St. Boswell's to Harestane




So-called "Dere Street"

Today started out bright and sunny and we set out in high spirits. Our walk today however, turned into another day of slogging through mud. It would have been a lovely woodland walk along the River Tweed, and walking down a Roman road called Dere Street sounds pretty straightforward, right? The mud was like quicksand in some  places and almost took Marlene's boot off, causing her to twist her knee. She limped to the Harestane Visitors Centre where we had tea and waited for a taxi to take us to our Bed and Breakfast at Airenlea in Jedborough. Hopefully, her knee will be better tomorrow. Meanwhile, I seem to have left my journal somewhere which is a heartbreak because it also contained my journaling from the Camino.



Over the Eildon Hills from Melrose to St. Boswell's



Melrose Abbey

We are off on our first day of walking. We had arrived in Melrose from Edinburgh by bus. The skies had opened on our way and by the time we were approaching Melrose, the roads were so full of water that the bus had to take a detour at one point. I was dreading the thought of walking in that rain tomorrow! But as we reached the pretty little town of Melrose the rains stopped. We got settled in the Station Hotel, and then went to explore the Melrose Abbey. Then lo and behold, the sun came out as it began to set, and the abbey was bathed in a rosy glow. Here at this abbey, our dear St. Cuthbert was called to service and eventually became Prior.





Eildon Hills

We left Melrose and climbed the saddle between the Eildon Hills. The day was grey and windy, the climb invigorating. The hills were full of purple heather and gorse. I was feeling strong and capable thanks to my pre-walk training. I soon found myself humming and singing "Wild Mountain Thyme" and reminiscing about the days long ago in my youth when I wandered the Scottish hills. After our descent, we walked through a beautiful forest full of giant lime and beech trees. Alas, we missed a turn-off and got a bit lost. We had to retrace our steps, but found the signpost we had missed.



Muddy Boots

Then we started going through some serious mud. This was due to the terrible torrential rains of the previous day, and the fact that this has been the rainiest summer in Scotland in a hundred years. Even though it was only a six and a half mile walk, it took us from 9:30 to 4:00 to finally get to St. Boswell's. We were staying at a fancy hotel called the Buccleuch Arms, and we were embarassed to stand in the lobby with our muddy shoes. But when we finally roused the receptionist, she was not the least put out with us. We had a fantastic supper of fresh salmon an grouse, and Marlene bought a hazelwood walking stick which she chose among several that were for sale in a corner of the restaurant. (She had broken her "high tech" stick in the mud that day.)

Waiting is the worst part

Tomorrow at noon I leave with Marlene for the Louisville airport . I have had many well-wishers. Some have said "I hear you are going to Ireland"or "Switzerland" but nonetheless they promise to pray for my safety. I have no fear. I know from the Camino that a pilgrim walks in faith and that when you do,  every experience is a blessing.
My preparation has been a bit different this time. Instead of long walks I have been working out at the gym, trying to build muscles. That doesn't  toughen  the feet, though. So we shall see if that ends up as a good strategy (muscles and blisters or no blisters  and sore muscles, what's your pleasure?) At any rate, my trusty Compeed is at the ready. God bless it!
An encouragement for Marlene, and for anyone who finds a task overwhelming:

"O snail. Climb Mt. Fuji. But slowly, slowly."
Kobayashi Issa, 1763 - 1827

Preparing for the next pilgrimage



Our official guidebook

On Monday, the 27th of August, my friend,  Marlene and I  will be headed to Glasgow, Scotland, to begin a pilgrimage of sixty miles across the Borders and down into England to the Holy Isle of Lindisfarne, once the home of the famous Lindisfarne Gospels. It is called the Way of St. Cuthbert.
I hope to blog about our adventures and send some photos, too. The hardest part right now is typing with this fancy new touchscreen! My kids say I will get used to it but I am itching for my trusty Blackberry.  Change is hard !
Our way  will be much easier than the Camino since we have booked B&B's for the whole week and will have our luggage waiting for us at each stop with day packs and ponchos our only burdens.

When we finish our walk, we will head to some of my old haunts including Edinburgh and St. Andrew's, and then through the Highlands and out to another pilgrimage site, the Isle of Iona.

Post-Camino Summary

I got a flight home the next day. It was a small miracle because the 1st of July all of France goes on holiday and the gate employee who gave the standbys the bad news that we wouldn't make it out that day, said he didn't see any good prospects for the next three days. So, I went to a hotel and took a much-needed shower. (Twenty four hours in a train with no air-conditioning on a record hot day makes for a much-needed shower.) Next day, smooth as silk, I got a flight to Cincinnati where my husband picked me up, and I promptly plunged into the life I had put on hold for six weeks.

But to summarize my last day in Santiago, all the disparate characters who played a part in my camino showed up right on time. (This would make a very bad movie plot). As you can see by the first photo, Nora was there, having arrived a few days earlier. Truus and I arrived together, along with Mercedes and Maitreyi. And just as we finished the group portrait, who should happen by but Dilek. Then Elke and Ushie showed up, along with others whom we had met at various points along the way. Even the French woman on horseback that we saw at the Irache winery came trotting into town that very day.

Now I am home, trying to adjust to the busyness and STUFF I had left in May. I think about the Camino every day. In my heart I am already plotting a return. In a few years I want to go back and walk Le Puy to St. Jean.

Au Revoir. I'll be back for more reflections on the lessons of the Camino. I hope some new pilgrim will find this blog useful for preparation. If there is a desire in your heart to do the Camino, don't hesitate. Just go.

Coming Home

In true camino fashion I met my last camino angels as I was attempting to get to the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. I had to take a bus to a train to another train to a metro to the airport. On the train I met two camino friends, French retired teachers--Annie and Nicole-- who bought me a "petit dejeuner" (breakfast) at the end of the second very long train ride, and sent me on my way on the correct metro line to the airport. I would have probably figured it all out eventually myself, but what a comfort it was to have the guidance and the last camino goodbyes and kisses (cheek to cheek the way the French do!)
So here I sit waiting and hoping for a standby seat to Atlanta and then home. Was it real, or was it all a dream?
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Santiago

Sorry to be behind in my blogging. The last two days have been a breathtaking whirlwind. We arrived at Monte do Gozo as planned. We called it Peregrino City. There are blocks and blocks of rooms, bars, restaurant, mercado, souvenir shop, and clothes lines to hang your laundry. From the top of the hill we could just see the spires of the cathedral through the trees. Four kilometers away was the destination we had dreamed of for six weeks. That feeling of joy was surpassed the next day as we wended our way through the streets of Santiago, catching glimpses of the cathedral and then losing sight of it, until suddenly-- there it was. This photo of the cathedral is not a great one, but it was taken the first moment I saw it in front of me. Before we could enter the cathedral we had to go to the Pilgrim Office and obtain our Compostela. The second photo shows the line of pilgrims behind me waiting to go through the process. There was an equal number of pilgrims before me. When we reached the office, a row of young women behind a counter called the next pilgrim to come up and show their credential. They examined the stamps we had acquired along the way as we filled out a form, and then, convinced we had walked the required number of kilometers, put our names on our Compostelas. We hugged each other in joy. Our goal was accomplished.
It remained to go through the pilgrim rituals of going to midday mass, touching the hand of the small statue of Santiago, hugging the large statue of Santiago that looked over the sanctuary, and visiting the crypt or reliquary below. The day we were there it happened to be the Feast of Sts. Peter and Paul, so the bishop was there and actually gave the homily which my Spanish-speaking friends said was very good. We were also fortunate that someone had donated the money for the swinging of the botofumiero, the giant incense burner that, with great ceremony, is hoisted up and down and swung back and forth, lifting our prayers to heaven with the smoke of frankincense suffusing the air as a young man (priest or initiate) sang a moving song of praise. Unfortunately, to my way of thinking, the congregation burst into applause at the end, as if it were a spectacular show of some kind, instead of a beautiful religious ritual. That was our day yesterday. I have many decisions to make about getting home and much to process in my mind about leaving the Camino. I will write about that later.
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