Thursday, July 28, 2011

"Love In The Mud" Part I - A Camino Love Story

When I told my mother the title for my multi-part Camino love story, "Love In the Mud," she replied back sassily, "Sounds like the less graphic version of The Beatles' Why Don't We Do It In The Road."  Humor, I guess, runs in the family.

But I can't think of a more fitting title.  The day my Camino Love, Hannes, and I met I was sick as a dog.  The Meseta plains of Spain had been drenched in a thunder/hail/lightening storm the night before, and my cousin and I were foot deep in the thickest mud you could possibly image.  In fact, do try to imagine it, and then multiply that by three.  With each step, our boots grew exponentially in size, the sludge clinging 360-degrees around our Lowas, adding much unwanted weight to our already loaded down bodies.  But before I get to the moment I saw my Belgian frolicking through the mud like it was a polyurethane running track, I should give you some back story...

Two nights prior I had experienced my first Camino breakdown (okay, it wasn't my first, but it was the most significant, as I don't count those that involve an inability to log onto wifi or learning there was an extra 3km to walk to get to our gite.)  What I mean by "breakdown" is I cried.  Like a baby.  Or like a blithering idiot depending on your perspective.  Perhaps I had been listening to too much Adele... but I sat in my hotel room, mom already asleep, thinking about my failed long-term relationships and wondering if I simply wasn't special enough to be loved for a lifetime.  I know.  Pathetic.  And sooo un-Blackheart of me.  But the Camino does that to you.  Brings your deepest, darkest thoughts and fears to the surface and forces you to finally schedule a meeting with them face-to-face.  So there I was in the boardroom of my subconscious, and boy did things look bleak.  

The following morning I woke up with eyes bloated to the size of baseballs and my body in the flux of a cold from HELL.  Mom was feeling tired herself and decided to stay in Burgos another day.  Burgos, my favorite and most beloved city thus far on the entire trip (click here to find out why).  She asked me if I wanted to stay behind with her.  Enjoy another night in our 4-star accommodations.  Eat bakery goodies all day in bed.  Watch the BBC.  And try to shake my cold before it got worse.  I was tempted.  Oh man, I really was.  But as I told mom that morning, there was something compelling me to keep walking.  I just had to be on the Camino the next few days.  I thought it was because I needed to work stuff out.  Maybe knock my cold out like a true pilgrim soldier.  But the Camino, in true Camino style, had other more life-changing plans in store.


So with Sactown Rick, Liz and Red as my trail companions, we set off for the village of Hornillos, planning to meet mom in two days time.  As we began to walk, I felt like I could make it.  There were a lot of miles ahead, but my body, even sick, was strong from the months of walking that had come before.  That was my sentiment until the mugginess of the day hit me like a brick.  Then the mist.  Then my inability to breath.  The exhaustion.  The negative thinking.  The lack of pee-estate (real estate to politely excuse yourself to... ahem... pee - i.e. bushes, boulders, thick patch of trees, abandoned sheep shelters.)  I knew that if things kept on this way, I would end up crawling into the fetal position in a patch of tic-infested grass and never get up again.  


That's when I decided to do a mantra, and that I would repeat this mantra of positivity with every step until I got to the albergue.  The mantra?  Well, it's a rather embarrassing one to admit and as cheesy as ballpark nachos, but in the spirit of honesty that is this blog, I will share it with you all and open myself wide up for ridicule.  Here it is... "I am lovable.  I am love.  True love will come."  Simple.  Easy to remember.  Covers all the bases.  It would do.  

Now, up until this point, love hadn't really been on my mind for the most part.  Plenty else had - my career, my future, my screenwriting, where I should move, what person I wanted to be, what person I already was.  I suppose it took walking in the hot mist with a fever and sore throat to make me think of romance.  An odd correlation, true, but that's what happened.  The mantra took hold, lightened my load and soon enough I was in Hornillos, being escorted by a rather unpleasant young woman to the "overflow" albergue (which, turns out, was better than the "overflow-overflow" albergue that consisted of throwing stained, soppy mattresses under the church's stone overhang.)  


I slept 13 hours that night, snuggled in my upper bunk, a bearded French man beneath me snoring away, my skin wreaking of the tea tree oil I has smothered on myself like the finest body cream.  The next morning I felt well-rested, but nowhere near cured, which explains that when a little voice told me upon seeing Hannes at the breakfast table in the albergue's kitchen that "he could be The One," I took it to be a lingering after effect of the very intense Spanish cold medicine I had taken the night before.  Besides, I wasn't a romantic.  I'm Blackheart.  Sure, I love "Under the Tuscan Sun" and "Eat Pray Love" as much as the next woman, but Diane Lane and Julia Roberts I am not (yes, I know these were books first, but I'm a film major, so cut me some slack.)  A fairytale vacation romance sounds lovely, but when you're wearing the same dingy clothes every day and your body is slowly falling apart at the seams, you don't give it much credence.

Besides, I hadn't even said as much as 'hello' to this guy.  Not to mention, he looked waaaay too young for me (turns out we're both '81 babies... good genes that boy has.)  So when he gave me a tired smile and said cheerily, "Buen Camino" I think all I mustered out was a gargled "igualmente" (or "same to you") and a half-ass grin before throwing on the old ball and chain (my Gregory backpack) and walking out the door.  "He could be The One"... ha!  What a Looney Tune my subconscious had become.


Yet, it must have been that same crazy little voice, when an hour later I saw Hannes skipping past Emily and I as we trudged through the mud, that made me take a chance and yell out abrasively to him... "Show off!"


To be continued...

Sunday, July 24, 2011

The Camino Gypsy Saga Continues

As some of you might already know, this Camino Gypsy fell hard on the trail.  No, not into the mud of the Spanish Meseta or the rocks of the French Garrigue; although, that nearly did happen a few times.  I fell in love.  Wonders never cease, my friends!

As I said before, the true Camino doesn't end in Santiago... it's only just begun.  So as a part of continuing this here gypsy travel blog, I wanted to make you all aware of the next journey to come - my trip to Belgium and the Canary Islands (with a cameo by Normandy via a Campervan) to see my true Camino Love.  Call me crazy... but I never pretended not to be!  Technically speaking, the distance between us is grand, but once you walk nearly 1000 miles, you realize that distance is relative and that miles are no obstacle if you take them one step at a time.

The adventure begins August 25th, and I hope to bring you all along with me as this gypsy lets go of her fears and cynicism and logic, once again, in favor of MAGIC.

Until then, a little geography lesson video from my Camino Love that states the obvious.  And makes me laugh in the process.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Believe

Well, my gypsy friends, it's over. Technically speaking, mom and I have come to the end of our Camino journey. Yesterday at noon we stepped foot on sacred ground in front of The Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, took off our backpacks, set down our poles, hugged each other and said farewell to the pilgrim life we have known for so long. As I think about the journey and my original mission statement before embarking, I have come to realize that this trip hasn't been about conquering fears at all. For me, it's been about letting go of the old and lightening my load, so that new and wonderful things can find a home inside my mochila. But, most importantly, this wild walkabout has been a search for something to believe in. And here is what this humble Californian pilgrim believes in now...

I believe in Lowa hiking boots and their ability to take a lickin' and keep on tickin'.
I believe that a mother and daughter can endure 1000 miles and three months of travel without killing one another (that doesn't, of course, include coming close).
I believe in the international family of pilgrims and their ability to put all differences aside to sleep in tight quarters with one another and share in the making of a phenomenal pasta dinner.
I believe in the power of the Camino to transform one's life, consciousness, faith and, of course, body!
I believe in my mom and that adventures do not stop at 64.
I believe in my feet, legs and back, and their infinite well of strength, agility and stamina (aided, that is, by an influx of cafe con leche and ibuprofen).
I believe that amazing friendships and lasting bonds can spring from a simple "Buen Camino".
I believe in quests, because answers come only when we seek them out.
I believe in the goodwill of the German people, as they're the ones who turned in mom's camera after I left it at a bar on the last day of walking.
I believe in myself and that I'm worthy of the gifts the Camino has given me.
I believe that if you simply put one foot in front of the other, your scenery will change and new destinations will come into view.
I believe in this very minute, as the one before and the one after don't mean nearly as much.
I believe that life truly is "like a box of chocolates - you never know what you're gonna get".
I believe that nothing is as far away or out of reach as it seems.
I believe in the remarkable healing powers of a day off and a good night's sleep.
I believe that when you're a foot deep in the muddy Meseta of life, that someone will come along to lend you a hand and help you to drier ground.
I believe that everything you truly need CAN fit into a single backpack.
I believe in the magic of positive thinking.
I believe in magic.
I believe that it's better to keep walking than to curl up in a fetal position and quit.
I believe in the kindness and generosity of others.
I believe that you are never lost; only just off-track.
I believe that trekking poles are a godsend.
I believe in the Camino's ability to untie any and every knot inside you.
I believe that life really can be a deliciously romantic movie.
And, although this Blackheart never thought she would say it, let alone believe it, I believe in true love and it's ability to find you in the most unlikely of places when you least expect it.
I believe that nature and exercise can heal the soul.
I believe that what doesn't kill you WILL make you stronger.
I believe in the miraculous beauty of ear plugs.
I believe that we have to do our best to nurture our planet, because without babbling brooks and waving fields of wheat and boisterous cuckoo birds and dainty lilac butterflies, life simply isn't as rich, nor as magnificent.
I believe that talking to yourself for endless hours throughout the day doesn't mean you're crazy... does it?
I believe that, as with the tallest mountain or mosquito infested valley or rain soaked 17-mile walk, there is nothing that can stand between two women and their dream.
And, above all else, I believe that the Camino doesn't end in Santiago; it's only just begun...

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Arca de Pino to Santiago. We left at 4am, so much of the journey was in the dark. The starry sky was crystal clear. Mom made the trek even though she was sick, which just proves what an amazing lady she is.


Monte do Gozo, before entering city limits of Santiago.


Almost there!


The gang arrive tired and hot, but happy to have made it.


Local flavor. Seafood and cheese win out.














Pilgrims wait in line to get their beloved Compostela certificates of completion. The tellers look over your credential stamps to make sure you haven't cheated. Mom and I have two books each - that's how long we have been on this crazy roller coaster ride.


Pilgrim donkey.





Mom and I are official!


Goodbye sweet boots! You have earned your right to retire.


Protestors on the Cathedral square.





Police are there in full effect to make sure things remain peaceful.


The Cathedral in all its glory.


The supposed remains of St. James.





Camino memorabilia is everywhere, and nothing is sacred.


Our parador. Isn't it grand! Pilgrims no more... But in our hearts, pilgrims we remain.


Farewell paella dinner.





Sunset on Santiago.

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Location:Santiago, Spain