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A load of bull in Pamplona

After two more hard days, we arrived in Pamplona Sunday morning physically and emotionally exhausted. As friends suggested, we got a real hotel room and are recuperating after a hot shower and a nap. With a good dinner and night’s rest, and all your prayers, we will resume the Camino tomorrow.

When we left Roncesvalles we thought we were out of the worst of the trail because we were leaving the Pyrenees and the weather was improving. Our guidebook described one hill and a “mystical walk alongside the river.” Now the book was wrong about where a bridge was day one, and where a mountain was day two, but certainly that was the end of it, right? The hill turned out to be a series of hills, and the riverside stroll was on a loose gravel path up and down the old river embankment. Although we left early we quickly fell off pace and knew we were not going to make it to our goal, but we also knew we could not stop in Zubiri, the next big town, because that is where the guidebook tells everyone to stop. Plus we knew there is a pilgrim bubble on the Camino now, with too many pilgrims bunched together trying to get to the same set of rooms each night.

The Basque have a rule: you must take this picture

We trudged on to Larrasoaña, an extra 5 kilometers, for a day total of over 27 kms. Since we arrived so late (around 3:00 pm), the nicer albergues were full. After wandering around town, we ended up in the municipal albergue, where our board of 8 Euros each included a plastic covered bunk bed, no heat, and no hot water! But wait, there’s more. We walked around the small village only to learn only one bar (which is both food and drink here) was open. Ok, no problema, they had a pilgrim meal available for us, which we greatly enjoyed.

What about breakfast, we asked. Sorry, no breakfast, but there is a cafe in the next town (4 kilometers). At dawn we set off, up and down the hills we were not told of, only to arrive at a closed cafe, because it’s Sunday, and in Spain Sunday does not begin before noon. So we marched on past one sleeping town after another all the way (16 kilometers) to downtown Pamplona, where the cafes were just opening at 11:00 am. The only reason we made it was they had a coffee automat machine where we started, and a guy named Dan from Idaho (not kidding) was dispensing fresh coffee trailside just before we entered the city outskirts. As we walked up the hill to enter the old town’s walls, Judy was way beyond her limits. We never trained beyond 3 miles without breakfast, since “there’s always a cafe.” She said, “is there a town inside the walls? This better not be a ruin!” The sad effects of no food, little coffee, and way too much hiking.

We stumbled into the first open bar, dropped our backpacks, and ordered a huge breakfast with mucho café. After our credit card was rejected at the bar and an ATM, we were really worried we now had a money problem, too. The guidebook was totally wrong about the location of several places to stay, so we ended up circling back to the tourist info center where they kindly found us a hotel room. Meanwhile, Judy called our bank and ensured we had no money problem.

After all that drama, we decided to call it a day, rest and regroup, and recommence our Camino on Monday morning. Thanks so much to all of you sending prayers: it was touch and go several times today, and I know it was only the Holy Spirit holding it all together!

Cinqo de Mayo

A short commercial break from Camino news!

Ever heard of dynamic equivalence? It is a form of translation where the new, translated text seeks to capture the meaning of the original language without worrying about what it literally said. It is used appropriately when translating an idiomatic phrase like “killing two birds with one stone” which is not about birds, a stone, or killing. However, it can be very controversial in other genres (like Biblical texts) because at its root dynamic equivalence substitutes the translator’s understanding for what was actually said.

Anyway, I’m going to attempt a little dynamic equivalent translation of a concept you may already know: Cinqo de Mayo. Now the obvious direct translation is the 5th of May, and that is correct as far as it goes. In the US, Cinqo de Mayo has become a multi-purpose ethnic holiday for all things Mexican, like St. Patrick’s day for the Irish.

Some Americans think Cinqo de Mayo is Mexican independence day, akin to our 4th of July. Its not, that’s September 16th, which began with “El Grito” (The Yell) and started the revolution which overthrew the Spanish. Some may know Cinqo de Mayo commemorates a battle, but what battle, and what war?

Here’s the deal. After the US invasion of Mexico in 1846-48, Mexican society eventually broke down into an internal conflict which lasted three years and bankrupted the country by 1861. Mexico had outstanding debts with several European governments, which sent forces to intimidate Mexico unless the debts were repaid. Mexico negotiated a settlement, but France (under Napoleon III) decided the time was ripe (since the US was busy tearing itself apart and the British were as angry as anyone at Mexico) to invade and establish a Mexican Empire aligned with France.

French troops seized the port of Veracruz and marched toward Mexico City. On May 5th, 1862, a small, ill-equipped Mexican garrison in Puebla decisively defeated a larger French professional force, which withdrew. The bad news was the victory was followed by a larger French invasion force which did overthrow the Mexican government and install Maximilian I, although his “Latin American Empire” (a manufactured notion whose only legacy was that term “Latin America”) lasted only three years before the Mexicans rebelled, overthrew and killed Maximilian.

The French Army was considered the best in the world at the time. Cinqo de Mayo represented a singular victory in an otherwise losing campaign of a war which was ultimately won by Mexico. While it was significant at the time, it was afterward really only celebrated locally in the Mexican state of Puebla. The big American celebration has as much to do with advertising (beer companies) and the willingness of the Mexican expatriate community in the States to join in the fun. There is a parallel here to the Irish expat community in the US: St. Patrick’s Day was a solemn religious feast in Ireland, but it morphed into the brewfest it is in the States when the Irish there embraced it.

So how should Americans understand Cinqo de Mayo? Here is my dynamic equivalent translation: Bunker Hill Day. Most should be familiar with the American Revolution battle of Bunker Hill (actually fought on Breed’s Hill).

The British forces in Boston stormed the heights, winning the battle but at great cost. Ultimately they withdrew from the hill and from Boston, fought seven more years and lost, ending British control of those colonies. Bunker Hill Day is still a state holiday in Massachusetts, but little remembered elsewhere. Maybe the beer companies will get a hold of it too someday!

Both battles were more symbolically than militarily important, both pointed to ultimate victory, and both were only remembered regionally. So when you hoist a Margarita (rocas, con sal) and eat your guacamole this year on Cinqo de Mayo, you can regale your friends with the parallels to Bunker Hill; just be ready to duck when they start throwing nachos!

Roncesvalles at last

Last night at the pilgrims’ dinner, we all complained about the weather, but expressed hope the next day would be different. It was different. It just wasn’t better. We replaced the steady rain with a just as steady wind. The temps continued to drop as we continued to climb: it was just above freezing all day. And the fog/clouds remained with us. This did provide one very unusual visual effect: when the wind howled, it would temporarily disperse the fog, providing a glimpse of the countryside before the fog literally descended upon us again.

We hiked 25 kilometers and hit an elevation of 1400 meters. Part of the route was closed due to the rains making it too dangerous and slippery. We staggered in to the albergue at Roncesvalles around 1:00 pm. We were some of the first arrivals of the day, so we were able to hit the bar for lunch, get a hot shower, do a load of laundry, and catch up with the internet.

Judy has been a real trooper: we picked May to walk the Camino to avoid the worst weather in the Pyranees, and we targeted our gear on surviving the hot weather on the meseta. We never anticipated two days of ice cold wind and rain! Judy just layered up, which is not very comfortable when carrying a backpack. Still, she persevered and we made it “over the hump.”

Tonight we had another pilgrim dinner and a pilgrim Mass with a blessing. Just can’t get the photos to load online. Perhaps tomorrow.

Mañana!

Across the Pyrenees

Some caminos begin with breathtaking videos from the mountain vistas of the Pyrenees. This was not one of those. As we stepped out of the Porte Espana, the rain began. The temperature only climbed to the mid 40s, and then fell as we ascended the path. A dense fog set in, or maybe we entered the storm clouds themselves as we climbed, but all we could see was the next turn, a path which only went up. The steady cold rain turned the trail into a red, muddy mess. It took us about two and a half hours to complete the 8 kilometers to Orrison, where we had a hot soup for lunch then settled into bunks for a rest before a communal evening meal.

The ascent was every bit as challenging as promised, with the weather simply a bonus. The dense fog made distance indeterminate, which is all the more daunting uphill.

Judy finally said “if we turn one more corner to find another hill, I will cry.” St. James took pity on us, and the next corner uncovered a short downhill stretch before our destination. We reached Orisson safely, and even found a dryer for our gear, which wasn’t going to dry until June given the local temperature and humidity.

Pictures will have to wait until another day. I am the only one around with any internet connectivity, and it is very S. L. O. W.

The communal meal was lovely: we sat with a group of Aussies and had a cheery good time. Now you might think that bad weather, hard exercise, hearty food and plentiful wine would occasion a visit by the bane of albergue nights, the snorer. Not so! As I tried to fall asleep, I only heard one sound at first: a wild boar which seemed to be rooting and rutting with great gusto somewhere near our cabin. Then I heard another sound: some energetic young Basque had a battery powered chain saw, and was attempting to chase off the boar. The boar versus Basque battle raged pretty much all night long, while neither seemed to gain the upper hand. But at least I didn’t hear any snoring!😉

Saint Jean Pied de Port

Saint John “at the foot of the pass” is the traditional beginning of the Camino Frances, or French Way, the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela. Technically in France, Saint Jean is a Basque town, just like those across the border in Spain. It lies along the main route across the Pyrenees mountains: Napoleon took this way, as did Roland and the Moors. None found the local inhabitants very welcoming.

We had a better reception. We arrived on May 1st, Labor Day everywhere but the US, so many businesses were closed. At least there were no local partisans lurking with ill intent. Saint Jean is a picturesque, tiny village. It is a company town, and the business is pilgrimage. There are restaurants geared toward pilgrims, hotels and albergues, gear shops, and a pilgrimage office where one goes to officially begin one’s pilgrimage.

As we got in late in the afternoon on Tuesday, we planned to take a full rest day on Wednesday, attend to some admin details, then begin the Camino bright and early on Thursday. We met some fellow pilgrims, walked the old town walls, visited the citadelle, and had a proper French picnic in the park. All the while, looming over us in the distance, was the route over the Pyrenees. Tomorrow, buen camino!

Lourdes, France

After an uneventful Ryanair flight, we arrived in Lourdes, France. I do need to give Ryanair kudos: although their seats are uncomfortable and they hawk way too much merchandise, they boarded the aircraft efficiently, took off on time, landed early, and did not lose our bags. We didn’t get a super cheap fare, but they were the only carrier with a non-stop flight from Krakow to Lourdes, which was key to making the Eastern European part of our pilgrimage work.

Certainly most readers are familiar with the story of Bernadette Soubirous, the young French girl who saw an apparition of the Virgin Mary in 1858. Mary asked her to have a chapel built over a foul local spring which would prove to be a source of health. The spring became clear and the waters became a source of miraculous cures, leading Lourdes to become a major pilgrimage site. Bernadette went on to become a nun, and died from tuberculosis in 1879. Her remains have been exhumed and examined by doctors three times, all commenting on the general lack of decay. While the Church has found the private revelation of Lourdes worthy of belief (i.e., it is consistent with the public revelation of Jesus Christ), no Catholic is obligated to believe in it. As is often the case, local church leaders were very skeptical, and scrutinized the case closely. It was only after Bernadette explained that the woman who appeared to her called herself “the Immaculate Conception,” an obscure reference to a Papal decree on Mary that the nearly illiterate Basque schoolgirl would not have been familiar with, that the local officials’ opinion changed.

For perspective, the grotto is lower right here

However you feel about Marian apparitions, the grotto at Lourdes has been the sight of 67 confirmed miraculous cures since it was established. There are thousands more claimed cures, but boards of doctors have officially only identified these 67. The power of faith among the sick coming to Lourdes is something to behold. There is an endless stream of people on crutches, in bandages, in wheelchairs, all heading to the grotto or the baths.

We had the opportunity to attend Mass in English and pray the rosary. We also hiked to the top of the citadelle.

In the fort they have a very nice museum of the Pyrenees, and some amazing views.

Here’s a money shot:

We enjoyed a first taste of Basque cuisine (hearty vegetable soup, octopus in chili garlic sauce, pear crumble, all washed down with a fine local red wine) and got ready for our last move before the Camino.

One last comment: Lourdes is sometimes called the “Catholic Disneyland” because of the commercialization surrounding the grotto. On the grounds it is peaceful and solemn, but next door?

Krakow: Sacred and Profane (II)

The city of Krakow is a jewel. What makes it so unique is that it has been any important city since the 7th century, yet it has remained relatively intact over all those violent years. If you have visited Europe you know there are many amazing cities where so much of the architecture has been recreated after its destruction during the Second World War. Krakow escaped such destruction. By the time the Nazis occupied it the fighting was over at the beginning of the war. When the Soviet Army came to liberate Krakow they swept through and caused very little damage. Thus Krakow retains much of its charming medieval character.

This is St. Mary’s Basilica in Krakow’s old town; it dates to the 14th century. I have no interior pictures because we entered to pray, not as tourists, so no photos.

We took some organized tours for our final days in Krakow. One went to the Wieliczka salt mine, an absolutely huge underground site on the outskirts of town. The mine functioned from the 1200s until 2007; now it’s a UNESCO world heritage site. It has numerous chambers and over 100 miles of tunnels. The most amazing thing to me was the various salt sculptures completed by the miners, along with almost 40 chapels: the miners apparently never wanted to be far from a place to pray when they were underground. And yes, JPII even has a salt mine statue!

“Polish for foreigners?” I guess the domestic market is saturated.

I’ll conclude my Krakow thoughts by returning to John Paul II. Our tour guide compared the way locals feel about him to Americans and Elvis. While the comparison is superficial, it does capture the warmth of the relationship. Perhaps based on their unique history, the Poles grasp something about JPII that others miss: just as the triumph of freedom over Nazi tyranny was essentially the story of FDR and Churchill, the triumph of freedom over communism ended up being the story of Reagan and Wojtyla.

Krakow: Sacred and Profane (I)

Vilnius was just beginning to look like Spring; in Krakow, Spring has fully sprung.

Prior to his death in 2005 there was some evidence of Saint Pope John Paul’s life in Krakow. However since the death of its former bishop and first Polish Pope, Krakow has really embraced its most favorite son and now he literally looms over the city. Karol Wojtyla was a most amazing character. He lost his mom and brother when he was still young, and his dad died during World War II. All alone and in the midst of Nazi-occupied Poland, he decided to become a Catholic priest, and attended a secret underground seminary in Krakow.

This sounds matter-of-fact now, but at the time it was a particularly courageous decision. The Nazis had singled out the Catholic hierarchy (all of the priests and religious) as well as the Polish nobility for liquidation. They sought to turn Poland into a vast farm and industrial labor camp to support their master race. Polish peasants would be the workforce for their Nazi overseers, but if the Polish leadership was still intact, they would oppose the Nazi plan. By joining the Polish clergy, Karol Wojtyla was signing his death warrant, since 90% of Polish priests were killed during the war!

Today, Saint John Paul is everywhere in Krakow. We visited his shrine, as well as the Shrine of Divine Mercy which John Paul established in Krakow in honor of Saint Faustina. Unlike some modern churches which resemble theaters-in-the-round or gymnasiums, the Divine Mercy Basilica is a remarkably modern take on ancient religious architecture.

When we travel, we prefer to stay in eclectic local accomodations and eat where the locals do. For example, our BnB in Vilnius was a converted monastery connected to a church, but with no resident staff. In Krakow our room is just around the corner from the main square, off a dark entryway and up three flights of stairs. We had an excellent lunch at one of the few remaining milk bars in Poland. Milk bars were a communist phenomenon: inexpensive, government subsidized diners serving large portions of hearty fare for the workers of the worker’s paradise. After communism collapsed, most milk bars did too. Krakow still has one, although it is a cross between a traditional milk bar and a Portlandia sandwich shop. Dinner that night was a basement cafe hidden inside a library. The theme was Grandma’s cabin in the woods. You stand in line to order, pay and wait for your number to be called, retrieve and eat your dinner, then bus your own plates. Meanwhile, the staff is mostly grandmothers supervising everything.

There is an amazing archaeological museum beneath the Rynek market in the middle of Krakow. They discovered layered ruins back in the early 2000s, and decided to unearth and preserve them. They did so, then rebuilt a roof over the now underground museum so the square looks unchanged. The layers of market history trace all the way back to the 14th century, showcased in a state-of-the-art facility which overlays video effects on the exposed ruins. The market square remains much as it has been for 700 years, despite all the other changes over that period.

Krakow is a very interesting mix of well-preserved tradition, proud culture, and vibrant youth (Jagiellonian University is one of the world’s oldest) and well worth the visit.

Travel day

Wednesday was a non-stop day on the move. We departed for the bus station around 5 AM and hiked a mile in the dark with everything we owned packed on us like mules. It was so early nothing was open yet except the McDonalds at the adjacent train stration, so we had that for breakfast. We took an uneventful 8 hour bus ride to Warsaw, where we intended to catch a train to Krakow.

But the first train was full, so we ended up with one first class ticket and one standing ticket on a later train. Which took 3 hours to get there. I’ll let you guess who got what ticket. What I don’t understand is that with one hour left on the trip, the train staff opened up another car and gave us seats, when they could have just sold us those seats in the first place, and the standing ticket I had was discounted. Sometimes you just have to accept things as they come: those “why?” questions can drive you crazy.

The extra time in Warsaw gave us a chance to grab a lunch at…wait for it…McDonalds. This one was outfitted with surly big city folk, people crowding the aisles and talking loudly on cell phones, security guards making sure only customers used the restroom, and wait staff who dismissed our questions with a contemptuous wave of the back of the hand. We looked like a couple of refugees with all our packs and bags, and we were treated accordingly. Even the view out the window was ugly.

We squezzed on board the train, rode to Krakow and disembarked. We had to traverse a shopping mall to get to the old city and arrive at our BnB, where we unpacked and went out for some warm cabbage soup, kielbasa, and beer before collapsing into bed.

Travel days are never fun. They must be rated on an entirely different scale. Did you arrive safely? Were you injured? Were you ever at risk? If you can answer yes, no, and no, it was a good day.

Vilnius, Lithuania

On the way to Vilnius we got sidetracked by a cancelled SAS flight which cost us the better part of another travel day at the Stockholm airport. All of which reminds me of two more travel tips! First, whenever flying a minor route which has multiple flights a day, always search to see what the cancellation rate is. Some airlines are known to cancel flights just to consolidate the route, and they do it often enough to make planning on a given flight impossible. I can’t swear that is what happened to us, but our half-filled morning flight got cancelled and we flew on a now full flight in the afternoon.

Very suspicious. The other tip is related: if you are flying in the Eurozone, you have great customer rights to refunds and compensation. Despite getting us on a later flight, SAS now owes us almost 500 Euros cash! They don’t advertise it much, but that is the law in Europe.

We are staying just down the street in Vilnius from the Shrine of Divine Mercy. Here’s the story:

Back in the early 1930s, a young Polish woman named Helena Kowalska joined the sisters of Our Lady of Mercy in Vilnius. As Sister Faustina, she started having ecstatic visions of Jesus, who instructed her to keep a record of what He said. Her diary became an extended meditation on the notion of Divine Mercy, despite the fact she only had a few years of formal education. Many of her fellow religious were skeptical, although one priest, Father Michael Sopocko, believed and encouraged her.

According to her diary, Jesus instructed her to be his “Secretary” of Divine Mercy, in order to help mankind understand just how overwhelming God’s mercy is. He directed her to have an exact replica made of His image of Divine Mercy, to profess certain prayers, and to have a Feast of Divine Mercy established for the entire world…quite a to-do list for a poor, barely literate, Polish nun.

While Sister Faustina was having the image painted, she began a long decline in health (probably due to tuberculosis), resulting in her death in October, 1938. She had predicted a terrible war would break out, and when the Nazis and Soviets occupied Poland, her cause and most of Church leadership in Poland went underground. The Divine Mercy image went on an extended, secret journey to escape capture by first the Nazis, and then the Communists.

While the Divine Mercy devotion continued to grow over the next few decades, it remained mainly a Polish or Polish-American phenomenon. Some in the Church opposed the devotion, and sought to have it declared heretical. In a twist of fate (perhaps Divine intervention?), a papal conclave in 1978 elected the first ever Polish Pope, John Paul II, who happened to be one of the principal proponents of the Divine Mercy cause. He canonized now Saint Faustina in 2000, and established the worldwide feast of Divine Mercy as the second Sunday of Easter.

Judy has been especially devoted to the Divine Mercy cause, so this stop was especially meaningful for her.

Vilnius is a lovely city with much intact architecture despite its violent history. We really enjoyed strolling its narrow streets and trying some of its hearty cuisine. We walked over seven miles and climbed the Hill of Three Crosses, a local landmark with amazing views. We also enjoyed such Lithuanian delicacies as meat-filled dumplings (Zeppelins), cold beetroot soup with warm potatoes, and hearty game stew.

Here are a few parting shots: