Another hill

Today began with a long walk to my new lodgings. It was a little over 6 km, lovely walk partly alongside to Seine and the Eiffel Tower, partly up towards the Arc de Triomphe, through some residential and shopping areas, and finally to the sidestreet where the Hotel Avenue de Jonquierres is located. Because it is outside tourist district, the rates are little bit cheaper, as is the food and drink. In a lovely gesture of hospitality, the innkeeper gave me orange juice and coffee because the room was not ready, and even carried my 20 kg suitcase up two flights of steps.  I got a kick out of some of the booking.com and trip advisor reviews of this property. It made it sound somewhat questionable, both in terms of the neighborhood, the noise, and the facility itself. Come on folks – this is Paris, one of the most expensive cities in the world. For €75 a night, it is perfectly adequate.  AND it has a full size bathtub -- I wish I had had that last weekend after the Camino!

But I think I am addicted to walking. Although I have a perfectly good subway pass, I decided to walk to (and up) Montmartre.  This is the arts District of Paris, and houses, among other things, the Salvador Dali museum in Paris.  I know surrealism sometimes considered a bit of a joke in the art world; nevertheless I like it. Dali's exuberance, combined with his irreverence, make him a perfect artistic icon for me.  The gallery was made up largely of lithographs, prints, and statues. But it was very engaging, and I have put a few photos some of my favorites here on the blog.

But I didn't stop there. I walked by the Moulin Rouge so I could tag Kelsey in a photograph -- Moulin Rouge was one of her favorite movies as a teenager.

And then I went up the highest hill in Paris. Dominated by the church of the Sacred Heart (Sacre Coeur) with its several domes, Montmartre is a cluster of working painters, sketch artists, street performers and bistros, which, though catering to the tourist business, also bring a particular energy to this part of Paris. 

But the best part of the day was from the top of Sacré Coeur.  For a meager seven euros, tourists can stand on the outside of the top dome. The sign at the bottom says 300 steps. I didn't count, but it certainly felt Like it!  The view was amazing, and some of the architectural features including the other domes, gargoyles and inner roofs were spectacular. 

Take out sandwich, some cheese, some fruit, some nuts, and litre of beer made for a picnic supper in my room!

Today's Music:  Les parapluies de Cherbourg (I know – wrong city, and at least for today the wrong Weather, but it is lovely, and French, and romantic)

Today's Paces:  23,216

Tomorrow's Prayer Intentions:  The parish of Lantz, as they finish the first weekend of the apple pie sale.

Le pèlerin Dave is in Paris

The day started with train travel again. But train was faster, albeit more crowded, and the weather was nice.  When I got to Paris I discovered that I was able to negotiate the subway system much more easily than the last time, found my way to the B&B for my suitcase full of clothes that truly don't really fit well waiting for me, made hotel arrangements for the next week, booked my return flight to Halifax, and started a walkabout of Paris. 

As I was walking along, I went by what I believe was the national assembly, and the sidestreets were surrounded by police in riot gear. Apparently there was some representative of the extreme right wing making an appearance, and the police were blocking many of the streets going towards the national assembly.  

Siri, Who is giving me directions, got quite distressed but I wouldn't fall of them. But eventually we came to an agreement and after I walked by the Invalides with its impressive gold dome, St. Francis Church, St. Germain church (where they were tuning the organ), the Delacroix museum (with it's lovely garden), bistros, bars, cafés, restaurants, and so many boutiques, I arrived at arguably the most famous cathedral in the world.  The pictures speak for themselves! And so I had perhaps the most expensive meal I have had so far this trip sitting literally in the shadow of Notre Dame under an awning, watching Paris walk and drive by me.  If I wasn't actually here, I would not believe it myself.

I also had the curious experience of forgetting which language I was speaking. When the waiter brought my second course I replied Gratias Signor, laughed and said thank you very much. And then said Merci Monsieur.  I said I had just spent six weeks in Spain, and I forgot what language I should use.

And then back on the Metro (and the Cluny Sorbonne station is quite lovely) to my B&B.

Today's Music:  Non, je ne regrette rien (Edith Piaf)

Today's Paces:  16,141

Tomorrow's Prayer Intentions:  Gratitude...hey, c'mon-I'm a guy that has waited until 60 to come to this amazing city

An odd day

This has been a really odd day.

I have started my return trip...by train, as it turns out.  Today I am travelling to Hentaye, just past the Spamish-French border, and then tommorrow on to Paris on the high-speed train, where I will then see how my clothes fit that I left there.  

And train travel is very relaxing, even on an 11 hour ride (although I wish I had brought more than a sandwich to eat!). And European trains are very smooth and quiet.

But three quarters of the trip retraced the Camino in reverse...all the way from Santiago to Pamplona, and while on the one hand it gave me s real perspective on how far I've walked (about the same distance as from Halifax to the Quebec border, or Skowhegan ME if you prefer) it was really sad and poignant because I don't really picture myself doing this again.

It was also a day of goodbyes to people that were all in Santiago together as we all started going our separate ways.

Perhaps Paris (and maybe some food and wine) will give me a different outlook!

Today's Music:  Thomas Newman's haunting theme to Angels in America

Today's Paces:  3,856 but about 1000 km

Tomorrow's Prayer Intentions:  my sister-in-law's partner Pat who needs more surgery.

The Ultimate Revenge

I have claimed, and with good reason it seems, that the ultimate revenge of the Spanish over the French in claiming the Camino Frances is that it is impossible to get from Santiago de Compostela to Paris. You have to make a connection someplace...Madrid. Barcelona, Porto, Bilbao, London, Lisbon, or, in my case, Hendaye.  I know – I had never heard of that either! But it is the frontier city with Irun, where I can catch the bullet train to Paris, after an overnight stay. It is cheaper than flying to Paris via Madrid, Barcelona, or London. And it is way better than a 24 hour bus ride!

But here in Santiago, it was my day to shop for souvenirs, go to a last pilgrims mass, have some drinks in the rain, and begin plotting my return to Canada.  I prayed by the relics of Saint James, put my hand on the statue of Saint James, got a third certificate of completion from the Franciscans, (and after sorting out my necessities from the things I can live without) sent my knapsack back to Canada via the post, and had supper at an Italian restaurant because im actually a little tired of the Peregrino meals, had drinks in the lounge with a multi-Camino veteran and showered and shaved in anticipation of a couple of days without facilities!

Today's Music:  Laudate Dominum (Taize...it was the introit at mass today)

Today's Paces:  15,177

Tomorrow's Prayer intentions:  all those who begin their return journey. 

To the end of the earth and back

Today I travelled the better part of 200k by coach in order to visit Muxia and Finisterre, the true terminal ends of the Camino.  Muxia is famous from the Sheen/Estevez movie, The Way, where the father scatters his son's ashes.   It is a stark and bleak place, where today a sudden rain squall drenched most of us before we could get back to the bus.  Like our own Peggy's Cove in Nova Scotia, it is compelling to see the waves breaking over the rocks (and there are no safety warnings!).  

In 2002, a shipwrecked oil tanker polluted the Galician Coast; a huge stone monument commemorates the event and subsequent cleanup.

Finisterre (Fistere in Galician Spanish) is the customary end of the Camino. There is a kilometre 0.0 marker, a lighthouse, and a mast near the high water mark on the rocks.  

When I began my pilgrimage, the widow of one of my friends asked me to leave her late husband's cross from his Cursillo (literally a 'short course' for Christian renewal) Cross at the end of the Camino, thinking of the Cathedral in Santiago.  But when I saw the mast down on the rocks, I phoned Cheryl and asked her permission to leave Mike's crucifix there. I crawled down the rocks and scrambled up the mast to wrap the woolen rainbow lanyard around the steel girder.  I have worn this cross or carried it in my purse for 38 days; placed it on the table when we celebrated mass; and despite it weighing only a few grams, I miss having it with me more than the brick that I carried to the Cruz de Fer.

Today's Music:  St Patrick's Breastplate (the verse that describes the "old eternal rocks" - this is one of the "thin" places on earth where earth and heaven touch each other)

Today's Paces:  18,801

Tomorrow's Prayer Intentions:  all those pilgrims who suddenly remember that reality begins after you get your Compostela 

It's over, but it's not over.

I am seldom a loss for words, but I'm overwhelmed by the sense of accomplishment, spirituality, historicity, and sheer physical effort of the past 37 days.  I had used 40 days as my target number to complete the Camino, and was obviously generous in my estimate; there were long days, short days, tourist days, a bus day or two, two awful days, thirty fabulous days, much beer and wine, a few hungry mornings, and some of the most interesting and wonderful people that I have ever met. 

And at the risk of forgetting somebody:  Dan, Heather and Bernice, without whom I could not have lasted the first week, let alone the four weeks we were together; Ruud, Ninge and Marte, my cab-companions from Biarritz; Emily, the young Canadian actor who will go far; Missy, Adam and Noemie who made me feel young; Maddie, a young woman searching for direction; Alan and Cathy, Jean Marie and his wife, Eloi and Louise; the couple from Winnipeg who I first met with Peter; Bridget and Lorette who were always cheery and positive; Kristin and Lacey, students of theology whose future and ministry I somewhat envy; Isabel, whose outlook on life is the most positive I have ever seen; the Korean man with his three year old son in a backpack whose dedication I will never forget as he walked the Camino; Sven the huge German man whose pack was as big as he was; Shirley who knew so much about the Camino; Lucy (the youngest pilgrim, 16, who was doing the Camino as part of her home schooling program), her mom Jennie and fellow pilgrim Lydia; Nicky, Lynn and Tristan, who defended my honour (it's a long story); and to Caroline and Linda, Peggy and Paul, and Gordie and Sue, whose company on this last night of the Camino helped put so much of this experience in perspective.

And it is not over.  Tomorrow I am taking a coach tour to the Atlantic coast to see the villages of Finestere (literally, the end of the earth) and Muxia (featured in the movie The Way).  

Today's Music:  The Vivaldi Gloria, specifically the last two movements (Quonium tu solis Sanctus, Cum Sancto Spiritu/Amen).  I could not have made this pilgrimage without God whose praise I echo in some small way.

Today's Paces:  21,499

Tomorrows Prayer intentions:  my sister-in-law's partner Pat as she continues to recover from her surgery