Author: nancyelnorte

The internet is a mixed bag. On one hand, it is very useful if you want to find out about something. On the other hand you may end up knowing less than before you began.

Take for example FLYSCH.

We discovered this term walking on the Camino Del Norte. FLYSCH is a type of rock we saw while walking the Camino.

We saw it and wanted to learn more and see more of it.

From the internet we discovered that there is a UNESCO GEOPARK inZumaia and a 13 km “Route of Flysch”that stretches from Zumaia to Deba. This walk is one of our main reasons for returning.

After this things get tricky.

Wikipedia says FLYSCH is ” a sequence of sedimentary layers that progress from deep-water and turbidity flow to shallow shale and sandstone.”

Britannica says FLYSCH is

” a sequence of shale rhythmically imbedded with thin graywake like sandstone, subraqueous sediment-laden flows”

geologypage.com says

FLYSCH is ” a sequence of sedimentary rocks that is deposited in a deep marine facies in the foreland of a developing orogen. FLYSCH is typically deposited in the early stage of the oregenesis when the orogen evolves. The foreland basin becomes shallow and molasse is deposited on top of the FLYSCH. It is therefore called a syn-origenic sediment deposited contemporaneously with mountain faulting.

They all agree the tectonic plates shifted between 100 and 60 million years ago and things got upended.

As they say a picture is worth a thousand words. Look at these. Whatever it is, it is unreal, surreal and beyond beautiful.

Two years ago Barbara and I walked the Camino Del Norte from Irun, in the northeast corner of Spain, to Santiago de Compostela.

For the first two weeks we walked along the Bay of Biscay. The path along the coast was fantastic, the scenery stunning, the food and wine delicious, the people friendly, but it was the rocks and the flowers that brought us back for a second visit.

So…. here we are back in Spain- our 20th trek together, another birthday, more food, more wine, more pictures and more “footnotes” from on and off the Camino path.

Stay tuned.

Oct 16

On Monday, B and I went to Finisterre- the end of the world.

Finisterre is a tiny fishing village on the Costa del morte- the coast of death- about 50 miles from Santiago. For pilgrims it is a three day walk to the lighthouse and cliffs at the end of a long spit of land. 

Arriving at the Atlantic Ocean, pilgrims would swim in the sea, burn their smelly clothes, put on new clothing and begin their arduous journey home. They would pick up a scallop shell from the beach as proof that they had finished their pilgrimage at the end of the world.

For them it was a baptism if you will- a washing off of the old life and putting on  a fresh clean new start. 

I liked the symbolism of this so at the end of my first Camino I walked alone to Finisterre. It was an adventure to say the least. 

Thanks to the wonders of the IPhone, I am able to share this with you.

First view of the Atlantic

“Baptism” in the Atlantic.

Five  mile shell collecting walk along the beach to the village.

Finisterra

Ceremonial clothes burn on the cliff behind the lighthouse.

Years later, B and I walked the route together. This time, we chose the Easy Path.  We took the bus. 

Unlike past years,  Finisterre was teeming with pilgrims. Modern pilgrims now make the trip to Finisterre or to Muxia, another seaside village, made famous by Martin Sheen in his Camino movie The Way.

Muxia, seen in the pictures above, is less visited but equally as beautiful. 

We also visited there but Finisterre has a history for me. I have done some of my best thinking on its cliffs and I wanted to go back. 

After a wonderful lunch of assorted local fish favorites, we walked the three miles out to the end of the point.

Santiago was waiting for us.

You can see why I do the heavy carrying and we don’t walk together.

Note the 0:00 km on the marker.

Pilgrims burning and celebrating.

Finally it’s time to think about Santiago and this Camino.

While we were walking, we shopped from time to time in a store  called Mas y Mas, translated  more and more. 

One problem on the Camino is how the backpack seems to gain weight during the walk. More and more gets put into it.

Rocks, shells, pamphlets, pine cones, snow domes, books find their way into the pack. Each one is a treasure I can’t live without and when the weight gets to be too much, I have to ship them home. Stuff.  More and more .

Sitting on my rock, I begin by thinking what I will pull out of the pack and put into the box when I make my third visit to the post office the next morning. ( The post office opens at 8:30. The bus is at nine. Just enough time if I am first in line! We have just arrived and I already know this.)

The pack is getting fat- too heavy to carry, even on the short walk to the bus station. Time to unload. Again.

What is it about stuff?

I think of my garage which is filled with stuff.  

When I get home and unpack my mailed treasures, I know they will eventually join all of the other rocks, shells, pine cones, pamphlets, snow domes and books that I have shipped home from every other walk that I have taken. 

My latest  Compostela will join six others in a mailing tube in the garage. The books and papers will end up in the box, now several boxes, marked  Caminos or Spain.

The passports, filled with stamps I so contientiously collected, will fade with time.

I spent a fair amount of money having a long frame made to display my first passport. 

Over the years, nearly every  one of the stamps has faded. There on the wall, proudly displayed, is a long beautiful frame filled with blank squares. 

This pretty much sums up the folly of Mas y Mas. 

 I come back around to a thought which I have returned to day after day while walking. 

What is essential? What  do I really need? What can I take out of my backpack, my garage, my life, that is too heavy to carry around? What is it that  is really important to me? What is worth carrying around in my backpack of life? 

I used to tell my grandchildren they could have anything in toys r us but they had to carry it all 20 blocks back to our house. Sometimes we’d carry their toys around  the store until they decided they were too heavy to carry home. “Too heavy “, they would say. 

As I reflect on the weight in my backpack, my garage, my life, I think back on my Sunday in Santiago. What was essential there?

The rituals of pilgrimage, as wonderful and full of symbolism as they are, will not determine the success or failure of my camino .

I do not need a piece of paper to tell me that I have walked the Camino del Norte. 

Whether or not the Pilgrims’ Mass meant  anything to anyone else, it  does not affect what it meant to me.

The important thing in Santiago was seeing all of the people we had met along the way and celebrating with them. 

It was watching all of the pilgrims we didn’t know arriving with joy at the end of their respective walks. 

It was watching all of the tour groups who had come to Santiago  trying to understand what this camino thing was all about.

From my rock in Finisterre, I knew I, too, was ready to turn around and begin my journey home. 

While I had not swum in the ocean or burned my smelly clothes or filled my pockets with scallop shells, I had cleared   some of the clutter from my mind and my soul.  I had once again relearned the lesson of the camino. Travel light. 

So what was important on my camino across Spain and  in my Camino through life?

 God 
Family, Friends, People 

Nature

Art

This is what matters to me.

These things don’t  take up any  space in my backpack or my garage. They don’t weigh  an ounce. 

What is important to me might not be important to the guy beside me. What weighs me down might be as light as a feather for someone else.  My thoughts are my thoughts. They are enough for me to worry about. 

The shells and Compostelas and  shoes and clothes and stuff that I have accumulated are all neatly stacked in my garage.

 When my parents died, I  threw away countless trash bags full of their stuff.  No doubt my poor children will be stuck doing the same for me. Instead of straightening my garage I need to be clearing it out!

I had a friend who was nearing the end of a long battle with cancer .

His brother had come to take him back to his childhood town to die. 

On the way to the airport his brother asked if he’d like to drive by his house one last time. No he said. “It’s all just stuff.” “Let’s go home.”

 On my rock I had my epiphany.

 It’s all just stuff.  Don’t get weighed down by it. Focus on the essentials. Keep your backpack light. 

At some point down the road somebody is going to throw all my stuff into a big black trash bag and take it to the dump. Mas y Mas? Not for me! No siree! 

Note to self.  Remember, oh Nan, that thou art dust and unto dust shalt thou return.

Oct 16

I have to admit that I am a romantic. Ilike traditions and rituals. 

For the month I have been walking towards Santiago I have been wondering what it will be like to arrive as a pilgrim for the fourth time. How will I feel? Will there be the same excitement as the first time I walked into the plaza and saw the cathedral? Will the rituals of the pilgrims mean the same thing to me as they did before?

Time will tell.

We walked, virtually alone, into the old town. Chris and George had stopped off at their hotel. It was Sunday morning and the city was still asleep. We would have plenty of time to get to the Pilgrims’ Mass in one hours time. 

Through the old town 

Past the side entrance to the cathedral 

Down the stairs to the plaza and left to our first glimpse of…… 

 

A train! Not one train but two nearly run over us. Not good to have come all this way and be killed by a tourist train !

This was only the first shock . More were to come .

There had been much talk along the camino  about the extensive work being done on the cathedral. The first view of it was a surprise to say the least. 

The stairway to the Portico de Gloria, the usual  entrance into the cathedral, was closed. 

Normally pilgrims would ascend this staircase and upon entering the cathedral stop beneath the center column .

This column, in the style of a Jesse tree, depicts Christ sitting in judgement at the top , Saint James beneath him and Master  Mateo, the builder of the cathedral, at the very bottom. 

The tradition for pilgrims  is to  place their hand on the Column and give thanks for their safe arrival to Santiago.

 Next they knock their heads against Master Mateo, the architect of the cathedral, in hopes of knocking some sense into them- to add whatever was lacking after their walk.

Note grooves in column after 900 years of pilgrims 

Then they would walk into the church, up the aisle past the altar and its amazing reredos of  Santiago, climb the stairs to hug the Apostle, and  finally descend to the crypt and pray before the relics of Saint James. 

Since it is impossible to get to the Jesse Tree  and perform these rituals, I will be flexible.  After all isn’t this one of the lessons I am trying to learn on this walk.

We go around to the back side of the cathedral and discover two things. 

We cannot take our backpacks into the cathedral. In fact we might not even get into the Cathedtal. We are not the only people going to the pilgrim mass today.

The line into the cathedral is stretched from one end of the plaza to the other. 

We check our packs at a little souvenir shop for 5 euro each and get in line. By the time  get into the cathdral it is packed.

We sit on the floor until we are told by a security man to move.

We crowd into the corners behind a pillar. The Mass begins with a girls choir singing a hymn to the tune we know as the Doxology. They sing beautifully. 

We can’t see a thing but  the words are familiar. All around us people push and shove, angling for a better view. Tour guides with wands and umbrellas pointing to the ceiling lead their groups around the edges. Security men bark orders at the unruly restless crowds.

At communion  I am reminded of my conversation with another pilgrim about whether as an Episcopalian I should receive. His comment ” Jesus Christ invites me to his table and I  accept .”  I too accept. 

Several dozen priests fan out through the church and administer communion. I receive near the  back door behind a red rope. The priest returns to the altar  twice for additional hosts and is eventually joined by a second priest.

A man near me returns  triumphantly from his Communion, laughing and regaling his  also laughing companions of his accomplishment. I give him  my best stink eye. Neither one of  us are at our best at this moment. Such is the body of Christ. Such am I .

And then comes the reason many of these people have come here on this morning. 

They have come to see the swinging  of the Butafumiero- a gigantic incense burner, used to cover the smell of pilgrims like me.  Pilgrims need a lot of incense and prayers to sweeten them up. 

And then it is over and we are swept out into the plaza.

Next  stop.  The new pilgrim office where we will present our passports, now full of the requisite two per day to stamps,  to determine if we will be given a Compostela – the document which is given by the church as evidence that one has made the pilgrimage to Santiago.

We wait in line for two hours and hear tales of people being denied their Compostela because they did not have the required two stamps a day or they had walked “too many kilometers” in one day. 

If the desk sitters, jokingly referred to as the inquisitors, had walked any camino,  they would know that on the lesser travelled routes it is not always possible to find two places open each day to get a stamp.

 They would know how the pilgrim could be so tired that she forgot to get a stamp. 

They would know sometimes a pilgrim really did have to walk 40 km as the alberge where she planned to stay was closed or he was running  out of days to get to Santiago before he had to return home.

Here too security monitors tell us not to sit here, stay close to the wall , don’t clap when the next number finally appears on the electronic screen, no laughing??

It is now possible to get four different kinds of Compostelas- spiritual, cultural, sportive or one that simply acknowledges the distance walked. To qualify one needs only to walk 100 km (60) miles. 

My number is up. I have walked according to my Fitbit 867 km. We shall see.

After a thorough grilling both B and I pass the test but barely. 

She has problems because we took the bus off the path to Orvieto to get a second passport and took the bus back to the path to continue. 

I am asked repeatedly if I really walked it. Guess I don’t look the part. I finally tell the woman she can look at my feet if she wants proof.  Actually my feet are perfect but my socks would be the dead giveaway if she got too close. She adds the “completion stamp” to my passport. 

She is amazed I don’t want a distance certificate. She does  not understand I didn’t do it to brag about the distance. 

We are out the door, Compostela in hand , completion stamp in the passport.

We have done it.

The day is over.  We are officially finished. 

Time for some attitude adjustment. Pimientos  and alamedas and vino make everything better. 

I sit and think.  What has happened to my Camino de Santiago or maybe what had happened to me? What has changed ? Is it good or is it bad?  Do the traditions and the rituals mean anything ?
We decide to head for Finisterre where we can have time to process all of this.

I need to sit on a rock for a long time and do some thinking. 

Oct 14

This morning we are on our way to the Cathedral of Santiago in the city of Santiago de Compostela. 

A quick lesson here. 

Sant (Saint) + Iago (James)= Santiago

De (of )+ compos (field) + Stella (star) = Compostela

So Saint James of the field of the stars, which is entirely appropriate. Tradition says that after Saint James was beheaded  by King Herod in 44 a.d., his body was brought to Spain in a stone boat guided by angels. 

He remained buried until the mid 800’s when a shepherd, guided by stars, discovered his remains.

Almost immediately a shrine to hold his bones was erected on the spot. There have been several different churches on the site  but pilgrims have been walking to santiago cathedtal since the 9th century. 

It is Sunday and we are soon to join them.

We must have been having, to quote B, “a little anxiety” about getting “to the church on time”. 

We are coffeed, fed,  suited up and out the door  in record time. Very good time. I look at my watch and think it has stopped. B looks at hers. Same time.  7:04!! Sunrise is not until 8:45. We are anxious. 

No going back. There are two “fire flies ” ahead of us so we follow them for an hour. 

It is a gorgeous starry morning and I am in heaven. I have been itching to see stars this entire trip and they have been seriously lacking. This morning they are in their full glory. 

I spot Orion and I know this will be a good day.  

When I was growing up we spent many a winter’s night outside admiring Orion. 

In the year before my father died I was frequently the night dog walker. Night after night when I returned he would ask, “Is Orion still up there?” “Yes” I would reply and then he would say ” Good everything  will be ok. I’m off to bed. ”

Fast forward to September 11, 2001 and we are living in the middle of New York City.

On a good night I could look out of our 11th floor window and if  I tried really hard, I could count 13 stars.  

The night of 9/11 there were far fewer cars moving and the city was very dark. 

I looked out the window and there was Orion. All would be well I thought and went to bed. 

After my father died, I became the night dog  walker for my mother. I’d come in and she’d say, “Tell me the name of that Irish constellation again.” You mean O’Ryan.  Yep that’s the one. I’d laugh and we’d both go to bed. 

Whenever  I see Orion/O’Ryan I am reminded of all of my family and friends who have “crossed to safety “.

I like to think they are up there with Orion looking down. I know all is well and all will be well.

The “fireflies “have stopped. We catch up to them. Two men.  They ask if we know where we are going. We laugh. “We were following you,” we say. 

So here we are. Four people. Old People.  They are even older than we. We are less than five miles from the end of our walk  and we don’t know where we are or which way to go.

Are we lost? No. We are somewhere and Orion is up in the sky. All will be well . 

We fall into step together. We get “found”.B walks with one man, I with the other. After an hour, we switch partners s and continue to talk. 

We walk along and have most most wonderful conversations. Like B and me, they met on the Camino . One from Oregon one from California. Each walking alone. Drawn together by their mutual agreement  they were too old to sleep in bunk beds and that they were old enough to deserve a good nights sleep in a hotel.

 They started walking togetherand became friends. 

One man is gay and very liberal. The other is very conservative – a husband, father, grandfather, great grandfather. One a devout Catholic. The other an agnostic.

They tell  us how they have been mistaken for gay couple, how they have listened to each other’s life stories and learned to respect, if not like, each other’s view of the political world. 

They both agreed walking together had changed the way they thought about so many things. 

Their ears and their eyes and their hearts had been opened. They had had a Saint Paul moment. The scales covering their eyes had been walked off.

We arrived at the Monte  de Gozo, the hill of joy. This is the last hill to climb on the camino.  It really is all downhill from here. 

 There is a large sculpture commemorating Pope John Paul’s visit to Santiago in 1989. We stopped and watched the sun come up. 

 

Also on this hill is the ultimate pilgrim alberge. 500 beds!! 

Sadly most pilgrims miss another sculpture three hundred meters off the path. Most are in such a hurry to get to santiago that they zip right on by. 

I’m not sure which is better the sculpture or the view but it is worth the extra steps.

 

Santiago -Saint James -is both a pilgrim and the object of his own pilgrimage. He stands in his glory with his scallop shell, hat on his head , staff in hand, decorated by grateful walkers. Beside him is his pilgrim, hat in hand. 

George and Chris climbed up. They stood beside their fellow pilgrims and looked down on the three spires barely visible in the mist. 

 They looked up Santiago. They looked at each other. B and I looked at each other. We all laughed. Life changing friends found on the Camino.

You never know who you will meet you on the Camino.  You never know how the camino will change you. More of you will be affected than your feet.

  And I bet you didn’t know this about Orion. 

The constellation Orion can be seen everywhere in the world. Every ancient civilization has had a name and an appreciation for this group of stars. 

Years ago early man carved its likeness on a mammoth bone. More than 30,000 years later someone found the bone in a cave in West Germany. 

Ancient Asians referred to Orion as The Perfect Shepherd  of the Sky. My mother was sure he was Irish.  Scientists predict he will be around for another million years.

One thing I knew, as B and our wonderful new friends also knew. We weren’t lost. We were found in more ways than one. We were in Santiago and we would all get to church on time. Orion was still in the sky and all would be well.