The Camino and Me Counselling and Psychotherapy

Tag: Alone

• Taking the plunge!

  Posted at 6:54 pm by Mary Murphy, on January 30, 2021

  Cork – St Jean Pied de Port

  In the weeks leading up to my departure, even though I longed for what I hoped the experience would bring, I was filled with fear about travelling alone, and if my flight had not already been booked, I might have backed out. Each night before bed, as I completed my routine with a variety of potions and creams, I thought about how few of them I could take with me and how little control I would have over my daily life. How was I going to deal with the loss of all the small, almost unnoticeable, comforts and crutches I relied on each day and settle for not much more than a sleeping bag and a toothbrush?

  When the day came I took the first flight out of Cork to London Stansted to get a connecting flight to Biarritz and an overnight stay at the airport hotel there. The following morning after a hot, restless night, I took a bus from outside the airport to the train station in Bayonne and boarded a train for the relatively short journey to St Jean. When I arrived less than an hour later, I followed the rucksack-bearing crowd to the Camino office to complete the formalities. One of the volunteers, a lovely man with a little English, helped me, and although I didn’t understand much of what he said, I figured I knew enough to get started. With my details recorded, I was given my Credencial (Camino Passport), which meant that I could stay in the pilgrim-only hostels (albergues) along the route. His advice was that in the morning I should take Route Napoléon, the harder, higher and more spectacular of the two routes out of St Jean, to my first overnight stop at Roncesvalles, twenty-five kilometres away.

  With the preliminaries completed, the same volunteer led me and two other pilgrims to the nearby albergue and we were shown to a basement dorm with three bunk beds. Standing inside the little sparsely furnished room without a soft furnishing in sight, the impact and reality of pilgrim hostel life began to sink in. Checking the ticket number I held in my hand, I identified which of the blue tubular-framed bunks was mine, before I tentatively laid out my sleeping bag for the first time. Then I placed the items I thought I would need later – my earplugs, torch and toiletries – at the bottom of the bunk. Actually I could have emptied out the entire contents of my rucksack for I was carrying only what was absolutely necessary. As the three of us unpacked, we exchanged information in response to questions that would be repeated again and again over the coming weeks: where are you from? Have you walked the Camino before? The most obvious question – why are you doing the Camino? – was one I asked sparingly. For me, the answer was very personal and I imagined it might be so for others too.

  As well as being the official starting point for the Camino Francés, St Jean is a significant tourist town. But I wasn’t a tourist and I wasn’t really interested in exploring; I was only pretending as I filled the hours until I could leave. Over coffee I looked at my guide book and maps, although I felt unable to absorb the enormity of what I was beginning to realise was ahead of me. Oh my God, five weeks! At that moment, five weeks felt like a lifetime.

  Back in the albergue dorm, I made my first novice pilgrim error when I began talking to one of my room-mates in the semi-darkness without noticing that someone else was trying to sleep. Oops! I was to learn in the weeks ahead to enter dormitories quietly, as pilgrims sleep at all times of the day and night. That night I slept better than I expected, and I was very surprised to find when I got upstairs to the dining room the next morning that the adjoining dormitory was completely empty at 7 a.m. I wondered what the hurry was, and at the same time I began to feel I was running behind before I had even started.

  Posted in Camino Frances | 0 Comments | Tagged Adventure, albergue, Alone, Calling, Camino Frances, Camino Passport, Connection, Credencial, Facing Fear, Faith, God, Intention, Roncesvalles, Route Npoleon, Sincerity, spiritual calling, vulnerability

• Day 32; Palas de Rei – Ribadiso – 25.8 km

  Posted at 7:39 pm by Mary Murphy, on April 11, 2020

  

  My plan for the day was clear: I was going to walk to Arzúa and spend the night there regardless of what anyone else was doing. Why? The answer to that question lay with my experience of attending Mass in Arzúa the previous year.

  On that occasion I knew I was in a special place when I heard the soulful sound of a singing congregation as soon as I entered the church. Then without any knowledge of the language I felt completely enthralled by the Priest when he spoke. It wasn’t what he said as much as where it came from, and I knew the scene was set for a powerful experience.

  Moving towards the altar to receive holy communion I felt a oneness with the community of people around me. As I met each person, I watched their facial expressions and the devotion in their movement as they returned to their seats. I experienced a level of grace and connection that is impossible to describe and out of that space the words came; ‘if I die now it’s okay’. It would be okay because I had experienced everything.   

  Later the Priest invited the pilgrims amongst the congregation join him at the altar to receive a blessing, and we stood before him in a semi-circle whilst he searched internally for his words. When he spoke, my mind had no idea what he said but my heart recognised their source and tears streamed down my face. I felt loved absolutely.

  Mass in Arzúa is a nightly event, just as it is in most towns along the route. The blessing is a nightly event too, yet its impact was such that I felt it was the one and only time it had ever been given. Of course, I wanted to return in the hope of the experience being repeated, without any guarantee that it would be.

  During the day I talked to Leo, who was part of the Spanish/Limerick contingent I had met a couple of days earlier in Samos. He told me that he had received reports advising that accommodation in Arzúa was already fully booked. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear and initially I blocked it out. I wasn’t going to be easily diverted from my goal. However, as I thought more about it, I realised that I ought to listen to what I was being told, even though I didn’t like it. The prospect of not being able to get a bed in Arzúa was not one I really wanted to test, and although it wasn’t easy to let go of what I wanted, my day became a lot easier once I did. My Camino was teaching me about flexibility; without realising it, that had been a persistent challenge for me over the previous thirty-two days. By letting go of my fixation on a particular outcome, other things became possible.

  That night I stayed in Ribadiso, a hamlet with a couple of albergues two or three kilometres from Arzúa. After the initial relief of checking in and completing my chores, I went to the bar with my journal and a beer, and I noticed how lost I felt without my new friends. In Mike, Jackie, Frank, Jill, Brett and a few others I had found an inclusive circle where I felt safe. I didn’t know where any of them were and I was afraid of losing them. With only two days to go before arriving in Santiago I was afraid that I would be celebrating alone and I didn’t want that.

  However, as I sat there Leo came in and joined me at my table while Javier joined some friends he knew. Soon we expanded to become a trio when a UK pilgrim joined us, and when I spotted Heather and Eugene arriving, I invited them over to join us for dinner. The things I worried about sometimes manifested into being while probably mostly they did not!

  Posted in Day by Day | 2 Comments | Tagged albergue, Alone, Arzúa, Blessing, Camion, Connection, devotion, flexibility, grace, journal, letting go, love, Mass, oneness, Palas de Rei, pilgrim, Ribadiso, Samos, Santiago, Soul

• Day 31; Portomarín – Palas de Rei – 24.8 km

  Posted at 4:38 pm by Mary Murphy, on April 10, 2020

  

  The day started with drizzle and progressed into full-blown rain within an hour or two, and I was back into full rain gear. While some people scurried for shelter I ploughed ahead. Then I realised, much to my dismay, that my waterproof boots were not in fact waterproof! They coped well with showers but were no match for heavy rain. My feet were soaked and I squelched as I walked, fully aware that my blisters were also coming under pressure, as my plasters loosened their protective grip. Up ahead I saw a café and decided that I would stop to change my socks, even though I’d be returning my feet to wet shoes.

  The café had a calm, sedate atmosphere without a rucksack in sight. That was unusual. Sitting at the dining tables enjoying lunch were groups of four-star pilgrims (their luggage was transported). By contrast, I sat on a barstool in my waterproof leggings with my rucksack beside me. After a few minutes, Mike made an entrance in his dark green poncho, with Jackie, Frank, Jill and Brett following shortly behind. As we all lined up at the bar, I heard Frank ask Brett what he did in the real world. ‘I’m an Anglican Priest,’ Brett replied. I was certainly surprised; all I knew until then was that he was a four-star pilgrim with an English accent. While I was surprised, I was delighted too; now he really interested me as I have always been fascinated by people who choose a life of service to God. Conversation turned to more immediate matters; accommodation, we were all heading for Palas de Rei and there was some concern about availability. The wet day would force pilgrims to stop earlier than usual, and we were hearing that the private albergues were already booked up. So I decided to head off in advance of the others. Truthfully that wasn’t the only reason for leaving ahead of the group. I seemed to want to be part of it and also on the periphery.

  The downpour resumed as soon as I left the café and it continued for the rest of the day. When I arrived in Palas de Rei I was absolutely dripping. On the outskirts, I noted the existence of the municipal albergue, and even though I questioned the wisdom of my desision to walk a further couple of kilometres into town, that is exactly what I did. Nearly an hour later, when I couldn’t get a bed in town, I had to retrace my steps to the municipal albergue, which turned out to be a modern version of Colditz. Even after a hot shower I still felt cold. The small laundry room was, I discovered, the warmest place in the building, so some clothes washing seemed like a good idea.

  Soon I realised that my idea was not unique. With the day being so wet, a lot of people wanted to use the machines, and the facilities didn’t quite stretch to accommodate the needs of so many people. In fact, there was a long waiting list; I was fourteenth in line for the dryer, and fifth in line for a washing machine. While I hadn’t bargained on such a long wait, I didn’t have anything else to do. Then five girls got very upset when they returned from lunch to find that someone had removed their clothes from the washing machine. Their discovery was followed by drama and chaos as people argued about what had happened and who was next on the list. The noise, as it was to me, was all in Spanish and carried on until Javier arrived and took charge. He looked like an unlikely leader, as he stood in the middle of the room in his schoolboy shorts; nevertheless he was a leader – he came across as a really genuine man and people listened while he calmed the situation. It was a lot of drama over laundry, but with so few clothes available to pilgrims, laundry is very important business on the Camino.

  That night I had a lovely dinner with Frank and Jill in the nearby hotel restaurant. Their walk had begun in León. Jill worked as a teaching assistant in Madrid and had travelled from there, while her father had come from New York. It was Jill who really wanted to do the Camino; Frank was a somewhat reluctant pilgrim. There was much of the whole adventure that he could have done without. He suffered quite a lot with blisters, which made walking tough, but he did like the social aspect, so it wasn’t all bad.

  When I look back I see the ways in which I deny the fulfillment of my own needs. Earlier in the day I moved away prematurely from others when I left the café. I had begun to feel vulnerable as they began to discuss accommodation plans. As a four-star pilgrim Bret’s accommodation and evening meal were booked in advance, while Jackie and Mike had each other, and Jill and Frank had each other. Wherever they went, they went together, whereas I was on my own which put me in a more vulnerable position, one I didn’t really want to expose. At such times, it seems like making an exit is the only thing I can do, and then the impact of those decisions hit home later. That night I was lucky to meet Jill and Frank. Being alone is great when it’s what I actually want, but when it’s not what I want, it’s a lonely experience.

  Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged albergue, Alone, Blisters, Camino Frances, four-star pilgrims, León, Lonely, Palas de Rei, pilgrim, pilgrimage, Portomarín, vulnerable

• Day 14; Burgos – Hontanas

  Posted at 4:36 pm by Mary Murphy, on February 9, 2020

  

  In the morning I left the albergue while Burgos was still in darkness, and even though the streets were lit, the Camino signs were difficult to make out, so much so that I couldn’t see them at all! Ahead in the near distance, I noticed a female pilgrim making decisions without hesitation and I decided to follow her. It turned out that I was following Brandi, a young American in her twenties, and we began walking together from the outskirts of Burgos. At our first coffee stop we met some people we knew, including Eugene and Heather. In fact when I arrived Eugene enveloped me in an uncharacteristic hug, as though I was some long-lost relative. After we found a table, Manoel and Sue joined us and I felt my happiness was complete. When I was feeling good, as I was on that morning, I found those impromptu meetings among the loveliest of my Camino experiences.

  Brandi and I parted company some time later and before lunch I met Wilhelm who, much to my surprise, was walking alone, as he was one of the seven men from Friesland! Naturally I enquired about his comrades and found out that they had not originated as a group of seven, as I had imagined. Wilhelm had set out to walk the Camino alone, but got no further than the airport before he found a ready-made walking group. The six men carried the Friesland flag on their luggage and that was what had brought them to Wilhelm’s attention. What intrigued me about them was how they walked together – more of a march really, as though they were in the army; they looked like they were taking part in their daily drill. The Camino seemed to be mostly a physical challenge to them, while for Wilhelm it was more than that – he had a real gentleness of spirit. So the first day I talked to Wilhelm was his first day alone. The rest of his group had finished in Burgos, while he was walking on to Santiago, and indeed beyond, to Finisterre.

  I had set myself a big task for the day: almost thirty-two kilometres, which was quite an increase under the circumstances. It was the first day of what would be a week of walking the great Meseta Alta, a barren wilderness that provided little or no shade from the relentlessness of the sun. So after lunch I set off on the remaining fourteen-kilometre walk to Hontanas, while others quite sensibly finished their day’s walk at lunch time. I knew it would be difficult; I just didn’t know how difficult until I encountered the reality of no cafés, no trees and no shelter of any kind – just endless walking in oppressive heat.

  When I arrived at my destination it was about twelve hours after my day had begun and I booked myself into the first albergue I saw: a bar. They had rooms upstairs, along with additional dormitories located in a series of random buildings at the back. My dorm accommodated ten people and four of them were present when I arrived. We exchanged the normal pleasantries but I didn’t know any of them and I was soon off to complete my chores. As I stood washing at an outdoor sink in what felt like a back alley, I could hear noise and laughter nearby, and I realised how disconnected I felt. The transition from walking alone to being surrounded by people and gaiety was challenging, particularly after the difficulty of the day. Down in the square, outside pubs and bars, the whole of the Camino seemed to have congregated – so many people and yet I felt so lost and alone.

  Later I went down to the square to face the world, but I felt that I stood out like a sore thumb. I could no more have engaged in conversation than I could have walked another fourteen kilometres. After walking around the village to get my bearings, I positioned myself at a table with a pot of tea and took out my journal to write. Writing helped me to process my feelings and explore what was going on. The holiday atmosphere really jarred with me and I felt out of sync with the rest of the world. I didn’t know what I wanted, while I had a list of all the things I didn’t want. At the centre of it was my ongoing resistance to the evening meal, the pilgrim menu. In addition, I was resisting drinking alcohol as a way of passing time, while others appeared to be doing it with gusto.

  The pilgrim menu, a standard three-course meal served everywhere along the Camino, varies hardly at all from place to place, either in variety or cost. A simple salad – by simple I mean lettuce and tomato – or soup to start, followed by hake or stew with potatoes, but rarely any other vegetables. Dessert might be a banana, Santiago tart (almond), a pot of yogurt or sometimes ice cream, all washed down with red wine for a total cost of about €10. So what was my objection? I should be so lucky, right?

  Well, for days I had been trying to figure out how to reduce the carbohydrate content of my diet and increase my vegetable intake. Vegetables were normally only available in the soup. So in order to have vegetables I needed the starter as well as a main course, and then while I was there, how could I refuse a dessert? While my body had some difficulty with the amount of carbohydrate and lack of fibre I was consuming, my mind was even more troubled.

  Journaling helped me to realise the bind I had got myself into, and I began to see that my resistance to the pilgrim menu symbolised my rejection of how things were, a refusal to accept what is, which meant that I vetoed everything around me. In an ideal world, one of my own making, I would have had more control over my diet, but if I was to have any peace, I had to accept what was available. I was doing the Camino, after all, and pilgrim dinners were part of the deal!

  Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged albergue, Alone, Burgos, Camino, Camino Frances, control, Hontanas, journal, journalling, lost, Meseta Alta, peace, pilgrim, pilgrim menu, resistance, Santiago tart

• Day 10; Cirueña – Santo Domingo de la Calzada

  Posted at 12:47 pm by Mary Murphy, on February 6, 2020

  After six kilometres we arrived in Santo Domingo de la Calzada, where we stopped for coffee and a discussion about the day ahead. I wanted to explore the town without being under the pressure of time, although it became apparent, that my interest in Santo Domingo was not shared by all. It was clear that Sue wanted to pass through it as quickly as possible, in the same way we had done with many other places, and as we left the café I felt that the disharmony between us was evident.

  Santo Domingo, the man after whom the town is named, was an eleventh-century Benedictine monk who devoted his life to caring for pilgrims. However, what piqued my interest was a story featuring a young German pilgrim who paid the price for rejecting the local innkeeper’s daughter in favour of continuing his pilgrimage. She wasn’t best pleased, and decided to exact her revenge on him by planting a church treasure in his belongings. The crime was duly reported, the young pilgrim was charged with theft, found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging. All very swift.

  His parents, despite their grief, continued their pilgrimage to Santiago, and as they approached the town on their return journey, a voice told them that their son had been saved by Santo Domingo. Hearing this they went to see the judge who had sentenced the young pilgrim to death to tell him that their son was still alive, despite being hanged. The judge, who was in the middle of roasting chickens when he heard the news, was not inclined to believe them. ‘Your son is as alive as these chickens I am going to eat,’ he said. Just at that moment, the chickens he was cooking – a cock and a hen – leapt from the spit and crowed ‘Santo Domingo de la Calzada where the chickens crow after being roasted’. Since then, descendants of the cock and hen remain in residence in the cathedral in celebration of the local legend.

  The Cathedral was first on my list of places to visit, but I couldn’t gain access without a ticket; for that I was directed to the tourist office. There, I cast my eyes around at the souvenir collection and found myself particularly drawn to an emerald green rosary. As I touched the cross, tears came to my eyes and I began to realise that I was facing a decisive moment; continue ahead with my comrades or take a risk.

  As I walked around the Cathedral my decision became clear. Even though I had only walked six kilometres, and it was still hours before midday, I would stop in Santo Domingo. I accepted that I needed to slow down to really experience here, and to do that I had to take the risk of following my inner compass. Oddly, I also felt it was time to return to the municipal albergue experience. In some ways my Camino had begun to feel less like a pilgrimage and more of a walking holiday – or perhaps I hadn’t learned how to have both. The pilgrimage experience, something that is really personal to each individual in its meaning, was what I had come to experience. Although the social contact was important, I wondered if it took me away from my deeper journey, or maybe I just hadn’t learned how to navigate between them. My feelings had guided me to a deeper longing, and I sensed that my Camino at that point was about following the courage of my heart.

  At the agreed meeting time, I returned to tell the others my decision, which they accepted without question. Elisabeth had returned with pastries and we gorged on those before saying goodbye. I didn’t know if we would meet again, it seemed unlikely as they would be a whole day’s walk ahead of me. After they headed away I sat outside on a bench wondering how I would kill time until the municipal albergue opened at lunchtime. Not to mention the though of the long day stretching ahead with nothing to do and no friends to do nothing with.

  The albergue reception provided a view into the large downstairs dining room with access to a rough and ready garden for relaxing and hanging out washing. Upstairs I walked through the old, empty, dilapidated rooms. It was like going back in time to 1950s Ireland, with brown patterned wallpaper and lino floor covering, threadbare carpet, crooked walls, squeaky floors and stiff water taps. It didn’t feel in any way nurturing or comforting and I noticed how empty I felt after the exhilaration of my earlier decision. The reality of my loss began to sink in fully. I didn’t want to spend any time upstairs so I returned to the relative homeliness of the ground floor dining room. From there I had a good vantage point, and I watched some of the first pilgrims arrive; notable amongst them was the advance party of two who were booking beds for seven men from Friesland (a province in Holland). Such a request got my attention and I knew I would remember them.

  I felt more alone than ever as I realised all the familiar faces had gone ahead – not just Manoel, Sue and Elisabeth, but all my other Camino acquaintances. The full impact of my decision hit me and in part, I regretted my decision. It was like beginning all over again. I hadn’t anticipated how vulnerable I would feel without my friends, but at the same time I knew there wouldn’t be anything new without letting go of the old. In the dorm, I felt lost among all the new arrivals with their different languages and I asked two women where they were from without actually being interested in their response. Although they told me they were from Holland, they could have been from Mars for all I cared; my enquiry was merely an attempt to conceal how lost I felt.

  As I look back, I realise how important the group was for me. Its protection fortified me until I could set out on my own again. Yet to have remained with the group for longer than was necessary would have masked what I needed to resolve within myself.

  Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged Alone, Benedictine, Camino, cathedral, Ciruena, courage, heart, here, inner camino, inner compas, inner guidance, Loss, lost, municipal albergue, pilgrim, pilgrimage, Santiago, vulnerable

• Day 2; Roncesvalles – Zubiri

  Posted at 4:09 pm by Mary Murphy, on November 18, 2019

  When I set off on my second day I hoped that walking would bring some ease to my inner discomfort. However, with each passing kilometre I felt more overwhelmed by how alone I felt in the world. What I felt was the confusion of a child standing alone in a playground while others played together. It felt like being locked inside, unable to get out.

  By the time I reached my first coffee stop at a roadside bar, I felt really cross, frustrated and deeply resentful. I was desperate for a break but when I saw groups of people gathered outside chatting comfortably, I considered walking on and it took every ounce of will to push myself in through the doorway. Once I re-emerged, I sat with my coffee and bacon sandwich at the only unoccupied outdoor table available, where I was joined by a brazen village cat who wasn’t put off by my lack of encouragement. Within minutes a young, very chatty South African woman and her Dutch walking companion joined my table. There followed the usual opening questions before she told me that the experience was, for her, wonderful. At the time, I couldn’t imagine how that was possible, and part of me thought, she’s can’t be doing the Camino! The contrast in our experiences could not have been more marked, and it was that very contrast that meant I couldn’t stay with her for long and soon I was eager to be off again.

  Leaving my lunch companions behind, I continued to walk until I reached Zubiri at about 1 p.m., and I headed straight for the municipal albergue. On arrival I could see a large, derelict yard at the front of the building. It really was particularly uninviting and although it put me in mind of Colditz, the prisoner of war TV series, I still approached. Inside, the warden sat in a small office, sandwiched between two large dormitories. After registering, he showed me to one of them and the Colditz feeling grew. At first I was amazed to find so many beds in a clammy room, and not only that – the bunk beds were welded together in pairs. In part I thought, you’re having a laugh, while another part said, I can do this.

  Shortly afterwards I made my way across the yard to the very basic, unisex, communal shower block. The lack of frills I could cope with; however, I was less keen on the absence of a shower curtain and the necessary equipment to lock the door. Although I was alone in that moment and glad to be so, I was aware that the situation could change very quickly. Then while I was under the shower, I discovered that I had left my soap in Roncesvalles. Things are going really well!

  After a hasty shower, I sat up on my bunk telling myself, via my journal, that I was well able for this, no bother to me at all. But as I looked around the room, my self-delusion began to fade. How would I fill this day, I wondered. I felt in a world of one, in an unfamiliar land, surrounded by strangers and languages I didn’t understand. In fact I wasn’t really there; I was waiting to go, waiting for the relief of darkness to come so that the discomfort would be over and I could get away.

  Later, as I sat at a bench in the shade, I was joined by a couple of Italian men who were waiting for more of their group to arrive. In my naivety I asked if they were staying at the albergue. No, they were waiting to be picked up by a bus that would take them to a hotel in Pamplona. My heart sank as I considered what they were escaping to while I remained in Colditz. The luxury of a hotel room was very appealing and in complete contrast to my circumstances. In retrospect, I see that hotel comforts actually make the Camino more of a holiday, despite the physical challenge, and I realised my four-star pilgrim experience the previous year had been really a holiday too. No wonder I enjoyed it so much.

  As I climbed back onto my bunk, thinking I might read, I was approached by Deborah, an Australian girl who told me she was on a mission to walk the world for love. I had noticed her earlier. She stood out because of the way she was dressed. To me she looked like she was on safari in deepest Africa, as almost every part of her skin was covered. Up close, I could see written on her wide-brimmed hat the astonishing words, Walking for love of God. Such a public declaration of her pilgrim intent shocked me, as I imagined that she might face ridicule and alienation for being so open. It’s only on reflection that I realise my thoughts revealed my own struggle to be open about my relationship with God. In my rucksack, I carried the book Conversations with God, and when I took it out to read later I folded back the cover so it couldn’t be seen. I was afraid that if people saw what I was reading I would be judged and labelled one of them. In hindsight I see how significant it was that Deborah approached me; she was reflecting for me my dis-ease with my own feelings.

  Then at bed time I discovered the long-awaited answer to the question of who would share my bed – well not quite share, but closer than I would have liked. A German man that I had met in St Jean had the honour! There, he had occupied the bunk above mine, and to acknowledge that we were getting closer, I said, ‘We are destined to share a bed’. But I don’t think he understood my attempt at humour. That marked the beginning and the end of our conversation. Besides, I was ready for lights out and oblivion. However, for that I had to wait a little longer, until everyone settled down. Until then, the overhead light remained on while people folded and repacked their noisy plastic bags in readiness for the next day’s departure.

  Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged Alone, Camino Frances, Discomfort, Isolated, Loney, municipal albergue, relationship with God, Roncesvalles, Zubiri

• Day 1; St Jean Pied de Port – Roncesvalles

  Posted at 5:17 pm by Mary Murphy, on November 3, 2019

  On a drizzly Sunday morning my Camino officially began with less composure than I had anticipated, for I hurried through town trying to catch up with those who had set out ahead of me. After about half an hour, my efforts to draw level were rewarded, but I was cautious in my interactions and I didn’t speak to anyone for an hour or two. My first attempt at conversation was with a Japanese man in his seventies. He was with a group, although when I met him they had stretched out and he was walking alone. We proceeded together for a short distance before I acknowledged to myself that I felt ill at ease and I moved on ahead.

  Later I met two girls from South Korea and we walked together to Orisson, where we stopped for coffee after quite a strenuous ten-kilometre climb. Outside the bar there were lots of tables and stunning views. So after being served I went outside with my coffee, leaving the girls to decide which cake to choose. As I waited for them to emerge, I covertly searched my rucksack for something of my own to eat, when out of the corner of my eye I noticed the girls walking across the road to the terrace on the other side. I hadn’t expected that, and I didn’t actually want to be on my own, yet I didn’t move to join them. Looking around at the other occupied tables, I observed that I was the only person sitting alone and I began to feel out of place. Shortly afterwards, I waved goodbye to the South Korean girls and left to continue the climb.

  Along the route, although I wanted to connect with people, I remained cautious about engaging in conversation. As the day wore on, I realised that the Camino was going to be challenging for me in ways I had hoped not to experience. While most pilgrims observed the practice of wishing each other ‘Buen Camino’ (enjoy it) my greeting was quietly spoken, if at all. Later I had lunch at a rest point which doubled as a Camino census station; actually it might have been more a census station that doubled as a rest point. This consisted of a mobile unit, where a man recorded on a white board the number and nationality of passing pilgrims. Looking closely, I saw that three Irish people had passed before me that day and I fantasised about catching up with them, as I imagined I would feel less alone if I met someone from home.

  Although the views across the Pyrénées were at times spectacular, I was more focused on the destination than the journey. I was worried about securing a bed in Roncesvalles, and my anxiety meant that I didn’t take as much rest as I needed. So by the time I arrived I was frustrated by the physical and emotional struggle, and ready to collapse with exhaustion.

  At about 4 p.m. I stepped through the albergue doors and into a large, modern facility with a busy reception desk. While I searched for my Camino passport and money, I chatted briefly and distractedly to a French girl I had met in St Jean. At that moment only three things in life mattered. My first priority was to secure a bed for the night. Next on my agenda was my desire to peel off the clothes that were stuck to my body and feel the comfort of a warm shower. Then I wanted to curl up for a nap. All other matters faded into the background.

  In Roncesvalles men and women had separate shower facilities, and one became available straight away. Once inside the cubicle, I saw a small shelf for toiletries and a hook for items of clothing. These were then protected from water spray by the shower curtain. When I was ready, I pressed the knob to release the water and stood back in case it was cold, but the water stopped almost as soon as it started. I pressed again and the same thing happened. In fact the water stopped each time on the count of eleven. Showering on the Camino was a functional experience; there wouldn’t be any luxuriating under a stream of hot water for some time.

  The large dorm was divided into four-person cubicles and mine was located just outside the men’s bathroom. This turned out to be unfortunate. Although I had earplugs, they were totally ineffective at blocking out the noise that escaped from the hand dryer every time the door opened, so sleep was impossible for me. Plus I was sharing a cubicle with three snoring Spanish men and at least one of them had smelly feet.

  Then I considered three possibilities for dinner. I could cook in the lovely kitchen, eat at one of the local hotels serving dinner after Mass, or finish the leftovers in my rucksack. As it turned out cooking wasn’t really an option – the small village didn’t have a local shop, and with nothing to cook, the kitchen remained in pristine condition. I didn’t want to go on my own to a hotel for dinner, and I hadn’t met anyone I wanted to have dinner with either. So I opted for leftovers and went to the dining room to finish my bread, cheese and meat. There, I was joined by the French girl I had met in the foyer earlier, with two young female companions, and I felt envious of her ability to make friends so quickly.

  With chores and dinner out of the way, the most difficult part of the day by far was upon me. With nothing to do, no friend to talk to, no distraction to occupy me, and nowhere to go, the remainder of the day felt endless. It was also when I felt most vulnerable and alone. All I could do was wait, firstly for Mass time to arrive, and then after Mass I waited for sleep.

  Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged Alone, Buen Camino, Camino Frances, Connection, disconnection, fear, Home, Lonely, Orisson, pilgrim, pilgrimage, Pyrenees, Roncesvalles, Saint Jean Pied de Port, St Jean Pied de Port, vulnerability

• Taking the plunge!

  Posted at 4:56 pm by Mary Murphy, on November 3, 2019

  Cork – St Jean Pied de Port

  In the weeks leading up to my departure, even though I longed for what I hoped the experience would bring, I was filled with fear about travelling alone, and if my flight had not already been booked, I might have backed out. Each night before bed, as I completed my routine with a variety of potions and creams, I thought about how few of them I could take with me and how little control I would have over my daily life. How was I going to deal with the loss of all the small, almost unnoticeable, comforts and crutches I relied on each day and settle for not much more than a sleeping bag and a toothbrush?

  When the day came I took the first flight out of Cork to London Stansted to get a connecting flight to Biarritz and an overnight stay at the airport hotel there. The following morning after a hot, restless night, I took a bus from outside the airport to the train station in Bayonne and boarded a train for the relatively short journey to St Jean. When I arrived less than an hour later, I followed the rucksack-bearing crowd to the Camino office to complete the formalities. One of the volunteers, a lovely man with a little English, helped me, and although I didn’t understand much of what he said, I figured I knew enough to get started. With my details recorded, I was given my Credencial (Camino Passport), which meant that I could stay in the pilgrim-only hostels (albergues) along the route. His advice was that in the morning I should take Route Napoléon, the harder, higher and more spectacular of the two routes out of St Jean, to my first overnight stop at Roncesvalles, twenty-five kilometres away.

  With the preliminaries completed, the same volunteer led me and two other pilgrims to the nearby albergue and we were shown to a basement dorm with three bunk beds. Standing inside the little sparsely furnished room without a soft furnishing in sight, the impact and reality of pilgrim hostel life began to sink in. Checking the ticket number I held in my hand, I identified which of the blue tubular-framed bunks was mine, before I tentatively laid out my sleeping bag for the first time. Then I placed the items I thought I would need later – my earplugs, torch and toiletries – at the bottom of the bunk. Actually I could have emptied out the entire contents of my rucksack for I was carrying only what was absolutely necessary. As the three of us unpacked, we exchanged information in response to questions that would be repeated again and again over the coming weeks: where are you from? Have you walked the Camino before? The most obvious question – why are you doing the Camino? – was one I asked sparingly. For me, the answer was very personal and I imagined it might be so for others too.

  As well as being the official starting point for the Camino Francés, St Jean is a significant tourist town. But I wasn’t a tourist and I wasn’t really interested in exploring; I was only pretending as I filled the hours until I could leave. Over coffee I looked at my guide book and maps, although I felt unable to absorb the enormity of what I was beginning to realise was ahead of me. Oh my God, five weeks! At that moment, five weeks felt like a lifetime.

  Back in the albergue dorm, I made my first novice pilgrim error when I began talking to one of my room-mates in the semi-darkness without noticing that someone else was trying to sleep. Oops! I was to learn in the weeks ahead to enter dormitories quietly, as pilgrims sleep at all times of the day and night. That night I slept better than I expected, and I was very surprised to find when I got upstairs to the dining room the next morning that the adjoining dormitory was completely empty at 7 a.m. I wondered what the hurry was, and at the same time I began to feel I was running behind before I had even started.

  Posted in Camino Frances | 5 Comments | Tagged Adventure, albergue, Alone, Calling, Camino Frances, Camino Passport, Connection, Credencial, Facing Fear, Faith, God, Intention, Roncesvalles, Route Npoleon, Sincerity, spiritual calling, vulnerability

• Mary Margaret Murphy

  

• Recent Posts

  • Taking the plunge! 30/01/2021
  • Guided by Intention 30/01/2021
  • Day 34: Lavacolla – Santiago and Goodbye 13/04/2020
  • Day 33; Ribadiso – Lavacolla – 32 km 12/04/2020
  • Day 32; Palas de Rei – Ribadiso – 25.8 km 11/04/2020

• Hours & Info

  21-23 Oliver Plunkett Street, Cork

  0833518131

  mary@thecaminoandmecounsellor.com
• Follow The Camino and Me Counselling and Psychotherapy on WordPress.com