Shoe

Many people on the Camino spend their time contemplating deep loss. I have met several folks who have lost brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers.  So one might imagine my shame and silliness at feeling so sad about losing my shoe.

Yes. It was just a shoe. How important is a shoe? You see them dangling from telephone wires and strewn on the side of the road. I have a closet full of them.

But a shoe to a Peregrino has a bit more significance. Losing one means that I have to stop the journey until I find it or get a new pair. And a new pair entails breaking in a new pair, buying a new pair, trusting a new pair.

My first world problems of not having a shoe seemed trivial and my angst about it seemed unnecessary. I was so self conscious about this, I even thought about avoiding talking about it thinking that it was whiny and negative.

But when I did talk about it, I was met with such sincere compassion. Etienne, the bicyclist from Brittania, even offered to remount his bike and go out looking for it. The woman from Germany had a great list of suggestions including one-day shipping from Amazon and taking a taxi to all the albergues nearby to ask if it had turned up.

Then there was the interesting conversations about what would you do if you were on the Camino and found a shoe. Would you bring it to the next village on the off chance that the other foot would have landed in THAT particular Albergue? Or would you leave it on the road in a prominent place, just in case the other foot came looking for it?

It all started with nobility!

When I decided to wear my sandals for a few laps (just to air out my feet), John gallantly offered to carry my shoes to lighten my load. I gratefully tied each shoe carefully onto his backpack and made a promise to myself to keep an eye on them as we walked.

Well...the heat was intense and the cool distractions like a shady underpass with a breeze and a cold running river must have distracted me too much, because we arrived at Lorca with only one shoe.

The reality was hard to accept, so I walked back for a couple miles to look for it. Walking BACK on the Camino, after a long hard day of walking is a big deal. I usually arrive at our destination totally wiped out. Spent. Hot and tired. So to turn around and have to go back on that dusty, hot road again...That's why I promised myself that I would treat myself to,an Uber if I found my shoe.

No Uber treat occurred.

The next stage was the letting go. I spent about 45 mins looking for shoe stores nearby and debating with myself how I would try to,get new shoes since the next day was Sunday and the next village had a population of 2000. All the while I was grieving the loss of that one shoe that had traveled so far and worked so hard to get here. I imagined it out there all alone. Empty.

I had also lost some faith in the Camino. We had noticed that people would suddenly show up just in the nick of time to stop us from taking a wrong turn or a watermelon stand would appear suddenly when we were parched and tired. All this talk of miracles didn't seem to apply to sore, tired feet though. I went to sleep without hope or faith.

As we were leaving for the next village, where I had found a few shoe stores, John and I debated whether to stop for coffee. We randomly chose a spot near our albergue.

Upon entering we saw Raoul and Guadalupe from Mexico that we had met the first night of our journey. After a cheerful reunion, Guadalupe asked how our trip had been so far. At first I hesitated to mention my missing shoe for fear of dampening the joy. But I chose to say something.

She lit up and said, “There is a shoe here.”

I had little hope of it being mine. After all, what are the chances that someone would find it and bring it to the same cafe that we randomly chose for breakfast.

Well it was my shoe. I swooned and sobbed when I recognized it. The French man that had found it was actually sitting at a table in the cafe. I hugged him! He seemed delighted and a bit overwhelmed by my enthusiasm.

John and I have conversed again and again about the perfect timing and circumstances that have led my shoes back to each other and others along the way have all taken a keen interest in the journey of my own Keene hiking shoes.

Just this afternoon Etienne rode by on his bike and saw that my shoes were back on my feet again.

“Ah. You found your shoes, yes?”

Yes!

Blackberries

When my sister died several years ago, I  recognized a relationship that I had with blackberries.  I discovered my appreciation for them in a new way.

Anyway, you can read about that here if you like. goo.gl/nxACVf

I wonder if perfect things happen when you're suffering because you're suffering or it's because you're suffering you see the perfection of things or if it's all just strange coincidences or weird poetry.

I do know that my relationship with blackberries has come up again while walking the Camino. I noticed that I see blackberries constantly along the way. John stops to,pick them...I stop to eat them (usually the ones he picks). But I notice that others...like everybody...except a couple Japanese guys...don't seem interested at all in the delicious blackberry.

I enjoy the blackberry tremendously. But it can only be truly enjoyed when you're parched, a bit exhausted and a little bored. Its only then that you can truly contemplate the subtle and complex flavor and texture of the blackberry.

If you read my other piece about Joanne, you would know that I equated the blackberry with hope and moving beyond suffering. I realized that I could always count on blackberries “on the other side”. It has seemed that enduring the heat and long walk have made the blackberries particularly auspicious on this trip.

It may just be me making them mean more than they do, but I'm really enjoying the blackberries on the Camino and they are certainly making these steps a little easier.

Ouch

Ouch! Every muscle of my body aches. My feet, my legs, my shoulders...all ache! In massage school I learned that we build muscle through tiny micro-tears in our muscles when we use them. So I'm envisioning my muscles with those tears just aching.

I'm not into pain..I don't like pushing my body too hard. In a previous post, I mentioned warning John that I'm not doing the Camino because I want to suffer.

So, it begs the question, why. Why am I doing this HUGE walk. I thought I might enjoy the scenery, which I truly have. I liked the idea of not making a lot of decisions every day, which I have not. I thought I might get some spiritual enlightenment, which I just might have.

So a few years ago, I got hugged by Amma, and I think I had a moment when I realized that spiritual enlightenment isn't about suffering (which I pretty much grew up trained to believe by the Greek Orthodox church). It’s actually about bliss. So there I had it. I had the secret to enlightenment! I just had to pursue bliss!

A great guru once said, “It takes great effort to stay afloat on the sea of bliss.” So I figured that meant more meditation (which can feel like a kind of suffering).

But I think the suffering I've been experiencing has contributed to some bliss. After yesterday, I was so physically miserable, I started to question, AGAIN, what I'm doing here.

But today was such an amazing day. I was dancing the Camino. I felt so elated. Singing, laughing, SKINNY DIPPING. And it had a lot to do with the contrast with the intense discomfort of endlessly walking. Relentlessly experiencing physical pain. The sky was bluer. The leaves were greener. I felt a closer connection to John...to others. I don't know if this is the answer or do I presume to present it as anything more than a wonder. In fact...there's a part of me that doesn't really care to figure it out too much.

But I think I might like to swim in the sea of bliss again.

Optimism Rules

So after my last insecure whine I learned some lessons about having faith in the universe?...myself?...the camino?  Well, okay, not myself...quite yet.

We arrived a day early in St. Jean Pied de Port (Camino base camp). We couldn't get a place in Bayonne and decided that we would just continue on to St. Jean for an extra day. After our first day, we decided that we would just “stroll” up to Orisson where we had a “coveted” reservation in two days. We thought “it’s only about five miles. We can just walk up and walk back down for practice.”

Well...five miles UPHILL is not quite the same as five miles through Portland streets.

As I struggled with each step, I imagined myself pleading with the host at Orisson to change our reservation. I imagined her carefully repeating the RULES to me. I imagined my shame in not following them. But I also entertained the REALITY that I probably would need to return to St. Jean and walk the difficult first leg of the Camino AGAIN.

Maybe it was the endorphins, but I found myself laughing at my own foolish hubris in thinking the walk up to Orisson was just a “stroll”.

Anyway...we arrived and our fantastic host easily and gracefully found us a space to lay our weary bodies. I was so shocked. A reservation at Orisson usually needs to be made months in advance. Then, when John asked for a bottom bunk, she found us a double bed instead!

Of course, I felt terrible about cancelling our reservations in St. Jean. Again, these are coveted things for pilgrims. I rehearsed my confession to her and even planned to offer to pay anyway. I imagined her scolding me and reminding me that other pilgrims need that space. But, our phone call was very pleasant and she completely understood.

All of my fears were completely unwarranted. Every fear I wasted on that rigorous stroll up the hill may as well have been spent swimming even deeper into the amazing landscape all around me. Why did I assume the worst? Why didn't I just imagine the best? So often, everything works out for the best! How much of my life force is wasted readying myself for stuff that never happens?

I did manage to capture a few perfect images of my walk though.

Unexpected Baggage

I packed for this trip very carefully. Only three pair of underwear. Special clothes with wicking fabric. Sleep sack, $50 poncho! Scallop shell.

The advice is to only carry one tenth of your body weight, which for me, before the French fries, is about 14.5 lbs. So when my bag was 15 lbs. I felt okay, successful, perhaps a wee bit too heavy?

What I hadn't accounted for was the 50 tons of emotional baggage. So the past few days of me doubting myself, feeling inadequate, not Parisienne or Camino or Peregrino, I knew I had more baggage problems than I had accounted for.

Sitting on the final train to St. Jean, looking at all the other Peregrinos boarding, I started to have a sinking fear. A trapped feeling. Social awkwardness and insecurity hopped on my back along with my special underwear that dry-really-fast-and-i-haven't-even-used-yet- cause-they-seem-so-important. That feeling of what if they decide that I'm not worthy? Or I get judged for being an American (which god knows I must deserve cause Donald Trump is President) Or what am I doing here anyway? When folks ask,why am I walking the Camino, am I going to feel as full of shit as I'm afraid I sound?

Then of course there was the part of me saying, ‘Jesus Marcia, you're 56 years old, when are you going to stop thinking like a fourteen year old’.

Yes. Lots of extra baggage for this trip.

Paris Concerns

Everyone in Paris looks like they're in a movie to me. The tour guide on the Seine, the waitress in the hotel, the guy on the side of the Seine practicing boxing, the couple flirting with each other in the cafe. They all look like actors.

I'm sure it has everything to do with the fact that all of my impressions of Paris come from movies. From the Davinci Code to Casablanca, I just have memories of movies. Drinking Perrier with John in a French cafe makes me think I’M in a movie!

But...the REALITY of Paris has everything to do with FOOD. Every time we eat I wonder if I'm having a TRUE Paris food experience. I want to experience steak frites, the truffle, beef bourginon, French cheese in all its smelly glory. I have had 6 macaroons and they were truly glorious...so light and crisp! I think I should try caviar and champagne. ESCARGOT. What if I don't experience escargot?

And...of course, there are all of the things I don't even know I should experience. What if I don't try the most important food of Paris?

Perhaps not?

For weeks I've been referring to this trip as a long walk. John consistently gives me a look that warns that I might be minimizing the experience. But it is a walk! I don't really like to hike. I never go into the white mountains or even Morse mountain. But at the airport, people see our back packs and ask where we are “hiking”.

While camping at Hermit Island, I read a book about the Camino, “Walk in a Relaxed Manner”. In a couple chapters, she writes about the hardships she and her partner endured...like cold, hunger, pain! The next morning I said to John, “You know, I'm not doing this because I want to suffer!”

It occurred to me that this might be more than just a long walk.

Two nights before we were to leave for the Camino, I woke up at 3 am and lay in bed wondering, ‘what the fuck am I doing”. When people ask me why I'm doing it, I usually come up with some reasonable response, but in the wee hours of the morning, those reasonable thoughts don't really hold up.

Am I seeking spiritual enlightenment? Sure. I'm always doing that...sorta...although, I don't think Rachel Maddow or Game of Thrones supports that goal very much.

But I think of spiritual enlightenment as about achieving BLISS. That's the imagery that comes to mind when I think about the Camino. Walking...strolling through the Spanish countryside, meeting new people, eating great food. But I think I might have also signed on for blisters, aching muscles, scrappy sleeping conditions and apparently...French fries (a popular item on the Pilgrim menu)

Well, life IS full of surprises. I'll remain cautiously optimistic..and there's always Paris.