Anticipation

"Anticipation, it's making me wait; it's keeping me wa-a-a-aai-i-tin'!" Somewhere in the misty recesses of my mind, Carly Simon's sultry voice echoes her refrain (not to mention the ketchup commercial which borrowed her music) and it is continuously replaying itself on a loop in my auditory library. Anticipation can be positive or negative - delayed gratification or anticipatory grief, in a manner of speaking. My anticipation about the trip is probably some of both, but weighted towards the positive.

On the less positive side is the intimidation factor. What in the world am I, a total novice at backpacking, thinking in taking on a 480 mile trek (not counting any missed signs and wrong turns, the up hills and the down hills, and the exploring of villages and cities once we get there!) through a variety of terrain in a foreign country and inviting other people to join me? The closer it gets, the more intimidated I am. Then there is the anticipatory sadness (grief is a little strong) of missing people. This is the longest time I've been away from friends and family since back when I was in the Navy and making deployments, so I know that I will miss my mother whom I get to see most days, my cats who greet me each morning,

my good friends and others. But I will also be getting to know the four others I am with much better (like really well!) and also getting to meet people from all over the world who are also making this pilgrimage.

On the other side of the coin are all the things to which I am looking forward (just had to reword that for all the English/ Literature/ Communications people I know who might be reading this!). I am so looking forward just to time away. I haven't ever had this much time off in my whole adult life! Even in graduate school, I went straight through, and in seminary I had CPE (clinical pastoral education) one summer and did work study through the other. So yea for just being away.

And I'm looking forward to some quietness. I look forward to meeting people from all over and talking with them, but I also will love listening to the sound of wind in the trees and blowing through a field of tall grasses. I love hearing different birds call to each other, even though I don't recognize very many of them. I look forward to seeing new colors of greens and reds and purples and yellows and pinks on the leaves of trees and the vineyards and the wildflowers.

The different browns of the soils as we traverse from the rocky Pyrenees to the sandiness of the coastal plains. > Last week, as I was breaking in my hiking boots on the mountains of Kanuga, NC, I was looking around at the flora and fauna and appreciating it, thinking how it will compare to what I will see in the woods and mountains of Spain. One person there, inhaling deeply, said, "No place else smells like Kanuga." He's right, it's a wonderful mixture of wood smoke, old forests, whatever's blooming and mountian air. But I wonder what northern Spain will smell like? Vineyards. Cow pastures. Industrial areas. Forests. Nothing will smell like that either, and I hope to bring back memories of those fragrances (or at least the good ones.)

I have a deep and abiding passion for architecture and design and can't wait to see the villages and cathedrals and ruins and cafes. I want to see art and mosaics and buildings and city squares. Hopefully, we'll get to sit in some little bars, or in some of those squares and hear some wonderful Spanish music!

I'll be paying special attention to the foods and drinks along the way, too.

Every year, to benefit Relay for Life, Laura and I auction ourselves off to do a dinner for 6. Each year is different. Because of my trip this year, we think it will probably have a Spanish theme. It just so happened that a kitchen store in Savannah was having a class called The Art of Paella, so Laura and I went. Paella is the national dish of Spain. The chef for the class was Juan Rodriguez. He cooked enough for more than 30 people in one pan! This paella had pork, chicken, oysters, shrimp, clams and fish in it, as well as all the usual vegetables. The end result was gorgeous! We're inspired and anticipating a great meal.

After we get to Santiago, and celebrate the completion of our journey in the mass at the Cathedral, we want to go to Finisterre (Land's End), which is a couple of hours away on a bus. A little beach town on the Atlantic Coast, where we can relax, NOT walk, and just rest our feetsies in the salt water for a day or two or three. Then, we will head to Madrid (and maybe a side trip or two, like to the Alhambra) for a couple of days before finally flying back. At least I guess we're coming back.

Preparations

Not so long ago, this trip seemed far off. Now it is a month away. I am both excited and intimidated at that prospect. There is so much to think about, so much to do. Not that we (Mary and I, mostly, since we see each other most frequently) haven't talked a great deal about it. There have been some concrete details like flight arrangements. And shopping for gear (see the pictures!) - more of which remains to be done. And thanks to friends (like Fred and Chuck & Christene) who have loaned us materials, learning Spanish as best as possible. Getting our pilgrim credentials (like passports) which will get stamped in each of the villages and be our admittance into the hostels. Reading books and articles (see links and references). And talking to real people, like Nita & Joe, Wallace, Lucas and Scott, who have actually been there and hiked it and must be filled with words or wisdom for us, or so we hope. And then there's the breaking in of the hiking boots, the getting used to the feel of wearing a backpack, figuring out how to pack the back pack (just as soon as I get brave enough to take it out of its plastic bag). Deciding how little stuff we can really manage with for over a month. Taking care of details at home, like paying bills ahead, making sure my mom will be okay, making sure there will be someone to look after the cats, and the yard gets mowed. For me, making the technological leap to a netbook from my 8-year old home computer, then figuring out what to do about internet access oversees, wifi, downloading pictures onto the netbook, learning to create a blog and all of that, all because I know myself well enough to know I won't spend the time with a blank book and a pencil to journal - all of which would take about 14 seconds if I was 20. But I'm not.

There are so many questions - what will the hostels (a.k.a refugios or albergues) be like because many don't have good reputations, how crowded will the trail be this year, are we in good enough shape for it, will another volcano eruption interfere with our travel plans, how are we going to work out communication with our families back here and with each other on the camino, are we really going to be able to get edible food because some of the books don't make it sound very available, am I going to be able to sleep at all in these hostels, and the list goes on. I suspect the important questions will all find answers in good time and the others won't really matter. Or else, as in the rest of life, we will learn to live without the answers.

We will do what we can do, given daily life and its demands, until the day comes when we board the plane. At that point, preparations end and the adventure begins. Or maybe, the adventure has already begun. I think it has. This week, as I was hiking in the mountains of North Carolina while I was there for a conference (and breaking in my new boots on real mountains with real mountain dirt!), I was thinking about my pioneering forebear, my great aunt Blanche. A woman who left behind a first hand memoir of her journey across the midwest plains, written in the hand of her daughter, Jean, to whom she told it. In the year 1886, when she was about 8 or 9, Blanche moved with her parents and four sisters (including my great-grandmother, Myrtle) from Indiana to Nebraska via horse and wagon and foot. It was a distance of about 640 miles by modern routes, probably longer then. She, and they, had the courage, as so many people did, to just strike out and walk miles upon miles to a new place and start life anew. I had the chance to meet Great Aunt Blanche just once, the summer of the year she turned 100. She was an amazing woman - almost blind, but still sewing quilts for 'old people' in nursing homes because they needed them for comfort. She lived to be 107. A sweet, gentle spirit with a lovely smile and laugh. I want to think that I have some of her appreciation for people and places and good times in me. I think that she would like that I am going on this adventure...

Beginnings...

It's been said many times that a journey begins with the first step, but I think it really begins with the first nudge, the first rumbling somewhere deep in the spirit, the heart, that the journey needs to happen. This desire of mine to walk the whole of the Santiago de Compostela is not something that I've 'always wanted to do,' nor is it something that is on my 'bucket list' - something that I have to do before I kick the bucket. Rather, it is something that began ruminating in me, thanks to God's nudgings, a few years ago and wouldn't let go.

I don't remember where I first heard about it; I only know that I learned years ago that when things keep surfacing two or three, or in this case many, many times, I need to pay attention to them. It kept coming up in the oddest of places and times, like a distant bell ringing, as a periodic reminder, just in case I had forgotten (or tried to). After all, why would anyone really want to go walk nearly 500 miles carrying 20 pounds on their back when you could have a much more comfortable and lovely vacation with a lot less trouble? (That's the perspective of someone who is obviously not a regular backpacker!) My spiritual director, Mary, had suggested that I write down all the places I had come across Santiago, which I did not, but one of the more vivid, out of the blue, was in the middle of a benefit concert at our church, when Jean-Paul Carton, playing his hurdy gurdy, mentioned that there was a carving of such an instrument above the cathedral doors of the Cathedral of St. James in Santiago, Spain! That was about a year and a half ago. By then, I had already decided that the Hound of Heaven had persuaded me, in no uncertain terms to go.

But, and perhaps this is something that men would never worry about, from both a relational and a safety perspective, I wanted to share the journey with at least one other person. I wanted to be able to elbow someone when seeing something really fantastic and share the moment. And I wanted someone to be concerned if I didn't show up at the refugio that evening. So I started casting out 'Santiago seeds' ala Johnny Appleseed, looking for travelmates. And one day, I mentioned it at a meeting down in Valdosta, GA and Stella's eyes lit up. And then shortly thereafter, the very same thing happened with Mary, a friend, a centering prayer partner, and now my senior warden. And then Mary mentioned it to her niece, Lexi. And then Lexi mentioned it to her significant other, Josh. And so here we are. A band of five. Perhaps nudges are contagious?