Tag Archives: travelling

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.

Lost in Venice?

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I’d be hopeless in Race Across the World… much as I love the idea of charging from city to city on public transport with only a map and some cash, I don’t think I’d last long without my phone and google maps!

A few nights ago in Venice it was our faithful guide through the network of streets on the north of the city, which would lead us back to our boat.

We’d enjoyed a day of meanderings, jumping on and off boats ferrying us up and around the grand canal. When we tired of browsing or became too hot, we collapsed in cafes and finally ended up at a canal side restaurant enjoying good food topped off with a few glasses of lemoncello.

After leaving the restaurant, the hunt for an ice cream delayed us slightly and we realised there wasn’t that much time to find our way to the “boat stop” for the 5.2 that would take us ‘home’ to where the catamaran was moored on an island across from the city.

If you’re going to get lost, Venice is the place to be. Around each corner there’s a new delight to greet you or yet another ancient bridge to step over. Impossibly narrow streets open up into secret piazzas with buzzing cafes and towering churches bumping up against shuttered windows and balconies hung with washing.

Finding it hard to hold an ice cream and follow the blue dot on the map up the right street (maybe partly related to the extra glass of lemoncello), I handed navigation over to the “first mate” who marched ahead at speed holding my phone.

It’s easy to get distracted in Venice, looking at Murano glass trinkets, strangely painted masks and that hat I was sure would suit me… Stumbling up another bridge, I spotted a gondolier in a striped top and obligatory boater pushing off from the side and almost colliding with another gondola. There were shouts and laughter and bit of splashing. It looked a pleasant way to explore Venice at night – if a bit busy.

I hurried down the other side of the bridge just in time to see the navigator turning the corner into a narrow alleyway…

“Are you sure this this the way?” I shouted after him, but he was hunched over the phone striding forwards and my words sunk into the walls beside us.

Running to catch up, with my ice cream trickling down my hand, I finally got nearer. Up above, I could only just glimpse the night sky between the towering houses hemming us in. As we turned down the tiniest alleyway where I could put out my arms and touch the walls on either side, I hoped google had it hand and there were no Venetian bandits ready to pounce. I clutched my bag a little tighter.

Earlier, before we had resorted to google maps, the phone’s compass was in use to help us head north… but it wasn’t Dartmoor and google maps, although sometimes a bit slow to catch up with our pace, turned out to be the best option. We had to double back a few times as the blue dot jumped suddenly to another location, but finally, after the darkest, narrowest passageway swallowed us up, there was light ahead and the sound of boats chugging and water splashing.

We reached the cafe-lined quay, only to discover our 10pm boat had ‘sailed’, so there would be time for yet another coffee while we waited.

When the boat did arrive an hour later, we asked them to stop at Certosa island (a request stop only!) and hoped the driver remembered, and that we’d pronounced it correctly. Speeding round the edge of Venice at night turned out to be quite exhilarating. We bumped up against the jetty for the A&E of Venice hospital – where speed boat ambulances waited in line!

Little boats raced beside us on the inky black water and sometimes suddenly cut in front only just missing our bows. With the wind rushing past us and waves splashing below in the dark it felt like an appropriate end to our sailing journey. And the next night after visiting some local islands we did it all again. There were a few less delays through the network of passageways, but we still managed to miss the 10pm boat!

Where am I?

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Do you ever have that feeling of waking up and wondering where you are? It’s happened to me on and off over the years – sleeping in strange beds and plenty of unfamiliar rooms for a variety of reasons!

Although we’re always on board the same boat, outside the locations change and so do our neighbours. The other day I woke up to the sound of New Zealand accents on the adjacent yacht and popping my head out on deck, I was greeted by a friendly voice, “How are you this morning?” A few days earlier it had been German accents and before that French.

Our neighbours over the past few weeks have been varied and many. It’s been one of the many joys of this extended trip, getting to meet so many sailors from different parts of the world and often mooring up beside them again at different anchorages and greeting them like old friends, sharing stories of where we’ve been in between and what we’ve seen, along with the inevitable sailing nightmare tales! They’ve also been on hand to help with ropes and getting moored in harbours in various strengths of wind, everyone has been helpful and kind.

The other morning I woke up in the saloon of the boat, as the cabin had got too hot in the night. I couldn’t remember where we were and even more confusing was hearing the twang of “Kiwi accents” again. I’d forgotten that having left this friendly family behind a few days earlier, we’d found ourselves moored next to them again the previous afternoon in a new location.

I’ve loved the friendliness of fellow sailors. The other day, the skipper of a boat anchored across from us in a bay swam over to chat about our sun canopy. He explained how he and his wife had sailed here from Brittany. We talked about our Devon flag and places he loved in England, especially Cornwall. When left he said, “We’re practically cousins!”

In our favourite port on the island of Alonnisos we found our new neighbours were a couple who’d been stranded in Australia during lockdown, and their lovely wooden boat had been damaged, but they hadn’t been able to get back to it. He was a native greek with a shock of white hair and he and his Australian partner shared tips with us on easy meals to cook on board along with sailing tales from around the islands. We nicknamed her ‘Shirley Valentine’ and wished them well with their boat rebuilding in the coming months as we upped anchor and set sail again.

Today we chatted with our new Danish neighbours about places to visit and last night we were back onboard yacht Zigzag – sharing a few glasses of wine with a Cornish couple, we keep meeting up with and who are now anchored a few metres away in this idyllic bay.

When we swam before breakfast this morning, it felt as if we were in our own giant swimming pool. Even in the deep water around the boat the seabed was so clear you could see each little pebble and rock far below.

As we move into the twilight of our time in Greece, for now, it’s clear our little boat is in need of some repair work. Over the past few weeks we’ve both become intimately acquainted with a sponge and bucket that has been filled up daily after each trip from water leaking down below! I’m thinking of buying one as a reminder of the adventure.

In the meantime, I’m gazing across at lush pine trees lining the shore above a bank of white rocks reflecting in the sparkling water. Apart from the heat and the temperature of the water, we could be anchored down the Fal in Cornwall! And I’m reminded that we have plenty of beautiful places to rediscover on our return home.

I’m also wondering how strange it will feel sleeping in a real bed that doesn’t rock and has space to move, or taking a long shower without being worried about using too much water.

But I may well wake up in a couple of weeks and wonder where on earth I am!

Intrepid travellers

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Planes, trains and automobiles – that’s where I’ve been for the past few weeks. I’m not complaining – honest! I love travelling, seeing new places, meeting new people. I even thought I was quite an adventurer, until the other day.

Last year I spent a couple of days exploring Bangkok on my own before buckling down to a series of meetings. This Spring I flew out to Botswana where I was immersed into African life, while attempting to capture stories and activities from a host of people from southern Africa. On my return, I was buzzing but exhausted. Then after a short turn around I was back on a plane to Greece for more of the same

 

I thought that was busy until I watched the BBCs Race Across the World series the other day. Five couples, then four, were racing each other from London to Singapore. They weren’t allowed to fly. They were given a limited amount of cash and their mobile phones and credit cards were taken off them. It was a challenge. But most of all it was an incredible adventure. My recent flights and wanderings paled into insignificance. I have great admiration for all those who took part and the way they were changed as they responded to each twist and turn of the road. I loved the way some of them got chatting to locals and asked for help, directions, even money. Over the 50 days travelling there were dozens of sleeper trains and buses with varying degrees of discomfort and the couples even had to work their passage, which ranged from serving in a Turkish bazaar café to cutting down rice by hand in the soaring heat. 

Spoiler alert! 

The winning pair were older than me and battled through aches and pains and bad backs to triumph in the end. Who would have thought a couple of teachers from Yorkshire would outrun their competition?

But they’re not the only travellers I’ve been in awe of this week. I’ve borrowed a friend’s book and I’m going to recommend it, even though I’m not even half way through. It’s all about a journey. Reading the cover, it sounded just like the kind of thing I’d love to do. Walk the 600 plus miles of the South West Coast Path from Somerset to Dorset – we’ve even started totting up little local sections of it here in Dorset. But this is so much more than a walking book.

The Salt Path, by Raynor Winn is a humbling story. It starts with a series of disasters and tragedies that would send any marriage over the edge. It’s against this backdrop that this 50 something homeless, penniless couple set out on a walk one summer. It’s hard to sit comfortably while you read about their struggle to survive, to live on dandelions and thyme crumbled into rice and scrape together some change for a cup of tea in a pub, where they dry their sodden clothes. They’re not experts, they don’t have all the kit, but they want to walk and they hope that in walking they will find some answers.salt path book

I don’t know what’s going to happen next, they’re still in north Devon right now and I’m dying to catch up with them again.

One thing it’s showing me is, that I’m not really an intrepid traveller… not yet anyway.