The Camino and Me Counselling and Psychotherapy

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    • Cork – St Jean Pied de Port
      • Day 1; St Jean Pied de Port – Roncesvalles
      • Day 2; Roncesvalles – Zubiri
      • Day 3; Zubiri – Pamplona
      • Day 4; Pamplona to Obanos
      • Day 5; Obanos – Estella
      • Day 6; Estella – Los Arcos
      • Day 7; Los Arcos – Logroño
      • Day 8; Logroño – Ventosa
      • Day 9; Ventosa – Cirueña
      • Day 10; Cirueña – Santo Domingo de la Calzada
      • Day 11; Santo Domingo – Belorado
      • Day 12; Belorado – San Juan de Ortega
      • Day 13; San Juan de Ortega – Burgos
      • Day 14; Burgos – Hontanas
      • Day 15; Hontanas – Castrojeriz
      • Day 16; Castrojeriz – Frómista
      • Day 17; Frómista – Carrión de los Condes
      • Day 18; Carrión de los Condes – Ledigos
      • Day 19; Ledigos – Calzadilla de los Hermanillos
      • Day 20; Calzadilla de los Hermanillos – Mansilla de las Mulas
      • Day 21; Mansilla de las Mulas – León
      • Day 22; Leon – Hospital de Órbigo
      • Day 23; Hospital de Órbigo – Astorga – 15 km
      • Day 24; Astorga – Foncebadón – 27.2 km
      • Day 25; Foncebadón- Ponferrada – 25 km
      • Day 26; Ponferrada – Villafranca del Bierzo – 23.5 km
      • Day 27; Villafranca del Bierzo – La Faba – 25 km
      • Day 28; La Faba – Triacastela – 26 km
      • Day 29; Triacastella – Sarria – 25 km
      • Day 30; Sarria – Portomarín – 22.4 km
      • Day 31; Portomarín – Palas de Rei – 24.8 km
      • Day 32; Palas de Rei – Ribadiso – 25.8 km
      • Day 33; Ribadiso – Lavacolla – 32 km
      • Day 34: Lavacolla – Santiago and Goodbye
      • The Camino and Me
  • Themes
    • Stepping into the Ring
    • Enjoying the mystery
    • Fear and Courage
    • Risk and Vulnerability
    • Meeting and Letting go
    • Giving In
  • Tag: municipal albergue

    • Day 13; San Juan de Ortega – Burgos

      Posted at 4:32 pm by Mary Murphy, on February 9, 2020

      I was awake and annoyed early as a result of the disturbance caused by two male cyclists preparing for departure. At first I hoped to get back to sleep, but once I was awake I found that impossible. I could only look on in disbelief at Jeanie who was sleeping soundly, oblivious to the circus going on around her.

      It was dark and cold outside (and inside), and it seemed to be taking longer than usual for daylight to appear. With no way to pass time and no comfort to pass it in, I was impatient to be off. But I wanted someone else to leave before me so I could follow them. My flashlight was a tiny, ineffective little thing and really not up to the task of dealing with darkness. Inexplicably, nobody else seemed to want to leave, so I set off anyway, but I really couldn’t see a thing and I soon returned to the albergue. Again I waited, and still there was no sign of anyone leaving. Once more my impatience got the better of me and at the second attempt I kept going.

      Over the next couple of hours, a rugged, nondescript, barren landscape unfolded around me. The sandy, dry soil only supported plants of a spiky variety, or so I thought until I noticed an abundance of tiny, delicate pink flowers growing all around me. The star-shaped flowers sat directly above the soil without any apparent support. I couldn’t see any stalks. What struck me most was their ability to grow and flourish despite the tough conditions. It was difficult for me to imagine how such elegance could exist in an environment so arid. On reflection I see this as a metaphor with personal resonance. The flowers represent the delicacy of the heart, which even though it may get trampled on from time to time, has the strength to survive and prosper.

      When Wolfgang appeared beside me later he talked about getting a bus through the industrial parts of Burgos straight into the city, arguing that walking through such areas did not add anything to the Camino. Sylvia and Christine (a couple of Dutch ladies) agreed, saying they would be taking the bus into the city at the earliest opportunity. Although it would have erased ten kilometres of difficult walking conditions, I declared there would be no bus for me; I would be walking all the way. Despite toying with the idea of catching a bus, Wolfgang walked all the way too, some of it with me. He was intending to stay two nights in Burgos and it was unlikely that I would see him again.

      At the big, modern, municipal albergue I was shown to my bunk, and I saw that Swedish Ann was already there. Within moments I overheard Sue’s South African accent, and when I went to say hello, I discovered that Elisabeth, Manoel and Sue were near neighbours. While I really needed a nap after my shower, I also wanted a beer with my old friends, and I decided to forgo a rest in favour of friendship and fun.

      After lunch we agreed to meet again later for dinner and we went our separate ways for the remainder of the afternoon. Sue and Elisabeth took a city bus tour while I headed for the cathedral, although I was so tired I didn’t get much out of the experience. It was vast and spectacular, but what I needed was rest so I returned to the albergue for a short nap. In the evening the streets were full of all the generations, dressed up and strolling in the sunshine, while lots of elderly people sat on the many benches soaking it all up. It was Friday night and there was a festive atmosphere, with a small circus act attracting a lot of children of all ages. It was very colourful and the children were excited as they sat in the miniature parade vehicles, becoming part of the entertainment while parents followed with clicking cameras.

      After the unexpected show, we moved off to get away from the crowds and found an outdoor table in a little piazza surrounded by shops and cafés. It was another world, set apart altogether from day-to-day Camino life. We ordered drinks; mine was a glass of cold, crisp, fruity white wine and I felt like I was on holiday. Then Sue spotted George, a Dutch man we had shared dinner with in Ventosa, in a book shop across from where we were sitting. She reacted quickly and went into the shop to invite him to join us for a drink. We were pleased to see him – well, some of us were anyway. I noticed that Manoel became very quiet and I wondered if he preferred to have the ladies all to himself!

      Once seated in the restaurant I knew I no longer wanted to be there. It was about 9 p.m., and I was just too tired and didn’t feel hungry. It was Elisabeth’s last night and although it would have been nice to have shared dinner, I didn’t have the energy for it. I would have been staying only out of politeness and I decided that was taking politeness too far. It was time for bed, so I said my goodbyes and headed back to the albergue alone.

      I had had a great day.

      Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged Burgos, Camino, delicacy, elegance, heart, municipal albergue, pilgrim, San Juan de Ortega, Ventosa
    • 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
    • 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
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