So what am I learning today ? On Day 8 of the “Turnaround Camino”

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We’re here in Segovia and just moved into an Airbnb above the bar I’m sitting in right now. I’m drinking a hierbas, a light yellow liquor, telling myself it’s good for diminishing the remaining symptoms of Covid, and for adding to my Spanish learning. The bar is filling up gradually. It’s still early in Spain; 10pm is the beginning of the night. Even Sunday night.The people standing beside me at the bar are not young. At home they’d be in bed by now, especially on a Sunday night.

People next to me in bar

So what am I learning, or rather what am I having to remember from the learnings on the Camino just finished. Only a week ago , before Covid struck.

Obviously patience. Surprisingly, patience with myself first of all. I want to rush ahead, experiencing this borrowed life before it all fades or changes. Before I’m back in my real life and the this life loses its vividness, is diminished as it becomes another travel tale accompanied by a swag of photos. The Covid has just acted as a “stop” sign; stop and take in the scenes for longer, wait, rest, relish the slowness. So I’ll have another Hierbas ( only half though, it’s 70 % alcohol)

The father in Elizabeth Jolley’s My Fathers Moon (1989) insists that his daughter take in the “splendid view.” This is what I’m still trying to do, to take in that view. It is the long look, the abstracted, metaphorical sweep of what’s ahead. Like this morning when I saw the view from the surrounds of Segovia’s Alcazar in its clear light. The view was a Namatjira painting ,with unencumbered sky and the trees just sticking up above the line of the hills.

A “splendid view “from the Alcazar ,Segovia this morning

Patience also means another sort of seeing: to absorb the immediate. To stop and really see, not just glance. Listen, note, take in the gestures, the voices, the colours. Hey, that’s why I’m in this bar with Hierbas. Spanish voices float over me. There are instructions, explanations, descriptions, too early in the night for arguments. There’s a lot of “ claro”,”valle” and nods and hand movements. As usual, the men talk more but then there are more men here in the bar.

Patience also means dropping my expectations and accepting differences. I’m doing well with taking in the music performances on the Plaza Mayor here that have happened each night we have been in Segovia. Music lasts until 6am. In addition the bar underneath our hostal finally called it a day at 8am, and people spilled out underneath our window as we grabbed a few hours early morning sleep. But I have to acknowledge a degree of relief that Sunday night, right now, this bar below our present place is closing at 11 pm.

There’s patience too with my partner and fellow traveller. He doesn’t feel well enough to frequent bars or needs to rest when I feel like walking on, or drinking on. That’s up to him, and patience means doing what I want to do and leaving him to do what he needs to do, without resentment. We are not inextricably bound together at all times. I remember all the things he does that I don’t do, like finding the way, looking out for both of us. I acknowledge that and am thankful, while I go ahead and drink Hierbas in this bar, listen and write.

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Our “Turn-around Camino”- throwing up muchas cosas

All shall be well

“ All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” Julian of Norwich, Showings

(Anchoress,and mystic Middle Ages)

I have been trying to practice this philosophy for the last 5 days since ending our Camino Madrid. The “turn -around camino”started from Sahagun and has brought us to Leon and then to Segovia. By train. Now we both have Covid. My cousin in UK, where we were to have flown yesterday, has Covid. My aunt whom I really want to see, has Covid. Even if we recover in the next few days, there is no way we can turn up to possibly infect others.

So here we are in Segovia. Recovering, we hope. Plans have changed. We’ve managed to cancel some internal journeys in UK, (a lesson in booking ahead), and paid to change our flight back to Australia earlier.

Now we are taking each day as it comes and accomodate changes with equanimity. We are enjoying the bits when we have energy and retreating for siestas when we are hot or tired. We are monitoring temperatures and other symptoms, grateful we’re not in a small village with no facilities or staggering through the heat on the Camino Madrid. We are supporting the pharmaceutical industry in Spain with medication and vitamins. And ear plugs .

We’re supporting Farmacias in Spain !

Morning, 7.30 in Natura Hostal room. Faint boom boom sounds from bar below our room now have a melancholy air, echoing in an emptying bar. Voices on the street: negotiations, farewells, checking for transport, smokes,and a few final swallows from beers held lightly in hand. Ocasional yells but mostly now there’s a low hum of leisurely activity. This is just the beginning of another day.

Early morning view from hostal window

8am and the music is turned off. More people spill out from under, there is a chorus of voices and quiet again.

I take out my earplugs and settle back into a relaxed doze for an hour or so. All is silent now. It’s an opportunity to get some sleep. Early morning and siesta time, late afternoon, are the best times for uninterrupted sleep.

Last night the bars were teeming with people of all ages as we walked back from the concert way past midnight. People spilled out onto the streets wine or beers in hand, chatting amiably and loudly. In the plaza young families arrived with babies in pushers and younger children, sometimes accompanied by grandparents. The night was just starting at 11.30 pm.

As expected the bar under our room was full and voices rose all night in a background to our breathing in and out, or coughing now with the Covid. The earplugs kept on falling out.

It’s music week in Segovia and every day there has been a series of different bands classical, jazz, brass bands and rock n’roll. Each afternoon large bands set up on the two stages in Plaza Mayor alongside and opposite the cathedral. To me this is symbolic of the Spain I have been coming back to for a long time. Catholic Church is just there, still woven into this culture with its feast days and fiestas, and music is here. Music is to the forefront, religion provides a reason. In the mix is a sort of faith.

The Segovia Cathedral dominating one side of the Plaza Mayor and the large music stage directly opposite. Apartments surround

However it’s not the bar noise at night, or the coughing and other Covid symptoms which are the main “cosas”we are having to take on board. It’s the lesson in the unpredictability of life .

Only 5 days ago we had a clear outline in our heads : Leon to Segovia. To Madrid and flight to UK. The flight was 2 days ago.

In fact now decisions are made, flexible plans, there is a lessening of tension. I have let go of the picture of 3 weeks ahead. Now it’s one day at a time: while we have symptoms we’ll stay put. If we’re ok we’ll train to Madrid to get an earlier return flight. In the meantime I’m enjoying sitting in the sun watching the world go by. It’s a long day here in Segovia,and a short night .

We trust that all shall be well .

This Morning I Found My Red Toothbrush: Hola San Antonio de Padua.

I found my red toothbrush on the floor

Well, since Villeguillo on the Camino Madrid when I joined the water spraying and coloured powder celebration of St Anthony’s feast day, I have felt a bit let down. Not for myself but for the saint. I have often prayed to him when I can’t find something, fairly often. He always delivers.

I have just read about why he is the Patron Saint of lost things. The story goes that he lost his missal and prayed for its return. Someone found it quite a while later and brought it to him. I’ve been thinking: is that all? Just a lost missal returned ?

Then I lost my toothbrush . Only a toothbrush but I have held onto it for nearly 4 weeks on this Camino. A red toothbrush which I place carefully next to me at night and pack in the top of my pack each morning, after cleaning my teeth of course. Then one night as I was checking everything was in the correct order on the chair beside my bed, I couldn’t see it. I had anxiety dreams all night. Dreams of falling into deep water, running but not moving,not being able to find a child.

I admit, I prayed to St Anthony.And behold the toothbrush reappeared, just as I was about to leave in the morning .

I relaxed. I could start on my way with my red toothbrush safely in my pack.

No longer am I questioning the importance of St Anthony’s missal in the scheme of things . The worth of an object is irrelevant. The depth of feeling attached to it is what counts. St Anthony loved and needed his missal. I need my toothbrush and am attached to it.

St Anthony understands attachment ( actually he is also patron saint of the poor and protector of children). So I’ll go on praying to him when I lose things, however insignificant that loss might seem. It’s the significance to me that counts.

So I put a few euro into the San Antonio collection slot in the Peregrino Church in Leon . Poor guy doesn’t have many statues, but he does get a lot of mentions

Life in an Albergue on Camino Madrid : Rise and Shine.

The moon is up

Can I go on back to dreaming, please. It’s 5am and pitch black inside this room. If I squint into the dark I can make out vague shapes moving around. Padding feet to the bathroom outside the main door, a silhouetted figure reaching an arm through a top or pulling up pants, perched on the edge of a bed stuffing a sleeping bag into its sack. Phone lights flash and there is a low hum of activity. I have to get up .

I start the morning ritual. Loo, and then I splash water onto my face. I hurry back to my shadowy bed, trying not to stub my toe on the uneven floor, and wrestle with my sleeping bag. Into it’s sack it goes and now I’m ready to pack my few belongings into the backpack.

I do this slowly and thoughtfully, placing each item in a set sequence: sleeping bag, light shoes, stuff bag with spare set of clothes. Face cream, sun cream, other essentials such as toothpaste go into the top flap, water bottle into side flap and phone, notebook into other side. I remove my passport from where it has been, at the bottom of my pack, and stick it down the side so that it is easily accessible but safely hidden. Finally I pull on the peregrino wear that I have hung on the bed rail the night before, grab my boots and out I go into the communal area and into the light .

There other peregrinos are having a bit of bread or a Magdalena and conversation runs in a few different languages. There is always at least one person asleep, the lights in the dorm are still off. So that means creeping around if you need to go back inside the room.

Then it’s swallowing an instant coffee (this in Spain, but no coffee bars open till later), a Magdalena or something equally non nutritious, fasten boots, grab sticks and get into pack and out the door. It’s still dark.

The moon is up though and shining down the street towards the start of your camino this morning.

Poppies, Yellow Weeds..and the Cuckoo Calling

“I have heard the mermaid singing,each to each

I do not think that they will sing to me”

T.S.Eliot,The Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock

I may not hear the Mermaid singing, but I have heard the cuckoo many mornings this week as I have walked the Camino Madrid. The last week has been a mishmash of pine forests, flat, sandy paths, some hard bitumen underfoot, and a few joyful fiestas. Most memorably I have seen incredibly beautiful buildings and works of art in small unassuming villages. Also for short snapshot times, I have sat in small bars along the way drinking vinos, eating and talking in Spanish as much as I can. We have shared information about families, politics, council inadequacies, and Futbol (my nieto Noah, has been very useful here!). I have been privileged to share a little of others’ lives and culture.

Sometimes though it’s been just plain hard slog, often confusing. I have wondered :Why am I walking this Camino?

The partial answer is that I have heard things I cannot hear at home. There is just me, my partner and space. Because of the simplicity of the walking there is just us and the landscape, and a little bit of magic.

As we approach the end of the walk ,two nights from Sahagun, there are more people along the way. I am losing some of that magic.

Chatting over a meal near Sagahun.

Here in this Albergue at the moment there are eight of us: different nationalities and ages, a variety of reasons for being here.There is an incessant discussion of the next distance to cover, the food, whether the next albergue will be open. I am not used to the talk.

We met Neves along the way

So the challenge is to hold on to that early morning bird call, to see the poppies in the dry grass. Perhaps the hardest learning is the practice of being open to other people, not to begrudge them their talking or concerns and anxieties. The challenge now is to hold onto both magic and the reality of everyday life which is beginning to reassert itself.