Appendix 3: Inspiration

One thing I decided to do before departure was to carry a small collection of varied writings that might inspire me along the way. Some of these were songs, (religious and secular), scripture quotes that inspired me, or other writing that made me think.

I typed up these selections so they fitted in a little plastic pouch, and most days I would select two or three to carry in the pocket of my shorts, from where I could easily grab them during the day. (One day early on, I 'lost' several of my pieces of paper when I failed to realise that torrential rain= wet shorts = disintegrated paper in pockets!)

Somehow it seemed that certain songs/quotes seemed to suit the inner or outer journey at certain times. And as time progressed, each piece of writing would seem to have served its purpose, and I would discard it. Thus, my little plastic pouch of writings got lighter and lighter as I walked, as did all of my luggage, as befits a Camino...

Strangely enough, "Climb every mountain" from Sound of Music, was just what I needed to sing as I climbed the route over the Pyrenees. Its rhythm fitted with the slow climbing movement of my feet perfectly! Then after those two days, I didn't need it again....

I am going to list (or link to) a few of the writings I carried, but not all. My collection was very individual and personal, and if you decide you want to carry some writings with you, I expect different things would inspire you.

1) Patient Trust by Pierre Teilhard De Chardin SJ

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.

We are quite naturally impatient in everything

to reach the end without delay.

We would like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being on the way to something

unknown, something new.

And yet, it is the law of all progress

that it is made by passing through

some stages of instability -

and that it may take a very long time.

2)

Brothers and sisters:

Put on, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved,

heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience,

bearing with one another and forgiving one another,

if one has a grievance against another;

as the Lord has forgiven you, so must you also do.

And over all these put on love,

that is, the bond of perfection.

And let the peace of Christ control your hearts,

the peace into which you were also called in one body.

And be thankful.

Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly,

as in all wisdom you teach and admonish one another,

singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs

with gratitude in your hearts to God.

And whatever you do, in word or in deed,

do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus,

giving thanks to God the Father through him.

Col 3: 12-17

3)

Ps 43: 3-4

Send out your light and your truth,
Let these be my guide,
to lead me to your holy mountain
and to the place where you live.
Then I shall go to the altar of God,
to the God of my joy,
I shall rejoice.

4)

We do not draw people to Christ

by loudly discrediting what they believe,

by telling them how wrong they are

and how right we are,

but by showing them a light that is so lovely

that they want with all their hearts to know the source of it.

Madeleine L'Engle

5)

"It is beautiful to see God’s grace working in people. The most beautiful thing about it is to see how the desires of the soul, inspired by God, so fit in and harmonize with grace that holy things seem natural to the soul, seem to be part of its very self. That is what God wants to create in us - that marvelous spontaneity in which His life becomes perfectly ours and our life His, and it seems inborn in us to act as His children, and to have His light shining out of our eyes.” [From: The Sign of Jonas, 1953] Thomas Merton

6)

-Francis of Assisi (1181-1226)

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.
Where there is hatred . . . let me sow love
Where there is injury . . . pardon
Where there is doubt . . . faith
Where there is despair . . . hope
Where there is darkness . . . light
Where there is sadness . . . joy

O, Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled . . . as to console
To be understood . . . as to understand,
To be loved . . . as to love
For it is in giving . . . that we receive,
It is in pardoning, that we are pardoned,
It is in dying . . . that we are born to eternal life.

7)

The closing prayer in 'Deus Caritas Est',
Benedict xvi

"Holy Mary, Mother of God,
you have given the world its true light,
Jesus, your Son - the Son of God.
You abandoned yourself completely
to God's call
and thus became a wellspring
of the goodness which flows forth from him.
Show us Jesus. Lead us to him.
Teach us to know and love him,
so that we too can become
capable of true love
and be fountains of living water
in the midst of a thirsting world."

8)

Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.

Pope John Paul 11.

9: Songs by Fr Chris Skinner SM from New Zealand.

I carried the words from quite a few songs by Fr Chris as I walked. There were songs of hope, and especially some with environmental themes that suited my hours walking in the landscape.

a) One key song was "We say thanks." About day 8 when I had tender feet, I realised that I could spend all my time thinking about my sore feet, or I could forget about how sore they were, and remember all the things I had to be thankful for. It really was a 'key' that helped me walk all the way to Santiago.

" If the only prayer that we ever said

If the only prayer we said was thanks

That would be enough that would be enough

If the only prayer we said was thanks."

b) Another important song that helped me appreciate the beauty all around me was "Be Mindful":

" Be mindful of the sound of your feet upon the road,

Be mindful of the warmth of the sun,

Be mindful of the smell of the earth after the rain,

Keep in mind the wonder of it all."

with the beautiful chorus:

"There’s a dance our bodies long to dance,

There’s a song our voices long to sing,

There’s a dream our planet’s dreaming of,

Sing and dance her dream upon the earth."

c) And a key song for everyone with mountains to climb- You raise me up:

“When I am down and oh my soul’s so weary

When troubles come and my heart burdened be

Then I am still and wait here in the silence

Until you come and sit a while with me.

You raise me up so I can stand on mountains

You raise me up to walk on stormy seas

I am strong when I am on your shoulders

You raise me up to more than I can be.”

Appendix 4: Where did the idea come from?

How did I get the idea to walk the Camino?

In 2006, two years before I walked the Camino, I was on a trip to Europe. I don’t think I had even heard of the Camino before this, and I knew very little about ‘pilgrimage’. But looking back, the experiences I had on that trip seemed to lead me inexorably towards walking the Camino in 2008.

My first experience of European pilgrimage was in Assisi, which I stopped to explore for a few hours on a train trip between Florence and Rome. As I climbed up the hill behind the town into the countryside, I had this sense of the almost palpable presence of St Francis walking in the countryside alongside me. I even had to run back downhill to look for shelter in a thunderstorm, as surely Francis must have sometimes needed to do. And this was the first place I stumbled across a ‘pilgrim trail’ as such, where I realised there was a route that people could either walk for several days, or bus, to experience nearby places that were important in the life of St Francis.

A few weeks later I reached France, and here it seems I was destined to keep coming across signposts for the route to Santiago. In Arles I saw quite a few long-distance walkers traversing the path near the river. Then in Montpellier, after following some shell symbols on the footpaths, I happened to be in a church late afternoon when individuals with packs on were arriving, being welcomed, and taken out to some mysterious place beyond the sacristy.

A major experience of a modern pilgrimage place then followed when I ventured to Lourdes. Amongst the many treasures of that experience, I ended up having a conversation beside the river with two young Kiwi women, who were about to take the train to St Jean Pied de Port to start their pilgrimage to Santiago.

Next came the pivotal experiences of Cahors. I had no idea when I decided to stay here that I would be one of the few tourists in a hostel largely filled with pilgrims on the Le Puy route! I was surprised at breakfast at 7.30am to discover that many had already breakfasted and left. In the process of exploring the town, I decided to book for a cruise on the River Lot, but had several hours to fill in before it departed. I walked across the wonderful medieval bridge and saw a signpost that told me how many kilometres it was to Santiago: 1184km! I climbed the cliff path, reached a viewpoint where I had a superb view back to the bridge, then followed a route marked with red and white track symbols for several kilometres. It took me on quiet country roads past some vineyards and many fields filled with poppy flowers: joy! That evening I spoke with a Frenchwoman who had been walking for three weeks from Le-Puy-en-Velay, and her face shone with an inner radiance as she spoke of the joy she felt walking. I was ‘hooked’.

Next up for me in France was a cycling trip along the Loire, staying in camping grounds as I went. I had never done anything like this before, and it was an adventure I was really looking forward to. Who was to know that pilgrimage and St Jacques lurked in my meanderings here as well?! Occasionally I came across markers that showed me I was on the route to Santiago, and later I learned that this was the Tours route. But also, even more importantly, I became a sort of ‘accidental pilgrim’ as I cycled. I came to realise I was in countryside where St Martin had lived and worked. One day I was in a village church that had an altar sculpture depicting the local people carrying the body of Martin, their beloved bishop, through local fields back to Tours for burial. St Martin’s presence seemed to follow me in the Loire as had that of St Francis in Assisi, and I came to especially appreciate the varied depictions of the saint sharing his cloak. I also came to be certain that being in the outdoors for an extended period was something that brought me real happiness.

After France I spent time travelling in Ireland, and experienced two major pilgrim places there. I visited Glendalough where St Kevin had lived, and had several days with superb weather to go walking on the nearby hill tracks. I also climbed the sacred mountain of Croagh Patrick on a day when the weather made it a truly Irish penitential experience! And tellingly, I also met my first real live person who had actually walked the Camino: the woman running the hostel in Kilkenny.

I left Europe after spending a few days with a friend who lived just outside Paris in countryside that I had quite fallen in love with. On the way to catch the RER for my final trip to the airport, she pointed out a local sign for where the Chemin de St Jacques crossed the road. My fate was sealed: I almost knew then that I would be back!

Once I was home, I cannot even recall how my Camino thoughts developed. I know I read a few books, and read entries on the Santiago Forum. Then one day, I just ‘knew’: I would walk the Camino and I would begin in Le-Puy-en-Velay. A year later, I was ready to begin walking. I received the Bishop’s blessing in Le Puy, and was off walking up my first hill….

Some post-Camino Reflections

Some reflections now I am home.

Why did I even think of going on the Camino?

I know that I love ‘to be’ in landscapes.
The idea of being immersed for so long in French/ Spanish culture,
history, and especially landscapes, appealed.

Plus there was the challenge: ‘Could I do it?’
day after day, for so long, with blisters, a heavy pack, difficult terrain, bad weather or hot temperatures…
And might I ‘sort out’ a little my muddled feelings about my Catholic heritage?

Could I do it and be joyful?

What happened while I was walking?

Joy. Gladness. Peace.
Happiness. An awareness of how fortunate I was to be experiencing this,
walking under such immense open skies
over time and seasons, through so many varied landscapes.

Living a life that had a simple daily rhythm
with time to notice the ‘little things’
to walk at dawn and notice spider webs laden with dew drops
to share the wet path with huge slugs
to be quiet in the glory of a sunrise
to see storks sitting on nests with their ever growing young
to marvel at the red of poppies in the wheatfields
to see vistas that stretched out far into the distance
and views from mountaintops that took my breath away
to be in the moment, on the earth
in simplicity.

Experiencing friendship with others, briefly or for a longer time,
who were also learning about perseverance
and simplicity, rhythm and joy
walking in the outdoors, every day.

And knowing that the ‘church’ stuff made no more sense than it had at home:
some French churches seemed like mausoleums to a dead faith,
and Spanish ones were mostly closed,
or covered in gaudy baroque extravagance.
Though sometimes, hearing people sing in these old churches
brought awe and joy,
and in a few places, pilgrims from the past seemed to almost still be there with their reverence permeating the walls.

And what now, now that I am home?

I have a deep sense of thankfulness for the experience.

I thought a lot about people I know while I walked
and know that I need to treasure them as friends and family.

Long days of rhythmic walking have led me to know
that so many things we run around and do
are not important
are only stress-inducing
But the challenge of how to live an everyday working life and not be consumed by unimportant demands… has no obvious and immediate solution…..

Walking, deep in my heart, I knew joy.
But I found no ‘church’ place.
I am unlikely to go to Church much if at all,
I am likely to create chances to be in the outdoors, often.

I have many joyful memories.
And I know I have many near-by landscapes to explore
in a simpler life.

REFLECTIONS: 12 months on

Reflections on the route to Santiago- a year on

Just over twelve months have passed since I began walking from Le-Puy-en-Velay towards Santiago de Compostela. I find myself thinking back to those walking days, thinking about the people I met, the landscapes I passed through, the thoughts that passed through my mind, the weather conditions at the time….

Mostly what I recall are the kindnesses that I met along the way, and the simplicity and rhythm in that walking life, that have left an imprint deep within me. It was a joyful time.

My time in Europe began in Paris. I followed some of the route that medieval pilgrims took through the city: past the Tour St-Jacques, newly restored, into Notre Dame, then up the hill past the Sorbonne, along the Rue St-Jacques to the church of Haut-Pas. There it seemed like I had stepped back almost into another age, and waved goodbye to the city with the throng of ancient pilgrims.

Unlike medieval pilgrims, I took the train to Le-Puy-en-Velay, and there my ‘time apart’, from the rushing madness of so much of modern living, began. My first climb was up to the cathedral of Le Puy that looked so solid and foreboding as I approached from below. I was surprised to enter and see light reflected from the glass of a crucifix hanging above, a simple and glorious light. Two days later I was to depart from Le-Puy-en-Velay with the blessing of the bishop resting in my memory: in kindness he had switched to English when he spoke to me. Despite my ambivalence about so much of my Catholic upbringing, it seemed like I walked under the protection of this blessing on my whole journey to Santiago.

The time for departure had arrived, and I climbed the hill out of the volcanic basin that Le-Puy-en-Velay rested in, to the flatter lands above. Immediately I had a sense of joy. Seeing the sunlight on the back of some seed heads, seeing the green of the land as I walked along, brought a sense of peace that was to remain within me for the whole walk. Even on difficult days, when I was saturated and cold, or when my ankles or feet ached, I still knew that peace resting within.

The route unfolded through some beautiful landscapes, up and down hills and past many old villages and towns. But not everything in the next ten days was easy. My feet became tender, and after three days of saturation, crossing and descending from the Aubrac Plateau, I had blisters. And there was lots of time to think. Not all of those thoughts were easy ones: sometimes as I thought of others I was reminded of times I had been thoughtless or careless of them, and had inflicted pain. One of the treasures of the Camino was that I had time to reflect on all this, and to think about how I wanted to act in the future, and how I wanted to treasure those I knew. And there was plenty of time to dialogue with a God I still don’t know very well. Somewhere in these early days, I Iearned to be thankful for all the good that each day brought.


When I think back to those walking days, one of the strongest things in my memory is the kindness of people that I met. There were so many French-speakers who took special care of me because I did not always understand everything that was going on. There were four ladies from St Etienne who saved a place at the meal table for me, and who were prepared to speak slowly for me so I was not lonely at dinnertime. There was the man from Quebec who made me speak French with him in the dorm in Figeac, but who quickly sprang to my defence when I did not understand some instructions I had been given. There were the lovely ladies in the gîte in Limogne-en-Quercy with whom I laughed outrageously: I think only long-distance walkers can understand the kind of laughter that erupts after days of walking. There were Françoise and Roger, who ran after me on the plateau above Cahors to give me fresh, cold water on a very hot day, when they knew I had run out. There were the two lovely ladies who saw my tears as I sat beside the River Lot in Estaing, on the day I had decided I needed a rest day for my blisters: they took me across to the café and brought me a hot chocolate and we talked while I cried. My list of so many kind people could go on and on….

There are of course also some special people with whom I shared more deeply. There were Lyne and Denis from Montreal: we met near Cahors, met often over the weeks to come, and walked into Santiago together two months later. One of the very special times we had together was at Orisson when we watched a rainbow in the evening, stretched out in front of the vast landscape of the mountains. This is a memory I will treasure forever. And there was Francis. Sometimes on the Camino you only needed to meet someone for a few days, yet came to appreciate the depths within them. Francis struck me as a prayerful man who thought a lot about others. When we met for the last time, on his last evening in Santiago, he told me I was a beautiful flower of the Camino, but that a flower sometimes has to die to make a seed. His words remain within me.

I hope that I too helped some others along the way. I know that Francis, who met me at a time when I was struggling with pain in my ankles, respected my courage. I know that the Englishman, Keith, was inspired by my determination. My thoughts still rest with a very unhappy young woman I met in a village café one morning as I walked towards Astorga, and I hope that something I said in our conversation may have helped her in her desperation.

I remember also, the landscapes. So many different landscapes, with pictures of winter and spring and early summer, are in my mind. There were the mountains that I crossed, sometimes being rewarded with spectacular views, and sometimes seeing only mist. In Spain sometimes the track spread out far into the distance ahead of me, and red poppies dotted the green crops of the fields. There were also the ‘close-up’ parts of the landscape, like slugs crossing the path, and the spider webs covered in dewdrops in the early morning. It was always a special time walking in the early morn, enjoying the quiet as the world awoke for a new day.


All these things seeped within me as I walked. Walking became such a natural thing to do. And the rhythm of walking brought a special kind of peacefulness that seems to still reside deep within.

The life of a long-distance walker was a simple one. I carried only what I needed, and what I thought I needed got less and less as time went on! There was a simple rhythm to everyday that revolved around walking, then finding shelter, food, a place to wash your clothes so you could wear them again the next day…. And there was friendship with others, who also walked with joy and simplicity.

Finally, after nearly three months of walking, I stood in front of the cathedral in Santiago, in the company of Lyne and Denis. At that moment, I knew that I had achieved something that was at the one time both simple and remarkable. It was simple, as really the walk was just a succession of day walks, most of them not very difficult. And yet it was also quite remarkable, as I had walked some 1600km, and had been walking for so many weeks.

The Camino touched me deeply. Tears. Laughter. Simplicity. Kindness. Friendship. An ever-lightening load of possessions. Time to reflect. Rhythm. Landscapes. An easy place to talk with God. Thankfulness.

Was I a walker or a pilgrim? I never quite decided. But on my thirteenth day after leaving le Puy, as I descended into the valley that held the medieval gem that was the abbey and village of Conques, I knew I had changed within.

It seemed when I had finished in Santiago, that my life had changed forever, that this walk was indeed a life-changing experience. But in the months afterwards, as I returned to the busy-ness that is the life of a full-time teacher, it was hard to hold onto that vision. I felt somewhat ‘down’ for a while, as if I had really learned nothing, and that I would make no changes in my life.

But as the months have passed, I know that is not true. Something about the simplicity and the rhythm of that walking life lives on deep within me. I know that I value some things more strongly, and others hold no sway over me. Slowly, as the months pass, I try to listen to that joyful peace within, that came to me as I walked. I don’t know exactly where it will lead, but I know that the journey I began the day I walked up the hill out of Le-Puy-en-Velay, is continuing.

3 May 2009

Reflections- on YouTube

I was inspired by Johnnie Walker for this. He did some reflections on the Camino, using his own spoken commentary with photos. I have done much the same thing here about my walk in 2008 from Le-Puy-en-Velay in France, to Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, northern Spain. (These reflections are already on my Camino blog in a longer written form, and I have just edited them down a bit.)
You can see it on YouTube here.