The Camino and Me Counselling and Psychotherapy

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: pilgrimage

    • Day 33; Ribadiso – Lavacolla – 32 km

      Posted at 7:21 pm by Mary Murphy, on April 12, 2020

      I set out knowing I was on schedule to arrive in Santiago the following day with just forty-two kilometres remaining. What I really wanted was to arrive in time for pilgrim Mass at midday. It was important to me that I arrive in my walking clothes with my rucksack straight from the Camino to take my place as a pilgrim before God. That would make my pilgrimage complete. However, the albergues were spread out in such a way as to make that wish impossible. No matter how I calculated the possibilities, I didn’t see how I could arrive in Santiago in time for midday Mass.

      With so many pilgrims now within two days of reaching their target, the route had become particularly busy in places, so I decided to let people go ahead while I crossed the road to a café to consider my unresolved dilemma. As I was removing my rucksack I heard my name being called and I looked around to see Frank, Jill and Brett. It transpired that the three of them were planning a long day’s walk to Lavacolla, which would get them within ten kilometres of Santiago. I had stayed in a hotel in Lavacolla the previous year, so I was aware that it was nicely placed for reaching Santiago in time for midday Mass. I had considered it as a possibility myself but dismissed it as I knew the village didn’t have an albergue. Jill and Frank were intending to make a hotel reservation and Jill asked to borrow my phone. She spoke Spanish sufficiently well to make such enquiries whereas I didn’t, and until then I hadn’t considered a hotel a viable or cost effective option. I had anticipated both a lack of availability and a prohibitive cost, given that the hotels were within striking distance of Santiago. However, I was amazed to discover that I could indeed get a hotel room for just €30. Not only that, Brett was staying in the same hotel so I had a dinner date too, while Frank and Jill found an alternative source of accommodation. Synchronicity at it’s best! My decision to cross the road at that moment brought about the resolution to my dilemma.

      My perspective on the day was completely changed as I set off again. It would be a long one; thirty two kilometres is no joke, but well worth it in the circumstances. I couldn’t have been happier. I felt as free as a bird as I walked between the eucalyptus trees on my way to Lavacolla. When I reached the hotel and discovered it was real; there was actually a room booked in my name, I felt so relieved. There had been a little worry at the back of my mind that it might not materialise. It was a tiny space but nevertheless a palace in my eyes. I had made it! I could taste it. Ten kilometres from Santiago, something that seemed almost unattainable five weeks earlier. It was a moment to celebrate. I switched on my phone for only the second or third time since I had left home. My Camino was a very internal experience and I had kept it to myself but now I wanted to share my joy with my friends.

      In the hotel foyer later as I waited to meet Brett, I noticed my nervousness. It wasn’t really a date, so why was I nervous? I think because of his ministry. Sometimes, I can view people who choose religious life as something other; maybe not entirely relatable. That misperception is probably leftover from childhood and a time when Priests were more revered as high moral authority figures, while the rest of us were the sinners! At the same time I was fascinated by his vocation, and how his partner fitted into his life of ministry. Partnership or marriage isn’t allowed within the Catholic Church so my interest was piqued about Brett’s life of ministry and how it was intertwined with an intimate relationship.

      Brett quickly showed me that concerns about his relatability were misplaced. I enjoyed his company very much and he took as much interest in me as I in him. We talked so easily, openly and freely. He was ordinary, approachable and full of good humour. I felt nourished by the encounter and the opportunity to share what gives meaning to me in my life.

      I really liked him.

      Posted in Day by Day | 3 Comments | Tagged albergue, God, Lavacolla, pilgrim mass, pilgrimage, Ribadiso, Santiago, vocation
    • 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 30; Sarria – Portomarín – 22.4 km

      Posted at 2:55 pm by Mary Murphy, on April 9, 2020

      In the morning I left shortly after 6 a.m. while the Limerick and Spanish contingent slept on. Outside the albergue I met Jim, Richard’s dinner companion from the night before. While we talked, we lost our way in the darkness, but doubled back before we got into too much trouble. Soon we were tangled up with quite a few other pilgrims and I was content to just follow, trusting that those ahead could see where they were going. There seemed to be an influx of Spanish pilgrims walking the last one hundred kilometres to Santiago, so it was quite noisy. When a group of Spaniards got together, no matter what time of day, they could be loud, and so I looked forward to getting away from them.

      As the morning stretched out before us, so too did the line of pilgrims, and I separated from Jim until we met again mid morning over coffee. At the café I saw Kathy with her group and we chatted briefly before she moved on again. Then Peter, a man from Dublin who was travelling with his wife, took a seat nearby. I greeted him; we had walked together briefly a few days earlier, although his expression told me that he didn’t remember me. Then after my companions left, he came over to make amends for forgetting me and we left together to walk the ten kilometres to Portomarín.

      Peter didn’t seem to notice that I shrunk as our walk progressed; by the time we got to Portomarín I was feeling utterly crushed. Although he walked alongside me, Peter seemed oblivious to me, as he talked and talked. There was no connection between us; we were walking alongside each other without actually meeting. My experience with Peter helped me to connect with another pain within and I knew I needed my own space; I couldn’t stay in a crowded albergue. At the bridge on the entrance to town I left him to wait for his wife while I went ahead to find a hotel.

      In the hotel I waited as a young couple checked in, but when it was my turn the receptionist told me they were full. Fortunately, a young male employee with very good English overheard the conversation and told me they had rooms with shared facilities on the top floor for €25. That was all I needed: a room; sharing facilities wasn’t an issue. He showed me such kindness as he took my rucksack and escorted me upstairs, telling me that as I was first to arrive, the place was mine. It was as though he could see what I needed.

      The impact of his seeing me was powerful. Once inside the room, I broke down into convulsive tears as the crushed part of me expressed itself. What I felt was absolute abandonment. It was too intense to be about missing the people whom I had met and parted from on the Camino. I knew this pain had earlier, deeper roots.

      After I slept, I ventured out with my journal to get a beer and do some writing. There were lots of bars, but I wanted somewhere quiet. When I finally found one that met my needs I ordered my drink, and while I waited for it to come I heard my name called. It was Jackie; she was with Mike, Jim (the Alaskan) and Dave (the New Zealander). I couldn’t believe it. Of all the bars in town we could have chosen, how did we all end up in the same one? I joined them, even though I wasn’t sure I was ready for company. But within a short time I discovered it was just what I needed.

      Frank and Jill, a father and daughter duo from New York, joined us too and we all became so comfortable that we stayed in the bar for dinner. Later, we were expertly guided through a selection of local aperitifs by the young male hotel employee who had helped me find a room; he turned out to also be a barman. Then we went outside, wrapped up, to enjoy our drinks and the remainder of the night. By then I felt relaxed. I really liked the people I was with; it felt like being in a family. Mike and Jackie were clearly at the helm, as they created the welcoming environment for waifs and strays to come into the fold. We might not have met at all that night, so I felt really blessed with good fortune. It was also nice to have the freedom of a hotel and not to have a curfew to comply with.

      Earlier, when we were in the bar, Darren had come in and I waved to him, but he looked a bit preoccupied. I guessed he was asking about accommodation; it was about 9 p.m., very late to be looking for somewhere to sleep. When I saw him leave, I was in two minds about whether to go after him. I was worried in case he couldn’t find anywhere to stay and I wondered if I should offer to let him sleep in my room. When I confided my thoughts to Mike, he asked me whether that was what I really wanted. No, it wasn’t what I wanted. I was torn between what I wanted for myself and my impulse to rescue Darren, which came from my own fear of being unable to find room at the proverbial inn. Then as we sat outside later, the Australian woman with whom Darren had left Villafranca a few days earlier, came by our table. She had just arrived and was staying a few doors down. I guessed then that she was with Darren, so I knew he wasn’t homeless after all and I was very glad that I hadn’t interfered or acted on impulse.

      Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged abandonment, albergue, Camion, Connection, journal, pilgrim, pilgrimage, Portomarín, Santiago, Sarria, seeing, seen
    • Day 29; Triacastella – Sarria – 25 km

      Posted at 4:04 pm by Mary Murphy, on April 8, 2020

      I wasn’t the only pilgrim to sleep well. The hospitalero had to wake up the whole dorm at 7 a.m., which was when we made the collective discovery that it was pouring with rain, and I mean really pouring. While I was still mentally adapting to the sight of such rainfall, I became aware of a heated exchange between some agitated pilgrims and the hospitalero. He was being confronted with suspicions that there were bedbugs, which featured high up on the list of ills a pilgrim might face. Some marks on the bed above mine were being pointed to as evidence, along with suggestions that they might have fallen into my sleeping bag. But there was no certainty that we had bedbugs at all, so I shrugged off the fuss and hoped, as I packed my sleeping bag back into my rucksack, that I was not also taking some unwanted companions with me.

      Breakfast was a non-event – I hadn’t been able to make it to the supermarket the day before. A very sweet cappuccino from the vending machine had to do while I applied extra padding to my blistered feet before departure. The dining room was busy with pilgrims, taking longer than necessary, it seemed, to don their waterproof ponchos before venturing out into the pouring rain. With my waterproof leggings on for the first time, I went back upstairs to tell Branu I was leaving. ‘How can you say that!’ he exclaimed. His surprise that I could just leave when I was ready to go was evident. Feeling a bit guilty then, I told Kirsten I would text her after I found a café for breakfast. Truthfully, that was to soften the blow that I was leaving without them. Although we sometimes walked together, I didn’t feel obliged to do so. I wanted the freedom to make the choice that was right for me on any given day.

      The rain was still falling as I headed towards the main street, and I discovered that the restaurant we had dined in the night before was open for breakfast. However, when I went inside I realised I didn’t actually want breakfast at all; what I wanted was to walk. Although I remembered what I had said to Kirsten, the bother of removing my rucksack to search and text in the dark and the rain was something I couldn’t face, so I just kept going. As I walked through town, I saw other pilgrims spill out onto the street in the half light of the early morning, and I felt there was already something different about the day, without being quite sure what it was.

      Most pilgrims were heading for Sarria, the town where many pilgrims begin to walk the last one hundred kilometres to Santiago. There were two routes: one shorter and more direct, the other route was longer because it looped around to include the village of Samos, the site of an abbey and Benedictine monastery. As I hoped to walk a little further than Sarria, I intended to take the shorter route and initially I thought I had succeeded – that is, until I could no longer deny the fact that the road signs indicated I was en route to Sarria via Samos. Just like that, any realistic possibility that I would get beyond Sarria that day was gone. We had had lots of discussion the previous evening about whether or not to visit Samos, and although it had not been my plan, it was seemingly on my path.

      As I looked at the poncho-wearing group along the road ahead of me, I observed for the first time a pilgrimage before my eyes. It was a scene I hadn’t witnessed previously. There was a mystical quality to the sight of poncho-wearing, slow-moving pilgrims with sticks in one or both hands. It was striking in its simplicity and reverence. People were talking quietly, if at all, and there was something much more devotional about the procession than usual.

      The arrival of the rain seemed to bring a lightness and freshness to the experience. I remember in particular walking through a small wood where the branches intertwined overhead to give shelter from the rain. This brought me into very close contact with the beauty and perfection of the raindrops as they sat on the leaves in their simple Buddha-like poses. Coming out of the woods, Samos soon opened up and I saw the monastery stand imposingly on my right at the entrance to the village.

      Earlier I had met Mike and Jackie, a couple from Limerick, for the first time. Initially I stuck up conversation with Jackie before falling into step with Mike while Jackie walked behind with Marlene from Belgium. Mike referred to himself as a passionate Christian and we quickly got to talking about life and, of course, God. I enjoyed his company very much; he had an open, inclusive way of interacting with the world. When we reached Samos, Mike and I were ahead of the others and as we were longing for breakfast, we headed straight for a café.

      Afterwards, we approached the abbey and were advised by someone on the steps to be quick as it was about to close. When we got inside, a young monk came towards us, making a key-locking gesture with his hands. In the brief time we were there, I took in the tranquil holy atmosphere within the abbey; I would have loved to attend Mass. I considered waiting in the village for the next Mass, but people outside were talking about different Mass times. Some said Mass would be another hour while others said two hours, and as I knew Sarria would be busy with pilgrims, I didn’t want to get there too late. Faced with such uncertainty, I decided to continue my walk and return another day to Samos.

      On leaving the village I pulled away from the others, as I wanted to walk alone for a while. I wanted to reflect on what meeting Richard had meant to me. As I walked, I wept with gratitude for the feelings he awoke in me. I felt alive, excited and playful, and I knew he had touched my soul. The whole experience felt like heart medicine, and I decided that if we met in Sarria I would let him know how he impacted me.

      In the afternoon, although much of the route followed the road, it was really peaceful, uninterrupted by traffic except for a tractor. Walking along quiet, winding country roads felt completely different to walking on busy main roads, and for most of the day I didn’t meet another living soul – that is, until I heard Dave from New Zealand walking behind me. We introduced ourselves and talked only briefly before he powered on ahead of me.

      Close to Sarria I rejoined the Limerick couple, and as we arrived in town we followed Javier and Leo, two pilgrims they knew, into the municipal albergue. As we settled in, Jackie asked me if I would like to join them for dinner later and I said I would, although in truth I wasn’t in much of a social mood by then. I needed some time alone and headed out with my journal to find a bar and a beer. Failing to find a bar nearby, I opted for a lovely Italian café and a glass of wine. There, I talked to the Italian man who was the café owner and he told me about setting up his new business with his Spanish wife. Then while he swept the wet leaves from the floor, the most beautiful furry kitten appeared to play with the leaves and the sweeping brush. She was thoroughly irresistible and when I picked her up, the owner asked if I wanted to take her with me. Ha ha! She had strayed into their lives a few weeks earlier and had taken up residence with them. Later, he asked if I would like to come back the following summer to give his wife a break – in the kitchen!

      As I sat in the café I longed for a connection with someone who really knew me, someone with whom I could bear my soul. The people I felt closest to were gone and I was starting over again. During the day I had discovered that Branu and Kirsten were staying in Samos, and although I had said I would join Mike, Jackie and the others for dinner, I wanted to stay where I was. The owner came over to me as the café filled. ‘You tell me if and when you want your dinner here,’ he said. I felt really touched that he was taking care of me and tears flowed down my cheeks. The full power of the Camino experience happens in the most unexpected ways and circumstances; the connection I longed for came from an unexpected source. It had been a day of abundance: meeting Mike and Jackie, Samos, walking, feeling my connection with Richard and then the café owner.

      While I was having dinner, Richard came in with Jim, an Alaskan man I had met briefly earlier in the day. Seeing me, Richard came over, expressing his surprise, for he had expected me to have gone further. I told him about my unexpected detour to Samos, which had been absolutely worth it. He asked if I wanted to join them and I declined. I knew it was time to move on. Then as I was leaving, I went across to where they were sitting and told Richard that I had really enjoyed meeting him and that he had touched my heart.

      Back at the albergue and ready for bed, I took out my book to read while I waited for the others to return. When they did, I was informed that they had come back to look for me a few times during the evening. I apologised and told them where I had been. They didn’t mind; they weren’t offended. Javier asked me what I was reading and I exposed the cover so he could see Conversations with God. ‘What are you reading that stuff for,’ the Spaniards chimed, before recommending their own reading material. I just laughed, feeling pleased that I didn’t need to hide my book cover.

      Before lights out, Mike came over and sat on the edge of my bunk with his bible in his hand and took out photographs of his daughters to show me. It was a lovely gesture of welcome and inclusion.

      Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged Abbey, abundance, albergue, alive, bedgugs, Benedictine monastery, Camino, Connection, excited, freedom, God, gratitude, heart medicine, hospitalero, journal, pilgrim, pilgrimage, playful, Samos, Sarria, Soul, Triacastela
    • Day 28; La Faba – Triacastela – 26 km

      Posted at 3:39 pm by Mary Murphy, on April 7, 2020

      In the morning, Branu and Kirsten were just sitting down to breakfast as I was ready to leave. Although we had planned to leave together, I could see they were pretty relaxed, so I said I’d meet them for coffee later and left. The guidebook had promised some spectacular views on the way to O Cebreiro, but the morning was cold, misty and foggy and I could only see a few yards in front of my feet.

      At the entrance to O Cebreiro stood a tall majestic tree that seemed to announce the special place the village held at the top of the mountain. Passing through, I headed for the church and met Richard emerging from it. Inside, the church was more understated than most I had seen. I liked the simplicity; the seats were made of plain dark wood while the walls were devoid of the usual baroque grandeur. However, what usually engages my attention in a church is how I feel. Despite the noise and activity of those around me, I felt really at peace and I knelt down to pray. As I did so, I realised that I felt torn between wanting to stay and wanting to go. I thought that if I left, I might be able to manipulate an encounter with Richard in the village. Then as I contemplated my dilemma, I felt clear that if I allowed distraction to steer me, I would be straying from my intention to walk this pilgrimage with sincerity. In hindsight, I see it as a test of faith and perhaps the most important decision I made on the Camino.

      While I waited for Kirsten and Branu, I walked around O Cebreiro before stopping for coffee and cake. Just as I was about to leave they appeared. By that time our schedules were out of sync and I decided to continue walking alone. As the fog cleared, a warm day was revealed and with a full heart I left O Cebreiro. Around me the landscape felt intimate again; animals grazed in fields of lush green grass, wildflowers grew in the hedgerows and I felt connected to my surroundings. Being physically close to the bushes, the trees and the brambles connects me with my internal home, and my connection with the landscape brought forward thoughts of all the people I had met on my Camino, as well as my family and friends at home, and I felt tremendous gratitude.

      During the day I was reunited with Kirsten and Branu, but as the afternoon progressed I went ahead of them. I expected Triacastela would be busy and I thought it best if one of us went ahead to get beds for the three of us. Arriving in town at about 5 p.m., I saw a ‘Full’ sign posted outside the municipal albergue, and my concern about finding accommodation increased. Then as I walked on further, I met a local woman dressed in black who told me that everywhere was full, but that I wasn’t to worry – she had a room in her house for €30. I hoped she was a chancer and I thought she probably was. When I asked two young German lads I knew about accommodation, they told me they had got the last two beds in their albergue; they also told me that the woman in black had peddled the same yarn to them. Further along, I saw more ‘Full’ signs and my anxiety deepened. Then at the end of town I entered the last albergue on the street. Inside there was no sign of the hospitalero, and while I waited I peeked into the ground floor dorm and saw some empty beds. What a delightful sight!

      Later, as I stood brushing my teeth, Branu emerged from the shower. ‘What now?’ he asked. ‘A beer, and then dinner,’ I suggested. Although clothes washing could wait for another day, some tasks could not be delayed. Branu needed to go to the bank and the supermarket, while I needed to tend to my feet before going out. As there wasn’t enough space or sufficient light to carry out the necessary foot repairs in the dorm, I went downstairs to the entrance foyer cum dining room. While I worked, Richard appeared at the open doorway. ‘Just in time! I’m in need of a doctor,’ I said. I was delighted to see him, though it turned out that he knew less about tending blisters than I did. I couldn’t believe that I didn’t even have to leave the albergue to meet him. We talked about the day and I asked if he would like to join us for a drink. He accepted. I felt so excited.

      As Richard and I walked through the narrow, pedestrianised main street full of bars and restaurants looking for a table in the evening sun, I heard my name called. To my surprise I saw Kathy, my American friend. I couldn’t believe it; I thought she would be at least a day ahead of me. The moment we embraced, I knew that what we had shared together was over. Although walking with Kathy had been one of the most beautiful and spiritual encounters of my whole Camino experience, I knew then that the purpose of our meeting had already been served. She was with a new group of Spanish pilgrims, as well as her earlier walking buddy Vanessa, and that was okay with me. I was happy walking my own Camino.

      At dinner with Kirsten and Branu talk turned to home. Richard was coming to the end of his Camino, and that was when I found out that he was going home to his wife. Initially I became quiet as I felt my disappointment register, but I didn’t withdraw from conversation. In Richard I had found a kindred spirit, and I was able to continue enjoying our playful banter for the remainder of the evening, even though I had fantasised about more. When we parted later, it really felt like the final goodbye. He was heading for Sarria the next day while I thought I might go a little further.

      That night I slept like a log.

      Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged albergue, Camino, Connection, Faith, gratitude, Intention, internal home, kindred spirit, La Faba, landscape, O Cebreiro, peace, pilgrimage, Sarroa, Simplicity, Sincerity, Triacastela
    • Day 23; Hospital de Órbigo – Astorga – 15 km

      Posted at 4:52 pm by Mary Murphy, on April 2, 2020

      Things did not go to plan. My reliable German alarm clock, Toby, surprised himself and me by sleeping in! Then there was a bit of a scramble in the small room as ten of us tried to get up and pack for departure simultaneously.

      Mid morning Kathy and I stopped for an impromptu picnic with Jan and Christian on a hill overlooking the town of Astorga. They had been walking for three months and were well equipped with utensils and food; I watched in awe as they delicately sliced food into small portions to share with us. Christian sat beside me, and although I had felt blessed by his loving fatherly touch a week before, I found it a little too much that morning. I really enjoyed our picnic initially, but after a while I became anxious to move, and we left to continue our descent, leaving Jan and Christian to savour the view.

      Arriving in Astorga, I headed to the albergue to register and drop off my stuff while Kathy waited at an outdoor café across from the Gaudí building. We had both wanted to see Gaudí’s work, but it was Monday and the building was closed. So we sat and had some lunch as Kathy battled with her decision to stay in Astorga or walk on further. She was very tired and conflicted. At one point she went and lay on a bench to get some rest while I watched over her rucksack. I began to feel hopeful that she might stay, but I didn’t apply any pressure. While I sat on my own, Eugene and Heather came to join me, enquiring about Kathy’s whereabouts. Then when Kathy returned we sat again for a while until she announced she was leaving, and I accompanied her to the outskirts of town. After we said goodbye, I watched her walk on ahead, noticing how tired she looked with the weight of the huge rucksack on her back. I wandered aimlessly around town afterwards and I was struck very quickly by the loss I felt at her departure.

      I felt so sad. I knew I would miss her, but I really, really missed her, and although I hoped to bounce back after a nap, the feeling of loss stayed with me. In the supermarket, I wandered around hoping for inspiration, but I couldn’t make a decision, so I bought some water and sat on a bench in the square. All my energy seemed to have drained out of me; part of me wanted the Camino over because in some ways I felt it was.

      In retrospect, I understand more about what was important for me about meeting Kathy and why I missed her so much. She had the capacity to see me and accept me. I felt seen by her as me, rather than some version of me that she might have imagined me to be. Furthermore she was sufficiently contained within herself to listen deeply and I felt safe to share my inner world. I didn’t need to edit my expression or wear a protective mask. In short, we were kindred spirits. Given that, it’s not surprising I felt her absence intensely; such an experience in everyday life is rare. Back home in Colorado, Kathy worked as a school teacher and studied spiritual psychology at Santa Monica University; in my view, what she had could not be studied – it was simply who she was.

      Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged accepted, albergue, Astorga, Camino Frances, Hospital de Orbigo, kindred spirits, listen, Loss, pilgrimage, Sad, safe, seen
    • 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 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
    • Fear and Courage

      Posted at 2:27 pm by Mary Murphy, on December 18, 2012

      Spiritual Calling

      When I decided to walk the Camino de Santiago, I was aware that I wanted to immerse myself in a holding container long enough for me to find out what is calling me. I had the sense that I was meant to be doing something else with my life and that I was holding back on what God had given me. In any event I knew my soul wasn’t being fully satisfied; there was a longing I needed to address. I hoped and indeed I expected the Camino to help me find the truth of that longing.

      Letting go

      I realised before I left home that the Camino was about letting go and trusting I would be okay, although I couldn’t anticipate how the challenges would present themselves. But really the energy of the Camino started before I left Cork! The easy part was making the decision to go, a couple of months ahead of time it seemed no problem, I thought ‘I can’t wait’. However as the departure date got closer, I became more fearful, I was going to have to let go of whatever control I had in my life, my comfort, my livelihood, my emotional crutches and safety nets and surrender to the unfolding experience of Camino life.

      So to go at all I needed to let go of what was familiar and face the vulnerability that arose in the absence of the crutches and the safety nets. That took courage and more importantly it took a level of belief in the possibility and of my own potential and trust in the universe. To grow requires a will to do so, no one said this would be easy but then neither is it easy to live life in the shadows.

      Posted in Themes | 4 Comments | Tagged camino de santiago, control, courage, emotional crutches, familiar, holding back, immersion, Intention, letting go, longing, pilgrimage, potential, Soul, spiritual calling, surrender, trusting, truth, vulnerability
    • Mary Margaret Murphy

    • Recent Posts

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      • 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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