Ola!
I hope this post finds you all well. I am writing this from the A/C comfort of an Internet cafe in Pamplona. That's right, Greg and I have walked from London to Spain. So now I go from speaking bad French to bad Spanish. To my utmost surprise I am still really enjoying the walking - I´d almost say I´m liking it more. Very strange. It seems we have walked over 1200 km to be here. As always, I am not short of random thoughts and I will now humbly lay them down before ye:
(I have updated the latest photos - these can be found in both the "Month 2" and "Camino Proper" sets. Unfortunately some of the earlier photos cannot be seen due to the limit on the free account).
- What did I make of France? Overall, I felt a bit like how I used to feel when a teenager and staying for a weekend at my granny's house. A pleasant enough experience with lots of politeness and respect but ultimately a bit dull. France just doesn´t seem to know how to have fun. Compared to the UK, pretty much every place I travelled through felt a bit quiet and under-populated and this was during their peek holiday season. Most bars and cafes would be lucky to have more than a dozen people in, and most of them would nurse a tiny glass of wine for the entire evening - that's IF they were feeling adventurous, otherwise it would most certainly be a soft-drink. Judging by the state of their economy, I would suspect that part of the reason for this phenomena is the low level of disposable income. The French, it appears, can´t afford to get their round in. I can´t remember seeing any significant evidence of 30 somethings having fun outside of their homes. Most venues seemed populated by young teenagers. I guess the 30+ are either in each others' homes or having clandestine meetings with one of their many lovers. Don´t get me wrong, France is a beautiful country with vast potential but it really does need Sarkozy to kick it´s socialist derriere into the 21st century.
French anecdotes continued...
- I still feel a little embarrassed when recalling that while in La Rochelle I mistook a piece of street "installation art" as a bin and duly placed my used kebab wrapper into the centre of the piece.
- In one of the campsites, Greg insisted on playing an arcade game called "Emergency Call Ambulance". Is it just me or is this a truly bizarre game concept? For a mere Euro you get to be the driver of an ambulance desperately trying to get various patients in a host of potentially life threatening states to hospital before both your time and their lives expire. Ostensibly a racing game, every time you hit the crash barrier or another vehicle you get to observe your patient going through a variety of life shortening seizures. If you crash badly enough or run out of time, so does your patient. Weird. Why does this game seem so wrong to me?
- Remarkably Greg and I have only have had one real disagreement. As you might expect, we have had lots of controversial conversations over the past three months. We have hotly debated topics including euthanasia, abortion, religion, politics, love, music, literature yet it wasn´t one of these debates that caused the final disagreement that resulted in us spending the day apart. The cause of our spat? The folding of a map. Or more accurately, the fact that I didn´t fold a map properly. Fortunately, our profound love and respect for one another, enabled us to heal the rift caused by this cartographic conflict.
- Greg and I walked past some French men having a bar-be-que about 3 metres away from where a petroleum lorry was pumping its cargo into a petrol storage facility. Despite our tired legs, we suddenly found the energy to significantly quicken our pace.
- While reading Aldous Huxley's "Island" (which is a truly badly written book but with some interesting ideas) I noticed two lines which I think are rather clever:
"We cannot reason ourselves out of our basic irrationality. All we can do is to learn the art of being irrational in a reasonable way." Indeed.
- On one particularly good day, Greg and I walked over 40 kilometres without really planning to. On kilometre 37 Greg turned to me and said, "Just think, if we were on a golf cart we could have covered what took us a complete day, in less than an hour." When all this is over, I´m gonna miss Greg´s motivational talks.
- Near Hasparren (in Basque part of France - hot-bed of Basque independence resistance) Greg and I spent two nights in a Benedictine Monastery with monks. We spent one day attending all 6 services (first one at 6.20am) and as most of the prayers were sung I rather enjoyed the experience. Not understanding French, I suspect, was an advantage. The monks make and drink their own wine. As Greg and I are abstaining from alcohol and caffeine (and nicotine for Greg) we refused. How often do I get to appear more well-living than a monk?! We also ate with the monks. They eat in silence while one of them recites parts of religious texts. My main observation was the incredible speed with which these guys eat. I kid you not, I reckon they eat 3 course in less than 7 minutes. The place definitely needs a woman´s calming touch I thought but fortunately I withheld such non-conformist thoughts.
- And now to Spain. To be honest it´s too early for many thoughts. I am however deeply concerned as to the haircuts most women seem to be sporting here. The mullet seems very much in. Oh dear.
- The "Camino Proper" starts from Saint-Jean-Pied-a-Port and finishes at Compestella. So for the past 4 days (and for the rest of our pilgrimage) we have joined the multitudes of pilgrims. Compared to the previous 1200 or so kms this final "leg" feels very simple and relatively easy. I never thought I´d regard walking almost 800km (remaining distance) as "easy".
- Last night we stayed in a horrible pension. The owner was a drunk and the rooms were claustrophobic and dirty. Greg was convinced the mirror in the bathroom was two-way and that there was a dead person in the room next to us. I don´t know if Greg´s suspicions were founded but am distressed that today I have started itching again. And so it seems I remain on the samsara circuit... .
Adios. x
Wednesday, 29 August 2007
Tuesday, 14 August 2007
A Lycra Lament
Bonsoir,
before I begin this post proper, I feel an overwhelming need to raise the issue of Speedos. Now as I'm sure those of you that have been to France are aware, French men seem to have a per chant for the wearing of tight-fitting Lycra swimwear. Fair enough, you might think. Why interfere in a man's need to wear spandex while strolling around the pool-side? Under normal circumstances, I too would be tolerant of such poor taste and vanity-gone-badly-wrong. But I'm afraid recently, I have moved from the camp of neutral observer to outright critic. The reason? In many pools, if you are male, you are not allowed to enter UNLESS you are wearing these fashion disasters. Personally, if I was a life-guard I would make the wearing of these Lycra garments (that leave very little to the imagination) a reason NOT to allow a man near a swimming pool. The world is indeed upside down.
O.K. got that off my chest. We are now in a small town called Parentis-en-Born. This means we have walked about 850 kms. Très bien, non? To increase the challenge further, starting Saturday 11th August Greg and I made the pact to complete the rest of the pilgrimage without consuming any alcohol or caffeine and Greg is also forgoing his nicotine hits. For those of you that know me well, I'm sure you will appreciate the scale of this personal challenge but we are both determined to prove we are masters of our vices (and not their slaves) and that we truly get the most out of this pilgrimage by living as well as possible.
After much deliberation, I have decided to ask for sponsorship for this pilgrimage. Some of you will know that I have been involved with an inspirational poetry group for several years now and it is this group I would like to raise some funds. The group is called "Mental Fight Club" - and their purpose is aptly summarised on their website:
"Mental Fight Club has around 500 members, around half of whom have direct experience of mental illness either as sufferers or carers. Our aim is to hold creative events which explore some aspect of mental illness or well-being through any human discipline – the arts, science, philosophy, sport, religion".
Check their website if you'd like to know more:
http://uk.geocities.com/gabrielejenkinson@btinternet.com/home.html
I am good friends with Sarah Wheeler, the founder and leader of Mental Fight Club and can only assure you that any money raised will be very well spent. Any money given will be very gratefully received but if you were to sponsor me 1p per kilometre that would be the princely sum of £20! The easiest way to get money to this organisation is to write a cheque made out to:
"Mental Fight Club"
c/o 21 Douglas Buildings,
Marshalsea Rd.,
London,
SE1 1EJ.
Enough of the appeal already.
And so to thoughts de la Seth in no particular order:
- Yesterday, I identified a sign on the map that we weren't able to find on the map's key and therefore decode. The road hugging the west coast, that we planned to travel down, had red lines through it for about 20 kilometres. Being generally the more cautious of the two, I suggested to Greg that perhaps these lines meant we couldn't use this road. Greg assured me that it would be fine and creatively suggested that perhaps the lines suggested that it was an access route for the fire service. Easily persuaded (especially when Greg's interpretation stood to save us lots of extra walking if correct) I agreed to "suck-it-and-see". It was only when we happened upon a more detailed map (courtesy of the tourist office) that we realised that our "short-cut" was actually a road straight through the French Land Armies HQ. Interestingly they also test missiles here. The detour around this site has put about 35km on our journey which is frustrating but infinitely better than being hounded by the French Foreign Legion.
- We often walk at night. It's very cool and eerily beautiful. However, sometimes we walk along paths where the tress are close enough for large spiders to make webs. Having my head enveloped in a large web with the possibility of its owner being on my body helps keep me awake.
- More recently, we have taken to camping "Au Sauvage" (in the wild). This is to save money (campsites can be ridiculously expensive) and gives us the freedom to tailor our routes to our own needs. Only once have we been woken by the gendame (police) and he was driving a quod bike and very happy so that's good.
- We stayed in a church garden for two nights. At night, one of the monks led a punk rock band in a gig in front of the church. He even did a Neal Young number. I am impressed by any man that can make the wearing of a brown robe and sandals look cool. A truly funky monk.
- We met a woman called Katrina. She was from Germany. She worked in a book shop. She wore glasses. These details are only incidental as to why I'm mentioning this encounter. Katrina had an experience, that before hearing of it, I was convinced only occurred in people's bad dreams. Katrina was a nudist (she was wearing clothes when I met her - I'm not not that sort of pilgrim don't you know!) One afternoon, Katrina left all her clothes and valuables on the sand and went for a long (naked) swim. When she returned to the place she thought she had left her possessions, she could find nothing but sand. Without her glasses, Katrina could barely see and so stumbled for nearly an hour along the tourist-packed beach looking for her belongings. All her lotion had been washed off so Katrina was also getting progressively burnt. Eventually, a kind sole took pity on her plight and helped her locate her possessions. I think Katrina should reconsider the merits of nudism in a largely clothes orientated society.
- Security guards in campsites often have batons, mace and attack dogs. What ever happened to the "happy camper" ideal such that camping patrons might cause difficulty requiring their temporary blinding and possible beating/dog savaging to be subdued?
- The other day, while talking to Greg I found myself saying, "I prefer purple madness to gentle sadness". Could this be the start of my song-writing career? Or was this just a flash-in-the-pan one hit wonder?
- I needed to see a doctor a few days ago to have my back looked at. Unfortunately my alarm failed but yet I still got up in time (unusual for me). How? Well as we were sleeping in the church garden I was initially awoken by the peel of bells. But then I fell back to sleep again. 30 minutes later I was woken again by the sound of singing as part of mass. Yet again I managed to fall back to sleep. Finally a group of enthusiastic students held a heated discussion (in French) about the bible right next to my tent. And I was well and truly awake for the day. Indeed, he works in mysterious ways.
Tonight we plan to "camp wild" with the added excitement of knowing that it will be within the vicinity of the military barracks. This is adrenaline Pilgrimaging at it's finest... x
(I haven't been able to upload the latest photos yet and will let you know when I have updated them.)
before I begin this post proper, I feel an overwhelming need to raise the issue of Speedos. Now as I'm sure those of you that have been to France are aware, French men seem to have a per chant for the wearing of tight-fitting Lycra swimwear. Fair enough, you might think. Why interfere in a man's need to wear spandex while strolling around the pool-side? Under normal circumstances, I too would be tolerant of such poor taste and vanity-gone-badly-wrong. But I'm afraid recently, I have moved from the camp of neutral observer to outright critic. The reason? In many pools, if you are male, you are not allowed to enter UNLESS you are wearing these fashion disasters. Personally, if I was a life-guard I would make the wearing of these Lycra garments (that leave very little to the imagination) a reason NOT to allow a man near a swimming pool. The world is indeed upside down.
O.K. got that off my chest. We are now in a small town called Parentis-en-Born. This means we have walked about 850 kms. Très bien, non? To increase the challenge further, starting Saturday 11th August Greg and I made the pact to complete the rest of the pilgrimage without consuming any alcohol or caffeine and Greg is also forgoing his nicotine hits. For those of you that know me well, I'm sure you will appreciate the scale of this personal challenge but we are both determined to prove we are masters of our vices (and not their slaves) and that we truly get the most out of this pilgrimage by living as well as possible.
After much deliberation, I have decided to ask for sponsorship for this pilgrimage. Some of you will know that I have been involved with an inspirational poetry group for several years now and it is this group I would like to raise some funds. The group is called "Mental Fight Club" - and their purpose is aptly summarised on their website:
"Mental Fight Club has around 500 members, around half of whom have direct experience of mental illness either as sufferers or carers. Our aim is to hold creative events which explore some aspect of mental illness or well-being through any human discipline – the arts, science, philosophy, sport, religion".
Check their website if you'd like to know more:
http://uk.geocities.com/gabrielejenkinson@btinternet.com/home.html
I am good friends with Sarah Wheeler, the founder and leader of Mental Fight Club and can only assure you that any money raised will be very well spent. Any money given will be very gratefully received but if you were to sponsor me 1p per kilometre that would be the princely sum of £20! The easiest way to get money to this organisation is to write a cheque made out to:
"Mental Fight Club"
c/o 21 Douglas Buildings,
Marshalsea Rd.,
London,
SE1 1EJ.
Enough of the appeal already.
And so to thoughts de la Seth in no particular order:
- Yesterday, I identified a sign on the map that we weren't able to find on the map's key and therefore decode. The road hugging the west coast, that we planned to travel down, had red lines through it for about 20 kilometres. Being generally the more cautious of the two, I suggested to Greg that perhaps these lines meant we couldn't use this road. Greg assured me that it would be fine and creatively suggested that perhaps the lines suggested that it was an access route for the fire service. Easily persuaded (especially when Greg's interpretation stood to save us lots of extra walking if correct) I agreed to "suck-it-and-see". It was only when we happened upon a more detailed map (courtesy of the tourist office) that we realised that our "short-cut" was actually a road straight through the French Land Armies HQ. Interestingly they also test missiles here. The detour around this site has put about 35km on our journey which is frustrating but infinitely better than being hounded by the French Foreign Legion.
- We often walk at night. It's very cool and eerily beautiful. However, sometimes we walk along paths where the tress are close enough for large spiders to make webs. Having my head enveloped in a large web with the possibility of its owner being on my body helps keep me awake.
- More recently, we have taken to camping "Au Sauvage" (in the wild). This is to save money (campsites can be ridiculously expensive) and gives us the freedom to tailor our routes to our own needs. Only once have we been woken by the gendame (police) and he was driving a quod bike and very happy so that's good.
- We stayed in a church garden for two nights. At night, one of the monks led a punk rock band in a gig in front of the church. He even did a Neal Young number. I am impressed by any man that can make the wearing of a brown robe and sandals look cool. A truly funky monk.
- We met a woman called Katrina. She was from Germany. She worked in a book shop. She wore glasses. These details are only incidental as to why I'm mentioning this encounter. Katrina had an experience, that before hearing of it, I was convinced only occurred in people's bad dreams. Katrina was a nudist (she was wearing clothes when I met her - I'm not not that sort of pilgrim don't you know!) One afternoon, Katrina left all her clothes and valuables on the sand and went for a long (naked) swim. When she returned to the place she thought she had left her possessions, she could find nothing but sand. Without her glasses, Katrina could barely see and so stumbled for nearly an hour along the tourist-packed beach looking for her belongings. All her lotion had been washed off so Katrina was also getting progressively burnt. Eventually, a kind sole took pity on her plight and helped her locate her possessions. I think Katrina should reconsider the merits of nudism in a largely clothes orientated society.
- Security guards in campsites often have batons, mace and attack dogs. What ever happened to the "happy camper" ideal such that camping patrons might cause difficulty requiring their temporary blinding and possible beating/dog savaging to be subdued?
- The other day, while talking to Greg I found myself saying, "I prefer purple madness to gentle sadness". Could this be the start of my song-writing career? Or was this just a flash-in-the-pan one hit wonder?
- I needed to see a doctor a few days ago to have my back looked at. Unfortunately my alarm failed but yet I still got up in time (unusual for me). How? Well as we were sleeping in the church garden I was initially awoken by the peel of bells. But then I fell back to sleep again. 30 minutes later I was woken again by the sound of singing as part of mass. Yet again I managed to fall back to sleep. Finally a group of enthusiastic students held a heated discussion (in French) about the bible right next to my tent. And I was well and truly awake for the day. Indeed, he works in mysterious ways.
Tonight we plan to "camp wild" with the added excitement of knowing that it will be within the vicinity of the military barracks. This is adrenaline Pilgrimaging at it's finest... x
(I haven't been able to upload the latest photos yet and will let you know when I have updated them.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)