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