An Autumn moment

Open milkweed, Short Hills Ontario; October 2011

Thanksgiving. That time of year when the leaves begin to change from the bold greens of the summer into the vibrant colours of the fall. The days grow shorter and everyone goes out to their gardens one final time to pick the last of the tomatoes, greens and other autumn delights before putting their gardens to bed before winter. There is a lot to give thanks for.  I look around me and see that life is beautiful in every part.  As I walked through the house, the smells of our traditional thanksgiving dinner cooking in the over, was filling the house and hallways. How familiar and welcome those smells are, reminding me how much I have come to love these moments with my family.  Every year, we sit down together, our table filled with vibrant colours and vegetables with mom's famous stuffed mushrooms and the enchanted broccoli forest. For dessert, pumpkin pie warmed with a nice wallop of vanilla ice cream.  The traditional dessert of autumn. In a few short weeks, outside the colours will all have turned on the trees, eventually dropping to the ground leaving the branches bare. We will gather the fallen leaves, making great piles to jump into, letting the wind sweep them across the yard.  This is the time of year to pull out the wooly sweaters, heat some apple cider and take a long meandering walk in the woods. Why not kick up leaves with your feet? Though we may be grown, there is still room to stay young at heart. I love to watch the leaves soar up and rearrange themselfs on the sidewalk behind me. With every step a delightful crunching.  It's time to soak up those last warm sunny autumn days and to come together with friends and family. Take stock.  Appreciate the change of the seasons.  Let the nostalgia of the days linger on.

Forest Trail in the Adirondacks, October 2011

Family Thanksgiving dinner, looking oddly like the last supper.
In a way, it is our last supper at the house here in Niagara.

The end of the World-Cap Finesterre

Good greetings to you!
Here I sit in Finnesterre, my final destination for the Camino.  It has been a long but wonderful past two months covering 2000km across France and Spain, 57 days of surprises, trials, errors, excitment, and meeting many interesting and amazing people from all across the world. Here the trail opens people up, you pass people and say hello, where perhaps at home you´d just keep on walking by.  We´re all walking the same way, and at times I fell into stride with other pilgrims,  sharing the trail and learning of who they are.  It is amazing how much you can learn of a person just by walking with them. You don´t have to ask their name, nor what they do for a living, instead, almost instantly, you fall deeper into the conversation asking things like ¨how do you feel?¨or ¨why are you doing this?¨ there is no hesitation out here you just become bold and fearless.  In a way the camino teaches you to reach out to your neighbour and take the time to learn of them.  
My final weeks on the camino were both the loveliest and the hardest.  Hard not in the sense of terrain, but hard knowing that the distance to the end was drawing near. So much wanting the last days to last forever, taking in each moment. But also hard because there are SO MANY PEOPLE! No it isn´t the people but the change in objective.  Out here, we call them the tourist pilgrims.  They arrive 100km before Santiago...and many of them get up very very early (5am when not even a hint of the sun is in sight) and rush to the next albergue. Such is the way, but I must laugh, as in the towns I pass from around 11:30-1pm there are long lines of people roasting in the sun waiting for the albergue to open. What a way to spend the early afternoon....waiting in line, as if buying groceries.  But at these times, I continue to walk, and by 2pm in the afternoon, the trail is virtually empty, except for the crazy long-distance pilgrims.  We tolerate the heat, finding fountains along the way, celebrating the cool refreshing water before carrying on.  This is the life. Nothing else matters.  At night, when at last arriving to the albergue, shoes come off, and it is as though the feet smile to get some air and can stretch out, wiggling in the last hours daylight. You eat with other pilgrims, sharing experiences of the day, or of the other folks we have met along the path. Almost instantly, when your head hits the pillow, you fall into a deep sleep, sometimes being awoken by someone else in the room snoring...(or someones), but otherwise, a long day takes it right out of you.  Then true to the day, at 5am, someone stirs, a plastic bag is scrunched, and soon before realizing it, you are back on your feet, blinking in those first morning moments, eating a breakfast and commencing.  This I shall come to miss.  The routine and rhythm.  Each day yes, starts and finishes like the last, but it is never the same. 

Yesterday I arrived in Finnesterre.  What an incredible moment to first see the ocean and then to stand in front of it, look out and see the whole world drop away from sight as ocean turns to sky. Though I walked alone the past two days, I met up with a few friends I had made along the way once I had arrived in the town of Finesterre. Together, we made the final journey up to Cap Finnesterre to watch the sun set.  What a beautiful way to put an end to my camino. Though the day looked overcast and threatening, it had cleared in time to watch the sunset. A vibrant orange hue filled the sky.  Once the sun had passed below the horizon, we all cheered and clapped.  Other pilgrims and tourists then took their leave, making their way back to town.  The four of us stayed to watch the glow  slowly fade.  We all wanted to savour this moment.  As it grew dark, we sat on a cliff overlooking the ocean, listening to the tranquility of the waves below and the distant song of a sea bird. Each of us brought a piece of clothing we wore on the trail. As is tradition for many pilgrims, we stood together in a circle, said a small word to celebrate the distances we each had come and then lit our clothes on fire, letting the salt and moments on the camino float away into the evening sky. Before we left, we sat and talked about our journey home.  What would life be like now that we had finished? How do you take an experience like this and not lose the magic as you settle back into home life? Will it all feel a dream?  I looked at the faces of my friends. We each held a different experience.  The camino affected us all, maybe differently but we all could feel that things would be different. 
How strange it was to wake up this morning, knowing that I wouldn´t be walking far. Knowing that in the evening I would be on a new adventure, slowly making my way back to London, and then home. It´s a different camino now. A personal camino back into society. Where I will again have to learn and adjust to a new routine and rhythm. There is much reflection to come from this trip, and I feel that its unravelling will be slow. How does one wrap their head around such a grand adventure?
It has been an amazing journey. I don´t think I will ever be able to put into words this experience...some of it is too incredible to make sense. But many stories to tell and share, pictures to pour over and who know what else may come spilling out along the way!
Next stop: London and then on to home! I´m looking forward to a change of clothes (and maybe truly washing the ones I´ve been wearing, admittedly not once did my clothes make it into a washer!)

Onwards from the coast onto the Primativo.

Anna and Oliver

¡hola!
Good greetings to you from Oviedo, Spain.  Here I sit, in a fairly large library in the old part of this city, waiting until 5pm for when the pilgrim hostel opens! Outside is market day, where little kiosks are set up with clothes and umbrellas with very cheap prices enticing the tourists to look for a good bargain. My eyes glances a few times, but what do I need? I am just a pilgrim, with my home on my back, life is simple, only carrying what I need.  It´s beautiful in its simplicity, though my trail shirt is slowly thinning, I feel that it will carry me through to the end.
 What a week it´s been, travelling alongside the coast of the Atlantic ocean, trails that at times wound along the beach (yes on sand even) up on cliffs to overlook the ocean and reaveal phenomenal bluffs, sea birds, boats and all kinds of exciting beach life. True to the beach lifestyle, folks begin to set their chairs out in the early morning sun, lazing on the sand, and occassionally going into the salty water to cool their skin, before returning to their lounge chairs for more bronzing. I got my perfect opportunity in Santoña, to take a refreshing swim in the ocean, after a long hot sunny day of walking.  But the trail has been exciting.  Twice, I have had to take a boat to cross the water in order to meet back up with the trail, and another day, was required to take the train, one stop in order to cross a large river.  Kind of exciting to shake up the day a little.  I loved the boat rides, being able to sit and watch the surfers in the waves, paragliders flying about off shore and the coastal winds rushing through my hair as I took it all in! Phew! Yesterday, after much ho-humming, I hopped a bus from Llanes to Oviedo.
This past section along the north coast, has certainly been one of beauty and have felt like I am on a lovely holiday, but I was beginning to feel the strain of too many cities and too many paved roads.  It was hard to make the decision to skip a portion of trail especially this far into the journey, but there were two reasons why I made this decision! First, my trip up until now, has been filled with very long days and distances, and second my time is running out.  I want to savour the last 2 weeks on the trail, drink in the experiences and landscape and make it to Finnesterre. For me, walking to Finnesterre holds more importance than being along the coast. I want to see the end of the world and feel like I have reached where I set out to go.   So I move away from the northern coast, which was lovely, but now I turn to the mountains and then  will join with the main route to Santiago before setting out to the end of the world! This route (the primitivo) is an old pilgrimage trail that winds through the Asturian mountains.  The trail I have heard is more rugged (compared to the highways and paved roads of the past week, this will be a relief for my feet!), with camino winding up, down, over and through the mountains, revealing small villages containing a more rustic vision of Spain.  The Camino del Norte, goes through a lot of larger towns and cities, making it challenging to feel like you are on a great journey, and not just walking from one big place to the next. But the journey continues to be amazing. It is just different and I find that I miss the heart of the camino....there was something to be said to walking through the small quiet villages. 
 Over the past three days, I made some new friends and had the pleasure to travel with them.  Both were from Germany, Oliver and Anna.  I only got to walk with Oliver for one day, before he fell back due to an overwhelmingly heavy bag and foot problems caused by said bag. Anna and I continued on together for another two days before splitting in Oviedo, as she wanted to drop down onto the traditional Camino Frances. We plan to meet again, in 10 days time, when the two trails join, taking us to Santiago. Pretty neat. If it all works out, I look forward to be able to have a familiar face to finish with in the end, and share of our two very different trail experiences! 
Today, my final rest day of this trip, has been one of transition, preparing for the last leg. I can now feel that Santiago and my time on the trail is winding down. It´s crazy.  Spain is certainly very different from France.  I have found that there are very few who speak English.  The spanish, it is clear to see, are proud of their country and their language!  It doesn´t matter if I tell them I cannot understand, they just wave their hand as if to say, that doesn´t bother me, and continues on speaking in spanish, happy to share information, stories, directions.  Me not able to really understand any of it, though I try. Body language as it turns out is very effective when it comes to communication. So long as hand wave in an orderly fashion indicating details, I would say my spanish comprehension is improving! A good story to follow-up is while walking along the highway.  I had lost the trail, as the markers tend to be sporadic. As I was walking, a police car came driving down the road going the opposite direction.  When it saw me, it put its lights on, as the window rolled down with an arm jutting out beckoning me to go over. As approached the car, there sat two cops.  The driver began speaking to me in Spanish, looking at me with determined eyes. I looked at him as any foreign tourist would, shook my head and said "non etiendo". He kept on speaking. Five minutes passed and eventually I nodded my head, at last I understood and we were both relieved. Before they left, the driver gave me a high-five. From what I could gather, he was concerned for my safety and insisted that I walk on the other side of the road where I could see the cars and be less likely to be run over. The spanish don't care if you don't understand.  They have the time and will converse with you endlessly in hopes that they can reach out to you. I have gotten good use out of my little phrasebook, stumbling over small simple phrases.  Downside, is ask a question in Spanish its hard to know what the answer is for lack of language skills.
Everyone is so kind along the way, pilgrims and spaniards alike.  Everywhere, an excited face greets you in recognition of being a pilgrim.  I love how along the trail, you can meet other pilgrims and easily stop to talk, or join together walking for a short bit and share experiences, thoughts, ideas or give information to the town ahead. I feel lucky to share the trail with so many interesting people!  I met my second group of Canadians over a week ago.  A group from Lethbridge, Alberta actually and we happily fell into conversation about our homeland.  There was 6 of them, and this was their 8th year on the Camino, doing small two week sections. Next year, they hope to reach Santiago.  Can you believe that?! Eight years, flying across the pond, picking up where you left off?! Inspirational and incredible...my head and heart always seems to be filled with the stories and feelings of amazement.
So, as I move into the last weeks out here, I am excited to see and walk through the mountains, to have days where I can just savour the time on the trail and not have to rush through the day, and to see the end of the world will be a moment that I feel will bring tears to my eyes! To each of you, you are always in my thoughts, I feel the pull towards home drawing closer and am looking forward to the visits that will be had and the stories to share.  Enjoy the sunshine, the fresh fruits of August (its peach and berry season!!!! not to mention pie season!)
Until the next, big hugs and cheers!

The trail winding along the cliff with an incredible view of the atlantic

Anna and I on our last day by the ocean

"We Made It!"

Hello and good greetings to you from St. Jean Pied-de-Port!!  
This is the big mid-way mark of my trip.  Though, in reality, I crossed my mid-way mileage two days ago in Sauvelade, St. Jean has been the decided marker to say, that my trip is now beginning its slow descent into final.  800km remain, one pair of shoes and hundreds of pilgrims yet to meet.  Today, is a day off, where my feet get a deserved rest, I wash my clothes ala machine and plan my route through Spain.  Wait you might be thinking, don't you already have this detail sorted? Well yes. Yes I did but as everything in life, plans change, or have the capability to change.  Through talking to many of the pilgrims, I have been considering taking a different route, abandoning the Camino Frances, which is the traditional route, and instead take the Camino del Norte. Both are roughly the same distances, but the the north route follows the coast, offering a coastal landscape and more importantly cooler weather. I have been in great thought the last few days trying to decide which route to take, but today, after much research, I am feeling more excited to take the northern route. Nearing the end of the Camino del Norte, I will drop south picking up the Camino Primitivo, which is another older route to Santiago (as well as more difficult as it crosses through the Asturian mountains...but what's a little adventure and push before reaching the end?). So in all, I will add 13 extra km to my route, and I am excited to see some water.

My trailside companions 

     Currently, I am in the foothills on the French side of the Pyrenees. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I will not really get to experience (visually) their magnificence this time around as the weather from when I arrived until after I leave will be cloudy and full of rain. But I get little glimpses from time to time, and in the tourist office for pilgrims here, there is a map of the trail from St. Jean to Roncevalles (in Spain) which goes across the Pyrenees, and am happy to report that it looks beautiful.  Even if I might not be able to see the views from below and atop, I am so excited for this part of the trip! It has been the one area, that I have been looking forward to most of all and will soak in (perhaps also literally with all the rain) all that I can while I am here. (I have a feeling that another trip sometime down the road is in store to experience these mountains in their entirety). The region here is Pays Basque, completely different from other areas of France that I have travelled through.  No longer are the houses made of old stones. Instead, the rooves are the traditional red terracotta, and the walls of the buildings are typically white, with a farm red for the trim and shutters. Though the buildings all look fresh and new as if built 60 years ago, it is surprising to pass them and see the dates, 1500's-1700's.  My jaw nearly dropped.  These places are in better condition after 600 years and continue to stand strong....my enlgish curiosity is certainly tickling, as I wish to just knock on the doors of some of these places and ask for a tour of the inside...so much history, it is incredible!  The last few days along the trail, more castle-like structures have been appearing, some just small crumblings left to nature, history hidden beneath vines. There are certainly times and places where it feels as though I am walking through time. A few villages, now ghost-towns, still stand, only the wooden doors and overgrown yards give away that it is empty. But you can really feel the ghosts of the past in these places, how at one time it was a vibrant little village and desired place to live for the views and now forgotten.  Last night, while treating myself to a small regional dinner, I picked up a magazine.  In the back was a small realestate section, for a few houses throughout the Basque region that were for sale. Did you know, you can purchase a stone house built in the 13th century for 140 000 euros? I know Euros are more expensive then our dollar, but that is truly inexpensive regardless...and from the 13th century! Isn't that crazy? 

     Tomorrow, I will say goodbye to France.  For the past month, every single day I have eaten Brie/Camembert, and feel that I have had my fill, looking forward to taking a break from the two. My feet, I think are taking on the smell of the stronger cheeses, and though I have washed my socks several times they continue to leak a toxic smell that makes me a little nervous while in public! But part of that is because for the past week, it has been rain on the trail. Rain in the morning, drizzle in the afternoon, clouds clouds clouds galore. But, with all the clouds there is a silver lining. For 9 days, I have travelled with a companion named Magdelana from Germany.  We met in Cahors, and realized that we were making the same journey, with long days due to the amount of time we had to work with. Almost immediately, it was decided that we would travel together to St. Jean and then see if it would be time to split or continue onwards together. We had a plan and the challenge lay ahead of us.  That challenge: getting to St. Jean in 9 days, travelling a total of 356.5 km which works out to be 39km roughly each day. When we shared our plan with other pilgrims, they looked at us with horror, and said very firmly: not possible. But when two minds are set anything is possible, even if it is ridiculous! And I am happy to say, we made it, feet and head still very much intact, and the two of us: good friends.  It has been fun to travel with another person, as now experiences can be shared, and is nice to have a friend throughout the day.  It is also an adjustment, as you are no longer of thinking for one. 

Magdalena on the move!

   Great moments of learning have been made and I am grateful for the experience because it taught me pieces of myself, that I wouldn't have learnt had I just been travelling solo. Though Magdelana and I will be doing the same route to the end, our time together draws to a close, as she is now joined by two friends. I shall miss my companion, but as the camino always is full of surprises, I have a feeling that somewhere along the way we will meet again!
      For now, I will sign off, find my lodgings for tonight, and continue wandering about St. Jean, savouring my final hours in France.  Maybe I will be luckily and the clouds will break for a moment so that I may catch a small glimpse of the Pyrenees.  Hope all is well back on the home front....thank-you for all the stories and tid bits from home.  Such a treat and have loved reading each one. Until the next, happy trails ahead, and big hugs from Pays Basque!

Fog in the Valley

Sun rising against a quiet chapel

Front of the line, Tour de France; Figeac, FR

The story of the comb

The Camino de Santiago has a soul.  This much I now is true.
It tests you when you need to be challenged, and it brings gifts when you are most in need.
I have experienced both, and have come to understand the quiet spirit of the trail. Whether walking solo or not, you are never alone, surrounded by the history and magic that this trail contains.

One such story, is of a comb.

While packing, deciding what to bring and what to leave behind, I decided with absoluteness, that I would not bring a brush or comb with me, for I always had my fingers and I would be fine. But hair grows, and my hair, being thick and monsterous as it is, is not easy to comb with the fingers, and I had forgotten that the longer it grows the more unmanageable it becomes. Such is the way, and for me well coiffed hair is not the most important thing, but once the hair is tangled and in knots its rather difficult to reverse the process. Anyway, I managed...sort of.

While walking on the trail about 3 weeks in, I thought to myself, maybe purchasing a comb wouldn't be a bad idea. They are light and would help prevent the knots. So ok. The thought was there, but always when in towns I forgot about the thought .  One day, after knowing it was time, I had decided my priority for the day would be to get a comb. While walking through a small village, I looked down and what do I see is a comb.  I looked at it curiously. Stopped and considered picking it up, but then said no and continued to walk.  15 minutes later I regretted that move.  Here was a perfectly good comb and I passed it up. A week laterm, or so the same hair issue presented itself. Ok, I said, I need a comb this is ridiculous. And again on the trail, a broken comb lay in the middle of the path.  This time I stopped and picked it up.  That evening after my shower I used it, but the teeth all fell out  (I don't know if it is because of my hair or due to the fact this comb had spent quite awhile in the great outdoors) Regardless, I ended up throwing it out after using as it had about 3 teeth remaining.  This was in Montcuq.  The following day, I began to travel with Magdelana, and had  told her that today I would get a new comb and proceeded to tell her my story of the broken comb.  She had laughed at my misfortune but we spoke of the magic this trail had.  In 20 minutes we would both be laughing, for right in the middle of the trail while leaving a small village, was a brand new comb! We stopped and stared at it for several minutes, then looked at each other with amazement. Without hesitation I picked up the comb, and have traveled with it since. My magic comb!

Crazy!

Life on the Camino...the first weeks

The first stamp on my passport!!

     Alright, here we go!  Lots of traveler thoughts and experiences are about to spill forth on the page. where to even begin the writings; I think is the most difficult part, as the thoughts and images of the experiences all swirl about into one giant pool of memories. I should start off by saying that this is one of the most incredible trips I have ever done, and am glad to be here.

     Each morning is a brand new adventure. Though I can look endlessly at my maps, I do not know what the day will hold nor what I shall see along the way, but then I have always loved the mystery...if we knew everything we were to see, would it be as exciting? Each day holds its own challenges and also its gifts, the trail I have come to learn very much has a life of its own...unravelling its magic and moments of frustration to teach important lessons on and off the trail. A learning curve indeed, but one that I have come to understand and appreciate. Though the country is small, the diversity and landscape of France varies greatly from day to day, noticable in both the environment but also in the houses. In the small villages, it is easy to feel as though transported back in time, imagining carts rolling through the dirt roads. Chicken have free range in a lot of the villages, pecking at the ground roaming about and strutting their feathry stuff. Nervous at first when I encounter a rooster, for in the past I have been a target for roosters, being chased about with them trying ot peck at my legs. Luckily out here; I draw no interest or threat to the roosters and we happily continuue on with our lives, me down the trail; the rooster cock-a-doodling, or playing ninja chicken warrior with its fellow feathered friends;  I kid you not, at one point while walking onwards, I lookd over to see two chickens pecking and kicking each other while being encircled by the rest of the flock!! How has there not been a movie about this yet? Maybe with my time during the day, I will write a petit script and send it to Hollywood...

    The firsst section from Geneva to Le Puy was very quiet, but that was something I had anticipated fro, the start, and thought at times lonely without anyone to talk to, it was a good time for me to get aquainted with the trail and sink into my thougts a little about how I hped for the days to come, and have the time really to simply reflect, and reflection I have done!  Originally, I wanted to keep communication back home to a minimum, or to say really, no phonecalls until the end. But I came to realize quite early on; it is nice to hear a familiar voice, and as my conversations were limited to the amount of french I knew, most of my days virtually silent, with my journal entries growing increasingly longer by day. The one challenge of travelling along is that you cannot share or talk about the experiences, so each day the list of things that I had seen or done grew, and at last, I reached Le Puy, my first section complete, I called home to speak english and share in on all the wonderful experiences I have encountered thus far, while catching up on all the latest news on the gardens and neighbours! SO often, I try to do things alone, maintaining this image of independance and separateness, that I feel like I miss out on something much bigger than the experience, as well as something I am endlessly striving, which is sharing and connectedness. Yes, to disconnect is a positive from time to time but like in all things there needs to be a balance, and oftentimes enough I disconnect myself more than open and dig in. Something I think about greatly while out walking, and experience greatly as I am not french and feel that at times I am missing out on much of the conectedness that this trail is composed of. Such are my thoughts.  But as I draw further away from Le Puy and closer towards St. Jean the diversity of folks grows and slowly a melange of languages becomes mixed. 
Just before I arrived in Figeac, I met a new friend from New Zealand, named Stephanie. We instantly fell into conversation, and made plans to meet in Figeac that evening...sadly it did not happen. The following morning, while trying to decide out my day and plans; who should I bump into but Stephanie, a big smile as we met and made plans to spend the afternoon in Figeac and watch the tour de France. Here is the day that is different from the rest. Rather to spend another night in Figeac, and feeling the quiet strain of my schedule tapping on my shoulder, I agreed to join her on taking the bus to the next town, Carjac. I had much diliberation about this, but thought it through and an adventure is an adventure and this was just a bit different, so I hopped the bus. Whether the trail disapproved or it is just my endless waryness of busses in general; true to form, about 10 minutes into the ride, my stomach turned for the worst and spent the hour lying down on the seats hoping to keep my lunch in before arriving. So, sadly I missed the scenery and paid for the day feeling rather ill and queasy, yet had a good nights sleep and was ready for the follwing day of 33km.....all in the rain!  Yes a downpour, with everything soaking through and through, included also was my ipod and camera, but luckily no damage incurred to either! Phew. That evening I stayed in a monastery in Vaylats, accompanies by my new friends Stephanie from NZ, Clement from France and Lionel from Switzerland. The monastery was a beautiful old building; quite large but very peaceful, with an old partially unkempt garden in the back to wander about and sit to enjoy the solitude. We shared dinner together, there were about 8 of us pilgrims and two hospitality folk, the woman sat with us, talking about his and that, very quickly so was very hard to follow along; though her face full of expressions. She was very kind; and also quirky, and took us young pilgrims under her wing, giving us little gifts, while saying in a hushed voice 'do not tell the sisters, for they shouldn't know'.  I think she liked having some young folks around!

     Gracious there are so many stories and things to write and share, I feel like I am missing so many bits and pieces.  Today was a short and mixed travel day, and walked onwards to Cahors with more friends that I have met, one Didi from Germany who I have walked with twice now and is of the same pace as me. He has been on tthe trail much longer than I. June 1st, the day after he retired from work! And will walk to Fisterra, though I think soon our paths will depart, at least for some time, as he has shorter stops in the day s to come and my days prove to be much longer with a hopeful rest in St Jean Pied-a-la-port, where my next pair of shoes and another pair of socks await. Currently, I am with only one pair, having left the second pair at a gite. It wouldn't be for another 10km or so that I would remeber my socks were still haning on the line to dry, and with that distance, not really worth it to go back. There are shops if I really need another pair; For now the load has been slightly lightened. Speaking of loads, my pack is fairly light until I put my weighty sack of food inside, wich seems to be the trouble of all the weight, but there is little i can do to reverse this, unless i choose not to eat, which is an option I have tossed out the window. OUt here it is good to eat and drink to keep the energy up and th emind in good working order. Food has been a tricky subject, but I have it down to an art now, with a hearty breakfast of yogurt, bananas and oats in the morning followed by a cheesy something rather for llunch, carames and nutella and then a dinner of rice and lentils most nights unless there is a dinner for us in which it is a three course meal oftentimes including an omlette. Gluten free options are limited and non existent in teh small villages, and have come to realize the difficulties of making sure I eat enough during the day, thus a baguette is bought and deal with the mild side effects as they present themselves, but am constantly in thought of what I can do for the day to limit how much bread goes in....recently I have been privy to that of prunes, condensed milk and chocolate bars....lots of energy and a regular poop cycle never hurt no? BUt the cheese, oh the cheese is spectacular, and shall be quite difficult to return home, for it is fresh and local here. Currently I have a round of camembert which has begun to smell up my entire bag, overpowering even the smell of my feet. Rather unpleasant but ever so good to eat!

   

 Typically my days begin at 6am, and I am out the door around 6h30 on my way for the day. It's wonderful to begin in the morning for there is a tranquility to the towns, and is a time fo rthoughts and inspirqtion to just come and go at will. IN a few hours the rest of the world awakes and the day settles in, passing many pilgrims, cars and other locals out on their daily routines. The afternoon winds down and the routine of arriving for the day to my gite happens, where the shower is taken, the food is prepared and the schedule for the following day is planned and laid out ready to do. Then it is time to visit and to share in the days experiences with others. Some nights are more tranquile, and others in true french style with singing and many conversations about food. The french love their food and love to talk about their food in great detail, of wines, amazing cafes to visit, the best bakeries, or experiences and recomendations along the way. If I stopped at them all, I fear I shan't ever make it to Santiago, and will need a larger pair of pants! But I keep in mind what is said, and if the chance or occassion arises then I try the places and foods, when in Rome...or rather France.   Currently, I am in Fois Gras country, duck. So will be missing out on this delicacy but there is still the cheese to try.
Today is a national holiday, though I haven't really witnessed anything out of the ordinary. While in Figeac, there was the great wait for the Tour de France to come zooming through which was rather exciting to watch but zoom they came and went, in 30 seconds they were gone.  But the excitement of the towns folk to come out and watch was something to see and be a part of, cheering on the cyclers before returning back to daily life. Perhaps tonight there will be fireworks but there is not much talk or mention so we shall see what the happenings shall be as they arise.

Peaceful monastery in Vaylats, FR

Chapelle Madelaine build into the rocks

Lionel along the chemin

Overlooking Le Puy

20 days, 600km, incredible views and tan lines even farmers would envy

bonjour mes amis!!

greetings to you from the city of Figeac, I have almost reached the halfway mark in France!  Here I am, tan lines and all, 600 km behind me, 1272ish more to go. WOW! Though somedays it feels that I walk hundreds and hundreds more miles than what I have actually walked,  600 certainly feels like a great distance. In truth it's still hard to wrap my head around this.  I don't think I have ever walked 600km in my life! Phew, that is something in itself to be proud of.

Where to even begin this section of letter out to you....hmmm last time I left off was in St. Andre.   As it turned out the days temperature that day soared well above 42 degrees and I was happy to have cut my day as short as I did, no one should be out walking in that sort of heat. Needless to say, the weather made a turn for the better the following day and overall had remained more cool as I have gone up in elevation as I am currently walking through mountains.  Not the large mountains that I am familiar with back in Canada and the US, these mountains are very old and worn down, making them feel more like foothills that I am crossing. What area am I in, you may wonder: Rhone country. First mountains and then the trail takes me back through wine country, meandering through vineyards! Its been quite the treat to have a fresh glass of wine right from where they originate. I've had the splendid opportunity to share a glass or two with the locals along the way, who insist with great passion that you MUST TRY THE WINE, CHEESE and MEAT!!!! I've got two covered, but sadly the meat will remain a mystery behind the magic of meat out here.  I had my first strong cheese experience in St. Miguel. To be fair, I was warned  ahead of time about the cheeses intensity, but of course one can only help but to cut off a modest slice and bite right into it, over-confidently with a look of "don't worry....I can handle it".  I was sitting with the owners of a bed and breakfast I had stumbled upon.  It was the husband who warned me, and was now watching with a bemused twinkle in my eye as I took my big bit of cheese. Smiling, I looked at him, but before I could make the look of "see, its not that strong"  the flavour of intense cheese and pepper exploded on my tongue and nestled quite contentedly in my nose as if there was a small bonfire happening up there. INTENSE does not begin to describe the feeling my tastebuds were experiencing in that moment. Part of me wanted to cry, all the while the husband continued to watch.  A great laugh came out as I tried searching for anything to make the flavour stop hurting.  The wife got up from the table returning with a bottle of wine and poured me a very generous glass.  Both insisted I drink it up as it would help to subdue the shock of the cheese. The husband, after he had his good laugh suggested that I ought to stick with the lighter cheeses. It was clear, I needed to build up to the stronger cheeses!   

The trail continues to be interesting; varying from paved to dirt roads, to rubble rocks with a small peppering of trails as I am more familiar to back home. Gone are the rugged and wild places of home, in replace is something more tame and structured, but it offers something that I have yet to put my finger on. Though walking on roads, it still feels as though I am walking along something special. The small shell and GR posts that mark the way on the camino are subtle. At times I wonder if the villagers notice these markings? Do they go unseen? Then what I begin to wonder, if back home there are also little markings in the towns and cities that are for trails that I haven't noticed before. How much, I wonder, do we notice in the small things? The last few days threw an extra spin to the mix.  The camino actually takes you through cow pastures.  Along the trail, I have come to several gates, with "please close behind you signs" before walking amongst the cows. It's a strange feeling. Sometimes peaceful, othertimes slighly nerve racking from getting the death stare from the bull...as if he was saying 'hey! don't touch my women you hear? I have horns and can you hear my grunt of disapproval? just you keep walking human' and so I do, happy to walk over cow patties and be on my merry way. 

Le Puy was the first city I reached since leaving Geneva. It is an interesting city to visit, and where I had my first day off to collect my senses while organizing myself for the next section. Coming into Le Puy en Velay, one is met with a strange looking site: there is an abbey atop an old volcano, that overlooks the city. As I found out, Le Puy in translation means tip of the volcano, while velay is french for Valley. And that is exactly what it looks like.  The abby was built in the 16th century sometime and you can climb up the volcano via endless stairs; to which an incredible view awaits.  I chose to stay grounded and look up instead of braving the stairs....after a long days walk, thousands of stairs was not really looking like an enticing option. Ho hum, perhaps another visit down the road... Le Puy is home and known for its traditional handmade lace making which is still in practice today. The lace makers use the tradtional bobbin method, 10's of bobbins all laid out, following an intricate pattern that only the maker can follow.  It is mind blowing to watch, their hands move so fast following a pattern. I tried to follow along but I couldn't. Mesmerizing. 

Leaving Le Puy felt very different from my departure in Geneva. On the morning I was to set out back on the chemin, I attended the traditional pilgrims mass at the Cathedral de Notre Dame de Le Puy, the home of the black virgin. Here pilgrims left en mass, there were about 60 of us spilling out the doors, laden with our packs ready to greet the trail ahead. In the start it felt like a marathon, eager pilgrims, all trying to figure out their pace. Many french walkers, but I am happy to report, that there was a family of 5 setting out from Quebec! Pretty cool to have some home grown canadians sharing the trail, though their time is shorter with only three weeks.  This section has proven to be good with many more pilgrims to meet and talk with, even if most are only on short holidays.  it is nice to now have more people to share the evenings with in conversation and good company. My french has improved,  my vocabulary continues to be limited to simple words and phrases but the folks have been kind and many will sit and talk with me, asking questions and sharing their stories. Last night I shared a gite with my first English pilgrims, and sat about drinking cups of tea, in fact, after stepping through the door, hot and winded from an incredibly long day, the woman looked at me and asked 'would you care for a cup of tea?' I looked at her nearly in tears from contentedness at this simple lovely question and responded, 'yes!' 

Had my first rainshower yesterday, which was a refreshing change to the heat, birds still merrily chirping about in the trees, happy too I think, for a little relief. But the rainshower was short and soon the afternoon turned to heat, with the slow going setting in with steep hills to climb. I have decided that the french like to attack hills the way one pulls off a bandaid. No nonesense of putting in a few switchbacks, just go straight up instead. So up up up up up I went, then straight down down down down I go, only to be met around the bend by another up hill! My heart I feel, if looked under a microscope will have little abs, for it is certainly getting a workout.  I have always struggled with hills of many shapes and sizes but each challenge brings rewards and a smile to know that, though intimidating; its possible to get up even if it takes a very long time! But for now, I think I have said goodbye to the mountains and will be met with more gentle rollng hills until I reach the pyrenees (in a week or so....). From here, as my guidebook indicates, I will be in much lower elevation. Bring on the heat! It's time time to start aclimatizing before spain!

There is still much to say and share, however, my time is limited with the computer, and I feel that I have written you a book already! Thinking of you all out here, lots of reminders of peple, places and things from home.

A bientot!