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.

Reaching Skywards:its a Wind Turbine Day on the Camino Madrid

Early morning walk in a Wind Turbine farm

I am walking in a wind turbine forest today. Tall, silent, looming presences stand sentinel along the meseta for the best part of 5 km. In the dark predawn landscape the white turbines assume a shimmering beauty as the sun rises behind them. It seems that they reach up forever into the sky, rather like a space version of Jack’s beanstalk.

We all know what happened to Jack when he reached the top of that beanstalk. But for me this morning there is no fear of giants,nor any wish to find the gold purse .

I am simply walking and and taking in the magnitude of this man created forest. A mass of silvery white shapes topped with the still blades stretches as far as the eye can see .

Pre dawn

I’m content to be here below, walking in the cool morning and looking skywards at another fairy tale morning.

A Blue Butterfly?Or a heat induced illusion ?

Pilgrim sculptures on the way today

Today we walked Camino Madrid from Cigunuela to Castromonte(24km). The last 10 km was in seering heat, rising in waves from the hard sand underfoot. We started before the sun rose and the first two hours were magical even in this meseta of central Spain. The horizon stretched endlessly ahead and the straight road was just a narrow white strip in the shadowy moonscape. Tall bales of hay appeared at intervals creating Stonehenge -like shapes. On either side of the road there was a mix of poppies, thistles, coloured weeds. Corn crops were interspersed with newly planted alfalfa and red earth just hoed or lying fallow,

As we came towards Wamba the terrain changed. Suddenly we were climbing up cliffs into an old limestone village named after a Visigoth King Wamba in 672.

Nothing was open yet, so we walked through the sleeping village. I had a quick look at the limestone church dating from 928:Nuestra Senora de la Asuncion, unusual and historically interesting .

It was a quick look as we were so intent on reaching our destination before the heat set in.

Church of Nuestra Senora and a quick look at this historical church

It began to feel as if we were trying to win a race as our stride quickened and the sun rose higher. Next stop was in the bar of a town set high up on a rocky cliff , with the beautiful name Penaflor de Hornija. Time for a welcome coffee and coke.

The next 10km were hard with the sun now firmly in control and the temperature rising, We plodded on. I focussed on the flowers on either side of the path and slowed my breathing.

I felt hotter as each km slowly passed, and tireder. Parts of my body took a turn tormenting : first the hip, then a blistered toe, then my knee, then an ankle. I watched the side of the road for colour and movement , to distract myself from the discomfort. It was then I saw my blue butterfly.

It was moving softly amongst the cornflowers.Do blue butterflies exist?Can butterflies assume the colour of plants they settle on? Was the butterfly an illusion?It doesn’t matter because that blue butterfly kept me walking until Castromonte.

If you look closely you may see the butterfly