I would certainly urge all pilgrims to go on to Finisterre - although it takes a high degree of motivation to walk there after the highs of arrival in Santiago (especially if you have walked from SJPDP).
I took the bus all the way (very easy from the big bus station in Santiago), but a couple of people got off before Finisterre at a small village whose name I don't recall, so they could walk for a day to Finisterre.
Personally, I felt a greater sense of completion and wonder for the future at Finisterre than at Santiago. At Santiago you are bombarded with so many sensations and experiences - meetings and partings with fellow pilgrims, celebrations and so on; that there is little opportunity for quiet reflection on the meaning of it all.
At Finisterre you walk out onto the cliff, with the lighthouse behind you - which in itself has symbolic value in the sense of a having a guide and protector against perils. You look out over the vast and trackless ocean, wondering not only what the future holds, but also what lies beyond the ocean on the far shores of the spirit. You can reflect in tranquillity and inner calm. I found it very moving.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Saturday, December 8, 2007
A New Beginning at Finisterre
There is a custom among some pilgrims of burning some small personal item, or throwing it into the sea, on reaching Finisterre. The act may be a form of spiritual completion, or of a hoped-for new beginning rising Phoenix-like from the ashes.
In my case, I threw a small, inexpensive (but treasured) pocket knife into the sea. The little knife had cut my queso and jamon for lunch over 35 days and it was a wrench to let go of my little friend. But in the ocean it would slowly corrode and form part of the life of the ocean and even the substance of our planet, completing a great cycle begun years ago when its component parts were made from materials taken from distant parts of the earth.
Sometimes we get too attached to objects and material things. It is good to make a small material sacrifice occasionally to bring home to us the importance of other values in our lives.
Recently I watched a BBC TV series about five men who spent 40 days in a Benedictine monastery. The series was a form of reality TV, but it had some interest for me in its potential for insights into the Camino de Santiago.
In one episode, the “novice monks” were advised to write on a piece of paper whatever was troubling them, or something they wanted to let go of; then burn the paper as a ceremonial act of breaking with the past.
It occurred to me that such an act would also be a good way to end the pilgrimage at Finisterre. Some pilgrims may decide in advance what they will write on their piece of paper. For others, insight will come during the pilgrimage itself.
In my case, I threw a small, inexpensive (but treasured) pocket knife into the sea. The little knife had cut my queso and jamon for lunch over 35 days and it was a wrench to let go of my little friend. But in the ocean it would slowly corrode and form part of the life of the ocean and even the substance of our planet, completing a great cycle begun years ago when its component parts were made from materials taken from distant parts of the earth.
Sometimes we get too attached to objects and material things. It is good to make a small material sacrifice occasionally to bring home to us the importance of other values in our lives.
Recently I watched a BBC TV series about five men who spent 40 days in a Benedictine monastery. The series was a form of reality TV, but it had some interest for me in its potential for insights into the Camino de Santiago.
In one episode, the “novice monks” were advised to write on a piece of paper whatever was troubling them, or something they wanted to let go of; then burn the paper as a ceremonial act of breaking with the past.
It occurred to me that such an act would also be a good way to end the pilgrimage at Finisterre. Some pilgrims may decide in advance what they will write on their piece of paper. For others, insight will come during the pilgrimage itself.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
"En el Camino" hostel, Boadilla
This family-run hostel has a wonderful garden area to relax in. Dinner and breakfast are provided in a small dining room, lined with paintings apparently done by one of the family. The welcome I received from the family was warm and hospitable. There was some inner goodness about these people that was very restorative after my long walk this day.
At dinner, a lovely young German woman taught us a game involving crossing hands with your neighbour and tapping one hand on the table. One tap meant the next person tapped their hand and so on around the table, faster and faster. Two taps meant the direction reversed. Hard to describe, but I am sure German readers will recognise the game at once!
At breakfast, we had toasted bread as well as the usual condiments, plus a cup of café con leche the size of a dessert plate.
At dinner, a lovely young German woman taught us a game involving crossing hands with your neighbour and tapping one hand on the table. One tap meant the next person tapped their hand and so on around the table, faster and faster. Two taps meant the direction reversed. Hard to describe, but I am sure German readers will recognise the game at once!
At breakfast, we had toasted bread as well as the usual condiments, plus a cup of café con leche the size of a dessert plate.
The Valley of Hontanas
After leaving Burgos and having walked 29km across the flat Meseta, I was keen to get to Hontanas and relax. But where was Hontanas? Even though I must have been getting close, there was not a sign - just the flat Meseta as far as the eye could see.
Then, suddenly, the tip of a church appeared and there was Hontanas, tucked away in a sheltered valley that meandered across the Meseta.
I stayed in the El Nuevo municipal hostel. The hostel was fine – in fact it had won an architectural award for preserving its medieval foundations – but I loved the little village, down in its valley, out of the winter winds that must howl across the Meseta, with its church and tranquil atmosphere.
At dinner I met a pilgrim who felt guilty about his weight and was walking for a week to shed some kilograms and to do penance for his overindulgence during the year. I got the impression that this was his annual practice.
Then, suddenly, the tip of a church appeared and there was Hontanas, tucked away in a sheltered valley that meandered across the Meseta.
I stayed in the El Nuevo municipal hostel. The hostel was fine – in fact it had won an architectural award for preserving its medieval foundations – but I loved the little village, down in its valley, out of the winter winds that must howl across the Meseta, with its church and tranquil atmosphere.
At dinner I met a pilgrim who felt guilty about his weight and was walking for a week to shed some kilograms and to do penance for his overindulgence during the year. I got the impression that this was his annual practice.
Supper at Granon
The sleeping area of the albergue consists of mattresses on the floor of the attic in the village church. The attic leads via a door to the roof space of the church where you can wash and dry clothes. Below, there is a comfortable sitting area.
The night I stayed here Arturo, the hospitalero, and a couple of helpers prepared a wonderful communal meal for us all. After the meal there were prayers in the church for those who wanted to attend.
The setting itself is relaxing and evocative of a past era of pilgrimage.
However, the reason I mention this albergue is because of the kindness and sense of vocation shown by Arturo and his helpers.
“Remember us in Santiago”, said Arturo as I thanked him when I left in the morning.
Many days later I knelt in the great Cathedral, in the midst of hundreds of fellow pilgrims, washed in the music of the noon Mass, and remembered Arturo.
The night I stayed here Arturo, the hospitalero, and a couple of helpers prepared a wonderful communal meal for us all. After the meal there were prayers in the church for those who wanted to attend.
The setting itself is relaxing and evocative of a past era of pilgrimage.
However, the reason I mention this albergue is because of the kindness and sense of vocation shown by Arturo and his helpers.
“Remember us in Santiago”, said Arturo as I thanked him when I left in the morning.
Many days later I knelt in the great Cathedral, in the midst of hundreds of fellow pilgrims, washed in the music of the noon Mass, and remembered Arturo.
Casa Mari (Torres del Rio)
When I arrived at Casa Mari albergue in Torres del Rio all the beds had been taken, so the hospitalera provided mattresses for latecomers on the flat roof. We had cover in case of rain and there was also a table and chairs so we could sit, relax and have a meal.
The village church marked the hours by the tolling of its great bell. Church bells were very common early in my camino, but became less so towards the end. I found them wonderfully comforting, marking the time as they had done for centuries, binding together their communities by common rituals and practices.
We looked out over burgeoning spring fields as we sat and ate in the fading afternoon. Below us in the courtyard, a large Italian group made an equally large and convivial communal meal.
At night we looked up to the sky and its field of stars (compostela) as millions of pilgrims before us had done, and fell asleep in clean, open air.
The village church marked the hours by the tolling of its great bell. Church bells were very common early in my camino, but became less so towards the end. I found them wonderfully comforting, marking the time as they had done for centuries, binding together their communities by common rituals and practices.
We looked out over burgeoning spring fields as we sat and ate in the fading afternoon. Below us in the courtyard, a large Italian group made an equally large and convivial communal meal.
At night we looked up to the sky and its field of stars (compostela) as millions of pilgrims before us had done, and fell asleep in clean, open air.
Albergue at Mansila de las Mulas
This albergue has a lovely central courtyard, with beautiful red and pink geraniums in window boxes and pots hung on the wall. There are tables where you can relax and eat. But Laura, the bright and happy hospitalera, is why I remember this albergue.
When you sign in, Laura asks you to pick a card from a pack and keep it as a reminder of the Camino. The side you see first has a picture of our beautiful blue planet. The other side of my card had a photo of two typical pilgrims walking along a flower-edged path, with the words “The Way is the goal”.
But there is more to Laura than that. She spent her spare time attending to the blisters and pains of pilgrims – and offering them comfort, probably the most important ministration of all.
Laura and her helpers made this albergue a happy place.
Weeks later, I said a prayer for Laura in the great cathedral in Santiago.
When you sign in, Laura asks you to pick a card from a pack and keep it as a reminder of the Camino. The side you see first has a picture of our beautiful blue planet. The other side of my card had a photo of two typical pilgrims walking along a flower-edged path, with the words “The Way is the goal”.
But there is more to Laura than that. She spent her spare time attending to the blisters and pains of pilgrims – and offering them comfort, probably the most important ministration of all.
Laura and her helpers made this albergue a happy place.
Weeks later, I said a prayer for Laura in the great cathedral in Santiago.
The Cross of Constantine
As I trod the long and ancient Roman Road (Via Trajana) after leaving Carrion de los Condes I reflected on the long-vanished legions that had also travelled here before me.
In the deep blue sky of that crisp early morning, the slanting sun illuminated a perfect christian cross formed by two vapour trails from jets passing far overhead (see pic in my Gallery).
While he was praying for divine help before the important battle of the Milvian Bridge in 312 AD, the Roman Emperor Constantine also saw a cross of light in the sky, with the inscription “in hoc signo vinces” (“in this sign you shall conquer”).
He decreed that the cross would be the symbol that represented his army in battle. He won the battle of the Milvian Bridge and converted to Christianity, paving the way for Christianity to replace the old Roman gods throughout the Roman Empire.
Symbols can have important meanings and consequences, not only for long-dead Emperors, but for all of us. Look for the symbols that resonate with you as you tread your own Camino
In the deep blue sky of that crisp early morning, the slanting sun illuminated a perfect christian cross formed by two vapour trails from jets passing far overhead (see pic in my Gallery).
While he was praying for divine help before the important battle of the Milvian Bridge in 312 AD, the Roman Emperor Constantine also saw a cross of light in the sky, with the inscription “in hoc signo vinces” (“in this sign you shall conquer”).
He decreed that the cross would be the symbol that represented his army in battle. He won the battle of the Milvian Bridge and converted to Christianity, paving the way for Christianity to replace the old Roman gods throughout the Roman Empire.
Symbols can have important meanings and consequences, not only for long-dead Emperors, but for all of us. Look for the symbols that resonate with you as you tread your own Camino
The Pilgrim Trail in Spring
Smell is powerfully evocative – after all Proust wrote “A la Recherché du Temps Perdu” based on the associations arising from the smell of a Madelaine. Smell is also restorative. I often plucked a sprig of lavender or fennel to smell as I walked along.
Closer to Santiago the trail passed through wet eucalyptus plantations. For Australians, the smell of wet eucalyptus leaves underfoot and of crushed leaves in the hand is evocative of the Australian bush.
Then there are the colours of spring, with an abundance of flowers of all kinds – poppies, thistles, yellow flowers, brilliant sky-blue flowers growing on small weedy plants. Pink-red bell flowers. Pink flowers. Lilac flowers from bulbs or maybe orchids. There were really tiny ones that you had to stop and enjoy from close up.
Near Santiago there were brilliant red cherries ripening on the trees. Other trees had orange-red leaves, transparent in the morning sun. Early on, some shrubs had masses of dense white flowers that fell in the wind and were blown into tiny snow drifts on the path.
Higher up in the mountains, the shrubs and flowers were smaller. Looking across the valleys on the climb up to O’Cebreiro, the opposite hillsides glowed with patches of yellow flowers.
Stone walls along the path were often thickly covered with lush green mosses, often with the tiniest flowers peeping out.
At Finisterre, mosses and lichens and small flowery shrubs clung to rocks and crevices to survive the fierce Atlantic winds.
Don’t forget the sounds of spring either! Every field and hedge was alive with birdsong. Leave the iPod at home and just enjoy what nature turns on for free. Listen to your feet on the stones, the wind in the trees, distant bells, sheep. Hear your own breathing. You will almost burst with happiness – or maybe song!
Closer to Santiago the trail passed through wet eucalyptus plantations. For Australians, the smell of wet eucalyptus leaves underfoot and of crushed leaves in the hand is evocative of the Australian bush.
Then there are the colours of spring, with an abundance of flowers of all kinds – poppies, thistles, yellow flowers, brilliant sky-blue flowers growing on small weedy plants. Pink-red bell flowers. Pink flowers. Lilac flowers from bulbs or maybe orchids. There were really tiny ones that you had to stop and enjoy from close up.
Near Santiago there were brilliant red cherries ripening on the trees. Other trees had orange-red leaves, transparent in the morning sun. Early on, some shrubs had masses of dense white flowers that fell in the wind and were blown into tiny snow drifts on the path.
Higher up in the mountains, the shrubs and flowers were smaller. Looking across the valleys on the climb up to O’Cebreiro, the opposite hillsides glowed with patches of yellow flowers.
Stone walls along the path were often thickly covered with lush green mosses, often with the tiniest flowers peeping out.
At Finisterre, mosses and lichens and small flowery shrubs clung to rocks and crevices to survive the fierce Atlantic winds.
Don’t forget the sounds of spring either! Every field and hedge was alive with birdsong. Leave the iPod at home and just enjoy what nature turns on for free. Listen to your feet on the stones, the wind in the trees, distant bells, sheep. Hear your own breathing. You will almost burst with happiness – or maybe song!
So Why Did I Walk the Pilgrim Trail?
In the course of our lives, as on the pilgrimage itself, we arrive at many forks along the way. Choices have to be made.
Often the choice is easy, familiar and entails low risk: do I choose the blue shirt or the green one? But occasionally we are confronted with difficult choices, whose outcome cannot be certain, and where the risk may be great: should I quit my job?
One of the abiding lessons of my pilgrimage is that it is usually better to choose the difficult way; to walk upon a thin, stony track through the unknown forest of life’s course, rather than to tread easily along grassy paths through, verdant meadows.
The rewards of the difficult, uncertain way (though scary) are often greater than the easy rewards of familiar habits.
Often the choice is easy, familiar and entails low risk: do I choose the blue shirt or the green one? But occasionally we are confronted with difficult choices, whose outcome cannot be certain, and where the risk may be great: should I quit my job?
One of the abiding lessons of my pilgrimage is that it is usually better to choose the difficult way; to walk upon a thin, stony track through the unknown forest of life’s course, rather than to tread easily along grassy paths through, verdant meadows.
The rewards of the difficult, uncertain way (though scary) are often greater than the easy rewards of familiar habits.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Photos & Google Map from Pilgrimage in Spain
Have a look at some of my pics at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/bob.m.melb/PilgrimTrailToSantiago
The "Composites" try to capture some of the spirituality of the camino and mixture of impressions I experienced along the way.
Bob
http://picasaweb.google.com/bob.m.melb/PilgrimTrailToSantiago
The "Composites" try to capture some of the spirituality of the camino and mixture of impressions I experienced along the way.
Bob
Sunday, September 16, 2007
The long, stony pilgrim trail to Santiago
The Meaning of PilgrimageBefore my Camino from St Jean Pied de Port to Santiago, I had difficulty articulating in a few words just why I wanted to do it. My motivations and reasons were a complex, shifting mixture of specific purposes and half-understood desires that really only took recognisable shape after I had reached Santiago, and, more importantly, Finisterre.
So I thought it might be helpful to give some thought-starters for others who may be grappling with the same difficulty in planing their pilgrimage.
My first insights came from a leaflet in the little chapel (San Nicolas de Flue) next to the big albergue at Ponferrada.
Many pilgrims do the camino to give thanks to God. Very late in my camino I met a lady who was walking to give thanks for all the good things life had given her and this insight helped me greatly.
Others walk to fulfil a promise, or to do penance. One man I met had walked the Camino Frances 3 times previously. He was walking for someone else, which struck me as a very significant way to focus.
The Pilgrim Museum in Santiago provided another very helpful leaflet that discussed the concept of pilgrimage in general and from which I quote below.
“Every major religion has a tradition and practice of pilgrimage.
Pilgrimage is a ritual journey, either alone or in a group, with the aim of achieving purification, perfection or salvation; a religious experience in which a series of bonds are established between a place of this world and a higher sphere, between an individual traveller and a community, between a flesh-and-blood pilgrim and he who is reborn, purified by the consummation of his goal. These bonds are what distinguish pilgrimage from other types of journey or travel.
Pilgrimage requires a sacred journey, a sacred place and a sacred goal. The sacred place may take many forms – a tree, a spring, a mountain, or a place where holy relics are revered. On the journey – a metaphor of earthly life – a personal transformation is initiated and effected through a series of rites that culminate in the moment of arrival. Here, his goal attained, the pilgrim is reborn, a new man.”
All the above refers to pilgrims in the traditional sense. Of course, many people do the camino for other reasons – they may be keen walkers who want to do a truly long walk, they may want to walk on Roman roads or see famous places or whatever.
But even such “tourists” may have a vaguely-sensed spiritual or religious drive that may be difficult to articulate at the beginning, but which becomes clearer as their journey progresses. They no doubt feel some comfort and satisfaction when they place a stone on a cross, attend the noon Mass at Santiago or carry out some small personal ritual at Finisterre.
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