Vrou Stap vir Donkies

Rekord Newspaper - 15 November 2013

The Statistics

Routes

1. Camino Frances

• Start:  St. Jean Pied-de-Port
• Finish:  Santiago de Compostela 

2. Camino Finisterre

• Start: Santiago de Compostela
• Finish: Finisterre

3. Additional Route

• Finisterre - Muxia - Oliveiroa - Santiago de Compostela

Kilometers

• Official distance walked - 978.2 km
• Unofficial distance walked - 1038.8 km
• Days walked - 35
• Average distance per day - 28 km
• Most kilometers walked in a day - 39.2 km
• Least kilometers walked in a day - 13.3 km

• Week 1 - 143.3 km
• Week 2 - 194.4 km 
• Week 3 - 191.6 km
• Week 4 - 174.0 km
• Week 5 - 214.9 km
• Week 6 -   59.9 km

Health

• Blisters - 5
• Slips, Trips & Falls - 2
• Illness - None
• Injuries - Fractured foot

Gear

• Back pack - 12-14 kg
• Boots - Hi-Tech, waterproof
• Clothing - Mainly K-Way
• Water bottles - 2 (keep backpack balanced!)

Prayer list:

• Old lady at the church in Zabaldica (Die Groot Trek)
• Priests from the Order of Peregrinos dela Eucaristia, Pamplona (Many Ways)
• Albergue from the Order of Malta, Cizur Menor
• Parochial Albergue, Bercianos de Real Camino (The Wrong Road)
• Parochial Albergue, St. Nicolas' Pilgrims Hospital, Itero del Castilo (The Kiss)
• Senor Miguel, Itero del Castilo (The Winemaker)
• The gentleman in Mariano's restaurant, Villalcazar de Sirga
• Parochial Albergue and the Monks of the Monastery of Samos (Veperas and Completas)
• The young Spanish pilgrims (The Three Musketeers)
• The Dutch pilgrim (The Dutch Pilgrim)
• Rev. Thomas Joubert (The Story of a Tree), and retired Rev. Van Niekerk who was instrumental in putting Thomas and I in contact with each other
• WetNose (The Donkey Ambassador)
• The two young men on top of the hill (A Pilgrim's Home)

The Story of a Journey

I have walked
Alone over mountains and valleys
Through green forests and golden fields
Along bubbling rivers and rain drenched Mesetas
But never been lonesome.

I have seen
Some of the last committees of Griffon vultures sitting a top of the hills 
A congregation of eagles soaring against the blue sky
The softness of a smile
And the unselfish love, of strangers, in action

I have heard 
The church bells calling the faithful 
The kindness of a word
An orchestra performed by cattle and sheep bells in green pastures
The cadence of footsteps on gravel roads
The laughter of strangers around a meal

I have smelled
The earthly sent of freshly ploughed soil
Wild flowers and rain
The salty air of the sea

I have felt 
The angry wind through my hair
A cool breeze upon my skin
The warmth of the Spanish sun tinting my face
My grip around the shepherd's crook
The heartwarming gesture of a gift

I have tasted
Young wine
Home made food - balsam for body and soul
Ripe wild berries, stolen figs, cast away grapes
And drenched my thirst with the cool water of countless fountains

I have talked 
To strangers
Sang out loud songs of joy and gratitude
Sat in cathedrals in awe of their beauty
But stilled my mind in the simplest of churches
And spoke to Him, who holds us all in the palm of His hand

I have been blessed
In the busy street of a town
And my soul has chanted with the Monks 
During Completas in a small chapel of the old monastery

I have experienced
Much, some already forgotten by the mind
But not by the soul

I have walked a thousand kilometers for others
In ancient footsteps of peasants, clergymen and noblemen alike

And when the time comes 
That I should close my eyes and turn my head Homeward bound
I will know 
That I have walked to the end of the world under a field of stars 
In a faraway land
And that it made life worth living.

I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately (...)
I wanted to live deep and suck out the marrow of life (...)
And not when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
(Walden, or, Life in the Woods, by Henry David Thoreau)


Buen Camino!

Jovita

25 October 2013

Ultreia!

In my Pilgrim's Passport, the word 'Ultreia' is written on the stamp of the first Albergue I slept in on the Camino. The hospitaleiro told me that this very old word means to go onward and upward, in the sense that one should never give up.  It was a word used by pilgrims of old not only to greet each other but also to encourage one another.

As I walked the days away, I thought about this word many times and the resilience of the human spirit.

In the early days of this journey, I noticed an older gentlemen that had no use of his right hand, perhaps due to a stroke. He kept his hand in a glove at all times and walked the route with some difficulty and at a slow pace, carrying a backpack.

A younger pilgrim, born with a deformed left arm which he can not use at all would pass me at a much faster pace, despite my early starts.

On my way to O'Cebreiro, during some steep climbs, I see a man wearing a built up shoe on his left foot for his left leg is much shorter than his right one.

And in Alberto's Albergue, I read a newspaper clipping of a Canadian pilgrim, who lost her full left leg when she was 13 years old due to an accident.  On crutches and carrying a backpack weighing 8 kilogram she walked 700 kilometer to reach Santiago.

Even if one does not have a physical disability, resilience is needed on the Camino to persevere when feeling tired, discouraged or alone; or when the new day is yet another grey and wet one.

Before leaving South Africa, I visited my home doctor to stock up on some medication that I might need.  As I am about to leave her rooms, she reminds me that the Lord has many angels who will watch over me on this journey, and like so many time to come, I was lost for words.

Once such angel was Emil, a 79 year old pilgrim, with whom I struggled to keep up. Originally from Slovenia, the family immigrated to Argentina when he was a teenager. He and his Spanish wife have been living in Madrid for over two decades.  When he speaks Spanish, people ask him if he is from Argentina. When I comment about it, he looks at me a bit puzzled and asks if I don't notice the difference in accents? I laugh It all just sound Spanish to me!  We walked together on and off over a couple of days and we talked about so many things, including General Tito and the Slovak countries. He has a good sense of humour and we laughed the kilometers away. 

When I reach the Albergue just before darkness, completely drenched from walking in stormy weather for 11 hours and feeling very sorry for myself, I ask for a hot chocolate to try and warm myself.  The young man behind the counter pours the milk and tells me it is nice and hot.  He speaks the words with such tenderness that I struggle to keep my emotions at bay.  He puts a bottle of cognac on the counter and tells me to use as much as I need.  Hot chocolate has never tasted this good!  When I pay the bill, the cognac is not charged for and before I could ask, he smiles and gestures that it is on him.

As I pass through the small village, an old lady walks leaning over her walking stick. She is dressed in blue pants, rubber boots that come up to her knees and a thick woollen jersey. Over this, she wears a sleeveless dress - perhaps in keeping with the old custom that women should not be seen in pants.  And she has a headscarf tied under her chin.  I try to follow the example of Cesar, a Brazilian pilgrim, to greet all people I pass by - some do not answer.  As I greet her, she turns to look at me and the most tender Buen Camino! is said with the warmest of smiles. My low spirits are restored.

Indeed the Lord has many angels, some stayed longer than others, but all gave me something that I needed at that moment, whether it was something to eat, words of encouragement, a smile, a lesson, a reminder of the human spirit.

And to help me along, onward and upward, until the journey is completed.

Buen Camino!

Jovita 

24 October 2013

The Greatness of a Nation...

and its moral progress can be judge by the way its animals are treated.  Gandhi

Most dogs on the route I walked in Spain are either chained or caged.  It is a sad picture to see and my heart goes out to these animals.  As a species, we have failed miserably towards all other life forms that have been entrusted to us.  I am completely against animals being chained, caged, used in circuses, for fighting, in laboratories, or any other form that does not dignify the life of that living creature, for "The question is not 'Can they reason?' Nor 'Can they talk?' But 'Can they suffer?' " Jeremy Bentham, Philosopher.

On a rainy day, I see a cross breed Boarder Collie tied to a tree.  There is no shelter, food or water.  As I pass, he stands up and shakes the water off his drenched coat.  He looks at me with loving eyes and I so wish that I could do something for him.  My first instinct is to cut him loose and take him with me.  But I know it is not possible and I feel completely hopeless.  

But where there is despair there is always hope.  

As I walk down the road of the small village, I notice a dog outside the Albergue with his little backpack. Later on, his German mistress is trying to apply some eye drops. I ask if I can help. Hold his paws please, she says.  She tells me that they have been travelling since January 2011 and are now making their way back to Germany. She carries a tent in case they cannot find an Albergue that will take animals.  His name is Mambo.

A pilgrim walking in front of me wears a long coat and tied to his back pack is the leash of his small dog.  As I pass them I say hello. The next day, as I head out of town in the early morning, I see that they are sleeping on a street corner.  I would see them many days later in Santiago, sleeping close to the cathedral, as I make my way to attend the early mass.  Later that day, as I do my last shopping, we walk towards each other.  I remember the dog.  He recognises my staff.  Felicitations! he says to me. Congratulations to you too! I say. He points to his dog. 'Amigo'!, gesturing that the dog is also to be congratulated.  I couldn't agree more. And as I go about my way, I wonder how many times they have slept on a street corner when they could find no Albergue that would allow dogs.

At the Albergue in the small village, I look through the window and see a horse under a tree. It wasn't there when I arrived.  I go out to investigate and find that she and her owner are making their way to Sarria, to meet up with others and together march to Santiago.  Her name is Boira, a Catalan word for mist - how appropriate, for Boira is white.  And as they they pass me the next day, I shout Buen Camino Boira! Boira flicks her tail.  And when I see horse shoe markings on the the road in the days to come, I cannot help but wonder if they belong to Boira.

I have done my rounds in the village built around the monastery and walking back, I notice that a pilgrim coming towards me is carrying his medium size dog on top of his back pack!  It is a rather odd picture but I see that the dog is enjoying his vantage point. I cannot help but smile. On my way the next morning, I spot them sleeping in the park.

When I see how loving pilgrims are towards their travel companions, I so wish that more people would be kinder towards the creatures with whom we share this planet and the words of Mark Twain 'The more I know about people, the better I like my dog'  have never made so much sense to me.

Buen Camino!

Jovita 

23 October 2013

The Dutch Pilgrim

Around the bend, I see a horse standing near the gate.  I stop to talk to him for a while. He is busy seeking out acorns amidst the leaves.  I pick up some on my side of the gate and offer him a handful.  His soft lips touches my hand and one for one he eats them. I pat him until he moves on.

Just up the road I see a solitary ostrich, so out of place here in this wet world, and I wonder if it longs for Africa's sun like I do.

I have walked in the rain for two days and have given up all together to stay dry.  I feel the water dripping from my jacket´s sleeve on to my hand. In the forest, the leaves are heavy from the rain and there is no shelter.

I first see the neck of the guitar wrapped in green plastic. I notice a fern leave tied to the bar handles of the bicycle.  Then I notice the bicycle and finally I recognise the pilgrim. It is the Dutch pilgrim on the bicycle with only three gears!

He recognises my shepherd´s crook.  Coming back from Santiago? I ask.  He says that he has been to Santiago and is now on his way back to Holland, for he needs to attend to some matters.

And when he speaks about the cathedral and how beautiful it is, his voice falters from emotion and he puts his hand on his heart.  He tells me that he is a drug abuser and that he needs to go back to Holland to do a four month jail sentence, but first he wanted to complete the Camino.  His parents do not know about the jail sentence and while he is doing it, he wants them to think that he is still somewhere on the Camino. And then he adds:  And when I come out of jail, I will be a new person.

We clasp our arms like the Roman soldiers of old, and wish each other a warm Buen Camino! knowing it will be the last time that we will see each other. He blows me a kiss before riding off.  I turn to look at him, but see only the neck of the guitar, an arm stretched out waving. Buen Caminooooooo! he sings.

I realise then that we do not know each other´s name, and that it is also not important.

I pray that he will travel safely and that after completing his jail time, become a man of sober  habits. My hope is that he will choose to follow Him, the only Way, for all his days to come.

Buen Camino!

Jovita

17 October 2013

The Three Musketeers

I walk mainly through fairy-like forests.  Big wild mushrooms grow together here and there. It is easy to believe that fairies exist when I look at this world.

When I go through one of the villages, a women pushing a wheelbarrow comes from the opposite direction.  It is full of grapes.  I greet her.  She tells me to take a bunch.  When I thank her, she laughs.  It seems that in the smaller communities people are used to sharing what they have. 

Later on during the day, I notice a walnut on the ground.  I crack it open, very un-lady like, with my boot and eat it.  I notice several others and pick-up six in total!  A little treasure I keep for later.

I come to an Albergue situated in a village with two houses and a street. There is no store, no restaurant.  The hospitaleira, a Spanish women, explains that the private Albergue a few kilometres away, will come and collect us by car and after dinner bring us back.  There is no charge for the transport, only the dinner, which is the standard price.

There is a Brazilian couple, a Swedish astronomer, an Austrian youth worker, three Spanish young men and a South African donkey ambassador.

We are squashed into the car.  I suddenly realise that this is the first time in five weeks that I have gone anywhere without walking!  One of the Spanish pilgrims is rather amazed. They only started their Camino in Ponferrada, about a week´s walk.  

Later through dinner, we have animated talks.  The Austrian youth worker speaks Austrian German, English, Latin and ancient Greek.  He is learning Spanish on the Camino.  A discussion follows about the words pimientos (sweet peppers) and pimienta (pepper). The conversation is mostly in English, which is then translated into Spanish and Portuguese. The Swedish astronomer keeps mostly to himself.  He is vegetarian and finds it hard in Spain to keep to his vegetarian diet. I learn that all three Spanish pilgrims are unemployed. One is a primary school teacher, the other one is a Human Resource officer, now doing is Masters Degree, and the third one has something to do with accounting. All three are from Andalusia. I tell them I would like to visit Andalusia, and specifically the city of Granada and the Alhambra of course. They seem a little surprised. I tell them of one of my favourite classic music pieces: Recuerdos de Alhambra, by Spanish composer Francisco Tarrega.

The food is good, home made. The Galician soup, made of potatoes, kale cabbage, and this time, with chunks of port meat, is a feast.  And this is just the first course!

After dinner we are driven back to the Albergue. I sit in front next to the driver and ask him to thank the old lady in the kitchen, for the food was really delicious.  He says that the Galician soup is good for the body, and for the soul! I say.  He laughs, yes for the soul indeed!

I set out early in the morning in pouring rain.  As I walk through the forest, I switch off my flash light for a while. I am in complete darkness and absolute silence, except for the little stream running along the path, formed by the rain water.  After I switch on the flash light, I notice that the cows in the field are standing together under a tree, avoiding as much of the rain as they can.  I slip and fall.  For a moment a sit in the rain and do a mental check:  no pain, no blood.  All is good.  I struggle to get up with my back pack. I am now completely drenched.

Later in the day, the three young Spanish men pass me. One complains that it is not a good day, it is raining and they are wet!  They have walking sticks made out of branches picked up along the way. 

They possess that special something and camaraderie seldom seen in today´s youth and I know they will excel in what ever they choose to do in life.  

When they pass me, I notice that they have the exact same yellow ponchos flapping in the wind.  Los Tres Mosqueteros! I shout after them. Two turn around and smile.  The middle one, the tallest of the three, the primary school teacher, without missing a beat, lifts his sword and the other two follow suite, placing their swords on top of the teacher´s.  I can almost hear them say 'Uno por todos y todos por uno' (One for all, all for one).  They walk like that for a moment.  I smile.

Later on, I see the last of the yellow poncho flapping in the wind as they turn a bend in the road.

Buen Camino Athos, Portos and Aramis!

Jovita

17 October 2013

Vesperas and Completas

I had a good day.  The route was full of shade, through green forests along water streams.

I come to the village built around the Monastery and head for the Albergue.  It provides basic pilgrims facility.  The hospitaleiro is from Ireland and we chat for a while.  He plays Simon & Garfunkel songs and I hum along.  

The hospitaleiro tells me about the two services to be held tonight.  The first one is Vesperas, the sunset evening prayer service, at 19h30 in the church. I enter the beautiful old church, simpler in decoration than most.  After the bell rings, the monks file into the church.  Some wear black, the novices I assume, and they sit to the right of the altar. The others wear white and sit to the left. The priest has an emerald green toga over his white robe.

The organ starts to play, a first for me in a Catholic church.  When I look back, I see that the organ has, not only vertical pipes, but horizontal pipes as well.  I think of angels and cherubs blowing on trumpets.

The service is held for pilgrims.  I am always in wonder at the reverence, rites and rituals of the Catholic church.

Just before 22h00, we enter the Monastery and are led to a small chapel.  Here, the Completas, the monks singing, takes place.

The monks come in all dressed in black. After a short reading, a young monk starts to sings the 'questions' and then the others sing the 'answer'.  And I so wish I could tape it, for it is beautiful.  

When it is finished, I notice that one young monk is wearing washed out jeans underneath his black robe and another one is wearing fashionable black pointed shoes!  I can´t help but thinking that there is a rebel in all of us!

I go to sleep with the sound of the Completas, grateful for yet another blessing on my path.

Buen Camino!

Jovita

13 October 2013

A Pilgrim's Home

It is a beautiful day!  I climb out the hill.  Pale green ferns compete with wild flowers in bright yellows, whites, pinks and blues, and lilac lilies with dark yellow centres, to line the way. The fresh smell of pine hangs in the air. Below I see the river winding towards the valley and the tall trees standing guard at its side.  I walk on a carpet of leaves, soft beneath my feet.  Butterflies in rainbow colours fly hap-hazard around. I hear the faint noise of the traffic far below before disappearing into the tunnel.

I look at the ancient wall made of loose stones and wonder how much effort it took of man and beast alike to build it.

On a stump, in the shade of a Chestnut tree I sit for a while.  I see that the chestnuts are swollen and starting to burst open their prickly protection.

As I climb further up, a farmer is ploughing the field and for a moment I lean on my shepherd's crook, close my eyes and breath the sent of the ground.  Childhood memories flood my mind.

I lift my eyes and see the two white strips left by a jet plane cutting across the blue sky and I long to be in it, for I long to be home. But I know that first I need to complete this journey.

On the last stretch, before the top, a young man is coming down.  I see that he stops often to pick up papers and other things discarded by inconsiderate pilgrims along the way.  As he passes me, he greets me 'Happy life to you' in both Spanish and English.  

When I reach the flat top of the hill I see an old building.  The roof has caved in.  As I approach, I see a wheel cart.  It is loaded with fresh fruit, tea, coffee, flavoured milk and fruit juices. A friendly young man greets me. He is from Roumania but has been in Spain for the last 4 years. He tells me that I should help myself and take whatever I need.  Another pilgrim arrives and asks him if this is his house.  'No, this is your house' he replies.  I see that she struggles with the answer.  He asks her if she saw a young man going down the hill and explains that he is cleaning The Way.

I hear him tell his story to 2 Spanish pilgrims - he and a friend walked the Camino some years ago.  Having arrived at a village by nightfall, all the Albergues were full and they had nowhere to stay.  A stranger took them in, prepared a meal and gave them a place to sleep.  'We were treated like kings' he says.  And so, after reaching Santiago, they came to this place be of service to pilgrims.  

He moves the cart with the sun so that the food is always in the shade. The two young men live here in a makeshift little house.  There is no running water or electricity. Their dream is to buy the old building and turn it into a place for pilgrims.

As I look out over the field, I hear the first accords of a song.  I turn to see a Dutch pilgrim playing the guitar.  He travels on an old fashioned bicycle with only 3 gears, has no saddle bags. Some of his things are tied to the carrier over the rear wheel, the rest goes in his back pack, together with the guitar (I would see him later that day in the city - as he passes me, he rings the bell and stretches out his arm and waves, and I keep the guitar in my sight until it is lost amidst the city traffic).

When I leave the wheel cart, I thank the young man and to my ´Muchas gracias´ he replies 'A ti, por todo' (to you, for everything).  I walk away with a lump in my throat, for I have given nothing but he, he has given me his home and all it contains.

I pray that their dream of buying the old building will come true and that they will put forth a home for each pilgrim, every day, on The Way.  And somehow, I know it will be so.

Buen Camino!

Jovita

11 October 2013

The Wrong Road

I am always surprised how life and things in general have a way of working out.

The route I took had at a certain point two option.  I had already decided that I wanted to take option one but somehow I missed the signs.  When I realised that I was actually walking option two, it was to late to turn back.  My feet have been swollen for the last couple of days and walking is uncomfortable and sometimes painful.  I was rather annoyed with myself.

When I finally reach a little village, I did not have it in me to carry on.  I entered a coffee shop to have a rest.  There I found a couple, whom I had met earlier on and who had also missed the turn-off to option one. They had called a taxi to take them to the 'original' final destination for the day and wanted to know if I would be interested in sharing the taxi.  I declined. 

I ask the owner of the coffee shop about albergues in the village.  There were two - a private one, and a parochial one, which was almost at the end of the village. 

As I was walking to the parochial albergue I started having second thoughts.  The buildings in the vicinity had seen better days and as I approached the albergue the building did not inspire to much confidence.  Perhaps my day had not been the best.

When I crossed the threshold through the heavy wooden door, the hospitaleiro from New York greeted me warmly.  I ask if he has a bed for me.  'We most certainly do' was the answer, as if he was waiting just for me.  The building is old, but beautiful in the inside.  I looked at the floor, intricate flower patterns made with brown and red river stones, as if a carpet.  The other hospitaleiro, a jovial, big German man, carries my back pack upstairs and shows me a bed.  All the beds have crisp, clean, white sheeting on.

I pack out all my things, damp by the last days of rain.  My back pack is also wet and I leave it to dry.  After I sort myself out, I report for kitchen duty to help with the communal dinner.  Tasks are delegated and we are all organised by the hospitaleiro in true German style. 

Before the bell is rung to announce that we should take our places at the table, we all go outside to marvel at a full double rainbow.  Perhaps the promise of better weather?

The dinner is a festive affair.  Lots of laughter.  I meet an Israeli and we talk about new languages, such as Afrikaans and modern Hebrew.  I am fascinated about the way modern Hebrew developed and continues to develop and adapt to the ever changing world.

After the dishes are done, we have, for those who wish, a small ceremony in the chapel.  We sing a Pilgrim's song in Spanish to the tune of La Bamba!  For a day that had not been so great, it certainly finished on a high note and my spirits are restored.

In the morning, as I am about to leave, the hospitaleiro looks at the registration book and says, matter of fact, 'You were the last pilgrim to arrive'.

I cannot help but to think of Robert Frost´s poem The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference

And so it is, this time by fate rather than choice, that I took the road less travelled, and that made all the difference!

Buen Camino!

Jovita

5 October 2013

The Kiss

Grey clouds keep rolling in as I walk down the main road of the village.  A man is coming out of his vegetable patch and I greet him.  I ask if it will rain the next day.  He says that he doesn't know for the weather pattern is not the same anymore.

As we walk together talking about all sorts, he reaches into his basket and offers me a fat cucumber, ripened by the sun.  As I thank him, he laughs with deep satisfaction.  And when we part ways, a pilgrim's heart, with the sound of warm laughter and a ripe cucumber, sings a song of gratitude.

The following day,  I finish at St. Nicolas, the Pilgrims Hospital of days gone by.  It is now run by an Italian order from Perugia.  It is still a hospital and there is no charge.  Only a donation if the pilgrim so wishes.  There is no electricity and the simple building is lit by candles.  It dates from the tenth century, if not earlier.  It is rectangular, with a high window on each side.  To the left, there is a simple altar.  To the right, a few bunk beds.  In the middle, a long table.  

The hospital can only take 12 pilgrims.  I am the tenth pilgrim to arrive.  The last two pilgrims are a young university couple from Russia - Alexander and Valentina.  Their names have an aristocratic ring to it and I think of the Czars from Russia and the novel, Doctor Zivago.

The meal is prepared by the hospitaleiros. A simple dish of pasta, a salad, and fruit for desert.  I offer my cucumber, a small gesture of gratitude and of sharing to the hospitaleiro. When he learns that I come from South Africa he tells me that his father was a prisoner of war in Bloemfontein. The table has been set and Senor Miguel´s wine is served in typical Italian bottles.

Before the meal, the pilgrims are called to the altar where we sit in a semi-circle. The following words are spoken to each pilgrim, by name: Jovita, in the name of Jesus Christ, we welcome you to St. Nicolas´ Hospital. May the rest comfort you and repair your forces so that you may continue your pilgrimage to Santiago.  I answer:  Amen.  And while these words are being spoken, me feet are being washed, then dried. And kissed.

At the end, we say the Our Father, the Lord's prayer, in our own language.  I say it in my heart, for my voice is unsteady.  Warm tears roll down my cheek.  My heart is humbled.

Buen Camino!

Jovita

1 October 2013

The Winemaker

It rains on the plains of Spain as I set out in the dark.  I have not yet made up my mind to where I will walk today.  I decide to see what the day will bring.

The route takes me along a water canal, nowadays only used for irrigation.  I listen to the rhythmic cadence of my footsteps on the dirt road.  The only other sound is that of the wind through the leaves and reeds, growing next to the canal.

As the day wears on I marvel at small things nature brings upon my path. But this is a story for another time.

I stop at St. Nicolas for the night.  Here the caretaker shows us around and explains how to use the hot water and warns us to use water sparingly.  

After I shower, I go outside to wash my clothes on the round, worn stone. The caretaker comes to me with a little bit of wine in a glass and asks me to taste it.  When he brings me some more, he tells me that I must drink it quickly - the hospitaleiros do not like him giving wine to the pilgrims.  I find it a little amusing.

After a while he invites me to visit his cellar in the nearby pueblo, the village.  I walk with him as he pushes his bicycle up the path.  He points to a little vineyard and tells that it is his.  He has also just harvested his patch of wheat.

We arrive and he opens a heavy wooden door to the cellar, which forms part of his house. It is dark and he goes down the stairs to switch on the light. It is cool and the walls are crumbling.  The cellar is over 300 years old.

I feel somewhat uneasy as I  notice that he has a knife.  My flight mode is in full red alert.  I remember that the whistle I always carry on me is somewhere amongst my things in the albergue.

He starts cutting little pieces of chourizo and hands it to me.  Homemade.  Delicious.

He shows me the press he uses to press the grapes.  There are three barrels containing just over 300 litres of wine.  He tends to the vineyard himself and makes the wine without any help.  The wine is exclusively for St. Nicolas.  

When we finish, he gestures that we should go up and I climb the uneven stairs. As we step into the daylight I am somewhat relieved.  I thank him for his kind hospitality and friendliness.  He holds my shoulders and asks that I keep him in my prayers.  As I promise that I will, I see water welling up in his eyes.

As I make my way out of the village, I give thanks for my safety, and ask forgiveness for my mistrust.   And when I walk through the fields of golden grass towards St. Nicolas I pray that blessings and grace be showered upon the Winemaker of the Pueblo de Itero de Castilo, Provincia de Burgos, Junta de Castilla y Leon, Espana - Senor Miguel.

Buen Camino!

Jovita

1 October 2013

The Story of a Tree

A few days before my departure, one of the radio stations in Pretoria did a brief interview with me regarding WetNose, the donkeys and the Camino.

It so happened that a retired reverend  heard the interview and phoned me shortly thereafter. He told me that a colleague of his, from Swellendam in the Cape, had done the Camino earlier in the year and that perhaps I should contact the reverend pilgrim.

I receive valuable information and tips from this fellow pilgrim.  He tells me that every year on his birthday, he has the tradition of planting a tree and that it could not have been different this year even if he was walking the Camino.  The tree he buys in one of the bigger towns in Spain and carries it for two days until he finds the right stop to plant it. The sign he had made in South Africa with the phrase 'Give a little water', in various languages, is posted next to the tree.

As so it is that I have a mission to go look for a tree, somewhere in Spain on the Camino de Santiago. 

He explains that the tree was planted just after one of the hills, on the flat section, not too far from a fuente, a fountain.  It is where the Camino and a farm road intersect, and that I should give her all my water for I can fill up at the fuente.

My hope is that when I find her, that she will be well, growing tall and strong, and lend her shade to wary pilgrims on the road.

And I think of the pilgrim from the tip of Africa who has kept his tradition in a foreign country and by doing so, be a blessing unto generations of pilgrims yet to come. 

Buen Camino!

Jovita 

30 September 2013

La Via Lactea

It is dark and raining as I take to the road for yet another day. As I come to an intersection, I can see no visible markings.  Another pilgrim joins me and together we find an arrow, made of stones in the grass, pointing to the right.  He is a young man from Catalonia, and as we chat, he reveals a little secret of the Camino.

He tells me that the road to Santiago, from Puente la Reina, where various routes come together,  is parallel to the Milky Lane.  The pale arm of the Milky Way points to the edge of the - then - known world, where the sun went down:  to Cape Finistere.

This I did not know and somehow it makes this journey even more special.  I think of three Wise Men that once followed a Star.

In the cathedral of Burgos I am in awe of the beauty it contains and  marvel the the architecture and detail of the building.  It is very busy with tourists and pilgrims, and I cannot still my mind. 

I meet a pilgrim at a water fountain.  He is Sergei, from Russia and cannot speak any other language.  As I say my name and stretch out my hand, he takes my hand and kisses it in the most chivalrously way!  What a most unexpected gesture! We communicate a little with sign language but he is, I think, desperate for some conversation, and tells me about the countries he has visited.  I can only make out the names. He tells me many stories - I just nod and smile. At the next village, I signal that I will sleep there, he smiles and shows and he will carry on walking. 

And so it is that some pilgrims are on our path for a brief moment, to reveal a secret of The Way, to show a lady that chivalry can be found in the most unusual of places, or just to listen to a pilgrim in need of companionship.

Buen Camino!

Jovita

29 September 2013

jovita.stander@gmail.com

+27 82 499 0173

A Pilgrim's Feast

As I walk into the pink shades of day break in the quietness of the early morning I search for the signs that mark the way. 

My thoughts wonder to the previous night where four of us shared a pilgrim's meal.  We had arrived at different times and each had, on his own, bought enough for a meal.  

When I walked through the little shop earlier in the day, the owner told me proudly that he makes the wine himself from his own vineyard.  And that the wine is good.  The bottles have no labels. The half bread I asked for is put on the counter, just like that, and after I paid,  it goes into the bag with the rest of my shopping.

In the evening, when we put all that we had bought on the table, it is a feast.  Introductions are on a first name basis and country of origin.  Titles and positions are of no consequence. We discuss the important things in life:  family, faith, and the reasons for doing the Camino.  We are just all pilgrims on the way.

As I pass the yellow fields of sunflowers ready for the harvest, my thoughts wonder home and I say a prayer for my loved ones. 

Later on, the fields of vegetables are being irrigated and I suddenly remember my early carefree childhood days where I would run under the sprinklers on the sugar cane farm and where the captain, Maputera, would cut the sweet cane for me to eat.  Happy days. 

A fellow pilgrim reminded me that the Tswanas say that one must sometimes stop so that your spirit can catch up.  I think this is what happens on the Camino.

I have walked through the Basque country and the provinces of Navarra, La Rioja and have just crossed into Castilla y Leon.  The second phase is approaching.  

The Spaniards say that the first phase is the physical one, where your body gets used to the walk and the load; the second phase is through the flat plains where little changes in the landscape and where you have to be mentally strong; and the third phase is when you enter Galicia, where your body and spirit are one and a rebirth takes place.

For now, I will live in the moment of every day, and take each day as it comes for that is enough.

And yes, the wine was good indeed!

Buen Camino!  

Jovita

25 September 2013

Many Ways

As I walk alone my thoughts turn to the conversation I had, others that I listen to, and the reasons people do the Camino.  Some come in groups, others with a spouse, a man brings his dog, a Border Collie, others come alone, a young man to find his path in life, some come for donkeys, yet others come again. And it is a blessing to meet Igor, a donkey on his way with his French master.

The reasons are all different, but the path is one, and on the dirt road, through the forests and farmland we learn to value the more simple things in life - a hot bath, a soft bed, home cooked food.  That less is more and to be happy, little material possessions are needed.

I eat handfuls of berries that grow wild along the road - antioxidants on the go! And where a beautiful horse is close to the fence, I empty my two bottles of water into his water bucket for it is dry.

A young girl picks up rubbish on the path as she makes her way to Santiago - a random act of kindness.

When I walk through the streets of Pamplona, a priest  looks at my staff and I stop to talk to him. He is surprised to learn that I am from Africa.  He blesses me with the sign of the cross and puts his hand on my forehead and prays for protection on my way.  As I say goodbye he promises to keep me and my loved one in his prayers,  and the donkeys as well.  And just like that, amongst the traffic and people, a busy street of Pamplona became a church.

The Way makes me see things I had forgotten.  I walk slower now.  I stop often to smell the wild flowers, taste some of the ripe grapes in hues of dark purple hanging in the vineyards, sit for a moment besides an old water fountain, listen to the distant toll of the bells, and sing a song of praise.  

Buen Camino!  

Jovita

21 September 2013

Die Groot Trek

As I sit in the train from Paris-Bordeaux-Bayonne-St. Jean Pied-de-Port, a myriad of thoughts run through my mind.  Some of the landscape reminds me of the Swartland after the harvest.  In Bordeaux, the vineyards stretch as far as the eye can see.

Our hospitaleiro in St. Jean gives us valuable advise before our departure - drink enough water;  don't tie the last loop of the shoes; we will meet people along the way for a specific reason; the Camino will show it's secretes and teach us the lessons we need.

I walk most of the time in rain, wind and mud as I cross the 25 kilometres over the Pyrenees in ten and a half hours.   The fog is blessing as I can only see the next 100 metres and have no idea how steep and far I still need to go.  The only sound  is that of the bells from the cattle and the sheep nearby.  The only marking at the border between France and Spain in a fountain where I fill my bottles.

The hills are alive with the sound of silence as I walk alone from Zubiri towards Cizur Menor and I sing Hallelujahs and the Our Father out of tune but know that He won´t mind.

I take a detour to the church on top of the hill at Zabaldika.  The Gregorian chants fill the air and an elderly lady greets me at the door.  When she learns that I am from South Africa, she is pleased - tells me about the book she once read about the Groot Trek, Apartheid and Mandela. In the bell tower I read the Griekwa version of Psalm 121 out loud.  I toll the bells and the sound spread through the valley. 

As I prepare to leave Zabaldika, I give her a shell I brought from Africa and as she embraces me she whispers hermana, hermana.  When I am on my way, she call out to me:  El Camino es como el Groot Trek de la vida (The Camino is like the Groot Trek of life).  I am lost for words.

Buen Camino!

Jovita 

19 September 2013

1 000 km vir Wetnose se donkies

http://www.beeld.com/nuus/2013-09-10-1-000-km-vir-wetnose-se-donkies

Bueno Camino!

Jovita

14 September 2013

The Donkey Ambassador

As I am about to embark on this journey, a thought has been nagging me:  how could I use this journey to bless others? 

The answer came in the form of WetNose, a ‘right to life’ animal rescue centre, which is a place of safety for about 300 abused, abandoned and neglected domestic animals in need of rehabilitation and re-homing (www.wetnose.org.za).

I have always had a soft spot for donkeys.  These humble animals have been instrumental to the development of South Africa in days gone by.  Today, donkeys are used by rural communities who depend heavily on these animals for their day-to-day survival where they are used to pull carts carrying heavy loads of fire wood, water and other goods over long distances and harsh terrain, and although they are an integral part of these communities, they often suffer abused and neglect.

A campaign has been launched whereby donations can be made for each kilometre I walk and the funds will be used by WetNose to rescue abused and neglected donkeys and to continue with the good work they do.  Visit their Facebook page to find out more.  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Wetnose-Animal-Rescue-Centre/273994562065.

To receive the ‘Compostela’ certificate, pilgrims complete the Camino by either walking, cycling or on horseback and there is a book about a pilgrim who has taken a donkey along.  I can only smile at the thought of what it must have been like to have such a travel companion.

As I sat in the study on Spring Day, 1^st of September, thinking about all the possibilities of this fund raiser, the tiny speckle of doubt dissipated as I wrote down a figure in my diary, and I realised how special donkeys are, for in the Old Testament, God speaks through Balaam’s donkey in the book of Numbers.  In the New Testament, Mary is carried by a donkey to Bethlehem to give birth to the Messiah, and He, amongst all the animals, chose a donkey to enter Jerusalem.

And this is enough to be the proud Ambassador for these noble animals.

Bueno Camino!

  

Jovita

+27 82 499 0173

jovita.stander@gmail.com

10 September 2013

A journey of a thousand miles...

A journey of a thousand miles...

... started with a single step about 7 years ago when the Camino became part of my bucket list.  From all the things that I still dream of, the Camino’s fire burnt the highest through the years.

The Camino, the way, is a network of ancient pilgrimage paths through the Spanish, Portuguese and continental European countryside, which ends at the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela, supposedly the burial site of the apostle St. James the Greater, who was martyred around 44 AD.  The route has been walked for centuries by thousands of pilgrims.  The first pilgrims were recorded around 950 AD. (source:  www.csjofsa.za.org).

Having decided on the Camino Francés route, starting at St. Jean Pied-de-Port in France to Santiago de Compostela and then from there on to Finisterre, the end of the world, this is a journey of a thousand kilometres.  The most precious commodity in today’s world is what I need most.  I have the good fortune of working for a fair and reasonable manager despite his failed attempts at multi-tasking and somewhat being on his own planet, who has afforded me the time to follow this dream.  For this, I will put up with most of his nonsense.

As mid-September rapidly approaches my to-do-list needs some serious ticking off and all I can really lay claim on is a good pair of hiking boots, already walked in; a back pack, a sleeping back; a jacket; my Pilgrim’s Passport; and a walking stick.  Overwhelmed is an understatement.

Lao-tzu literally said 'A journey of a thousand leagues begins beneath one's feet' and whether the measurement is a league, a mile or a kilometre, a thousand is still a faraway place to reach. My walking stick is a beautiful shepherd’s crook, a gift from my husband and his way of blessing this journey of mine.  I had a section decorated with beads in true African style, to be a constant reminder of the soil of Africa where my loved ones are, and the single place on this whole earth that I always long for.  It will take me along the mountains and valleys of the Pyrenees, the flat plains of the Maseta Central of Castille y Leon and up to Finisterre in Galicia.  Here, in the waters of the Atlantic, I will cast an African shell and give thanks to the One who guides me.

The first step has been taken and I look forward to the many more that lie ahead for 'through walking I find joy - through walking I find peace - every step a new discovery.  My heart is filled with gratitude' (Susanne Schubert).

Bueno Camino!

Jovita

29 August 2013