been waiting for you.”<br />
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I laughed, feeling self conscious in my walking clothes and boots. Then I pointed to my Camino patch and my shell and said, “Well, I walked about 800 kilometers to get here!” <br />
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The agent smiled and proceeded to give me really delightful and unexpected news. “Well, you better walk fast, because your plane is about to take off. We’ve put you on a direct flight and upgraded you to first class! Now hurry pilgrim, hurry!”<br />
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So that is how this smelly pilgrim in her tattered walking clothes ended up flying First Class, sipping champagne and watching movies on a non-stop flight back to the USA. <br />
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There are angels everywhere.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-19128839240861814912009-09-09T15:46:00.001-06:002012-04-23T14:22:39.378-06:00Day 43 - Santiago in the Rearview Mirror - Monday, 1 June 2009Santiago<br />
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Bag-rustlers and inconsiderate people with loud voices once again destroyed the tranquility of the morning, my last morning in an alburgue. (If I had do-overs I would spend a few nights in hotels! It is physically and psychologically demanding to sleep among strangers and have no privacy or control over so many parts of one’s life…character building, yes – fun, no!) <br />
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I dragged my bag and trekked over to the commercial district across town and found a cozy bar to breakfast on toast and café con leche. I window shopped till 1000 when stores opened. I found a huge bookstore with lots of books in English. (Follas Novas, Calle Montero Rios, 37 – 981.594.406…it is near the park where the ferris wheel dominates the horizon) <br />
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I looked at summer clothes but just couldn’t see myself in any of them – I really needed a complete make-over before I could transform from into any kind of butterfly. I found an internet café and spent an hour online and then wandered through the old Mercado – like a farmer’s market and filled with wonderful produce. I whiled away some time sitting in the shade reading a novel I purchased earlier. It was hot and humid already so I decided to walk to the bus station before siesta. I stopped enroute and had a sharuma at a Kazakhi restaurant.<br />
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I sat in the station café sipping café con leches and reading and sweating. I still have 3 ½ hours to wait. There is no A/C and there are no fans. I am restless, tired, bored and sweaty.<br />
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I consider moving to another table – I cannot avoid hearing the conversation going on between two people who seem to be negotiating a romantic liaison. He is a slim Italian and she is a hefty, plain-faced English-speaking woman. He holds her hand. I can hear their conversation but pretend not to. I do not move. I stare at the pages of the book in my hand. From the corner of my eye, I see body language that supports my original hypothesis – a rendezvous in the making. She is 40-ish, a bit plump with short, dishwater hair and unflattering glasses. They seem ill-matched. He knows little English – the conversation is hard work for him. He is not attractive, but seems so because of his attentive manner and his ability to appear sincere as he spews out flattering phrases. <br />
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After 30 minutes and two beers each, they depart together. I think they sealed a deal.<br />
<br />
I wander out into the main station. A group of Latter Day Saints are there – ten young, clean-cut boys from the USA, spit-polished and wearing white shirts and ties. I engage them in conversation. We have a wonderful discussion about spirituality, service-before-self, life in foreign countries and all sorts of variations on the theme. They were quite interested in my Camino tales and my Peace Corps stories too. <br />
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Shortly after sunset, I boarded the bus for Madrid. I will arrive at Baraja airport in the morning, in time to catch my flight back to the USA. <br />
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I am ready to go home. I am ready to heal. I am ready to process all that has happened these past 6 weeks. I am ready to resume life. I am ready to see if the Camino to Santiago is the end of an adventure or just the beginning of the real adventure.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-28753414802870959642009-09-09T15:44:00.002-06:002012-04-23T14:21:10.047-06:00Day 42 - Santiago (Day 2) - Sunday 31 May 2009Santiago<br />
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At 0830, I was out of the albuergue. It was good to “sleep-in” – six weeks of rising at 0530 +/- and daily walks of 20+ kilometers made me stronger, but I was glad to linger a bit this morning. <br />
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I walked a few miles to the bus station to get my tickets for a Monday departure. I could have taken a cab, but it didn’t occur to me. What’s a few more miles after a 500 mile walk? I should have taken a cab. I really was exhausted and my leg was aching. <br />
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Ticket in hand, I headed back to the cathedral and stopped at the pilgrim office to see who had arrived.<br />
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I attended pilgrim mass again. Robert was there. We toured the cathedral and then spent most of the day wandering around the city talking and snacking. We drank lots of café con leche and sipped good red wine and just talked. I helped him buy souvenirs for his nephews.<br />
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Robert will walk to the airport tomorrow.He walked to the airport in Amsterdam at the start of his Camino and will walk to the airport at the end. <br />
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I said my goodbyes to my friend and went back to my albergue. I was asleep before the sun set. So much for celebrating.<br />
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I felt old and tired.<br />
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Who is this person? This is not like me.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-44418695336814923902009-09-09T15:41:00.009-06:002012-04-23T14:19:05.454-06:00Day 41 - Santiago - Saturday, 30 May 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjStQZJo0Vw0HPBEnDDz3R8_5TSB6Gwb8eNiFcbMPKxAnUJp3JS_IOJNiO8LVB03gjlvgaDY3Q3dNQOJ5Xe64YXHMwMn2vN-xa8KvnEJ8vqFiaA5yce1i6u8tSo8LyLu67Rm0M52I3u_Go/s1600-h/Going+Away+Party+April+2009+034.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379589468296884466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjStQZJo0Vw0HPBEnDDz3R8_5TSB6Gwb8eNiFcbMPKxAnUJp3JS_IOJNiO8LVB03gjlvgaDY3Q3dNQOJ5Xe64YXHMwMn2vN-xa8KvnEJ8vqFiaA5yce1i6u8tSo8LyLu67Rm0M52I3u_Go/s200/Going+Away+Party+April+2009+034.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 173px; margin: 0 0 10px 10px; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
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Monte do Gozo -> Santiago de Compostela = 3K (I arrive!) <br />
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It is the dark of night. From my bed by the window in the albergue at Monte de Gozo, I see pilgrims walking past all night long. Like horses nearing home these pilgrims seem to chomp at the bit and rush to arrive at the cathedral. <br />
<br />
I do not sleep well. At dawn, I grab my things and go to the common area to pack up. <br />
<br />
I see many familiar faces and exchange hugs and some farewells from those who have been here a few days. Already there is a bitter-sweetness in the air. We are all about to end an adventure. (Or is it really just the beginning of a bigger adventure as many people seem to think?) <br />
<br />
I walk alone on this cool, crisp morning. It is Saturday so there is not much traffic. The streets are empty. <br />
<br />
I arrive in Santiago and stand gazing up at the cathedral by 0800 – I have the huge plaza to myself. It is a lovely moment, though honestly the moments leading up to it did not seem to set the proper tone. Somehow, I managed to lose the trail when I was just a few blocks from the cathedral. After 500 miles of following the little yellow arrows over through all kinds of terrain and weather, I felt pretty foolish losing my way just footsteps from my destination. Another opportunity to feel humble. 8-)<br />
<br />
Then, just as I was about to round the corner to the plaza, I managed to walk right into the path of the spray as the huge street cleaner completed its circuit of the plaza. I almost cried and then quickly chose to laugh. And then I laughed hard. <br />
<br />
So, I stand in front of the amazing cathedral, alone in the middle of the enormous plaza. The cobblestones glitter with the morning sun catching the water drops and making them look like diamonds. I stood there, awed by the cathedral and totally forgot about my wet clothes and my aching leg and all the other petty details that could have ruined the moment.<br />
<br />
Following my private moment in the square, I found my way to the pilgrim office. Standing there, smoking in the morning sun, was Robert (the “Flying Dutchman”). I grinned like a kid. We went for coffee and waited for the office to open. <br />
<br />
Standing in line at the pilgrim office was a delight. The line wound up three flights of stairs. Pilgrims coming out stopped frequently to hug people or to talk to pilgrims they never expected to see again. It was like a school reunion. Outside the building many pilgrims who arrived days ago, lingered to inquire about other pilgrims.The atmosphere was festive. It was like a graduation event.<br />
<br />
With my official credential in hand, I headed over to the cathedral to attend pilgrim mass.<br />
<br />
I stood in the back, feeling uncomfortable in my walking clothes and with my pack. The cathedral was filled with tourists and pilgrims. Pilgrims were acknowledged by country. Many people wept. The huge incense burner swung across the front of the cathedral. I observed the disembodied arms of pilgrims hugging the Statue of St James high above and behind the priest at the front of the church.<br />
<br />
It was wonderful.<br />
<br />
Following mass, I realized just how exhausted I really was. My left leg was still swollen and painful. I had to find accommodations for the next two days, I needed to call my spouse, get bus tickets to Madrid, etc. It was hot and I suddenly felt alone. I should have checked into a nearby hotel, taken a shower, and simply relaxed and recuperated in a private room, but instead I walked to an albergue across town. It was a monastery on a hill and the sleeping room was a big open-bay and a stunning view. <br />
<br />
Instead of celebrating, I simply laid down, elevated my leg and went to sleep among the snoring and grunting of 50 strangers. Like delivering a baby after a long pregnancy, I was exhilarated, but exhausted. I slept.<br />
<br />
I felt a little let down…like post-partum blues I guess. I did not expect to be so tired.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-39576311340973748642009-09-09T15:35:00.004-06:002012-04-23T14:12:40.598-06:00Day 40 - Monte do Gozo - Friday, 29 May 2009Arco de Pino -> Monte do Gozo = 16K (3K more and I will be in Santiago for Pilgrim Mass!)<br />
<br />
The sweet smell of eucalyptus and the shaded walk make the 10 kilometer walk very pleasant despite the fact I have yet to get my morning coffee and toast. I am grateful for the shade, because the day is already humid and hot, though it is not yet 0900.<br />
<br />
As I walk, I consider my plans. I will stop at Monte do Gonzo, just 3 kilometers short of my ultimate destination. Then I may take the bus into the suburbs of Santiago (leaving my pack at the albergue). I can shop for a skirt, a razor and real shampoo. I can also get a camera, since I can’t make mine work. (I am sad that I have no photos of the last half of the trip.) I will take the bus back to the albergue and get cleaned up for my final entrance, on foot, into Santiago. <br />
<br />
It seems amazing to me that I will be at the pilgrim office near the cathedral tomorrow morning – I will be there when they open. The past 6 weeks seem like a dream sequence if a movie. <br />
<br />
And then, I will go to pilgrim mass. <br />
<br />
I was in the cathedral at Santiago decades ago (in the 1970’s) and that is when the seeds for my present adventure were planted. It was during the Generalissimo Franco-era and I found myself unexpectedly living in Spain. I read James Michener’s book “Iberia” and it became my guidebook and my window on the culture. On my visit to the cathedral, like tourists and pilgrims for centuries before me, I placed my hand on the famed statue just inside the entrance. A feeling coursed through me, almost a visceral experience. I knew in that moment, that somehow, someday, I would return to this spot as a real pilgrim. <br />
<br />
As I walked along, I continued to consider what else may happen in Santiago. I looked forward to seeing familiar faces of pilgrims I had met on the Camino. At the end of the Camino, pilgrims tend to linger in Santiago. Many continue on to the end of the earth (Finistiere - sp?) and return to Santiago a few days later. So the opportunity to see friends and acquaintances is huge. <br />
<br />
I considered just what I would do with the prayer ribbons I carried attached to my walking stick for all those kilometers. Each ribbon represents wishes from a friend and as I walked along, I frequently prayed for these people (and others). I want to make a suitable ceremony for them. I want to light candles. I am not a Catholic, so as I walked along, I pondered on that a bit too – rituals and symbols are not really part of who I am and how I live my life. But in the past few years I find myself surrounded by them. Much to think about as I walk under the Eucalyptus trees, breathing in the perfumes they share with those who walk these paths.<br />
<br />
There are bus tickets to acquire, a book for the bus and plane ride home and there are postcards to send…my brain has jumped ahead and now I suddenly realize I am living in the future instead of staying in the now! The proximity to Santiago seems to have that effect. After weeks of walking and living in the now, the old pre-Camino habits are starting to sneak back into my life. Already. Sigh. <br />
<br />
Later <br />
<br />
I am sitting in the shade of building 29 of the 800 bed, Monte de Gozo albergue (which actually has only SOME beds designated for pilgrims – the rest is a hotel of sorts). There are 30 buildings. The pilgrim reception does not open until 1300. So here I sit, penning my journal and waiting again. <br />
<br />
There are many hours spent waiting on the Camino; just part of the many free lessons in humility, meekness, patience and gratitude the Camino experience offers attentive students.<br />
<br />
I initially walked past (I should say limped past!) the reception office to the far end of the complex. I was mis-directed by a less than helpful German woman. When I entered the lobby, I was rather un-graciously directed to leave. This area is designated for hotel patrons only. The reception area for pilgrims was back at the other end of the complex where I had originally started.It was clear they wanted nothing to do with mere pilgrims. The facility can hold 800 people. Pilgrims are at the bottom of the pecking order.<br />
<br />
I trekked back up the hill (still nursing a shin-splint and a blister). How it drains my energy. Now I really know what it must be like to be very old and uncomfortable.<br />
<br />
There are people from all over the world on the Camino. I am convinced that without much effort, one could make the entire walk without actually meeting a Spaniard or speaking Spanish.<br />
<br />
Many people travel in “packs” and rarely speak to anyone who is not part of their clique. This seems more true the closer I get to Santiago. <br />
<br />
Perhaps because there are so many people on the path who are only walking the requisite 100 kilometers haven’t gone through all the storming and norming experiences that forged bonds among the pilgrims who have logged over 700 kilometers at this point. The pilgrims who join the path after Sarria seem distant. They are fixated on their goal somehow and seem to be uninterested in the other pilgrims. <br />
<br />
Many pilgrims walk past as I sit here writing. Santiago is only a few kilometers away and they are eager to get there. They also look at the albergue and find the appearance off-putting. The 30 buildings look a bit Spartan. I see many old walking companions and greet them warmly. I am resolute about waiting till tomorrow to make my entrance into Santiago. <br />
<br />
This morning I walked through Lavacolla. The name translates as “wash the loins.” Historically pilgrims stopped there to bathe in the stream before making the last approach to their destination: the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela. <br />
<br />
After their bath, pilgrims would race up Monte de Goza (Mount of Joy) in a version of the child’s game of King of the Hill. From Monte de Goza pilgrims can see the spires of the cathedral. Atop the hill is a large monument to Pope Pious. <br />
<br />
I check into the albergue (3E for the night) and find the facilities to be quite pleasant. The shower is hot and I have only 2 roommates. I discover one can stay at this albergue for 3 days. Many pilgrims walk into Santiago and get their credentials and then take the bus back at night. The alburgues in the city are pricier. <br />
<br />
I wash my clothes and walk back to the village to dine on the pilgrim menu with the delightful pilgrim from New Zealand.<br />
<br />
I abandon my plans to bus into town to shop for a dress. My ankle/foot is swollen and my shin aches. I will walk into the city in the early morning – I want to be at the cathedral before the crowds. I cannot believe I am almost finished with this journey.<br />
<br />
I have mixed feelings knowing I will soon be on an airplane heading back to the USA. I will miss this crazy life and the friends I have made on this odd journey. I have learned so much - so many things that I cannot articulate, but important lessons none-the-less. <br />
<br />
I watch the sunset on the distant cathedral spires…tomorrow I will no longer be a pilgrim. Or will I?Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-10605705867508230862009-07-03T09:13:00.005-06:002012-04-23T14:06:57.328-06:00Day 39 - Arco de Pino - Thursday, 28 May 2009<b>Ribadosoa -> Arco do Pino = 23K (Only 19K to go – I may be in Santiago tomorrow!) </b><br />
<br />
Summer has arrived. It is hot! It’s hard to believe this 6 week adventure began with April snows in the forecast at Roncesvalles. Now in late May, sweat drips down my nose and onto my shirt.<br />
<br />
My walking companions today (three guys from Germany) didn’t speak much so it was like walking alone. We maintained the same pace and stopped for café con leche and conversation along the way. I enjoy the steep climbs and sing even on the goat-like climbs. I feel fit. I am grateful for this – I consider what I went through recovering from surgeries back in 2005. <br />
<br />
As I walk, so many things fly through my head. I wish I had stopped to write them down. Throughout this adventure, I have failed to stop and write. I have waited till days-end and then merely jotted down the bare bones of the trip and rarely any of the insights and lessons I have learned. At days-end, I am tired and forgetful. <br />
<br />
I check into the albergue when it opens at 1300. When I arrived, backpacks were already lined up outside the door, designating the order of arrival. The sweaty pilgrims sat, shoes off, waiting to check in. I was among the first.<br />
<br />
The hospitaleros give me a disposable sheet for my bottom bunk. There is a luxury here: a reading lamp built in the wall. I wish I had a book to read.<br />
<br />
Once checked in, I cleaned up a bit. I have made-do on this trip; using bandanas as towels …cutting corners to keep the weight down. It will be so great to have real towels, nice clothes, cosmetics, shampoo & conditioner, curls, etc. It feels good to wash away all the mud. I apply some lip gloss, comb my hair (I’ve been washing my long locks with Castile soap!) and don my alternate walking clothes. I head out to find lunch.<br />
<br />
I run into two old friends: the Flying Dutchman and the woman from New Zealand. We sit at an outdoor café and while away the hot, afternoon, siesta-hours, hoping for a breeze. It is hot and the humidity is much higher than it has been. I am so grateful I am not walking in the real heat of summer. We nurse our wine and talk about life, baring our souls in the way one does with a stranger.<br />
<br />
At 1700, the stores open and I spend some time looking, but do not buy. I do not want anything enough to carry it, but I am drawn to all the little luxuries (scarves, cosmetics, cologne) like a kid in a candy store. I feel like a street person. I feel like a poor person. I leave the shops and walk a bit more.<br />
<br />
These afternoons of just hanging out are difficult. There are days one cannot walk further because of the distances and days when the body will not permit it…and there is always the worry of finding a bed at an albergue. Language barriers, customs and culture and feelings of isolation can weigh heavy at times. People who walk with others may not feel this so much.<br />
<br />
I wander into a supermercado (grocery store) and ponder what to eat for dinner. At 1930 there are pilgrim menus available at local restaurants (9 Euro) but I do not have the energy to go through the motions of dining alone in a restaurant. I buy some meat, bread, a piece of fruit and some wine and go back to the albergue.<br />
<br />
The Asians who walk the Camino like to cook their own meals so as I walk in, the smells drift out to me. I enjoy watching them cook and share with one another. If my spouse were here, I am sure he would be cooking us a lovely meal, but I am not so inclined. On this trip, I frequently settle for yogurt or a sandwich or I stop in a bar for a racion of calamares or tortilla. I am not much of a “foodie”.<br />
<br />
The sun beats down on the albergue. This is better than rain, I guess. I cannot imagine what walking in the summer months would be like. The alburgues would be like ovens. My sleeping bag and silk sack need airing and/or cleaning. I frequently sleep on top of my sleeping bag and use the silk bag as a modesty cover. Earlier in the trip, the sleeping bag was well used. <br />
<br />
With only 19K to go, many pilgrims will end their pilgrimage in Santiago tomorrow. I plan to wend my way through the eucalyptus forest and stop just 4K outside town at the huge Monte de Gozo (Mount of Joy) albergue (the facility has 800 beds!). I want to arrive at the cathedral in Santiago in the cool, early morning hours on Saturday, before the city is fully awake and before the sun becomes my enemy. I also want to have the plaza fronting the cathedral to myself for a few precious moments. <br />
<br />
I climb into bed early. I notice that two of my roommates have already gone. They slept away the afternoon and now are gone. Will they walk all night? I wonder. <br />
<br />
I lay awake on my bunk listening to the sounds of 50 people settling in for the night. We are like cattle or chickens roosting. Each pilgrim has an evening routine or ritual. Many write under the glow from headlamps or flashlights. The man I dubbed “the Sea Lion” is among the 50 pilgrims – he has sleep apnea and snores in a frightening way. I have shared quarters with him several nights in the recent past. Many pilgrims swear by ear plugs. <br />
<br />
I consider who among these pilgrims will be guilty of bag-rustling and noise in the wee, early morning hours. Can their evening behavior be a predictor of their morning routine? <br />
<br />
The pilgrims who smoke emanate the odor of tobacco and smoke. <br />
<br />
In only a few days, my albergue nights will be history. Living so closely among strangers has been an experience. Human behavior is frequently surprising, sometimes disappointing and inconvenient, but there are times when it is comforting. <br />
<br />
It is time for this pilgrim to call it a night.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-11326500704247564522009-07-03T08:52:00.003-06:002012-04-23T14:02:53.342-06:00Day 38 - Ribadiso - Wednesday, 27 May 2009Palas de Rei -> Ribadiso = 27K (40.7K to Santiago)<br />
<br />
My daily walk is done.<br />
<br />
The sky is blue. There is a fine breeze. I have showered, washed my hair and my clothes and it is already dry. I spent an hour online. I sat on the riverbank and chatted with a Frenchman whom I have seen frequently on my pilgrimage. Now I am soaking up sun, sitting by the river and watching the nearby cattle. Many pilgrims are stretched out on the lush grass, sunning, chatting, relaxing. This rural albergue is a delightful place to stay. The atmosphere and facilities make me think of summer camp. <br />
<br />
I had a hard time getting started this morning. Snoring (like sea lions fighting!) and farting were issues. I was up at 0700 and gone by 0715. My plan was for a shorter walk actually. I had hoped to stay in Melide tonight. The city is renowned for its octopus (pulpo) and I wanted to have a leisurely evening meal of it. I also wanted to shop for some clothes to wear to the Pilgrim mass when I arrive in Santiago. (I’ve worn the same clothes almost every day and they are worn, faded, and make me feel like a street person when I am in an urban setting.) Unfortunately the albergue there was unexpectedly closed. So, I had to continue on.<br />
<br />
My left calf smarts with every step so the rest of the walk was painful. <br />
<br />
<br />
As I watch the sun set, many pilgrims have adjourned to a local bar to watch an important soccer event (Manchester versus Barcelona). I enjoy the sweet evening air. The quiet is punctuated with frequent cheers from the soccer fans huddled around the TV set. Barcelona wins, there are fireworks outside.<br />
<br />
I have enjoyed my stay at this albergue. <br />
<br />
Things I saw as I walked today:<br />
o Tall, narrow drying sheds – What are they?<br />
o Pilgrims walking back from Santiago – an older woman and her dog.<br />
o Villagers. I wish to trade lives with them: stay put and befriend passers-by. <br />
o Comments (envious and/or impressed)on my small pack -I’m grateful for my tiny load.<br />
o Cows coming home along the river banks<br />
o Fish leaping from the water at sunset.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-66879754442392854722009-07-03T08:39:00.004-06:002012-04-23T13:59:25.278-06:00Day 37 - Palas de Rei - Tuesday, 26 May 2009<b>Portomarin -> Palas de Rei = 26K (Only 66K to go – Wow!)</b><br />
<br />
I was out of the albergue at 0715 and walked across the high bridge, trying not to look down.<br />
<br />
It was 0900 before I found a place to stop for breakfast. I was disappointed there was no toast available. Small disappointments seem big sometimes. I really love my morning toast. (Maybe the disappointment is disproportionate because there is so little one actually has control over - expecting something as simple as a piece of toast and then being refused takes on larger meaning in that context.)<br />
<br />
I walked through eucalyptus trees today. The perfume intoxicates me.<br />
<br />
I stopped at the old municipal albergue (3E) in Palas de Rei about 1300. The private albergue up the street was already full, so I consider myself fortunate to have my daily bread here. (Private albergues will often take phone reservations and many pilgrims call ahead - I usually do not stay in private alburgues for a number of reasons, cost being one of them.) <br />
<br />
The municipal albergue has a sign on the door saying it will be closed to pilgrims the next few days. I wonder if there is a local holiday. Or could it be for an annual cleaning (purging for bedbugs) before the actual tourist season begins on 1 June? <br />
<br />
This albergue is really Spartan. It seems dirty, but it is old and old places tend to look worse. For 3 Euros, I share the room with about ten people, mostly men, and the shower arrangements are not good (no privacy). I decide to forgo my shower. I spend most of the afternoon sitting on a park bench (my leg hurts so walking is out) soaking up the spring sun.I can hear the pilgrims at the private alburgue laughing in the bar.<br />
<br />
As I sit soaking up sun in the local plaza, a couple of pilgrims walk past with their two young daughters. The children look to be about 7 and 9. I am not sure where their Camino began actually, but I am impressed by the parent’s patience and good nature as they juggle the logistics. Just walking the Camino is no easy task.<br />
<br />
I have heard these young girls have learned to deal with some of the attention they receive, by saying “You can take our photo if you buy us an ice cream!” A little scary actually!<br />
<br />
Other Camino tales: The Prime Minister of Ireland recently walked the Camino along with a large group of friends. Bruce Springsteen will walk the Camino in August (2009 or 2010?). At one stop, I was told Anne Hathaway was among the pilgrims staying the night.<br />
<br />
One of the women who runs the Pilgrim office in Santiago is getting married this weekend in Santiago. Pilgrims are invited to attend. It would be fun to participate.<br />
<br />
The afternoon and evening stretch out before me. I have no plans and the town does not offer much diversion. My aching leg keeps me from walking much. On days like yesterday and today I wish I had carried a good novel with me. I will no doubt spend the time sitting with other pilgrims who are also biding their time till we can all sleep and wake to another day.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-2002789727446349952009-07-03T08:36:00.003-06:002012-04-23T13:52:15.470-06:00Day 36 - Portomarin - Monday 25 May 2009<b>Portomarin -> Portomarin = Zero K (Still 90K to go!)</b><br />
<br />
“Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.”<br />
<br />
It is cold and rainy. My left shin feels stiff, sore and is swollen. I dress and put on my pack, hoping I can walk off the pain and make a short day (15K), but as I stride up the hill, through the cold rain, I realize I need to take a day off. I run into the Canadian who is suffering from blister issues and accompany him to the local medical facility to help with language challenges. (He speaks no Spanish.)<br />
<br />
So here I am back at the albergue, sipping espresso from the vending machine while the staff mops floors around me. Outside, fog has rolled in – the lake view is almost obscured. It feels strange to be in this large, empty place.<br />
<br />
A little about the lake: the Belesar Reservoir is a man made lake. Portomorin was nestled in a valley and was completely submerged when the reservoir was built. The old St Nickolas Church was moved, block by block to the top of the hill where it looks down on the lake. All the other buildings in town are only a few decades old. Fish swim in and out of the empty homes submerged in the vast lake.<br />
<br />
The damp, chilly weather makes me miss my fleece. I left it behind somewhere and really haven’t missed it until now. When I am walking I keep warm enough most days.And I wear my rain poncho to help with the wind and cold.<br />
<br />
Around 1300 I ventured out to find some groceries. I have the kitchen to myself essentially. I came home with a large ripe tomato, a bag of cheese tortellini and some wine. I also splurged on a novel to read during the rainy afternoon. There were about 5 titles in English to choose from. The book was eminently forgettable. <br />
<br />
As I was preparing my simple repast, the Canadian appeared and joined me for lunch. He contributed a loaf of bread and conversation. He also washed the dishes. Outside the miserable rain continued. <br />
<br />
After lunch, I showered and crawled into my upper bunk to read and nap the rainy afternoon away.<br />
<br />
The extra day was necessary, but I was sorry to fall behind my familiar companions. I wonder who will be in Santiago when I finally arrive?Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-80225994007146514132009-07-03T08:34:00.003-06:002012-04-23T13:48:32.585-06:00Day 35 - Portomarin - Sunday, 24 May 2009<b>Sarria -> Portomarin = 26K (Under 100K now: just 90.4K to go!)</b><br />
<br />
I was up about 0600 – too much snoring and snorting in the room. With only 5 roommates I thought it might be quieter. <br />
<br />
I walked across Sarria, where King Alfonso IX lost his life on his way to Compostela. He founded the city and gave it his name and then ended up dying there. I did not linger there, but stopped for an al fresco breakfast at the top of the stair steps on the pilgrim route. I ran into “Herr Gummischuhe” there and at the next coffee stop S. (the Irish woman) and J. (a German woman) joined us for the rest of our day’s walk.<br />
<br />
The day was damp and rainy and we moved along quickly. The pilgrims who only walk 100K are pretty obvious. They are so clean and many of them seem rather humorless and sober. Those of us with hundreds of kilometers under our belts are getting almost giddy with delight: less than 100K to go! It seems like nothing. We laugh and joke and draw ugly looks from some of the pilgrims who just began the walk.<br />
<br />
One 100K pilgrim singled me out. “Wow, you have a tan,” he says in a dear Irish accent. “You are a real pilgrim! Can I take your photo?” So our motley crew posed for a photo. We encounter many Irish pilgrims. They invariably comment, “Galicia looks is just like Ireland, only the mountains are smaller in Ireland.”<br />
<br />
My left leg gives me pain. It is quite uncomfortable, perhaps from the long, swift walk yesterday. I struggle to keep walking. When we stop I realize my ankle is swollen and my SmartWool socks are constricting my leg. I fold the socks down to relieve some of the pressure and continue walking.<br />
<br />
We arrive in Portomarin and check into the albergue. S discovers she has left her pilgrim credential at the albergue in Sarria. While she and my other companions make phone calls and take care of that situation, I collapse in a chair and peel off my left sock. My ankle is quite swollen. <br />
<br />
The albergue at Portomarin has the look of a large hospital ward – bays of bunk beds with every four rows flanked with white privacy curtains. It is a huge facility with hundreds of beds. There is a wonderful view of the lake below and there is a pleasant place to dine next door. <br />
<br />
I head over to the restaurant with J. and several other pilgrims join us, including my Canadian buddy (whom I first met at the scary albergue in Rabe) and the young Priest from Indiana and the Danish woman who lives in Spain and a few other familiar faces. The place is filled with pilgrim faces I recognize. <br />
<br />
I call it a night rather early, hoping my leg will be back to normal tomorrow. I hope the cold rain will blow over.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-71852432684390354352009-07-03T08:31:00.002-06:002012-04-23T13:45:53.855-06:00Day 34 - Sarria - Saturday 23 May 2009<b>Fonfria -> Sarria (via Samos!) = 35K (Only 115K and I will be in Santiago!)</b><br />
<br />
Despite the steep descent and the extra kilometers I logged on my unintentional detour through Samos, my feet are happy; the band aids are gone and no blisters remain!<br />
<br />
The albergue I am so grateful to be in, is most pleasant. I am curled up on a couch near the fireplace in the common room, listening to new-age music and sipping tea. An exuberant kitten is playing hide and seek on the adjacent couch. (There are 8 more cats on the premises.) <br />
<br />
Outside, thunder rumbles and a deluge of rain falls. I am glad to be warm and cozy here indoors. I arrived before the rain began. It would be difficult to walk in such a storm.<br />
<br />
The days’ walk was lovely for the most part, but longer than I intended. At Tricastela there were two paths and somehow I took the longer route via Samos. The reward for the longer walk was the chance to see a fine 6th century Benedictine monastery with the beautiful renaissance courtyard. <br />
<br />
Over coffee in Samos, another pilgrim tells me that I am now in the 11th stage of the Codex Calixtinus. Aymeric Picaud wrote this ancient book detailing the challenges and hardships of the pilgrimage to Santiago. Many pilgrims still use it as a guide.<br />
<br />
The last 15K from Samos to Sarria is rural and mostly on a sealed road lined with chestnut trees and oaks. The villages seem deserted except for the large dogs (they resemble German Shepherds) who greet me as I enter each community. They wag their tails, but are a bit wary of strangers. <br />
<br />
As I walked through the woods, I ran across the “Gypsy Boy” today (the brother of the delightful French woman who is traveling with her almost-4 year old son). He had a small encampment in the woods and was cooking a lovely lunch of bacon-wrapped meat and some vegetables over hot coals in a small fire pit he had dug beneath a tree. His look is somehow timeless and seeing him in the forest, bent over his cooking, he resembles an old painting depicting life in another century. The image is strong.<br />
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Later I see the “Gypsy Boy’s” sister and her blue-eyed boy as they pass the albergue where I am spending the night. The youngster is lured in by the chickens on the lawn. He chases after them, laughing. It is a delightful scene until the rooster, thinking his hens are in danger, attacks the child. That is the end of the fun, at least for a little while. (The documentary film crew materialized and got this adventure on film! I have not seen them since Logrono!)<br />
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As I write, the evening meal is being prepared. The smells are inviting. I suspect there will be a tortilla Espanol (a potato omlette) and Caldo Gallego (regional soup). This will be a nice change from the frequent offerings lentejas (lentils) which most albergues prepare for the pilgrim meal.<br />
<br />
This is a private albergue, run by two generations of a family. It is a new building and is well designed and the hosts are kind and warm people. After 30 + nights in a different bed every night, I have some opinions on how to run an albergue! <br />
<br />
Tomorrow the 100K pilgrims will begin to appear. I have about 600K under my belt now – 100K does not seem like much. But, I am not eager for it to end just yet.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-22175423087173973262009-07-02T08:52:00.003-06:002012-04-23T13:42:50.777-06:00Day 33 - Fonfria - Friday, 22 May 2009<b>Vega de Valcarce -> Fonfria = 25K (Just 140.7K more!)</b><br />
<br />
Entering the Fonfria, a herd of lovely, velvet-eyed, brown cows crowd me to the side of the “Main Street.” A handsome shepherd dog eyes me for a moment, sizing me up, and then passes behind me, managing his bovine charges effectively and efficiently. The shepherd smiles.<br />
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Outside the albergue door, a beautiful, large, grey stallion systematically eliminates the tall grass. I hear a rooster crow nearby and I see dogs playing across the dusty street.<br />
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“This is where I will spend the night,” I decide and smile to myself. <br />
<br />
From inside the charming albergue, loud music pours out and as I enter the door I see the hospitalera dancing behind the bar as she makes a cup of café con leche. <br />
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"Oh yes," I think, "I am checking in!" Animals, music, dancing and cafe con leche - who could ask for more? <br />
<br />
So here I am relaxing over a café con leche; over the mountain after a remarkable walk which, at intervals, felt like a scene out of a Disney film. Galicia is more like Ireland than what one may think of as Spain. But of course, Galicia is part of Spain. It is very clear that it was influenced by the Celts. <br />
<br />
I climbed the mountain in the early hours arriving in Galicia as the sun came over the peaks and kissed the green, green mountainside. It is almost surreal. <br />
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Early in the day I walked through La Faba, where I stopped to catch my breath. This village would have been a lovely place to spend a night. (There is a German or possibly Dutch run albergue that feeds pilgrims from their organic garden)<br />
<br />
I linger a bit, playing with a pair of delightful stray kittens who wrestle one another, fighting over a grease-soaked loaf of bread and a few pieces of chorizo I share with them. I resume walking.<br />
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The enchanting villages I walk through today smell of cattle and are perched on hillsides so steep the cows must have 2 long legs and 2 shorter legs in order to graze on the hillsides. The path is littered with cow manure.<br />
<br />
When I arrive in O’Cebreiro at the peak of the mountain, fog engulfs the 9 ancient, round, stone, thatch-roofed structures (pallozas) that comprise (most of) the village. The fog adds to the mystical quality of the place. Words like amazing, haunting come to mind. I can almost believe the local legend; the 14th Century miracle about the wine and bread turning into blood and the flesh of Christ. <br />
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Once again, I wish I could stay a day or two and simply soak up the ambience of this special place. But, I am a pilgrim and I cannot tarry…pilgrims are meant to walk. As I walk, I find myself wondering is J.R Tolkien ever visited the region. It could have been the inspiration for his Hobbit-world. <br />
<br />
I had been anxiously anticipating the challenging climb, one of the most challenging on the entire Camino. Like many things in life, the climb was somewhat anti-climactic. Many pilgrims elect to taxi or bus their way over the mountain. Others send their backpacks ahead so they can walk more easily. I did neither. I chose to walk with my backpack and found that I was exhilarated by the steep climb. My joy and excitement fuel my energy and I walk on beyond my original destination. <br />
<br />
So here I am in the charming albergue in Fonfria. I have had a delicious hot shower (in a private bathroom) and I washed my long hair with borrowed shampoo. I am sitting in a sunny courtyard letting my hair dry in the breeze and sipping sidra (apple cider) with a group of fellow pilgrims. There is lots of laughter and conversation (despite language barriers). The German man with the cowboy hat (I dubbed him “Herr Gummi-schuhe”) is so funny. My Irish friend (S.) and the Danish woman who lives in Spain, my friend from Finland, the delightful woman from New Zealand and many other pilgrims while away the late afternoon together. <br />
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It is hard to imagine that my pilgrimage will soon come to an end. I push that thought aside and stay in the happy present.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-24299355888323583872009-07-02T08:49:00.002-06:002012-04-23T13:40:03.645-06:00Day 32 - Vega de Valcarce - Thursday, 21 May 2009<b>Cacabelos -> Vega de Valcarce = 25K (163.6K remaining on the Way to Santiago!)</b><br />
<br />
When I slipped away from the albergue at Cacabelos at 0630, the over-flow crowds on mattresses outdoors were still sleeping. I walked up and down 2 hills (about 8K) before a fine breakfast stop in Villafranco Bierzo. What a wonderful community. If I had “do-overs,” I would have spent my night here instead of in Cacabelos.<br />
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Pilgrims who suffer from ailments and illness can walk through the Puerta del Perdon (door of pardon) on the north side of the Santiago church that perches above Villafranco Bierzo. Those pilgrims too ill to go on will receive the same indulgences as pilgrims who reach Compostela. The town is beautiful in the crisp bright morning sun.<br />
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The next 30K are the most physically challenging of the Camino. The total assent is 1280 meters. <br />
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As I walk along the Camino, my mind skips along. Movies and books and songs, memories, dreams all fill my head. I make a mental list of things that make me happy:<br />
• Rose Arbors, Potted Geraniums, Wild Flowers and Flowerboxes<br />
• Cats (Orange cats especially) and Dogs<br />
• Cows and Sheep<br />
• Parakeets and Chickens<br />
• Blue Doors, French Doors and Split Doors (Dutch Doors)<br />
• Rustic Benches<br />
• Books, Films and Music<br />
• Toast (With Butter & Orange Marmalade)<br />
• Hot Showers <br />
• Hammocks<br />
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I visualize different lives: should we go back to our cozy bungalow in SC or try a new adventure (a B&B in Malawi?) or maybe life in Minneapolis, Saint Louis or Albuquerque. Should we just stay in Santa Fe? <br />
<br />
I walk and think. I weep when I am happy – my heart breaks open and all the joy spills out. I remember a quote from William Blake (I don’t remember the context): “…Excess of sorrow laughs, excess of joy weeps…” In m mind I hear my mother quoting someone (Frost?) about living by the side of the road and being a friend to all mankind.<br />
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I am happy.<br />
<br />
My camera has fresh batteries, but now the memory card is full. So, again I have no opportunity to take photos of the beautiful scenery I travel through. Some images I wish I could have captured include:<br />
• A German Shepherd dog and its’small friend on a tiny 2nd floor terrace eying pilgrims walking by. <br />
• Grey stone buildings with slate roofs and rustic wood beams and doors covered in bold, bright blossoms.<br />
• A pair of wooden clogs parked under a rustic bench.<br />
• Beatific caramel-colored cows grazing on emerald-green, rolling hills. <br />
• The babbling stream that snaked along the path during my post breakfast walk. <br />
<br />
I enjoy the early morning walk and move quickly till about noon. I elect to stop at an albergue run by Brazilians. It is an older building, but clean and inviting. The hospitalero is so enthusiastic and happy, I cannot resist staying (even though it is a bit pricey). There are hammocks, there is lively music, it is quite pleasant and there is the promise of an al fresco Brazilian communal feast in the Camelot garden. <br />
<br />
I am the first pilgrim to check in today. I find a hammock and curl up to write and think. Later I sip wine and have a long, interesting conversation with a Dutchman I met in Astorga (I call him “The Flying Dutchman”). <br />
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Dinner is pleasant. <br />
<br />
At dinner I am amused when a fellow pilgrim (a German man) insists I look like Joan Baez. This is the third time on this trip someone has compared me to Joan Baez. I respond with a wisecrack about my singing – if they heard me sing it would certainly dispel any illusions that I might be Joan Baez!<br />
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After lights out, I fall asleep with the refreshing breeze from an open window (unusual at most albergues) and the pleasant sound of crickets singing in the night.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-6079169181484820572009-07-02T08:35:00.007-06:002012-04-23T13:37:04.875-06:00Day 31 - Cacabelos - Wednesday, 20 May 2009<b>Molinaseca -> Cacabelos = 23K (189.6K remaining!)</b><br />
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I feel as if I am in a detainee camp. And like a detainee, I am just grateful to have a place to stay.<br />
<br />
The dismal, concrete grounds are Spartan and shade less. Weary pilgrims sit on the curbs in the hot afternoon sun, tending their sore foot and leg injuries. Others are hard at work at the outdoor sinks, scrubbing the day’s dirt from their clothing. Wet laundry hangs on drying racks scattered around the dreary, cramped courtyard that is our temporary home. <br />
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Last night I stayed in a lovely, bright private albergue filled with potted geraniums, no bunk beds and a dining room. Tonight I am just grateful to have a bed. <br />
<br />
Late in the afternoon, there is still a line snaking around the building and the hospitalero’s have no more beds to spare. Recent arrivals are given thin pallets and are going to sleep in the communal area – outdoors! (I try to imagine what pilgrim life is like during the busy season!)<br />
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The albergue is a municipal one, associated with a church. Tiny cell-like rooms line the walls around the churchyard. Inside each dark, dank cell are two beds (privacy). There are no locks on the doors, but anyone walking past the closed door could lock inhabitant in. This makes me uncomfortable. <br />
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I look at the map and see that there will be a steady climb, climb, climb in the near future. Of course climbs are usually followed by descents and this one is a quick, steep one. (From 400 meters -> 1300 meters and then down: 1285 meters -> 665 meters in just under 7 kilometers!) Pilgrims on the Camino learn quickly that descents are often much more of a challenge than the climbs.<br />
<br />
On my walk today I saw many lovely sights; sights worthy of photographing. Since my camera batteries were dead, I took mental pictures of the following:<br />
<br />
• A skinny donkey and a skinny farmer plowing a rocky field.<br />
• A nest of black cats snuggled together, taking a siesta inside an old tire.<br />
• Abundant, colorful blooms spilling out of a window box.<br />
• An elderly man walking his cow as if it was a dog.<br />
• A fabulous castle (Ponferrada) that conjured up dreams of knights of old.<br />
• Wine fields spanning the rolling hills with a Mordor-like mountain looming beyond. <br />
<br />
I had anticipated walking further today (7K more) but banking and buying batteries slowed me down. Sometimes simple tasks take longer when one is on the road. I had to go to a couple ATMs in order to get cash. I am always afraid the machines will retain my card, so each time I was refused cash, I elected to try a different ATM. <br />
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I also lingered a bit in Ponferrada where I ran into M. (a delightful fellow-pilgrim and photographer from NYC/London). M. and I met unexpectedly at the corner in front of the beautiful castle, as if by pre-arrangement. It is always a joy to see a familiar face, so I was glad to see my friend again (he pops up every so often, like a guardian angels of sorts!). <br />
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We had breakfast and good conversation before taking a few photos of the old Knights Templar castle. (I wish I had stayed overnight in Ponferrada so I could have time to really explore the castle and the rest of this old mining town.) Then we resumed our walk, this time together. Ponferrada is urban, so the walk across town and out into the countryside took a while. We walked and talked for a few hours. <br />
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Eventually I left him my friend behind. In the end, each pilgrim must walk their own pace. <br />
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Dinner tonight was fun. I dined with S. (a young, irreverent Irish woman with a Gaelic name) and her current walking companions, a group of Italian men who are traveling together. We dined on a decent pilgrim menu at a local bar: typical stuff, but really well prepared. The homemade flan was the best I have ever tasted and the serving size was enormous! <br />
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It is time for this pilgrim to douse the light and dream about the days to come.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6816794210150646565.post-54127808977715990402009-06-26T13:23:00.005-06:002012-04-23T13:34:14.768-06:00Day 30 - Molinaseca - Tuesday, 19 May 2009<b>Foncebadon -> Molinaseca = 21K (212.4K remaining on the way to Santiago!)</b><br />
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<i>I have climbed mountains since I saw you last; <br />You will not find me where you left me, <br />I have scaled pinnacles and seen the vast Horizon of a higher point of view. </i><br />
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The lines above run through my mind as I stride along the mountain paths. I do not know who wrote these words nor do I remember more of the poem, but these lines resonate with me. They are powerful in their imagery.<br />
<br />
I walked alone and arrived at the Cruz de Ferro while mists still shrouded the mountaintop. Beneath the cross, the ground is littered with offerings. There are photographs and notes, a mountain of stones and other offerings left by pilgrims. I look for a while, but feel overcome with a sense that I am a voyeur, observing the sorrows and pains each offering represents. <br />
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With the cross behind me, the fog dissipates. Sunlight spills over the mountains. It is peaceful o be out walking when the world comes alive.<br />
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As I reached Monjarin I hear Thomas ring the pilgrim bell, announcing my arrival. A bevy of friendly dogs trot out to greet me; tails wagging, tongues lolling. <br />
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This “hippie warren” is a delight.<br />
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I see the 3-year old boy who travels with his entourage of admirers and family. He is playing with kittens and singing songs. I sip the coffee Thomas thrusts into my hands. On the hillside, the sheep and beautiful brown cows are grazing. I want to linger longer, but the road calls and I leave behind this serene mountain compound to begin my descent down the mountain.<br />
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I pass through an enchanted forest and continue my walk down the mountain. I walk for miles seeing no other pilgrims, sharing the beautiful scenery with no one. My heart grows full. <br />
<br />
I stop in Molinaseca (instead of Ponferrada). The new albergue is so inviting, I cannot walk on. <br />
<br />
I am immediately befriended by an older Danish woman who wants to/needs to talk. We buy picnic supplies and linger on the banks of the river as the sun sinks lower in the sky. We drink cheap wine out of our water bottles and relax.<br />
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When I arrive back to the albergue and walk into my room, I am literally swept into the arms of a Spanish man who dramatically danced me around the floor and ended the routine with a dip. He is pilgrim I had met earlier on. It is always wonderful to see familiar faces. And when there is dancing involved, so much the better!<br />
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Tomorrow I will be below the 200K mark and in just two weeks I will be back home in the USA. This will all be just a pleasant memory.Virginia ("Ginn")http://www.blogger.com/profile/17587919109305422263noreply@blogger.com0