Camino Entry 63

Entry 63, January 26^th, 2012

Sitting in the Dublin airport, around 7:30am local time. I managed to get some sleep . . . makeshift sleeping locations keep the pilgrim inside of me smiling.

I have been experiencing periods of “fuzzy” as I am living life after the camino. These are interspersed with moments of clarity where I feel like a pilgrim again. I just skimmed through Coelho's book on his pilgrimage and it has left me feeling clear, calm, and fluid.

The clarity is where I want to remain. Fatigue and sickness have me worn down somewhat, as well as being traveling for 11 months. But the camino has left me with a powerful spiritual momentum as well. Peter was right – the way back is just as important as the way there. I wonder if the way back is the secret camino mentioned by Coelho's guide?

But this was not the right camino to walk back. It wasn't the right camino at all, in some ways – I mean, it was exactly the right camino for the moment, but it is not my camino. It was training, the beginning, the test run. My camino lies somewhere more personal to me. It will be a path much like the first part in Cataluña – intense and walked alone.

Although maybe I am wrong. Maybe Santiago became a part of my personal mythology through these experiences. I don't know. I feel the fog returning. I needed to walk the way back, but where would I have walked back to? It is going to take me a while to sort through all of this. I am unsure about the third liminal stage.

Later

The British couldn't do it, but the Irish have sold me on the idea of beans as breakfast food. And I was the only Yankee on a flight of all Irish people last night . . . just as the British accent makes dental visits bearable, the Irish accent makes flying a pleasure.

The one comforting thing about living a life asleep is that you wouldn't notice being asleep.

I must remember that the camino was not a paradise of clarity and the beginner mind – rather, it was usually confusion, frustration, doubt, and fear. There is no reason to expect normal life to be any different.

Kenny Werner says that struggling young musicians keep playing music because either 1. They love doing it, 2. They need to express themselves, or 3. They're afraid not to do it. This is something I need to look inside myself and find the answer to. Although I suppose my actions will answer it for me. Damn, I prayed to have the strength to act despite fear, and it might take me away from the music.

But if it takes me away from the music, I was never that close to begin with.

Later

Just went through US customs! Huge American flag! Big picture of Barack Obama! So excited to be going home. It is about three times more complicated than all of the other customs, but everyone here has been really profession and friendly. Good to have real, green, freedom-loving money in my pocket instead of that Hasbro Euro shit. 'Muhrica!

I love the United States. Sitting on the EL from O'Hare to Union Station, a woman across from me was having a conversation about bidding on a mule via an iPhone. She mentoined Wyoming and so after her call I asked if she knew Pinesdale . . . she does! I need to tell Ryan that I met the fire marschall from Jackson Hole on her way to see the Chicago Symphony perform Carmina Burana.

Midwesterners are friendlier. I didn't notice before leaving for a year, but I have been having conversations with total strangers ever since I landed. This just doesn't happen in Europe.

The Midwest is resplendent with ugly January. I love it. Dead brown trees, dirty snow, cracked pavement, people hunched over in winter coats. It exists under harsh orange streetlamps, visible in fleeting images as Amtrak #354 speeds out of Chicago. It is ugly and I love it. It is the land of the blues.

Our country deserves better, though, especially passenger rail. Nobody does freight rail on the scale we do or as well, but Amtrak sucks. Underfunded and out of date. If the political will doesn't exist to rebuild passenger rail in this country, somebody else should do it. Someone like me.

The railroad narrative is very different between Europe and here. In Europe, the story is of a beautiful symphony of rail lines, curving together in crescendos and decrescendos in a work of art. The fact that trains run on them is secondary. In the USA, though, it is all about the lone locomotive, setting out to do battle with the elements. The traveler conquering the terrain.

Expenses, Day 63

Irish Breakfast: 9.95

Extra Luggage: 50.00

Total: 59.95

Trip Total: 1574.77

Camino Entry 62

Entry 62, January 25^th, 2012

Went for a late paella lunch today with the three Brazilians. It was delicious, and we sat in view of the beach . . . what a good way to say goodbye to Barcelona, Spain, and Europe in general. I can't believe I have been here for nine months, and that I'm finally leaving!

Expenses, Day 62

Excellent farewell lunch: 35.00

Bus to Airport: 5.30

Total: 40.30

Trip Total: 1514.82

Camino Entry 61

Entry 61, January 24^th, 2012

Ah. It is good to be back in Barcelona. I am at La Pallaresa right now with chocolate and churros.

The hostal is filled of Brazilians and Australians, as usual. There was one particularly vivacious and beautiful Brazilian girl named Marcella who wants to walk the camino but keeps putting it off . . . I gave her one of my yellow arrows as a good luck charm. Maybe this is a violation of the rules, maybe I only did it because she was beautiful – fuck it, I did it and it was good.

She also knows Clifford Brown, so I should give myself a little more credit. They wanted to hear me play . . . I let myself be convinced, and I played Stardust despite being two months out of shape. The trumpet has not felt that strange in a long, long time. Not only am I weak, but it feels alien on my face. Weird.

Afterward she and a Brazilian guy who plays guitar gave me some Brazilian artists to check out. We'll play again tonight I hope.

Still sick as a dog. Time to run some errands.

Expenses, Day 61

Chocolate con churros: 4.30

Equipment for trip home: 18.00

New netbook charger + adapter: 50.00

Total: 72.30

Trip Total: 1474.52

Camino Entry 60

Entry 60, January 23^rd, 2012

I'm not sure which is more amazing – that I walked from Barcelona to Santiago in 51 days, or that I traveled from Santiago to Barcelona in an hour and twenty minutes the other way. Woke up at 6am, was in Barcelona by 11. Shit.

One of the other guests at the albergue was kind enough to wake me up, as I have no alarm clock. They start today to Finisterra and are so excited they were up till 3am. I'm happy to see other pilgrims starting a journey.

Packing my carry on, I realized that I have become one of those people that everyone else mentions to their family when they travel. My carry on is a plastic shopping bag containing only a collection of shells wrapped in a towel and a battered copy of the Tao te Ching. This, along with the floppy hat and patches of beard, is how the nice Galician tourism survey girl knew I was a pilgrim.

I feel like a spy in a foreign land. My insides are those of a pilgrim (I hope that never changes) and I feel a total disconnect from the concerns of those around me. It feels good. Those three days back from Finisterra were well spent.

While talking with Simon I realized what my next quest will be. I want to find someone enlightened, someone who has figured “it” out. I don't really have any questions for them, I just want to see if it can be done.

Expenses, Day 60

Bus to Airport: 3.00

Bus from Airport: 5.30

Sant Jordi Hostal (2 days): 32.80

Groceries: 17.06

Metro Tickets: 8.00

Total: 66.16

Trip Total: 1402.22

Crystal Symphony Entry 15

I’ve really fallen off of the blog bandwagon lately.  I have no excuse other than the half-finished entry about Istanbul (first of two parts!) sitting stubbornly on my desktop, refusing to complete itself.  While I wait for that pot to come to boil, I’m going to write about today and my visit to the monastery-mountain of Montserrat.

View of Santa Cova from the cable car.

I’ve been to Montserrat twice before; once while working on the Grandeur, and once while on the Camino.  You can find the first visit here:

http://sixmonthsthreeweeks.blogspot.com/2011/08/entry-131-august-2-nd-2011-1203am-gmt-2.html 

And my second visit here:

http://sixmonthsthreeweeks.blogspot.com/2012/02/camino-entry-4.html

http://sixmonthsthreeweeks.blogspot.com/2012/02/camino-entry-5.html

The Crystal Symphony is headed West again from Istanbul and with most of the day off today in Barcelona I decided to pay a third visit to the monastery.  It seemed only fitting – on my first visit, I had a powerful experience that led me to the Camino, and the second visit was the first major milestone on my road to Santiago.  A third, concluding visit was in order.

The train ride from Plaza Espanya takes about an hour.  It is amazing to me that I can cover that distance by train in only an hour when last time it took four days to walk.  Cataluña is either in the very end of spring or the very beginning of summer – either way, the thick, verdant green foliage is fresh and fragrant with the muscular power of summertime.  It’s going to be hot here, and soon.

The first view of the mountain was impressive, as always.  Tourists had their cameras out (that is, the tourists who didn’t have their bags lifted on the third stop . . . it was quick and surgical, I didn’t even notice the thieves until afterwards) and were snapping shots through the train windows, craning their necks at the peaks above and clicking their tongues in frustration when we went through tunnels.  Luckily, the cable car ride up the side of the mountain is a much better photo opportunity, and I was not disappointed with the flurry of shutters filling the tiny cabin as we sped through midair.

The chapel of Santa Cova was my goal.  This is apart from the main monastery and is built against the cliff at the spot where an image of the Virgin Mary was supposedly found over a thousand years ago.  It is a powerful place, one that inspires people to prayer, and even though I didn’t find what I was looking for last time I visited, it is still an important place in my personal history.

This time I had the chapel to myself.  Everything was just as it was the first time I visited – the grotto with its simple stone altar, the two rows of simple wicker furniture, the rack of candles burning softly in the back of the room.  It was quiet, quiet, quiet!  So quiet that I could hear the candles burning.  There have been very few times in my life where I’ve felt the need to pray, but something about the chapel of Santa Cova usually brings it out in me and this time was no exception.

The first time that I visited, I was just beginning to wake up and I prayed for the strength to act despite fear.  The second time, I was footsore and discourage, and I did my best to renew that wish.  This time, though, I sat there in that silent chapel, listening to the candles burn behind me, and had no idea what to ask for.

I got bored.  My mind wandered; it was stuck at a brick wall and so it went sideways.  I started thinking about all the places I’d seen since the first time I visited – the beautiful people I’d met, the weird things that had happened on the strange road to Santiago . . . I thought of the red brown dust of Cataluña, the relentless wind on the meseta, and the strange Basque language called Euskara.  I thought of the complex, captivating scent of Buenos Aires.  I thought of the sound of a carnival drum line starting up in Rio de Janeiro.  I heard the first call to worship in Istanbul echoing from the minarets around me.

And that’s when I realized it.  I had not come here to ask for anything, but rather to say thank you.  I said it, and then I said it again out loud.  I wanted to laugh, it was so simple.  That’s what prayer is; not asking, but giving.

There is a small room off the main chapel where people leave gifts, tokens to the goddess (er, the Virgin Mary . . . I’m reading too much Joseph Campbell lately and all the traditions are starting to blur together) in thanks for boons received.  I still had the last seashell from Finisterra . . . it had been tucked away in a tiny plastic bag along with my tuxedo studs, packed in my luggage when I left home again in February.  I didn’t know why I had brought it along until earlier that morning, getting dressed in the pitch blackness to the snores of my roommate.  The shell was an offering, a gift from the end of the world given to that which sent me there in the first place.  I left it with a string of other camino shells in the chapel – apparently I am not the first one to have had this experience.

Now I can finally come home.  This is an idea that will be developed more fully when I finally get around to posting those camino entries from Finisterra, but suffice it to say that I reached the end of the world only to find that the way back from a pilgrimage is just as important as the way there.  That’s why things felt so wrong when I arrived in Michigan in January – it wasn’t time to be home yet.  The way back had to be considered.

And with this visit to Santa Cova, I have found what I was looking for.  Now I can come home.  This journey, started March before last and almost three times as long as originally planned, is coming to an end.

Also, I finally got some pictures of a portion of the camino that I walked!  It was good to see the signs again.



A paving stone with the camino symbol, just outside the monastery.  This is one of the signs I followed on Day 6 of the camino.



A sign for the GR6, the trail I followed to Montserrat from Barcelona.  I passed this sign on Day 4 of the camino.



A sign I found in the cable car parking lot for an alternate path along the camino.  I did not take this path, but this is an excellent example of one of the ubiquitous yellow arrows.