Tag Archives: nature

Pentecost pilgrims

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It’s always the last mile that’s the hardest! You think you must be there and the end is just around the corner or over the next hill… then it isn’t!

Arriving in Santiago de Compostela was just like this – we’d seen the cathedral towers in the distance way back, the streets were getting narrower and the yellow arrows appeared to have given up. Which way now? Then I spotted a brass scallop shell in the pavement – this was the way. We must be close! The narrow cobbled streets were full of people and it was hard work negotiating a way through with a back pack and walking poles.

At last we were entering the huge piazza and the immense cathedral frontage loomed above us. We’d arrived at the same time as a couple of pilgrims from the Netherlands who we’d be sharing the last few days of the journey with off and on. We all laughed and hugged and said the inevitable congratulations to one another.

Each of us seemed somehow dazed and after taking a few photos we just dropped our rucksacks and sat on the ground looking up at the vast stone towers.

We’d made it. It felt good. All around the square there were groups of pilgrims taking photos, couples hugging, people cheering, while some just sat staring ahead as if they couldn’t believe it was over.

As I limped towards the Pilgrim’s Office to collect my certificate, I was still trying to work out what it was all about. It had been more than a physical challenge, something else was going on and for each of us that would be different.

An hour or two later as I sat in one of the plain wooden pews inside the cathedral gazing up at the huge silver thurible suspended over the altar, I was still wondering what this Camino meant for me.

I have loved being immersed in God’s creation walking through such beauty and variety, from the sandy coastal boardwalks to the steep stone and water trails, with twisting paths beside gushing streams carving a route between moss clad trees and huge boulders. Then being bathed in scented shade through forests of eucalyptus and pines.

I have also loved meeting pilgrims from all over the world – sharing stories, giving encouragement and re-meeting each another throughout the journey. One group of young people from New York, who we had shared a meal with in our very first hostel, were so happy to meet up with us again on that final path into Santiago. The connection with others along the road is a very important part of pilgrimage.

But one thing stands out for me in all this and that has been precious time to talk with God in an unhurried way as I walk. Walking alone surrounded by nature has opened up a window on prayer that has been invaluable. I have loved chatting with God, asking for help, guidance and healing for friends, for family, and for myself. I’ve had a chance to listen to his still small voice whispering through the grasses or reassuring me as I rest my palm against a mossy tree trunk. I’m so grateful for this time and for new perspectives, deeper calm and glimpses of a rhythm of grace I have been searching for.

As we journey back by bus from Santiago to Porto for our flight home, we are speeding past all the hills, valleys and towns we have trailed through these past 14 days. It brought home that it really was quite a long walk!

Yesterday we stood in awe during the Pentecost service in Santiago Cathedral, while the giant thurible flew through the air above us. It was an amazing sight as the cathedral team hauled on the ropes and the smoke from the incense filled the air around us. I’d never seen anything like it. The choral music added to the atmosphere, and with the cathedral packed with worshippers, there was a tangible sense of our prayers rising up to God on this very special Holy Spirit day.

My hope and prayer going home is that this pilgrimage experience will open up a new way of praying and of being – both on and off the Camino.

Three days on the ‘pinch of salt path’

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A brief encounter of the naked kind was just one of the unexpected happenings during three days on the South West Coastal Path.

We’ve been on a mission for a few days – a “training” mission apparently – preparing for a possible long hike along the coast of Portugal to Santiago de Compostella. This would be a 170-mile pilgrimage journey over a couple of weeks, if we can manage it.

As we have one of the world’s best hiking routes on our doorstep we decided to test out our endurance levels with three days back-to-back walking. This was a bit of a first for us.

Having completed other parts of the ‘salt path’ over the past few years, we decided to fill in some of the stretches we hadn’t pulled in. The first day dawned with some light cloud and a gentle breeze and I quickly realised I would mainly be walking solo as my hiking partner’s long stride was impossible to keep pace with. 

One of the things keeping me going on all the ups and downs and twists and turns was taking off my walking boots and having a swim in the clear waters of Lannacombe bay. This was also the point at which we turned round and retraced our steps to Gara Rock.

En route we’d passed some amazing rocky outcrops and hidden sandy coves where the path became narrow and it was a bit of a scramble through the rocks, with a very steep drop below us. I was just recovering from one of these rocky passages and keeping my eyes on the uneven path, when I looked ahead and saw a man in a rucksack approaching. The path was very narrow and I realised he had stopped to let me pass. It was then I realised why he was holding his hat in particular position. He was completely naked – apart from his boots.

It had turned into a balmy afternoon and I’m sure he was enjoying the sun on his back (and his butt). As I squeezed past him, I thanked him for waiting and thought for a millisecond about saying, “Nice hat!”. I resisted the temptation to look back at his bare essentials heading along the cliff. However, when I eventually caught up with my walking partner, he gave me a blow-by-blow description of everything I’d missed. I’d heard of naked hikers, but this was the first one I’d met… he certainly helped brighten up the last few miles of that day!

Blisters = 0

Blackberries eaten = 5

Wildlife = 2 seals and a slowworm

Water = not enough

On the morning of day two, although we knew all the right things to pack, we were tired. So, when we eventually sat down for lunch by Mothercombe beach, we discovered I had forgotten to pack the lemon Fanta. Small things (especially food and drink items) seem to take on enormous importance on a hike and it took one of us some time to get over the disappointment of only having water to drink.

While we were waiting for the sun to come out, we chatted to another pair of hikers from Belgium who were heading east, hoping to cross the river Erme somehow. They ended up persuading a man with a dinghy to take them across with their packs. Breaking away from his birthday beach party, he bundled one ruck sack and one girl into the little dinghy and set off against the tide, the dinghy lying low in the water. Meanwhile we went for a swim and expected to see him appearing back around the headland for his second passenger. 

A long while later we spotted him rowing the dinghy to his yacht, which was anchored some way off the beach. We assumed he’d run out of fuel. Drying off from our swim, we watched as he reached the yacht – hopefully he would pick up his fuel and return shortly. But a few minutes later we spotted the dinghy floating across the bay, away from the yacht, and he wasn’t on it! The drama continued. On the beach, the other hiker was on her phone messaging her friend. The party on the shore, looked across the water as the lone yachtsman pulled up his anchor and went in pursuit of his dinghy, which can’t have been tied up securely. Although we really should have been setting off again, we couldn’t leave until we’d seen the outcome of the seaside rescue!

In the end the dinghy was retrieved, the yacht was re-anchored and the sailor returned to the shore. He collected the other hiker and her pack and sped across to the far beach to reunite her with her friend. It was turning out to be a very eventful day on the salt path.

As we were nearing the end of our journey that day, we’d skirted round a large mobile home park on the cliffs and passed a lot of people coming and going from there with their dogs. I now owe an apology to the man in the straw trilby we passed later that afternoon. I had made a disparaging comment about his orange T-shirt and white socks being an indication that he’d come from the holiday park. No sooner had I said this quite loudly, to catch the ear of my fellow hiker who was striding ahead, than I turned round to see him directly behind me. I jumped and let out a stifled gasp. He asked me what was wrong, and I said he’d given me a shock as I hadn’t realised he was behind me. I don’t think I could have gone any redder, as I was already flushed with the sun and walking.

Blisters = 1

Blackberries eaten = 10

Wildlife = another slowworm

Water supply = just right

Day three it was a little harder to get up and out, but I had packed the lemon Fanta this time – it was double checked before we left the house. The clouds were gathering as we drove into the car park where we would start our walk towards Plymouth.

Reaching back for our boots, there was an ominous, “Oh, no. I’ve left my socks behind.”

This was bad news, I didn’t think much walking could be done without a pair of hiking socks. Surely this was a larger error than forgetting the Fanta? Luckily, as I’ve developed a blister I had my trainers in the car with a pair of thick white socks in them. It turned out they fitted size 11 feet also! I glanced across at my fellow hiker, he was now wearing white socks and in his bag was an orange fleecy top! We both burst out laughing – it was a good way to start the day.

The rain came eventually once we’d reached our destination and as we trudged through the woods back along the coast, we could hear the foghorn from a ferry booming through the mist. A marker by the path said Poole was 175 miles from this point, which means there is a lot more “training” to be done!

Blisters = 1

Blackberries eaten = 15

Water supply = 2 spare bottles

colours of spring in March

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Driving across the island this morning – I’ve decided this is Cyprus at its most beautiful.

It was just after 7am, warm and sunny with blue skies. The air was fresh like an English summer morning, with the scent of grass and flowers and the promise of a bright day ahead. The grass was glistening with dew and along the roadside there were bright yellow flowers everywhere. At one bend in the road a perfect picture of yellow flowers in the tall green grass sprinkled with scarlet poppies shouted to be noticed. I wanted to stop and take a photograph but airport check in time was calling and you never know what delays could be ahead, so I didn’t risk it.

This is a Middle Eastern spring and very beautiful it is too. We hardly experienced it last year, as the winter had been little more than a blip of cold snap with very little rain. Then almost without warning February and March had slipped into summer. But today the fields are lush and green, the trees are bristling with new leaves and wild flowers of yellow, red and blue lace the roadside at every turn. I’m worried that while I’m away the sun will burn up these colourful blooms and dry out the grass – returning the fields to parched mustard plains of scrub and dust. Please stay spring-like a little longer, just till I get back.

Cyprus has had one of longest and wettest winters for a long time, with piles of snow in the mountains too. Now just as the rain has done its magic and it looks like brightening up properly – I’m off to the UK.

A few hours in the air and this afternoon England feels a lot more brown, but beautiful in its own way. Here the trees are still bare, the sun is hiding behind some clouds, but there are patches of blue sky visible from the windows of the train. It seems like winter hasn’t hung up its coat yet.

I wonder why colours affect us so much? What is it about a blue sky early in the morning that makes us smile and happy to jump out of bed and start the day? Why are green fields more peaceful and relaxing on the eye than sand or desert? We love blue seas, but grey or brown waters look uninviting. There is no denying I like to live my life in colour and it definitely has an affect on how I feel.

Although England won’t offer as many ‘blue sky’ mornings as Cyprus, there are compensations. The sunsets are often spectacular with amazing cloud formations that are simply heavenly. There’s a soft light across the countryside here that we don’t get abroad – the difference between the gentle strokes of a water colour and the deep vivid shimmer of an oil painting. I was touched by nature’s beauty early this morning now I’m being wowed again from the train as the sun gilds a rippling cloud with gold and pink edges and spills its copper beams across the sky.

It really is true – ‘The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.’

Fact: Whether you’re in Cyprus or the UK.

below: spring flowers and blue sky at Salamis on Sunday

photo salamis