tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74123783484101128112024-03-05T16:53:40.776-08:00Camino Bleu: Please see https://caminobleu.com/ for recent postsPilgrimages: from Le Puy-en-Velay to Pamplona (April-May 2010), Pamplona to Santiago de.Compostela and Finisterre (September-October 2010), from Geneva to Le Puy-en-Velay (September-October 2012), and from Porto to Santiago de Compostela and on to Muxia and Finisterre (March-Arpil 2014). Camino Sanabres (November 2016), Chemin d'Arles from Toulouse, April 2018. Please see https://caminobleu.com/for posts beginning in 2019.Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-48197124458268606302018-05-09T15:06:00.000-07:002020-01-02T22:03:54.146-08:00Via Tolosana/Voie d’Arles Day 15. 5 May Sarrance to Etsaut.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Day 15. Via Tolosana Voie d’Arles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Day 15. Sarrance to Etsaut. 5 Mai. Chickens greet us in the morning as we begin a very beautiful, very long, day of walking on sometimes treacherous paths. We walked from 8:15 am until 5:30 pm. Predicted rain never came, and we actually had a bit of sun. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Gite La Garbure reportedly had over 50 places in several rooms, so we did not book ahead. I sent an email about 3 pm and also tried to call. No answer but a machine, so I left message and phone number saying we were not far away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Never a reply. As we walked into Etsaut, which was downhill and across the highway from Borce, a woman directed us to La Garbure. We arrived through a pretty courtyard, but all was locked up tight. No response to calls to two different numbers. Where was Urs, I wondered, whom I thought had booked at this place?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">No point in both of us running about the town carrying our packs, so I, as the one more proficient in French, went looking. A lovely gite was just down the hill. A pair of hiking boots lay inside the door. I knocked. No answer. I tried the door, opened it and hallooed. Walked in and hallooed some more. Nothing. Back out, shutting the door. I came to another gite. Full of family—“Le Weekend!” They explained. Anywhere else? No. I saw 2 hotels, both shuttered. Around the corner, there was the welcome sight of Urs at a bar with a glass of beer. Yes, he was staying at La Garbure. Someone had been there when he arrived.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Temporarily leaving his beer, he accompanied me back and let us in through a door we hadn’t previously discovered. Shedding our muddy boots we headed upstairs in search of a room. Almost every door was locked. I was not sure if I felt like more like Goldilocks or Bluebeard’s wife. Finally two floors up, a door opened into an attic room with a double bed and an attached huge bathroom with shower and sink, but the toilet with no seat was across the hall. The bed was unmade, quilts in a heap beside it. We claimed the room for ourselves, unrolled our sleeping bags, and used my silk liner sheet for a pillow case on the long pillow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Then back to the bar, joining Urs drinking delicious Belgian beer, before returning to the gite to clean up before dinner. When we returned to the gite, the owner had arrived. We showed her the room we’d staked out, paid the bill, got our pilgrim stamp, and all was well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We enjoyed a pleasant dinner with Urs at the bar.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We should reach Col du Somport tomorrow— our big climb. Report is that part of the trail has washed out by avalanche and we need to take a bus a short distance to keep us off busy highway between Etsaut and Urdos.</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-69425064629021453512018-05-09T13:53:00.003-07:002019-12-16T10:09:49.400-08:00Via Tolosana/Voie d’Arles Days 13-14 Lacommande to Oloron to Sarrance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Day 13. Thursday May 3,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Lacommande to Oloron Ste. Marie.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">14.7 miles, 33,174 steps abt 22 km, but we cut a few by road walking</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Rain, Cold, Mud. High temp about 47 F.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Kent and I were the first to set out this morning. The skies were dark and threatening, but no rain at first in pretty Lacommande. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">After the pretty flowers by the door, the first item of attention was a dead hedgehog on the street. “Maybe it’s just playing possum?” I said hopefully. I touched it gently with my pole. It was definitely dead. “I’ve never seen a live hedgehog before!” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">“You still haven’t,” said Kent. Alas! I took a memorial picture.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">In the night I had wakened, thinking about the grave markers and bones of pilgrims who had died and been buried in this place over the past thousand years. They may have been walking to or returning from Compostelle. Why were they walking, and what had befallen them here? They certainly weren’t carrying high tech backpacks or wearing quick-dry clothing, or sturdy hiking boots like modern pilgrims. What was it really like, and why were they walking? Why are we walking?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">After a fairly pleasant beginning on roads, then wooded paths, we soon ran into serious mud, and trails that ran with water.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">There were no view of the Pyrenees today, just clouds and cold wind. as we crossed an open field it began to rain, hard. Out came the ponchos.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Eventually, we came to a road where we were able to choose — More muddy paths or road walking. We chose the road, which wasn’t all that pleasant, but got us to Oloron more quickly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">It was still raining hard as we entered Oloron, a city with many hills and rushing river crossings. Where was the pilgrim gite? Suddenly Emmanuel popped out of the door of a bar. How had he and Olivier arrived so fast? </span><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Someone had offered them a ride, and they had actually passed us as we walked on the road.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">The gite was very nice, and a beehive of activity with 8 Pilgrims — the most we’d seen anywhere. Kent and I were given a room of our own. But, I was cold and couldn’t get warm until we went out walking to the grocery store. It was raining too hard to enjoy exploring the town, a disappointment as there was much to see.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Later we enjoyed dinner with Emmanuel and his roommate Urs, a veteran Swiss pilgrim. We had to rush back to the gite to avoid being locked out at 10 pm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Day 14. Oloron Sainte Marie to Sarrance. The rain had stopped by morning, so we first hiked up to the Cathedral, where someone was just opening up. Grabbing some yummy pain au chocolat, we then went back down that hill and climbed another hill with stairs to rival any in San Francisco, to the Eglise of Saint Croix, a very old, dark, atmospheric place, supposed to have Arab influences that I couldn’t really see.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Then down the hill and out of the city, along a few damp trails and several quiet country roads. The afternoon was particularly beautiful, as we followed the valley of the Aspe toward the Pyrenees. About 3-4 km before Sarrance we entered the woods, Here the trail clung to wet wooded hillsides above the rushing river. Streams of water often crossed the path. One slip or misstep and you could slide down the slope and perhaps never be able to get back up. It was probably the most difficult camino walking I have ever experienced. At long last Sarrance appeared, and at its far end was the church and Premontre (Norbertine) monastery. I told them that there was a Norbertine Monastery in Albuquerque, but they did not know of it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We rang a bell and were ushered in by a wild-haired monk. Kent and I were led to a two-bed room. Kent got the top bunk. We were able to wash some clothes and dry them in a room warmed by the boilers that provided heat and hot water.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Chickens ran happily about in wet green grass. We ate with the monks and others of whose identity we were not sure, although one stocky jovial fellow in a beret was a sheep-herder.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">A very old man read prayers before the meal, which consisted of bread, two different soups, and a delicious baked potato casserole. No wine was served. Cheese was brought out for dessert. And some crescent-shaped cookies and herbal teas for dessert. By then the brothers had left for evening prayers, and we visitors collected and washed the remaining dishes. It was an interesting experience.</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-20983704225206054172018-05-07T11:55:00.003-07:002018-05-09T15:12:42.963-07:00Day 16, Voie d’Arles, Etsaut to Col du Somport<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Day 16 </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Etsaut to Col du Somport</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">30,479 steps, 14.1 miles. Actually more like 15 km</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">A high day in every sense of the word. Although it started with 3 of us waiting at the Etsaut bus station for a scheduled 7:48 am Sundaybus that never came. At 8 we decided to walk. Urs soon passed us by. We walked on the road because of a reported landslide that blocked the trail between Etsaut/Borce and Urdos—never verified. Nearly 2 hours later we arrived in Urdos, having walked past the amazing Fort Portalet high on the cliffs above us. We found a boulangerie/patisserie in Urdos,one of the liveliest, most prosperous-appearing villages we’d seen. We took a road rather than the camino trail, as it looked considerably shorter, and the road had been OK so far. We were told that the trucks would not be on the roads on Sunday. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Eventually, we came to the spot where the camino and GR 653 joined the road, and this time when the trail met the road again, we took the trail. The road was just too dull and mind-numbing, and also rewuiredconstant awareness of vehicles, which roared past at high speeds with great noise.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">The trail climbed steadily through beautiful mature beech forests. There were many waterfalls, some of which tossed the trail, and made for rather precarious footing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">At times we could view the road winding far below. At about halfway along this stretch of trail Urs appeared behind us, amazed that we were ahead of him. He said we’d missed “the swamp” on the trail he’d taken, which had obviously been much longer than the road.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">He was soon ahead of us again—the last we saw him. We picnicked in a sunny spot with Mountain View’s, and continued climbing, the forest gradually giving way to almost alpine meadows. Climbing up a long steep meadow with old stone corrals, we Cameron the road again. It was getting chilly, and snow lay in patches around us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We debated as we sat on a stone wall lining the road. I wanted to take the trail, but Kent booted for the road. We would have had to cross snow on the trail, which went down and then up. We were both pretty tired, having climbed steadily for 5 hours already.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">I followedKent on the road, and then, we turned onto the trail again, where we did have to walk through old snow -/ not easy as our feet sunk into the rusty stuff.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">All along the way the views were incredible. We were finally among and even above the mountains we’d been walking toward for days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">At last, we came to the top of the pass! A restaurant and the Albergue Aysa were open! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Lovely place. We cleaned up and napped, and before dinner went out to watch the most amazing sunset over mountains in all directions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">It had been an incredible day of great beauty, and the high point of our trip.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We celebrated with dinner and a bottle of local white wine. We had crossed from France into Spain just across the road from the albergue. Suddenly the language was Spanish. Au revoir to La Belle France and Bienvenidos a Espana! </span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-25766823508627768672018-05-03T07:56:00.002-07:002019-12-16T14:44:35.625-08:00Voie d’Arles Days 11 and 12 Morlaas to Pau to Lescar to Lacommande<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;"><b>Day 11. Morlaas to Pau</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">May 1 (May Day)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">(11.9 miles or 22,167 steps).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Had we gone all the way to Lescar, total was to have been 19 km. We probably did 15 or 16.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We were not sure what to do today. It was May 1– a holiday and all shops, bus service and just about everything was closed. As we walked out of Morlaas, two young men were selling small bunches of lilies of the valley and other spring flowers “as gifts” for May Day. So, of course I had to tell them about bringing flowers to the neighbors on May Day “quand j’etait une jeune fille.” We decided to start walking to Lescar, the next stop on the Chemin, and about 19 km away. The problem was that the municipal gite was run by the tourist office, which was closed on Sunday and Monday, and since today, Tuesday, was a holiday, we were unable to reach anyone. So, we set out, saying that when we reached the hippodrome in Pau, we would decide what to do. I’d discovered a Chambre d’Hote just a short distance farther toward Lescar, where the only options other than the gite were an Ibis Budget, where apparently one books oneself into a room upon arrival with a credit card, and there is no staff on hand. This, and one other budget hotel were a bit off the Chemin. We weren’t sure we would have the technical know-how to manage the Ibis Budget. No answer from the Chambre d’Hote, and a phone call resulted in a voice message, which could well have said we will be away for a few minutes and we’ll call back, or, we are closed until next week or month or forever. In any case, I’d have to look up my phone number to provide for call back because I don’t know it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Once around the hippodrome, we sat on a rock by the side of the road for 25 minutes, while I looked for “hotels near me” — all of which were within a mile, but in the opposite direction from the Chemin. I looked at Uber — no cars available. A man walking two little dogs tried to be helpful, but wasn’t very. I think he wanted to talk about his dogs. Kent conversed with him, while I kept searching for hotels, and Kent understood even less than I did of what he was saying. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">At last we hoisted the packs back on and headed away from the Chemin and toward the hotels. In almost no time, we came to the first one, a very sleek modern 4-star Kyriad Zenith, and without investigating the 3 or 4 other options farther up the road, we walked in and booked a room. There is a restaurant that will be open tonight. The desk clerk said it was about 6-7 km from here to the historic center. He could get us a taxi, but after showers and snuggling under the lovely sheets, I think we’ll wait until tomorrow, and after the expensive 14 Euro breakfast buffet for which we signed up because of its promises of fruit, eggs and bacon, etc. </span><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">After this, it will be back to the simple life of the gites and the sharing of meals and accommodations with fellow pilgrims.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">However, I am ahead of myself. After discussing the day’s options with Emmanuel this morning, we washed the dishes and headed through town. I stopped to peruse and photograph the impressive tympanum of the cathedral, while Kent warmed himself by a sunny wall across the street. We soon warmed up as we climbed upward out of town, traveling through a more rural landscape than I’d anticipated. Just when we really needed a break — I find I can go about 2 hours in the morning without a stop, and less in the afternoon, -- there was a very nice wooden bus stop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Eventually, we walked through the Bastard’s Forest, which was quite lovely, finally coming out at the immense hippodrome, a huge racetrack on the other side of a footbridge over a huge highway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">It was at the end of a circuit of what must have been close to half of the racetrack that we ended up at the Rock of Decision. We had had sun and clouds, cool temperatures, probably nothing over 60, and some gusts of wind, but nothing to match yesterday’s. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">It was a short day, really, but the uncertainty of our resting place for the night made it seem longer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Emmanuel wrotes that he had hitch-hiked to Pau this morning. We hope to connect tomorrow at the gite in Lacommande, where, if we are lucky, a local winery will be open.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">The television news was all of May Day riots in Paris. Our peaceful walks in the green countryside seem remote from it all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;"><b>Day 12 Voie d’Arles May 2, 2018</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Pau to Lacommande</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">(11.8 miles, 26,016 steps)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">About 18 km.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Using Google Maps, we took the bus into the center of Pau this morning, where through almost no planning on our part we exited at the foot of the funicular, which we rode up to the promenade along the Boulevard du Pyrenees. The 14 euro breakfast, by the way, was not worth it. We were still full from last night’s hamburgers in the hotel restaurant, and the food was not that fresh or wonderful. Last night and this morning we also could not escape the television news of riots, burning, and arrests in Paris over the May Day holiday. It all seemed far removed from the peaceful green world through which we have been walking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">People </span><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 25.3333px;">on the bus</span><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">were helpful. God must watch over the clueless pilgrims, as we managed two bus rides with no errors. We looked at the amazing Chateau of Henri Quatre, who was a larger-than-life figure in these parts a few hundred years ago, then caught another bus to Lescar, getting off just where Kent figured we could catch the Chemin again. It was good we were not walking that road lined with US-style businesses. Along here was where we would have stayed, had we not walked away from the Chemin last night. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">When we exited the bus, we immediately saw the red and white Grand Randonnee marks! In short time we were in the woods, where we crossed the river Adour and then a highway. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We had a bizarre meeting in a watery culvert, too low to walk through upright, with a pilgrim walking from Sevilla to Arles. All of us had difficulty getting through. I took my pack off, holding it in one hand and my poles in the other, and made it through without falling off the narrow ledge and into the water. It seemed odd that we should meet our only pilgrim heading in the opposite direction in this almost impassable spot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Shortly before noon we arrived Artiguelouve, where we found a little grocery and bought pasta, tomato sauce, an onion, cheese, and a baguette. We ate our Brie with the baguette, and sipped citrus sodas while sitting at a table on the porch. School was letting out, and we watched parents gathering the children. A young woman wished us us, “Buen Camino.” She had walked five days on Del Norte, and said it was “fantastique.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Out of Artiguelouve we entered true country, climbing for s long time past an elegant winery then into the woods. Around a corner and in the open, we once again were awed by magnificent Pyrenees views.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">A long, very steep down, first on pavement, and then on dirt track was hard on the knees. About 3 pm we arrived at the historic hamlet of Lacommande, where we are staying in a lovely gite on the grounds of the church, with a beautifully restored and repurposed pilgrim hospital dating from the 1135-45.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">The Maison des Vins du Juracon across the street is open. We enjoyed wine-tasting and purchased a bottle of white.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">There is a fine shower, a washer and dryer, and a small kitchen. Perfect!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">No cell service, however, and I think no internet, either. Ah — yes internet! But I’ll have to go outside and it is getting cold!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Later: we had a perfect pilgrim evening. There were 4 of us and two bottles of wine — one white and one red. I made a large quantity of bow tie pasta, with a tube of tomato paste, an onion badly cut with dull knives and sautéed in oil, and cheese diced (no grater), and all mixed together with a bit of what I think was marjoram from the garden outside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Emmanuel showed up, a bit damp from rain, just before we were ready to eat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">I guess we haven’t learned the name of the 4th pilgrim who is walking from Arles and will leave after tomorrow for St Jean Pied de Port and then the Del Norte to Compostelle. (It is Olivier.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Everyone contributed to the meal, and the new pilgrim and I shared photos on our phones, laughing as we found we had taken many of the exact same shots.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We warmed up in the kitchen area, and now it doesn’t seem so cold back here in the dorm room. I don’t think I’ll go outside to connect to internet tonight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Tomorrow to Oloron Sainte Marie, and then the route will turn from heading mainly west to heading south toward the Pyrenees. It will be steeper and more challenging walking tomorrow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">I have awakened at 3 am, and unbelievably am too warm under my light sleeping bag and heavy gite blanket. I’ve taken off my socks.</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-19803112656641346262018-05-01T07:57:00.000-07:002018-05-01T07:57:18.321-07:00Days 8 and 9 Voie d’Arles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Day 8 Marciac to Mauberguet. Very interesting day, with frustration followed by success (15.2 miles, 33,655) steps). Saturday, April 28.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We left our hotel room on the fine main place in Marciac in search of coffee and breakfast pastries. Nine Euros 50 each was a bit much to pay for a French breakfast. We found two bakeries open, but no coffee, so returned to the hotel with our pastries where we were able to get coffee in the breakfast area. We did not see another person at the hotel, just the same desk clerk in both afternoon and morning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Climbing the steep hill out of town, we could see ahead of us three walkers: Emmanuel, Querina, and Franck. We kept them in sight off and on over the next hour.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We met two women walking dogs, and to our surprise two other French pilgrims, an older couple Michel and Daniele, experienced pilgrims carrying what looked to be heavy packs. They were taking shortcuts via road. We did not see them again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">The route on this Sunday angled mostly between fields on flat land, heading always toward a hill with a very tall church steeple. Eventually we climbed that hill, to the lovely hamlet of Auriebat, which had public toilets and drinking water and a bench on which to sit, but no shops. Nor was the church open. We descended the hill, then walked a couple more more hours, turning back now and then to look at the Church always visible behind us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">It seemed a long walk into Maubourguet, from the outskirts where we walked on a busy road. We perhaps took a wrong turn, and should have followed a path along the river Adour, fast-flowing and beautiful. As we entered the old part of town, we met Franck and Querina heading back without their packs to an open grocery store, as the one in town was closed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We were hoping to stay at the municipal gite accessed through the tourist office, but the tourist office, when we finally found it, was closed. And no one was answering the phone, either. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We encountered Emmanuel on a bench with the others’ packs. We had also been directed by an excited woman in a tabac shop — the only place open on Saturday afternoon besides a handful of bars— to some other gite— we were not sure which. Her directions were so detailed, the place sounded like it must be kilometers away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Kent was getting even more tired than I, so we sat on the porch of one of the bars with a couple of beers, and studied our options. I got hold of one place by phone, but couldn’t understand their answers to my questions, so said we would come there—but where?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">The bartender didn’t seem to know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Google maps repeatedly said no place found when I tried typing in the address given. It was one of those crazy situations I’ve been in before in France, trying to find a place we know exists but seems invisible.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Emmanuel and the others went on their way, another 5 Km to the campground. They offered to share their food with us, but Kent really did not want to walk 5 more km that afternoon, and I wasn’t enthusiastic about heading to the country, either.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We found one gite, closed for the weekend. Call Clotilde, the sign said. It was Clotilde we were trying to find! We headed back to a main street, hoping to find the place to which the tabac shop woman had directed us. And suddenly, just 4 doors down from the coiffure shop, which the detailed directions had sounded like might have been kilometers away, we found the Gite of Clotilde et Henri.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">(One problem had been that the Street was known by an abbreviated name “Mal Joffre” and I had been painstakingly typing in over and over The full name Marechal Joffre.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We rang the bell, and were warmly welcome by Clotilde, who had been expecting us after receiving our phone call. Conversing in person was much easier.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">The place was spacious and clean, upstairs from their living space. We chose the dormitory, as there was no one there but us. The shower was better than the one we’d had in the hotel, and there was a place to wash clothes and a drying rack on a covered balcony.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Later, as we were waiting for the hotel to open for dinner, and after we had explored the town and historic church, we heard voices, and to our surprise, after 7 pm, a new pilgrim appeared: Alfredo from Brazil, who had just arrived from Auch by train. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We had dinner at the Hotel de France. We should probably not have chosen the pilgrim menu (dry duck leg with pommes frites), and paid a bit more for the regular one. Alfredo soon came along. There had been just 3 other diners. I could see the chef playing with a rabbit in the grassy courtyard in back. Saturday night is not too busy in Maubourguet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We stocked up on a few items from the Casino supermarket that opened late in the afternoon, so we are ready to head for the wilds tomorrow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Day 9 Sunday April 29</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Maubourguet to Anoye 22 km</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">( 16.4 or 36,118 steps) long day: 8:30 to 4:30. Good time on roads, but slow in steep mud.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Rain, wind , cold in 59s and low 60s. Much mud and up and down. I slipped in mud and got very dirty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Some gentle rain, sometimes none, and sometimes driving cold onslaught. Great Pyrenees dogs in yards. Beautiful! We took some road shortcuts. Momy lovely town with restored church and old cars.. No shops. Found shelter twice on side of a barn, and at a beautiful gite/ chambre where we asked permission to picnic at table on porch. We also rested briefly on porch in town before Momy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">As we neared the gite in Anoye we saw another pilgrim ahead. When we opened the door, there were Franck and a Emmanuel, very muddy and tired, and just taking off their boots.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We had a pleasant evening sharing our food to make the evening meal. After the local folks had come to collect our money, open the small store of supplies, and stamp out passports, and we starting putting dinner together over wine, who should show up but Alfredo!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Fortunately Kent and I were in a room with just two bunks, so Alfredo chose a lower bunk in the other room, and Kent and I had a room to our selves.</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-75265830935287510052018-04-28T20:49:00.000-07:002018-04-28T20:49:00.104-07:00Voie d’Arles Day 7 “Easy” not so Easy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Voie D’Arles day 7, Friday, April 27, 2018: La Barraque at Saint-Christaud to Marciac. Our 7th wedding anniversary. (11 miles, 24,306 steps on phone), 14-16 km</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">“Easy Day” not so Easy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We didn’t try to get off early because we knew we had such a short day, just 14-16 km to go. We had coffee, bread and jam, and visited with Joanna and a farmer neighbor who was transporting her over-one year-old calf for slaughter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">As we walked up the hill back to the Chemin, we had our first view of the snowy Pyrenees. I took pictures,but they were too hazy to show clearly. The sun was shining and there was a brisk wind. A hawk fluttered in place. ÎIt was cool and perfect for walking. We rounded the Fortress-like Eglise St. Christoffe,and descended on steep wet paths to fields below, which we wound along forever—often turning to see St. Christoffe still looming fortress-like behind us. The grass was often tall and wet. An abundance of Timothy hay made my eyes itch. In the distance a gothic spire loomed ahead, and something that looked like a very tall thin chimney. On a high hill we threw down my rain poncho and drank water, shared an apple and finished the potato chips. Tractors plowed the fields. We crossed the straight, busy highway that ran directly into Marciac, but our path climbed steeply upwards perpendicular to the road. The church we’d seen from afar was not open. I walked all the way around it before we started the long descent toward the church steeples of Marciac, which never seemed to get closer. We were soon walking in tall grass again, struggling with uneven footing. When the path turned to go uphill once more, we decided to walk the short distance to the busy highway straight into town instead. That was probably not the wisest choice, as the highway edge was narrow, and it still seemed to take forever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We stopped briefly at a SuperU at the edge of town, where I sat on a curb in the parking lot feeling like a homeless bag lady, while Kent went into the store that advertised no midday closing. From there we walked on footpaths, and on the edge of the old town, we came to a restaurant with dinners eating beautiful-looking salads and drinking carafes of wine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">“It’s very good!” A woman gestured to us and called out in Engllsh. So we enjoyed a delicious anniversary dejeuner. We found our hotel on the main “place” just minutes after leaving the restaurant and thus arrived refreshed rather than in our usual exhausted state. It was just before the 3 pm check-in time. We showered and enjoyed having real towels with which to dry off, and took an hour’s nap.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">At 19 hours we met Emanuel and two other pilgrims, Frank from Toulouse and Querina (who had already been traveling 60 days from Holland and who slept in a tent) for a pizza dinner, a real camino gathering of fellow pilgrims, although we were probably three times the age of the others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">It was a good day after all, but we learned it is better to anticipate “hard” than to expect “easy” and then be disappointed. Our first week of walking had been completed, as had seven years of our official life together. What adventures we have had, and joy after the sorrow of loss.</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-57337953697502786572018-04-27T13:40:00.004-07:002018-04-27T13:48:08.011-07:00Voie d’Arles Day 6: L’Isle de Noe to Saint Christaud<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Voie d’Arles Day 6</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">L’Isle De Noe to La Barraque Saint-Christaud</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">15.4 miles. 21 km</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">34, 063 steps</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We had an absolutely beautiful day of walking, beginning with an English breakfast (!) from our hostess Edna Moody, an English transplant to the beautiful little village of L’Isle-de-Noe, who took very good care of us indeed, and bid us farewell from the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We crossed a bridge, encountered some white horses grazing in a field, and soon turned off onto a woodland path that climbed steadily upward.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">In a little over 2 hours we reached the lovely village of Montesquiou, where I snapped pictures of the buildings and flowers as we descended to the town center. We had two petit cafes at the bar, then headed down to an epicerie, where we had a cheese and butter sandwich made, picked up a bottle of water, two apples, a large bar of dark chocolate, some potato chips and one pain au chocolate. We stowed away everything but the juice and croissant, which we took to a picnic table in a pretty park. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We also figured out that my phone miles were adding about 20% to the actual distance, at least based on the distance to Montisquiou this morning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We had to detour leaving town because a stone arch was being repaired—so after climbing up to the church, very large with an impressive baroque interior, we backtracked to the little park, briefly meeting Alain, who was just arriving. As we climbed the hills out of town the church bells rang. It was noon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">More wooded paths led us to Poulybon, which offered lodging at a campground just before town. We had quite a long open flat area to cross. Kent figured out how to attach my poles to the back of my pack when I didn’t need them, and I put on my bluetooth neck loop which streamed music from my phone to my hearing aids. I then walked along to Handel’s Watermusic, Beethoven’s Appassionata, Blue Moon of Kentucky and more. No more bird songs for awhile. We continued to the village center, which boasted some office buildings and a large church with an impressive arch. We saw no one other than the young mailwoman who we’d encountered twice before as we had been in her way as she was reversing her yellow van at the ends of cul de sacs that us into woods paths.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We ate our sandwich, potato chips, and some chocolate at a picnic table near the Mairie, enjoying the weight off our feet for awhile. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Upon leaving Poulybon we had a very steep descent through woods. I was glad to use my poles again. A few signs were a bit confusing, so after yesterday’s mishap, we kept checked the map carefully.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">For once, we came upon the sign for tonight’s lodging in a 14th century farmhouse, owned by Joanna, originally Swiss, who has a garden and small farm, and has lived here for 30 years. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Joanna gave us a warm welcome, and we learned much about her very much back-to-to-the-earth way of life. We ate a delicious flower- filled salad from her garden and a delicious omelet filled with green asparagus and green onions and garden herbs. We drank delicious water from her spring. She had electricity from solar panels, and a composting toilet, yet we had plenty of hot water for showers. We were the only pilgrims there in spacious rooms with old beams in the ceilings and cool tile floors underfoot. We ate in a sun-warmed little glass veranda off her kitchen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">She had to go away that evening, and her WiFi was turned off, and I could get no cell service through the stone walls, so I sat in the sun porch long after the sun went down to access email and book a room for the next night in Marciac. We thought we’d treat ourselves to a hotel to celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary tomorrow. Only 11 km to Marciac. We won’t leave ad early. It should be an easy day!</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-85632784987241131092018-04-27T06:19:00.000-07:002018-04-27T06:19:09.316-07:00Voie d’Arles Day 5 Wednesday April 25, Auch to L’Isle de Noe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Voie d’Arles Day 5: Auch to L’Isle Noe</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">22-24 km, (phone miles 19.2 and 41,193 steps). April 25, 2018.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Oops! A Mistake that Cost Us</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Today was supposed to be a good day, but ended up a mixed one. Low-lying clouds hovered over Auch at dawn, threatening rain. However, the temperature had dropped, which boded well for walking. When we exited the ancient presbytere we were happy to find nearby an open patisserie with coffee and pastries, although we would have preferred to walk awhile before dropping the packs we’d just put on. It was good we stopped, however, as that was the last open shop we would see all day. It was 7:30, and the cathedral bells were ringing as we headed out of town. We spent quite a bit of time perusing the map and street signs at each intersection, but by 7:45 we were in the country, heading for L’Isle de Noe, which was 22-24 km away. The walking turned out to be quite hilly and almost all on tarmac, which was hard on the feet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">At some point, at the top of a very long hill, shortly after a lovely short downhill dirt path through a pine forest, we misread signs and headed off on a very long, somewhat muddy track along an open ridge. It seemed to be taking a very long time to travel the 4.2 km from the last junction to La Barran. At last we came out onto the road where it should have been only A kilometer and a half to the village. Kent wanted to head right, the way the map showed, but the village to the right did not look like La Barran, which was famous for its old gate and twisted church tower. I could see a steeple like that in the distance, far below us, at least 2 or 3 miles away and off to our left, not to our right. Was that La Barran? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We headed toward the distant village, and after 50 minutes or an hour, read with relief the sign at the entrance to the village. We had arrived at La Barran, and we were on the right route at last.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We passed the grocery store, closed until after 3—it was now well after 1 pm. The church was not open, either. There was a faded sign for a bar that appeared to have been closed for years. An occasional car passed, but there were no other sign of life. One other shop was closed until 3, and the gite was locked up tight. We could have called its phone number, but we knew it was already fully booked, and we had reservations in L’Isle de Noe, another one to two hour’s walk away. We sat on the low wall of the deserted covered market place and divided a granola bar.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">The. road distance to l’Isle de Noe was somewhat shorter than the Grande Randonee route, but the road, on which we walked for perhaps half a km, was narrow and very busy, and we’d had enough of road-walking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">So we headed up into high hills through grassy fields with views that went on forever. We still could not see the Pyrenees, and clouds hovered over the horizons. We felt a few raindrops, as we had earlier in the day. “We’re up in the clouds,” Kent had said. It was so beautiful, I didn’t care if the path was longer. At last we wound down through woods and beside more fields and back to the road into pretty L’Isle de Noe. after rounding a bend and crossing a bridge, nearly at the end of the main street Rue General DeGaulle, we found the Gite, where we were warmly welcomed by Edna Moody, a transplanted English woman. She was expecting one more pilgrim that evening, and after a bit of beer and conversation, she led us upstairs to a small room containing a double bed pushed against one wall, a sink, a shower, a single dresser, and a bar stool. There were towels, sheets on the bed, and an enormous comforter. Getting into the shower was a tight squeeze, but the water was hot. We both showered and crawled under the covers, the bed so soft we rolled together into the center. I was laughing at the craziness of it all. Just getting in and out of that bed was major exercise. We had been chilled after sitting downstairs in our damp clothes and getting out of the shower in the cold room, but warmed up under the covers and fell asleep despite talking about going out to the shop and exploring the town. We woke just at dinner time and hurried downstairs to meet Alain, the other pilgrim, who was walking for a week from his home in Toulouse, where he works with handicapped students ages 16 to 18. We had a nice conversation, with the help of some translation from Edna, who served a delicious dinner with salad, shepherd’s pie and carrots. There was also a dessert of peaches with cream, a bottle of local red wine, and Camembert and Roquefort. Shortly after dinner we returned to bed and despite a few odd dreams slept soundly until my phone alarm, plugged into the room’s only outlet on the floor behind the door, woke us at 7. Total cost for the two of us for lodging, dinner and breakfast 60 Euros.</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-83592885044443626142018-04-24T22:38:00.000-07:002018-04-24T22:38:03.073-07:00Day 4: la Mothe to Auch<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Voie d’Arles Day 4: La Mothe in Isle-Arne to Auch</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">37,840 steps or 17.2miles (actually probably about 22-24 km)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We got away earlier this morning, reaching the Chemin at about 8 am. The first hour of walking in the cool through Isle-Arne to Lussan, tiny villages with no shops, was lovely. We took a shortcut on a small road to Lussan, saving some time and wet feet from the heavy morning dew, then took break on a bench in front of the Lussan Church. Only a few cars passed. We headed across country past a couple of chateaus, a reflecting farm pond, and fields of yellow rape. We climbed up and down some long hills, mostly on grassy paths. We kept looking for the Pyrenees, but there were too many clouds in the distance. It has continued to be quite humid. We crossed a stream on sticks and stepping stones — I was glad my taped up pole was holding—and stopped in the shade of a shrub along side a path that followed a green verge between two recently plowed fields. We sat in somewhat damp grass and ate the delicious apples and sandwiches we brought for lunch. The grass made my arms itch and we were stiff when we got to our feet and hoisted our packs again, but It was all quite lovely walking on small tracks and paths that changed before they became too predictable. Who knew what we’d find around the next corner or over the hill? As we neared Montegut the terrain rose to a limestone plateau, drier underfoot, with scrubby trees. It was some of the best walking of the trip, and both Kent and I drifted off into our own caminos of the mind. I don’t know what Kent was thinking, but I was writing poems in my head, remembering Ed’s last moments and thinking of a pilgrim friend’s current vigil with her husband, moments of transition that change everything forever when loved ones leave on caminos we can’t yet follow. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Suddenly, the trees opened to reveal A fairy-tale scene below — the church and turreted chateau of Montegut. A white-flowering tree I’ve never seen before appeared, and an old stone watchtower loomed even higher above the white limestone trail that reminded me of limestone outcrops in my childhood home in Michigan. It felt right and happy to be walking in this lovely place. We descended into the hamlet — again no shops—and took a break in the cool shelter of the church, which besides its statues of Saint Germaine and Jeanne d’Arc had a poster detailing the history of the town.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">From there we descended sharply, then climbed again up a long paved hill, as we once again left the Grande Randonee with its lengthy by-pass of the freeway on which we’d sped in a bus to Toulouse just days ago, to take a more direct route into Auch. Kent was great at finding our way with the map in our book, while I worried Anita about taking wrong turns.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We came out on a busy highway where we walked on a very narrow, unpleasant and somewhat dangerous edge as cars and trucks whizzed by. That section lasted only about 500 meters, and along that way we stopped at a veterinary clinic to ask for a refill of a water bottle. We had to wait a bit, and I got to pet a fuzzy and curious little puppy. Eventually we came to sidewalks along the still busy and very noisy road. What awful things cars are for walkers!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">The towers of the medieval cathedral in the old town of Auch loomed on the hill across the river as we walked the long way down into the center of town. I thought how medieval Pilgrims must have thrilled to see that sight, as we did, too. But they would have walked in green silence, hearing only the birds and sounds of animals.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We looked longingly at the cafes in the center of town, but stopped only briefly at the bridge that separated the new and old towns. We could see in the distance the famous grand steps that led to the old town. I pulled out my phone and put in the address of the ancient presbytere where we would be staying. Nine minutes walking! Yeah! We trudged up the last hill of the day. It was just after 3 pm that we were welcomed by friendly volunteers and shown into this amazing place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">There are 3 rooms of beds, including one with a double bed, which we claimed, two bathrooms, a kitchen, and laundry soap for hand -washing clothes, with drying racks on a balcony overlooking the cathedral and the town and the hills through which we’d walked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Later, Emmanuel showed up. We’d exchanged phone numbers. He asked for a recommendation for dinner, and we ended up having a lovely dinner and conversation in a cafe a bit out of the historic tourist area that was good and reasonably priced: Cafe Le Parking</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;"> Before this we got to the cathedral at 5:40, but were chased out five minutes later for the 6 o’clock closing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We looked down the famous staircase with its statue of the Three Musketeers’ D’Artagnon, but instead of another climb up and down, headed back through the square, which was totally under construction, to have a cold drink at last at a sidewalk cafe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Tomorrow on to L’Isle Noe. It appears there are only 4 beds at La Barran, and 3 have been booked by Emmanuel and two pilgrims he met along the way today.</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-89263878445611371662018-04-23T21:06:00.003-07:002018-04-23T21:06:59.236-07:00Voie d’Arles Day 3 Le Grange to LaMothe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Arles Route Day 3. Le Grange to La Mothe, Monday April 23. distance in guidebook, 14 km. Distance on phone 13.9 miles, 30,363 steps. Kent says I take tiny steps, and compared to his long-legged stride I guess I do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Equipment Failure and the Breath of God</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Today is a bit of a blur, as we walked up and down many hills, on bits of paved road and some lovely woodland paths, encountering a few muddy spots. The air continued heavy and hazy. We made a wide circle around the largest town, Gimont, which would have been interesting to visit, but the route did not enter it, so we only looked at the church spires from a distance. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We also navigated around a highway construction site, and at one point ended up in what appeared to be a cul de sac in a recent housing development. I was about to despair, when, there, hidden around a corner in overgrown bushes, Kent stood smiling beside the familiar red and white Grande Randonee mark and a path that took off into the greenery.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">We finally arrived at am impressive church with benches dotting the surrounding grounds. Nearby was a roundabout containing a few shops, including a closed restaurant, a small convenience store, and a gourmet epicerie with regional delicacies. After a look at the wines and pates we ended up at the convenience store with two cans of juice and a bag of potato chips, which we took to a shady churchyard bench as the bells struck 12.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">After that, we walked in countryside until we finally reached tonight’s lodging At La Mothe, 400 meters off the trail, shortly after we had passed the skull and crossbones of an iron-gated overgrown cemetery and a ruined chateau with extensive buildings including a church and a metal water tank. Our host tonight informed us that the current owner had won the place in a card game.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Our host this evening spoke to us in a mix of French and Spanish—Kent did better at communicating with him than I did. We had no food with us to cook, so he provided dinner — a delicious salad and an indifferent “ratatouille” of mainly potato, onion and potato in broth with duck legs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Emanuel arrived not long after we did, and we exchanged phone numbers in case we need to communicate on the route. We plan to stay in a donation presbytery in Auch tomorrow night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Again, we are the only people here. Kent and I declined a two-bedded room at extra charge, so we are upstairs in a dormitory, which we have all to ourselves, and Emanuel is downstairs. There is one bathroom with two showers and one toilet, so it would get rather crowded with many guests, but for 3 of us it is plenty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">This is interesting place in an old building, rather funkily decorated, but not as nice as last night’s accommodation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">The equipment failure: my Black Diamond hiking poles: one came apart as I was swinging it through the grass along the road. With the help of our host, we’ve taped the pieces together, with packing tape, not duct tape. I hope it will hold as walking with just one pole felt like walking with one arm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">The “breath of God”was what I experienced when a cooling breeze lifted my spirits at the summits of hills.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">I started to sing that old hymn, “Breathe on me, Breath of God, Gill me with life anew....”. I certainly felt I needed new life and energy at many points along today’s walk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">It was not quite as warm today as yesterday, but the air was humid and heavy, the intense green of fields and woods almost oppressive. We have still not seen the Pyrenees, which other walkers have reported seeing in the distance by now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Tomorrow’s walk to the historic city of Auch will be much longer. My phone continues to give much longer distances than the guide book, which measures the distance from Le Grange to La Motthe as just 14 Km.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">It seemed longer than that to me, as we walked from just before 9 am to 20 after 3, with a few breaks of perhaps 15 minutes each at most.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 19pt;">Ultreia!</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-85171456840085959582018-04-23T07:29:00.001-07:002019-12-16T14:49:11.462-08:00Voie d’Arles Day 2, Sunday 22 April, 2018,<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;"> Voie d’Arles Day 2: 22 April L’Isle Jordain to Giscaro. On my phone: 10.6 miles, 23, 363 steps, estimated distance about 15 km.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">After wearing ourselves out yesterday, we decided to make today shorter. Solitary Walker had written an enthusiastic account of his stay at Gite d’Etape Le Grange a few years ago, so we emailed ahead to say we’d be coming.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">At first I thought we might decide to walk farther, but after about the first hour of walking, the heat and humidity began to take its toll. Much of our walking was along pleasant dirt tracks. We arrived at the village of Monferran-Savès shortly after 11 am, after about 2 hours of walking and one brief rest. As we entered the village two men directed us to a shop where we could “even get whiskey,” and we soon arrived at a Vival-Casino that was doing a brisk business before its noon-time closing. Water, orange soda, some potato chips to help replenish our depleted salt, our leftover bread and butter from breakfast, a new bottle of water, and some dark chocolate provided refreshment enough as we sat at the plastic table and chairs in front of the shop. A man wearing hiking boots and zip-legged pants hopped out of his car, and asked if we were going to Santiago. When we said yes, he said, “Can get there faster in my car — two days”. I’m sorry we didn’t take time to wander into the church courtyard, but we were eager to continue on our way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">The only other people on the trail this morning were a couple of joggers and a small group on horseback.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">The trail meandered up and down along fields and wooded lanes. Many birds sang. We stopped a few more times, not wanting to arrive too early.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">At the top of a high hill we found, to our delight, a stone bench adorned with a scallop shell and with a sign urging Jacquairs to profit from it. We sat there a long time, cooling in the shade and breeze, thinking we had only an hour or so yet to go, and we did, arriving at the Gite Le Grange some time after 2 pm., hot and sweating once more after climbing more hills.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Showers, clothes washed in a washing machine for 3 Euros, a couple of beers and then a long nap before a delicious dinner of zucchini soup, served in a lovely old tureen, tender duck, and oven-roasted potatoes, all prepared by Eric, who was covering for the Flemings. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">I was so energized by the nap and dinner, legs and feet no longer aching, so we took a walk before dark.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We are sleeping in a lovely attic dorm, just two of us in this room, snuggled under comfy duvets, cool night breezes coming in through a door and skylight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Fellow pilgrim Emmanuel from Caen, who cooked his own dinner, is in the other room. He had walked from L’Isle Jordain much later than we.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Today, except for the heat, was pilgrim life at its best.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">There are even lamps and small tables beside the beds, and extension cords to plug in phones. This is the perfect gite. </span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-55492402598155908082018-04-22T13:25:00.001-07:002018-04-23T07:26:40.921-07:00Voie d’Arles: Day 1 Pibrac to L’Isle Jordain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Day 1 Pibrac to L’Isle Jordain</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">41,268 steps or 19.2 miles (according to my iPhone, probably exaggerated somewhat).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">First days of walking are usually difficult and contain some surprises. This one was no exception. We left our hotel in Toulouse, with what I thought was time to spare to grab coffee and croissants and perhaps even a sandwich for the road at the train station. On the way, I looked at our tickets and realized I’d mixed up our departure and arrival times. We had just over 20 minutes rather than 40 to catch the train. We sprinted as much as two overweight persons in their mid seventies can sprint wearing nearly 15-pound backpacks. We managed to find the gate for the train, and entered empty cars. Eventually a handful of others arrived, some carrying their coffee. We were on the right train, not some fantasy train to another world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">When my boot had unlaced itself during our race to the station, and I’d bent to fix it, my hydration pack spewed water all over me. I knew it tended to be leaky, but it now it was really unusable. I held the the hose above the pack for the duration of the ride. We exited at the deserted Pribac station. By looking at a map posted at the station and consulting the pages torn from our Miam-Miam Dodo, we figured the town center was uphill and to the right. We found a bar, the only open business in the town, where were able to get croissants, coffee, and orange juice, for 5 E each. While we waited for breakfast I pulled out my hydration pack, emptied it on flower box outside the door and put the whole contraption in a dumpster across the street.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Following detailed directions on a handout from the pilgrim office in Toulouse, we found our first camino and Grand Randonee 653 signs in front of the closed Basilica of Saint Germaine, who had lived her short life in Pibrac. Minutes later we met Yvonne, who paused her car to wait for us to cross a small street, and asked us to pray for her in Compostelle. She explained in gestures and in what I’m sure was perfect French her ailment, I took her hand and I promised to pray for her as I walked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">At the bottom of a hill, we crossed the tracks again, where signs in 2 directions pointed to Compostelle. We could see from our map that one took a longer route through the Forest of Bauconne, and the other a somewhat shorter route to the village of Leguivin. We chose the shorter route along paths frequented by joggers and dog-walkers, several of whom helped us find the way at confusing intersections.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">The day grew increasingly warm</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">There was little shade and no clouds as we left the jogging paths and walked through suburban neighborhoods.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">In Leguivin we found a small market where we bought a litre of water, a can of juice and a small bag of potato chips which we ate on a bench in the village square. We got directions for continuing from two people, and followed more suburban streets until we were in the country, and finally arriving at a dirt trail leading into the forest, where we paused to drink water. We were grateful to be off paved roads at last. There were a few more problematic intersections on the forest trail, which we could tell had been muddy a short time before, but had now dried in the shapes left by tractor tires, a bit hard and rough underfoot, but surely better than mud.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">After an hour or two in the forest, some of which had been logged, so there were no trees and no shade, we came out to a paved road at the top of a very long, very steep hilll. The views of the surrounding farm fields, patchworks of green, brown, and brilliant yellow were spectacular. At last as the road began to climb again, the markers pointed to a path through fields where we continued to climb. There were now views of houses and small ponds, but L’Isle Jordain lay beyond more hills. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">An occasional breeze cooled us a bit, but we were dripping with sweat. Kent dug my bandana from the top of my pack, and I mopped the sweat from my eyes and tied it around my neck. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Eventually we came to another road, walked past more houses and crossed a busy highway and a railroad track. We sat in the grass under some trees for a bit, and figured we had another hour to go. The route via the road would have been shorter, but we opted for the Grand Randonee path. We’d had enough of road-walking. I had only a small amount of water in my half-litre bottle, and the other bottle we’d bought was empty. Kent had water in his hydration pack that we shared, but how much was left? We had no way of knowing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">At the very last house on the track, a young girl was mounting a horse, her mother opening the gate for her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">“Bonjour,” I said, “Un peu d’eau, si’l vous plait?” and gestured to Kent to pull out my bottle. The mother graciously took our two bottles and disappeared into the house as the daughter headed down the track we would follow. Grateful for the kindness of strangers, we drank half of our new water within minutes as we followed the horse down the track.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">All went well until we reached a river and misread signs, which led us in the wrong direction. I turned to Google maps to corroborate, and got that familiar voice in English saying , “Go Southwest.” We turned around.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We crossed an ancient brick bridge and were soon in a park along a lake, surrounded by people. We stopped at the tourist office, a modern building by the lake, and took a look at the very nice-looking attached gite. If we hadn’t already reserved at the hotel, this would have been just fine. “One pilgrim tonight,” we were told.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We strolled along the lakeshore — maybe staggered is a better word for it, among families, old folks with dogs, young couples holding hands, and young men sitting at picnic tables with packs of beer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Finally —the hotel, the Hostellerie du Lac, an old-fashioned summer hotel. After 7.5 hours of walking, we were hot, exhausted, and dripping sweat. “I’d like a beer, “ said Kent as he was handed the key to room 04. “Right now?” she asked. Yes, right now! “Make that two!” I said, taking the key and heading up the stairs. i had just opened the door of the dark room, when the woman from the desk whipped past me, carrying two Heineken bottles and two glasses on a tray. She threw open the shutters, flooding the room with light, and set the tray down on the balcony that over-looked the lake. We had arrived!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Dropping our packs, we eased ourselves into the chairs. We’d made through our first day!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">There were baths in the old-fashioned tub, a bit of hand-washing, and finally a sumptuous dinner on the terrace. We were not always sure what we were eating: slices of heart in a salad, perhaps, and a foie gras, with scallops and tiny shrimp in another salad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Too tired to write more than a bit, I fell asleep. Tomorrow we’d have a shorter day.</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-581754808839860032018-04-20T13:47:00.000-07:002018-04-20T13:49:53.957-07:00April 20 Toulouse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">20 April. Toulouse</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We had a lovely relaxing day once we got our train tickets to take us out of the industrial suburbs of Toulouse tomorrow morning. Because of the SNCF strike, there was quite a backlog. We walked along the Canal du Midi from the train station. It was pretty at first, then became lined with concrete as highways had been laid beside it. We also passed two small homeless encampments under bridges. We came to a canal sightseeing boat that was about to leave, and decided to take the trip back the way we had come, through 3 locks. That was enough for us. We then walked along the Brienne Canal to the Garonne, buying sandwiches, drinks, and chocolate at a little epicerie, and picnicking on a bench beside the canal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">It was still lunchtime when we reached the Garonne, and people were out everywhere, on steps leading down to the water, in grassy parks, and in sidewalk cafes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Old bridges, spectacular old buildings on both sides of the river, and a church with a revered Black Madonna were all part of the mix. We finished our sightseeing with a lengthier visit to the Couvent Jacobin, and a farewell to Thomas Aquinas. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We rested in our hotel room for a short while before exploring a nearby neighborhood and enjoying pizza for dinner.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Our packs are packed again and tomorrow will be a test of endurance as we walk over 20 km from Pibrac to L’Isle Jordan, where have wimped out and reserved a hotel room rather than searching for the municipal gite. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Now our real pilgrim journey begins!</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-66552362250730358432018-04-19T12:55:00.000-07:002018-04-19T13:07:37.997-07:00April 19 Bordeaux to Toulouse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">19 April 2018 Bordeaux to Toulouse</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We had a wonderful day in Bordeaux yesterday, getting a European SIM card from an outfit called “Free,” picking up an adaptor for French electrical outlets — I was surprised to discover my Spanish one didn’t work—and touring pilgrim sites around this lovely city. The weather was sunny, and a bit warm, and we logged 8.2 miles. Then, after dinner, we walked along the Garonne, adding perhaps another mile or two. Hundreds of people of all ages, although mostly young ones, were picnicking in the parkland along the river. We also purchased bus tickets to Toulouse, and this morning walked across the Garonne on the Pierre Bridge to catch the Ouibus to Toulouse, an uneventful 3-hour journey along a large highway. Although I kept watching, and saw signs to Lectoure and Condom, places I walked through on the route from Le Puy in 2010, I couldn’t recognize where the Chemin crossed the highway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We are settled into the Hotel Royal Wilson in the old center of Toulouse for the next two nights. It sounds elegant, but is an older two-star hotel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">It will do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We visited the tourist office, the pilgrims welcome office, where got information on the trail ahead, and two churches — the Basilica of St. Sernin, which had a beautiful series of posters with wonderful quotations about many aspects of pilgrimage, and the Convent Church of the Jacobins which holds the grave of St Thomas Acquinas, which I vividly remembered visiting in 1998 or 1999, although I’d forgotten which church it was in.</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-59637387544549055532018-04-18T08:57:00.001-07:002018-04-18T09:23:22.455-07:00Arrived in Bordeaux<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">April 17</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We arrived in France, making our way to the RER at CDG with only a little confusion. We surfaced into the sunshine, blossoming trees and flowers of springtime Paris at Denfert-Rochereau. In a jet-lagged daze we circled the area, getting our bearings, then walked through a bit of the Montparnasse Cemetery, before reaching the Gare Montparnasse with over 2 hours before our train. Our tickets, purchased long ago, could not be changed, so we dined on salad and quiche at the Cafe du Maine before boarding the sleep-inducing high speed train to Bordeaux, where with a bit of help we found our way to the lovely and friendly Maison Bastide.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">It is warm, so I shed my fleece, wool pullover and boots. Tomorrow we’ll explore Bordeaux and figure out how we’ll get to Toulouse on Thursday when the trains will be on strike.</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-40403099991653867472018-04-11T06:02:00.000-07:002018-04-11T06:02:03.784-07:00My To-do List is Empty<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">My to-do list is now empty. I found a shirt to wear on the plane tomorrow, and the silk scarf that will accompany me on my pilgrimage. My pack seems too heavy at almost 15 pounds, but the clothes I’ll be wearing are in it, except for the fleece I’ll put on in the morning, along with my boots, jeans, shirt and the scarf. The jeans will stay behind as we head off on our pilgrimage, stripped down to the bare essentials. I’ll have my phone this time, unlike on my first time, when I had nothing electronic but my camera, a slightly newer version of which I’ll take tomorrow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">How I hate these final hours before departure! For 2 days, and especially today, I have been scrambling and scurrying from one thing to another.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Thankfully, Kent has done much in terms of emptying the refrigerator and taking care of things out doors.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;"> It is nearly 11, and the Lyft driver should appear by 5:45 or 6:00.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">We’ll have 5 days at the Pilgrim Gathering in Menlo Park and with the family in San Francisco before we fly to Paris on Monday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">What have I forgotten? From the New Zealand Book of Common Prayer, a favorite:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Lord,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">it is night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">The night is for stillness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Let us be still in the presence of God.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">It is night after a long day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">What has been done has been done;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">what has not been done has not been done;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">let it be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">The night is dark.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">rest in you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">The night is quiet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">all dear to us,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">and all who have no peace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">The night heralds the dawn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Let us look expectantly to a new day,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">new joys,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">new possibilities.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">In your name we pray.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Amen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Morning: waiting to board our flight to Oakland, CA</span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-28126577990402800682018-04-04T10:26:00.000-07:002018-04-04T10:35:04.136-07:00Chemin d'Arles April-May 2018<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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One week from today Kent and I will be departing for the American Pilgrims on the Camino Gathering in Menlo Park, California, and less that a week after that, on April 17, will arrive in Paris. From there we'll take the train to Bordeaux and then to Toulouse, where on Saturday, April 21, we hope to begin the 449 km (about 280 mile) walk to Puente la Reina in Spain along the Chemin d'Arles (Tolosana) and Camino Aragones.<br />
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We have been walking along the irrigation ditch banks in our new boots nearly every morning for the past three weeks, hoping to be somewhat ready. Now we are trying out our packs: what to take and what to leave? Less is more.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b>"Nothing is more exhilarating than pursuing an improbable goal without regard to consequences." Edie Littlefield Sundby. <i>The Mission Walker</i></b></span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-2466326187206393142017-01-14T13:27:00.001-08:002017-11-13T09:17:07.110-08:00Spiritual Lessons of the Camino<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>The following piece was written almost one year ago, and presented at one of our local chapter events. I realized I should save it and share it somewhere, so here it is:</i><br />
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><b>Spiritual lessons of the Camino</b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camino Sanabres, November 2016</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><br />With the death of my husband two and a half years
before I departed on my first Camino in 2010, a light had gone out of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had lost the person who loved me best
of all, and with whom I had shared everything for 30 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was the meaning of life without
him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ed had been my anchor, my
best friend, my life’s companion, my center, and my rock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">My Camino was both a good-bye and a beginning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I set out alone to walk on the
relatively untraveled route from Le-Puy-en-Velay in France, and I set out on a
new life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There would be no Ed to
bail me out in times of trouble. No Ed to share my joys, my sorrows and my
frustrations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who would care if I
never came back?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My children and
friends would miss me, sure, but they had their own lives that would go on
quite well without me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Despite my fears and sometimes panic, I trusted that
God would take care of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whatever was going to happen would happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much was out of my control: ATM machines did not work, the
train didn’t go through, I arrived in the dark and couldn’t find the hostel, my
trekking poles would not lock into place, and I missed a turn on my first day
of walking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was alone, and not
everyone was friendly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
sometimes strangers — camino angels — came to my rescue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite my fear, there was freedom in
being on my own, setting out in an unknown land, with everything I would need
for the next six weeks on my back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was a self-contained entity, reliant, however, as Blanche du Bois
would say, "on the kindness of strangers," and on the grace of God. I
was a pilgrim, as so many had been before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked in the footsteps of those long gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had already lost so much that was important
to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What more did I have to
lose?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">As I walked, forgotten French words and phrases
surfaced from buried recesses within me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Memories awakened by sights, smells, and sounds along the trail, came to
me unbidden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself
remembering people, events, and places from my entire life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would sometimes find myself in tears,
and sometimes laughing out loud and singing at the joy and freedom of walking,
of feeling the earth beneath my feet, the sun, wind, rain, and snow on my face,
and beauty all around me, never knowing what I would encounter around the next
bend or over the next hill. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life
was so simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No dithering over
what I should do, and whether I was meeting my responsibilities or the
expectations of others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I
needed to do was put one foot in front of the other, keep my body going, and
find something to eat and a place to sleep at the end of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I feared I might find walking drudgery, and indeed
sometimes the last miles of the day seemed so long and hard, that I thought I
might expire before they did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, as exhausted and sore as I might be in the evening, each morning
I woke refreshed, full of energy and anticipation after a much longer sleep
than I ever had at home, eager to put on my boots and see where my feet would
take me that day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">What did I learn?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Let go. There is only so much I can control.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Take it one step, one day at a time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Rejoice in the moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Know that the hard times, the moments of sadness, and
the times of panic are opportunities for growth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Sometimes I have to be at the end of my rope, with
hope extinguished, before I can recognize that an angel has been sent to help
me, and I am not really alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Back home again, I try to remember to live as a
pilgrim, but it is hard to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
pilgrim is both in the world and outside of the world, but at home the world is
too much with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is why many
of us are called to return to the pilgrim path again, and why i continue to
reflect on that time apart long after my walk is over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Did I find a new life?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
pilgrimage continues to have a presence in my daily life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are constant reminders, and when
I have doubts about my path and whether I can do something, I remind myself of
what I accomplished as a pilgrim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I have since walked Caminos with my new husband, and
learned that walking day by day with a loved one presents different challenges
than walking alone. We bring some of the safety and some of the responsibility
of home with us when we walk with another, and we need to negotiate between I
and we, and us and me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">What did I learn?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Be patient. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Compromise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Communicate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">We walk alone even when together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No companion can walk for us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">The pilgrim constantly walks through new
landscapes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we stay at home,
it is an illusion that nothing changes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Everything changes all the time, even though we stay put.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pilgrimage helps us recognize that
sometimes we are the tree standing by the water, and sometimes the passing
stream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What remains forever?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Linnea Hendrickson <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">January 17, 2016<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Martin Luther King Day<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-57134749302401260182016-10-28T01:11:00.000-07:002019-12-16T14:58:43.256-08:00Week Two as Hospitaleros at El Burgo Ranero<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
October 25<br />
<br />
Yesterday was one of our wilder days. We had:<br />
1 rain all day<br />
2 a Hungarian woman who was sure we had bedbugs. When I visited her later in the bar where she was waiting to get the bus to Leon, she started to cry, thanking me for my concern. I am quite sure we have no bedbugs in our albergue, but they could arrive at any time.<br />
3 Argentinian and Spanish couple, lovely, but very loud, celebrating a wedding anniversary -- cooked two large meals with friends, and I played Parcheesi with them, which was fun<br />
4 electricity went out<br />
5 an Irish woman wanted to sing, and then while she was teaching all of us the song, we heard a loud crash<br />
6 young Hungarian man walking with wife or girlfriend had fallen out if a top bunk while trying to unzip his sleeping bag<br />
7 he was bleeding profusely from a deep gash over his left eye. many rushed to his aide, some more helpful than others<br />
8 we got him patched up, phone call to emergency, ambulance came, another pilgrim who for some reason had a car (very mysterious) went with him, and they came back in the night from a doctor in Mansilla 20 km away who gave him 5 stitches. They took off walking this morning. The man with the car also departed -- I guess with his car.<br />
<br />
I told him he looked like Rocky, and he laughed. We had 28 wet pilgrims last night who set off in rain again the morning.<br />
<br />
It is the pilgrims that make it worth it. I think we will be here at least 17 days before anyone relieves us, and we are already tired. So 7 more days before to we go walking.<br />
<br />
Tuesday, October 25<br />
<br />
I didn't write today, other than the account of the previous day. After we had sent the pilgrims out into the rain, after we finished cleaning, and after coffee in the Peregrino, the sun came out and it warmed up. I was feeling a bit of cabin fever, so took the rickety bike and set out to find Las Graneras, a small village part of the El Burgo district. I could see the effect of transportation improvements, as again I had to go up over the freeway and another railroad track -- this one for the high speed train that took us to Leon and by-passes both El Burgo and Sahagun. I had to dismount the bike to get over the top, and could see where all the traditional routes had been blocked on both sides by train and highway. The pilgrim route to Bercianos turned to the east before the tracks and highway.<br />
<br />
The first living creature I encountered in Las Graneras was a friendly, fly-covered donkey. Then a few old men walking. There were many old houses, a few fixed up, and a few just wasting, roofless adobe walls. There was a lavandera which was protected by a roof, water covered by green scum, with a historical plaque telling of the days when the women of the village gathered there to do their laundry. I have always found these structures and plaques fascinating, and many villages, especially in France, but apparently also in Spain, proudly preserve these.<br />
<br />
There was a church, with records daring from the 943, but it was not open. It did proudly sport one stork nest, but storks are not nesting now, and must have gone to Africa for the winter. I think I explored every street in the town -- there were not many -- then took a muddy dirt track a short distance to an Ermita (Santo Cristo del Amparo) -- a small chapel. From there I could see back toward El Burgo, over broad fields. I met a few more people including one woman and a workman I was sure I had seen in El Burgo on his bicycle.<br />
<br />
The ride back was uneventful, and I made it over the overpass in one go -- it was less steep coming back. People were already here, even though it was a fine day.<br />
<br />
It was another day in which people came singly or in pairs or trips throughout the afternoon.<br />
<br />
By 7:30 p.m. and sunset, we had filled 24 beds, and Kent and I hurried to the pond to catch the sunset. It was the warmest evening we had had, and I thought unlikely we would get more pilgrims. But when we returned there were 4 young Korean women waiting for us. They were well-organized. One had already purchased groceries, one went to collect packs at the bar. We found beds for all of them, and two started cooking. But they wanted to wash their clothes in the washing machine. They were quite upset when we told them it was too late, and nothing would get dry afterwards, as it was already after 8 p.m. They wanted to find another place in town. But we told them there was nowhere -- perhaps the hotel -- but I didn't think so. They would have to wait until tomorrow.<br />
<br />
I went to the tienda about 8:15 and 4 Italian fellows were purchasing lots of wine and groceries. By 8:30 the kitchen was jammed and I couldn't even find a sink in which to wash an apple. I inwardly groaned, anticipating another long loud evening, but the Italian fellows soon had their huge salad, pot of pasta, wine,and loaves of bread on the table and talked quietly while they ate. Kent even reported that they swept under the table afterwards. The Korean women likewise, ate quietly and quickly, and cleaned up after themselves. I took a break, and when I came back at 9:45 to help Kent close up, everything was fairly quiet.<br />
<br />
October 26 Wednesday<br />
<br />
The stars were brilliant this morning. Orion and the Pleiades shine in the south, the Dippers to the north, and the crescent moon in the east. The pilgrims were pretty much all up, too.<br />
<br />
Thursday, 27 October<br />
<br />
No big surprises yesterday. Twenty beds full. A beautiful day, and I was able to make reservations for us to go to Rome to meet Saad and Psyche and Saad's sisters from November 24-27. It will be a short time for Italy, then back to Madrid before we fly home on November 30. For some reason the Alitalia site would not accept our credit cards, but we were finally able to make it work through Expedia. We are thinking about where we will go when we are able to walk out of El Burgo on either Monday or Tuesday. Perhaps to Burgos by train from Sahagun, then back to Leon to walk toward Santiago.<br />
<br />
People were at the door at 1 and the last pilgrim came by bicycle at 8 p.m. In almost dark. <br />
<br />
2 p.m. On Thursday 27 0ctober.<br />
<br />
It is another beautiful day. I am sitting in the sun. We had two pilgrims already. A German woman who said she has had cancer and was too exhausted to keep walking. She came just from Bercianos, 7-8 km away. Then a petite Korean woman arrived in a taxi from Sahagun with an enormous plastic-wrapped pack. She took out several jackets and a poncho, which she hung on the clothesline. I tried lifting the pack and could barely do so. She says she started walking in St. Jean, but she could scarcely have carried that pack from there. That is it for the first hour of opening. Peaceful here except for noisy vehicles, loud voices from the bar, and a huge John Deere tractor that was parked in front of the albergue, but just took off with a deafening roar.<br />
<br />
Later: I spoke too soon about the peaceful day. I'd gone to take a nap when Kent announced that five Italian pilgrims had arrived, including a middle-aged man who came by taxi with his wife and who seemed to be the group leader, and told us that that fifteen more were on the way -- would we save beds for them? No, we couldn't do that, although we had plenty of beds at the moment. So, I got up to wait for the onslaught--but no one came. We had a French group, and assorted others, including a few from the Italian group who came in one and two at a time. I concluded that the rest must have gone elsewhere, although the group leader kept pacing the street, communicating with his cell phone. Then about 7 p.m. Another 10 or so began trickling in, interspersed with other pilgrims. The Italian men wouldn't take the last beds, saving them for two "chicas" who were limping. They arrived, and we checked them in, and then a man from Uruguay took the last bed. The "chicas" didn't go to their beds or head to the showers, however, but stayed outside with the men. <br />
<br />
We told the group leader that our rules did not allow us to put extra pilgrims on the floor, and that there were rooms available that could be shared in the hotels across the street. But he said no to that. No money. Well, although our pay for the night is by donation, that doesn't mean people should pay nothing. We also said they were welcome to camp in the park next to us, and use our facilities. One man insisted on putting his pack inside, although we finally told him he could not leave it here. He seemed well-equipped with camping gear with a metal grill, a sleeping pad, and several metal utensils attached to his pack.<br />
<br />
They filled the benches outside, and even spread out their sleeping bags on the sidewalk. One of them wanted the phone number for the parish priest, which we did not have, and I suggested they ask in he bar. We put up the Completo sign and walked to the laguna to see the sunset. When we came back about 8 p.m. The two girls came with bags of clothes and wanted to wash them in the washing machine. We told them it was too late -- that the machine took more than one hour and things wouldn't dry as our dryer did not work -- partly true, as it will hold on,y part of a washer load at a time because the door is damaged and held together by a bungee cord.<br />
<br />
Another British lad arrived, and we turned him away, referring him to the hotels,while the remaining Italians still waited outside. The leader of the large group was cooking a big pot of soup, and the entire kitchen and all the stove burners were in use, so Kent and I walked over to El Peregrino, where several other pilgrims were enjoying "Menu Peregrino" in the dining room. While we were eating there was a commotion at the door, and the there appeared three familiar members of the community in costume (a military man brandishing a gun, a woman with a suitcase, and someone in a long white gown) who put on a short crazy skit -- we had no idea what was going on -- but it was all quite hilarious with laughter and cheers all around.<br />
<br />
When we arrived back in the albergue, things were pretty quiet. The group leader informed us he'd saved some soup for us, and the others had gone to sleep in the church. But inside 3 complete strangers who had arrived after 8 p.m. had spread out their sleeping bags on the floor. One woman spoke English, and we explained that we could not let them stay, and that there were rooms across the street. She understood, and said she would convince the men to go with her.<br />
<br />
After all this, it was quite quiet as the regular pilgrims seemed to have retired early, probably grateful to have their beds. It was a beautiful, warm evening, so sleeping outside would not have been a great hardship for those with sleeping mats and sleeping bags. Although we felt hard-hearted, we also felt pressured and imposed upon. These very late arriving pilgrims did have other options, and we also felt it was not fair to the thirty pilgrims who were already with us to have to share their already limited space with improvident latecomers.<br />
<br />
We'll see how it all looks in the morning, and how many will be hopping on the bus to Leon.<br />
<br />
Morning: Friday 28 0ctober<br />
<br />
Piles of our blankets were outside the door on the bench this morning. Someone left an unwashed soup pot and bowl in the sink, and a coffee pot full of grounds. There were huge quantities of trash, including paper on the bedroom floors. The Korean woman put her large and small backpacks back in the plastic bags, and I assume delivered them to one of the bats across the street where they would be picked up by a luggage carrying service. I did not see how she left. <br />
<br />
It is another beautiful day, despite the fact that someone scrawled "culo" across an entire page of our guestbook, which Kent says means asshole in Spanish. We did our best, but obviously couldn't keep everyone happy in this situation, which we found quite stressful.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-28437663071532872472016-10-21T11:01:00.002-07:002016-10-21T11:01:45.728-07:00One Week!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One week finished and one more to go<br />
Wednesday, October 19<br />
<br />
I went to mass this morning. It is at 11 a.m. every day but Sunday. There were 5-6 people besides me. I waited to talk to the priest, but he didn't come out afterwards, so I went down the street and found two cafes open to serve pilgrims in the mornings and at noon.<br />
<br />
The surprise today was the arrival of a young German mother with a very large stroller and a five-year-old daughter.<br />
<br />
I began to be bored in the afternoon. Few pilgrims. What would we do for the next dozen days? Then, sun came out and Kent and I sat outside drinking vino tinto, visiting<br />
with a pair of Australian sisters. We went to dinner at Las Piedras Blancas and immediately two pilgrims showed up -- one on bicycle. I ran over to check them in, then we ate, peas and ham for Kent and meatballs for me. Kent went back, and I stayed, reading emails and news and playing Words with Friends and drinking too much wine. We talked with Sechio, who said he would accompany me by bike tomorrow morning to Calzadilla de Los Hermanillos to visit Mary Lynn, a Canadian Hospitalera.<br />
<br />
I posted to Facebook.<br />
<br />
Thursday, October 20<br />
<br />
A chilly, cloudy morning. We did not wash sheets today, as I felt we have changed all the sheets once since we arrived and we could take a day off, especially since we have been only half full or less.<br />
<br />
Sechio could not go with me on the bike, but he drew me a map, and after a spin around El Burgo, I took off. One speed bike with only back wheel brakes working. It was about 7 km each way. I had to walk a bit up two not very big hills -- one the railroad overpass. On the way back I took a shortcut and dragged the bike across the tracks. Calzadilla de Los Hermanillos was bigger than I expected, and it took a bit of wandering and asking to find the albergue. Mary Lynn and I talked Hospitalero "shop" for a bit.<br />
<br />
We thought we'd have another slow day. I took a nap during the afternoon, then Kent woke me to say a group of 11 had arrived! He'd checked them all in. We are now waiting for the last two of 30 to arrive, which their friends have assured us are on the way. It is 6:30 p.m. It probably not going to be a quiet evening.<br />
<br />
Friday, October 21 (one week since we arrived)<br />
<br />
It was not a quiet evening. The last two awaited pilgrims (a couple from New Zealand) arrived, and on their heels were two from Spain whom we had to turn away. They did not seem terribly upset -- we learned that a double room across the street would be 45 euros for two -- about 3-4 times what a couple would pay in the albergues. One man asked if we had a towel for him. He seemed to expect we would have one. I said no, and referrred him to the free box. He grabbed a couple of knit shirts which were still on the clothesline this morning. Then, this morning in the tienda I noticed there were towels, socks, umbrellas and even one pair of pink crocs in just my size, so peregrinos are well-catered for here.<br />
<br />
Last night's group included those who had encountered bed bugs, and quite a few with injuries, bites or swellings of some kind. The farmacia must have had a brisk businesss. One man asked this morning if he could stay another night because of pain in his leg, but we told him no. I suggested bus, farmacia and the hotel across the street as options.<br />
<br />
At 10 p.m. It was pretty quiet, but when I opened the door to take down the Completo sign and lock up, a group of 5 came running across from the bar.<br />
<br />
It turned very cold overnight, perhaps one reason we were so inundated with houseflies yesterday. It took longer to clean this morning, as things were much dirtier with 30 pilgrims than with 14. One group left a big pot of soup. They had made way too much. We will probably eat it this afternoon. (We did -- too much bland over-cooked pasta -- even a bit of spicy sauce and some salami couldn't quite redeem it).<br />
<br />
Our morning adventure was an encounter with a man named Lucas who was pounding on a large old wine barrel. He invited us into to his extensive yard and a room full of antiques that also contained a table with drinks, a wood stove, and a television. He turned on very loud music and talked a mile a minute to Kent. I kept asking Kent what he said, and told him questions to ask, including whether perhaps he could sharpen our knives, but Kent told me he couldn't understand anything. There were small grapes on vines in the courtyard, boxes of tomatoes, and delicious pears spread out on the floor to ripen. He gave us four.<br />
<br />
Then we went to the street that runs past the church, but has no cross streets connecting it to the rest of the village except at each end. I wonder if the streets were laid out this way so that livestock could more easily be driven through them. We stopped at a little cafe where we had a delicious tortilla, a Leonese version of French toast, and two freshly squeezed glasses of sumo de naranja -- very nice place with many pilgrims stopping -- ones we never see, as they take that street through the village and out the other end.<br />
<br />
<br />
The streets<br />
<br />
look a bit like this:<br />
<br />
It looks like my drawing doesn't transfer.<br />
<br />
Very quiet this afternoon, again. 3 Koreans, 5 Spaniards, and 1 Russian woman. After our big cleaning this morning we bundled up, turned on our heater, and cuddled together on one narrow bed for an hour's heavenly nap. <br />
<br />
Linnea<br />
<br /></div>
Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-15701481562863940032016-10-19T01:33:00.000-07:002016-10-19T01:33:07.548-07:00Settling in as Hospitaleros<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Monday, October 17<br />
<br />
After a quiet start yesterday, despite some rather wild times in the kitchen for Kent and me before the pilgrims arrived (he left the bar to start cooking (just for us-- we don't cook for the pilgrims), and cooked the whole pound of pasta instead of just a cup), I ran to the church for the Sunday service, then came back to finish the goulash, and we started greeting pilgrims. By about 6 p.m. We had 29 pilgrims, but couldn't find an empty bed. We put up the Completo sign and turned away one young man. Then as it was getting dark a petite young woman arrived. Paddy from Ireland offered to give up his bed for her, then accompanied her to the Laguna Hostal. However the only space they had was a private room that cost 30 Euros, so she returned to stay with us. Before lights out at 10 p.m., we found the missing bed. She was warmly welcomed by a group that included Spanish, Dutch, German, Korean, and Italian pilgrims. They cooked, ate and visited together. I got tearful watching them, and told them that this was what I love about the Camino -- people from so many countries sharing and enjoying each others' company. What if the leaders of the world walked together, staying together in dormitories and sharing bathrooms? Perhaps we could have peace?<br />
<br />
The Korean pilgrim gave Kent and me a pin and necklace with a yellow ribbon commemorating the deaths of Korean students in a boating accident in 2014 that many feel the government did not adequately address.<br />
<br />
Today has been a quieter day. Cold again, and cloudy, with just a few minutes of sunshine. 22 pilgrims have arrived by 7:20 p.m., the last one from Belgium just a few minutes ago. Nationalities represented today: Belgium, Spain, Italy, Canada, Korea, Poland, France, Czech Republic, Australia, and Russia.<br />
<br />
We got candles at the tienda, which add a bit of warmth and color, although we are mostly out of wood, and don't have a fire tonight. The washer and dryer have been going, and pilgrims are now cooking in the kitchen, which also helps.<br />
<br />
Tuesday, 18 October.<br />
<br />
We ended up having a fire after all last night, and the usual lively groups around two tables. One older man was alone, so I joined him, and soon there was a lively group sharing life and Camino experiences. Kent came in from a long nap, then I went to bed early (a bit after 9). It is exhausting interacting with so many people speaking English and Spanish in so many accents for 9 hours per day. Kent closed down the house at 10 p.m.<br />
<br />
Today it feels like we have finally hit our stride. Done with cleaning by about 10, we went across the street for napolitanas and coffee, then I put on my boots and we both went for a walk. My right foot has been hurting, and I think it is because I have been running up and down stairs and around the village in my crocs. Much better in boots. We found the train station, about a 15-minute walk away, trains twice a day, morning and evening in each direction. Everything closed up at the station. <br />
<br />
The station area was mostly abandoned. <br />
A Bibliobus (bookmobile) was parked by the school next door to us.<br />
<br />
We had sunshine this morning. It is the first time since the day we arrived that the sun has shone in our windows. <br />
<br />
The music I put on my iPhone seems to be a success. One man arrived yesterday to Marian Anderson singing Ave Maria, and he was amazed. He said he'd been singing it all day while walking. He must have known he'd come to the right place.<br />
<br />
So far today our arrivals have included two couples, starry-eyed young lovers who met on the Camino, from Israel, Hungary, Lithuania, and Ireland. <br />
<br />
Wednesday, Oct 19<br />
<br />
Only 14 peregrinos last night. Our first dog (not allowed). One pilgrim arrived complaining of bed bug bites, which had us a bit worried. Others wanted to stay out after 10 to watch a football match. They arranged for one pilgrim to let hem in, so we locked the door and went to bed. It is dark in the mornings until 8 a.m. when pilgrims have to be out so we can clean, so it is hard to get them all going. The music helps -- lively music for morning. Hit the Road, Jack, Zorba's Dance, Morning has Broken, Heavenly Day, And Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah are in the Playlist.<br />
<br />
We got a load of wood, with more to come today, and Kent got a ride to Sahagun to the ATM machine so we won't run out of cash. So, we are settling in. It was even warm enough to sit outside without our jackets yesterday afternoon, and the little heater took the chill off our room.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-34170692887900203152016-10-15T03:04:00.004-07:002020-01-02T22:23:55.411-08:00A Difficult Beginning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A Difficult Beginning: Spain 2016<br />
<br />
October 11<br />
<br />
At last today, everything went smoothly after a difficult beginning to our trip.<br />
<br />
Almost losing the phone by leaving it in the charging station in Dallas was traumatic. I was forbidden to exit the plane to get it, even though passengers were still boarding. I was informed that leaving a plane was not allowed once one has boarded an international flight. So an airline employee was sent to look. She was gone a long time while I nervously waited, but came back empty-handed. "All the phones are being used," she said, which didn't make sense. I begged her to go back and look one more time, but no. At least it wasn't your passport one flight attendant said. <br />
<br />
However, the plane continued to sit at the gate. After about 20 minutes of silently fretting and fuming and trying to be accepting, I had to give it one last try. I prayed, "God help this unfortunate pilgrim and give me courage and faith." This time, the attendant realized it was my PHONE, not just the charger that I'd left behind, and she talked to the attendant guarding the exit, who suddenly sprang to life. <br />
<br />
She called the person at the desk to let me off the plane. I didn't have my passport or boarding pass, and I'd taken off my boots and was wearing yellow throw-away slippers from a Chinese train. She said, "Never mind. It's OK. I sprinted up the long passageway, through a couple of "authorized personnel only" doors and the woman at the desk let me into the terminal. I dashed to the charging station, only a few feet away, and immediately saw the phone in its banged up old white and fake wood case, stilled plugged in. It was fully charged. I grabbed phone and charger, overwhelmed with gratitude, and was let back in through the locked doors. I hugged the attendant who'd let me out, and weak with relief and a bit unbelieving of my success, made my way back to Kent at the back of the plane. I thought of Sunday's reading of the ten lepers Jesus had healed, and how only one came back to thank him. "Thank you! Thank you!" I said over and over in my heart.<br />
<br />
When we finally departed, it was a very uncomfortable, sometimes rough, flight. Although we had two empty seats beside us in the middle five-seat section, they were so tight, it was hard to get comfortable. Laurin, our friend from Hospitalero training, headed to volunteer in Estella, was on our plane in in the row just ahead of us. When we were under way and had been served fairly large glasses of wine, he turned and raised his glass to us. Despite our cramped space, we had a lot to celebrate.<br />
<br />
While walking in the twilight above the Aqueduct in Segovia on our first night, I tripped over a curb and fell, bruising my left knee, but caused no more serious damage.<br />
<br />
Then last night after a very long time figuring out how to buy a train ticket online, I realized that I had accidentally picked the wrong time and a slower train, so we will try change it tomorrow. Worst of all, Kent was impatient with me for even trying to book online, and accused me of never listening to him. Obviously, despite a short nap, we were both pretty tired.<br />
<br />
Segovia is charming and beautiful. This trip has to get better!<br />
<br />
Next day: Wednesday October 12.<br />
<br />
It did get better! Despite rain, we had a perfect day, enjoying the Alcazar in peace just before a mob of students on tour arrived. We then walked down a long series of steps to the Church of the True Cross, then to a Church devoted to the counter-reformation mystic St.John of the Cross. We had an invigorating trek back up to our Plaza Hostal, where we picked up our packs and headed to the train station. Kent did well with his Spanish with the lovely clerk at the train station, who refunded our tickets and got us the correct ones, and got us senior tarjetas dorados also, so we will save Euros on future trips. We celebrated with croissants and coffee, and arrived In Leon a bit after 5 p.m.<br />
<br />
We found this lovely residence run by the Hermanas de Las Trinitarias, where we received a warm welcome from the nuns, and our own room with bath for 26 Euros, which will include breakfast. We've enjoyed a lovely evening walking around Leon, inspecting the facade of the cathedral and enjoying wine and tapas.<br />
<br />
At the first bar we encountered a couple conversing animatedly in sign language. We ended up visiting with them for quite awhile, writing on napkins and mouthing words in English and Spanish, and finally taking our pictures together.<br />
<br />
All is well in our quiet room, but the wifi code did not work, so this will go out tomorrow. I am still not sleeping. Awake at two after 3 hours of sleep, but happy tonight. Six years ago in September, Leon is where I fell apart after watching a young couple with a fussy baby eating while I lunched in the lovely plaza near the Benedictine Convent in which I was staying. Memories of a life now gone had flooded through me. I was alone, and I didn't know where my life was headed. I walked around fighting tears the entire afternoon. Adding to my melancholy, the hot water had run out in the Convent, so I had to settle for a cold shower. Today I walked here with my dear Kent. Look where my Camino led!<br />
<br />
Tomorrow we'll visit the Cathedral and and then head toward El Burgo Ranero either on foot or by bus. We need to be there on Friday, and will take up our duties on Saturday -- vacation over for the next two weeks!<br />
<br />
Thursday, 13 October.<br />
<br />
All is well today. After touring the magnificent cathedral, we took a bus to Villamoros, where we were let out in pouring rain. Under a tiny overhang we struggled to get our pack covers on and hats and ponchos out. We walked the 4 long km to Mansilla de las Mulas, where the rain stopped. We had lunch, then continued in bright sunshine another 6.8 to Reliegos where we are in the charming Hostal Ada, in a room for just the two of us, bath down the hall, and where we had a delicious home-cooked vegetarian supper prepared by Pedro and his daughter Ada. Lovely conversations with other walkers, German and Australian, and now for bed. Wifi not working again. Tomorrow to El Burgo Ranero and our Hospitalero assignment. Black clouds loomed as we neared Reliegos, and shortly after our arrival another storm crashed through.<br />
<br />
Friday, 14 October. After walking 12.5 km to El Burgo Ranero this morning, we were enthusiastically greeted by the two departing Spanish hospitaleros, who introduced us to essential personnel in the village, showed some of the basic operations of the Albergue, and then after the first 3 or 4 of the 24 peregrinos we have welcomed so far arrived, joyfully departed in their colorfully painted van to their home in Malaga. It is now 8:15 p.m., and we are ready to go to bed, but most of the pilgrims are still going strong, some cooking quite elaborate meals in the kitchen. We have French, German, Danish, Brazilian, Dutch, Italian, Australian, New Zealand, Spanish, British, and one Filipino American here tonight, most speaking English with each other, the new "Lingua Franca." As we walked this morning and yesterday heading "backwards" away from Santiago, we got many questions and puzzled looks. Despite reports of crowding on the Camino Frances, and meeting large numbers of pilgrims, the albergues have not been full. We have room for another 6 here tonight, and there were several empty beds last night in Reliegos.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-90323514324141098122016-08-28T17:26:00.000-07:002016-09-03T10:49:28.484-07:00Back to the Camino Again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Back to the Camino Again<br>
<br>
From October 15-31, 2016, Kent and I will be serving as <i>hospitaleros voluntarios</i> at El Burgo Ranero, a small villlage about a two day walk east of Leon on the Camino Francés. For now, we are enjoying the last days of summer at home in Albuquerque, preparing for our role as <i>hospitaleros, </i>thinking about what we will take with us on this <i>camino </i>that will be unlike our previous ones.<br>
<br>
I stayed in the municipal albergue in El Burgo Ranero on September 27, 2010, and I have vivid memories of my stay (including a shortage of hot water). I had thought I might walk farther that day, day, but when I stopped to visit with camino acquaintances who were sitting on benches in front of the albergue that afternoon, the peaceful atmosphere of the village diminished my desire to walk further. While I sat on a bench overlooking the pond at the end of the town's main (perhaps only) street, I again met fast walker Antonio, a Barcelona banker taking a year off, whom I had met a few days earlier when he was just starting out, and whom I would meet again on the walk to Finisterre. That day, Antonio criticized my snack of potato chips (a salty snack always tastes so good after a hot few hours of walking), saying I should be eating Spanish food while in Spain, but he would soften later. He also limping -- his fast pace at the start had taken a toll. I shared a communal meal with Mario from Canada and Patricia from Hungary that evening, and I was able to check my email in the city hall.<br>
<br>
Here is the page of my credential from that time:<br>
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I didn't remember getting all the way to Leon that day, but perhaps I did, as I took a bus. Ah my notes say I left about six after getting coffee in a cafe across the street, walked to Reliegos, then to Mansilla de las Mulas, where I'd intended to stop, but it was still only about noon, so I continued walking, probably to Puente de Villarente, where, tired of the busy highway, I took the bus which took only fifteen minutes to reach Leon, where I stayed at the Convento Santa Maria.<br>
<br>
<br>
Here are two photos from my stay in El Burgo Ranero. It will be interesting to compare my memories as a pilgrim to the actualities of work as a <i>hospitalero.</i><br>
<i><br></i>
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<i>El Burgo Ranero</i><br>
<br>
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<i>Dinner with Mario (from Canada), Patricia (from Hungary) and others. Patricia cooked.</i><br>
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<br class="Apple-interchange-newline">
<span style="font-style: italic;">Leaving early in the morning. Watching the light come into the world was always a favorite time. Dawn arrives late in Spain in September and October.</span><br>
<br></div>
Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-29771012484398525602014-04-11T07:52:00.001-07:002014-04-11T07:52:58.553-07:00Last night in Santiago<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgRL6eTcayoKELX36wF0TIB1KvAH5z1ph8s5jUG7nf1it4YOvsz2q4pBvOkJls4I4mMDrhq1CMStlEuGfTGBBtLR7OYRNgQjGX0llEIAHQ4W_O9UtNTIAFpw5IfM1TiHK1Eq_vSII4ihG/s1600/0409141556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgRL6eTcayoKELX36wF0TIB1KvAH5z1ph8s5jUG7nf1it4YOvsz2q4pBvOkJls4I4mMDrhq1CMStlEuGfTGBBtLR7OYRNgQjGX0llEIAHQ4W_O9UtNTIAFpw5IfM1TiHK1Eq_vSII4ihG/s640/0409141556.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-L3O0VKbeUik/U0gBvUPoToI/AAAAAAAABKI/5seU5FK_Ddw/s1600/0409141557a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-L3O0VKbeUik/U0gBvUPoToI/AAAAAAAABKI/5seU5FK_Ddw/s640/0409141557a.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-1VqfrFlu0vA/U0gBwXc3k-I/AAAAAAAABKQ/p7818U7Z5v4/s1600/0409141941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-1VqfrFlu0vA/U0gBwXc3k-I/AAAAAAAABKQ/p7818U7Z5v4/s640/0409141941.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-rgCaXic5Y2A/U0gBx5hqTYI/AAAAAAAABKY/3U3XCK8Nrsg/s1600/0409141950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-rgCaXic5Y2A/U0gBx5hqTYI/AAAAAAAABKY/3U3XCK8Nrsg/s640/0409141950.jpg"> </a> </div>Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7412378348410112811.post-46557041077564120882014-04-09T11:28:00.001-07:002014-04-09T11:28:46.998-07:00Morning, Finisterre<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-vCICHmq9bzA/U0WRV5w4slI/AAAAAAAABJI/zleRF_jZs_w/s1600/0409140657.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-vCICHmq9bzA/U0WRV5w4slI/AAAAAAAABJI/zleRF_jZs_w/s640/0409140657.jpg"> </a> </div>Linnea Hendricksonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14515139429308847279noreply@blogger.com0