Pilgrimage – Caminobleu

Chateauroux Day 2

Thursday, May 22

We had a fairly quiet day, sleeping later than usual before walking out for coffee and pastry at a nearby boulangerie, then exploring more of the old town and the parks and gardens along the Indre before lunch at a lovely restaurant, Jeux 2 Goûts in the old town.

Afterward, we visited the Musée Bertrand. Bertrand was one of Napoleon I’s marshals and generals and was with him on St. Helena when he died. The museum was an odd collection of art, memorabilia, and objects collected from Egypt and elsewhere. One of the most interesting pieces was a large sculpture by Camille Claudel.

As I wandered through the house, my main thought was that I should get rid of all my stuff when I get home.

We also visited the enormous Gothic church of St. Andre whose gleaming white spires helped us get our bearings.

Inside was the banner for this year of Jubilee proclaimed by Pope Francis one year ago, “Spes Non Confundit.” Hope does not disappoint.

Feeling without hope, I read through much of Francis’s proclamation, which moved me to tears. It seems our world continues to accelerate in a direction opposite of that Francis urged us.

Tomorrow we take an early morning bus to Bourges. I realized only today, that this city, too, is on the Vézelay northern pilgrim route. There is a brass scallop shell right in front of our hotel.

Here’s a video Kent took a few days ago when we walked through tall grass (oops, I guess you have to go to TikTok to see it:

“Come on!” he says

Chateauroux

May 21, Wednesday, 7,900 steps. 3.1 miles (mostly without backpacks).

Thanks to Mme Tessier, we arrived in Chateauroux about 8:30 this morning. She left us at the train and bus station and our hotel was just across the street. We brought our backpacks over, and it was Ok with my mixed up day for our reservation. They took our packs and said come back at 2. Did they have a city map? No.

So we sat in the lobby for a bit and pulled Google maps before heading toward the tourist office, closed until 10. I gaped at the shop windows filled with elegant clothes, shoes, and travel brochures. Of course nothing was yet open. We wandered toward green trees, and spied a golden Mary atop a dome. The Eglise de Notre Dame was open and filled with luminous stained glass. I spied a St. Leo, and wondered if this was the one from whom the new pope chose his name. I was fascinated by windows with Martha and Margaret with dragons at their feet.

Back outside we followed the green spaces to the impressive chateau, now holding government offices. Then down through old streets to an original gate to the city, later a prison, and on to the Indre River with ducks, a fisherman and walkways through parkland.

Most interesting public we. Push a button inside to lock and unlock and toilet flushes.

Back up through medieval streets to a welcoming tourist office with maps. After espresso and pastry and we continued wandering. It was getting colder and windier, so we joined a group of people waiting for a bus (free city buses). We ended up at what must have been a suburban shopping mall, but stayed on for the return trip and lunchtime in the city center at a lively Italian restaurant where we had pizza and too much wine (at least for me).

A sweet perhaps 3-year-old girl at the next table waved goodbye to us, so I showed her a picture of Amar, and then one of Psyche and all 3, and she smiled and said, “Bebe!” before she and mother and two friends left.

We have a rather quirky split-level hotel room with bed atop two steps and windows at the other end of the room.

It is cold, high of 60, with rain predicted, which could have been good walking weather

One day would probably be enough here, but we’ll see what tomorrow brings. On to Bourges on Friday and Paris on Sunday.

We heard from Alain. His knee is giving him trouble, and his wife will pick him up in Gargilesse, where we were going to finish and could have arrived today.

The time has come to wrap it up…

Tuesday, May 20, 2025

We are 2-3 days short of Eguzon and a train station where we thought we’d finish. But after two longish days and learning that a place about 15 km from here was not taking guests, we’ve decided to spend a rest day and in Neuvy Saint Sépulcre. This small town is the home of an unusual circular church holding a piece of stone from the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. It was brought here by a crusading local lord in the 11th century. The church was inspired by circular churches in the Middle East. It also has a drop of Precious Blood in a glass vial. The tiny stone and the glass vial are visible in the church.

Our chambre d’hôte is spacious — we were able to make our dinner here last night (no complex cooking unlike the Algerian workman who was making a dish with chicken, onions, potatoes, rice, a can of vegetables and a salad) for himself and two companions. He offered to share with us, too, but we finished our soup from a box, chèvre and canned oysters, a pastry from the boulangerie, and a bottle of rosé from the Loire district and climbed the stairs to bed before he was finished cooking.

We were able to wash our clothes in the washing machine, and hang them out to dry despite threatened rain.

With some reluctance and relief, we are going to stop walking here, facing up to the fact that we are not up to the physical challenges we handled five years ago.

Our hostess has offered to take us to Chateauroux tomorrow, the capital of the Berry region with connections by train and bus to the rest of the world.

I’ve spent the afternoon, when I’d rather have been napping, checking train and bus schedules and finally booking hotels for 2 nights each in. Chateauroux and Bourges. Connections to Paris are better from Chateauroux, but the Bourges Cathedral and old buildings along the water seem too enticing to pass up.

At this point I can hardly remember the names of the places we have stayed, and what we saw where!

It has been a mix of long stretches on small roads,some lovely tracks through fields and woods and some very wild, high grass or brushy slogs on unmaintained paths. There have been times we sat in the grass at the edge of the road because there was nowhere else, and times we were delighted to encounter a bench or picnic table.

Unlike on the LePuy Route, there have been no sources to replenish water, although a couple of times people have called out from their yards to ask if we would like water. After our first couple of days we learned to carry lots of water, which of course has made our packs heavier.

We’ve both noticed that our hearing-aid batteries have lasted much longer than usual. Kent says it’s so quiet because I lost my voice for several days, but I think it’s because it has been so quiet in the countryside, apart from the occasional passing tractor or car. We’ve heard lots of birds singing.

We have passed clusters of houses where we’ve seen no one. It has been an escape, for the most part from our noisy, busy world. When we walked past car dealers, gas stations, and busy roads on the outskirts of La Châtre, I realized that we as pilgrims are not part of that world any more.

When Booking.com lists nearby places as 10 and 15 miles away, we realize they are not a few minutes away by foot, but several hours of walking. We’re not part of the motor world, or have not been recently.

We rested today! What a treat to go back to bed after breakfast! We had a real lunch, and no supper. The day has flown by and I haven’t put on my boots!

I made a mistake in our hotel booking for tomorrow. I mixed up dates. I’ve called, texted, and emailed, and hope it will be OK. Stay tuned. Our adventures aren’t over yet, although I folded up my hiking poles, put them inside the pack, and drained the hydration pack.

May 10, 2025, Saturday, rest day in Nevers

I haven’t written recently except for short Facebook posts. We arrived in Nevers after a lovely walk on Friday. I came down with a scratchy throat on Thursday evening, and although I felt pretty good while walking on Friday, by afternoon I had lots of congestion, some coughing and by evening I’d lost my voice, which has made communication difficult.

L’Espace Bernadette is a very busy place indeed, with busloads of tourists and groups of school children, plus the occasional pilgrim, touring the extensive gardens and buildings, and viewing the “uncorrupted body” of Bernadette who was canonized in 1925, making this a big year of celebration. Bernadette is the famous 14-year-old girl who had encounters with the Virgin Mary at Lourdes, and spent the later years at this place ministering to the poor and sick until her death from tuberculosis at the age of 35.

What ones sees now is the wax coated hands and face of this small woman in a crystal coffin, reminding me of images of Snow White.

I was touched to think of this young, very poor young woman being chosen to convey such a message of love and caring — such an antithesis to our mainstream culture.

Tonight at dinner a group of perhaps 20 people sang together before they sat down to eat, and again upon rising in unison at the conclusion of the meal.

We hauled a bag of our dirty clothes to a laundry service this morning, only to learn they could not wash our clothes and return them that day, so we had to brave reading all the instructions, finding the right coins, and pushing all the buttons in order. It took a fair amount of experimentation, but finally we got washing detergent and the clothes into a machine that actually worked.

Then we hauled the clean, washed and dried clothes on the 12-minute walk back to our room, and started planning for tomorrow.

It turns out the Augy Alternative, which cuts about 40 km off the regular southern Vézelay route starts here. The only information we’ve been able to find is in our Dutch Pilgrim Association guidebook, and the route as a purple line on our online map. We hope there will be trail markers along the way, too.

So, we heading into new territory tomorrow, with rain predicted and a chambre d’hôte tomorrow night with no dinner or breakfast and no one at home. We have a code for a lock box to get keys, and have promised to leave 45 Euros in the room.

What could go wrong?

We spent the rest of our day exploring the city, getting lost, and eating a delicious light lunch. I was greatly moved by the 11th century church of St. Etienne, designated as a stop on this jubilee year pilgrimage of hope by Pope Francis. People have been leaving folded papers with prayers in a basket. I added two folded notes of my own. The church is a stunning example medieval Romanesque architecture. Two women were discarding faded flowers and making magnificent new bouquets the entire time we were there.

We’ll say goodbye to Alain in the morning. He’ll take the classic route. He’s saved us so many times, so it is a bit intimidating to be entirely on our own.

So bonsoir, and bon chemin to us.

Bridge dance

Crossing La Nièvre

Voie de Vézelay

May 2, 2025, Vézelay, France

The pilgrimage begins

We left Albuquerque on Monday morning, April 28, to find our flight to Dallas delayed by hours. We left that afternoon, spent the night in a hotel in a Dallas suburb and most of the next day at DFW before flying overnight to Paris, arriving on April 30.

I will attempt to copy my Facebook posts here. Writing on my iPhone Mini is difficult and today is the first we’ve had a little breathing space.

Going backwards

Our flight from ABQ to Dallas was delayed from about 1 pm to 8:30 pm. So here we are. Home for lunch in the patio, said goodbye to the roses again, and back to the airport for a 4:40 pm flight. Unless the plane to Paris is incredibly delayed, too, we will arrive a day late. The deadline just passed to cancel our Paris hotel without penalty. We may be spending 24 hours in DFW.😒

Morning, May 30. Paris

Hurrah! We’ve arrived at our hotel in Paris! Here’s the view from our window in the 13th. We had the usual queues and way finding difficulties and unbearable seats—can they possibly make them any smaller? It is quite warm here — upper 70s. Tomorrow we take the train to Vezelay.

Evening. May 30, Paris

After a very short rest (Kent totally conked out) we decided to walk 4 km each way to Notre Dame and back. It was 80 degrees F, but we stood in the long queue to get in. Seems like it is not true you can get a pilgrim credential there, but we spent quite a bit of time. Then we took &a different route back, stopping twice for drinks and a light supper. I can hardly stay awake to type this, so here are a very few photos. To Vézelay by train tomorrow before 1 pm if we slept on the 9-hour overnight flight, it was only for a few minutes. Lovely to be back in Paris!

May 1, Vézelay

We walked through Paris to Le Gare de Bercy,had a lovely train ride and then a very hot walk 9 plus km from Sermizelles to Vézelay. It took us from 3 until 7 pm., with one short stop for beer at the only place we came to in Asquins. We had a warm welcome at the St. Madeleine Centre, and we were exceedingly hot.

It is a busy long weekend starting today with May Day, so we will be here two nights. and we will walk only 12 km on Saturday. No room at that distance tomorrow. By the time we got into our dorm room — the restaurants were closing, and there were not many of them. Thanks to the English-speaking priest who carried both of our packs 3 floors up curved old stairs.

We did find a most interesting place run single-handedly by an innovative chef, but that’s too long to tell here now! Plus it is already 11 pm. and past lights out! We’re both in the women’s dorm as the men’s is pretty much full.

Thanks to daughter Psyche for managing to set up a Verizon wireless month-long travel plan for me as WiFi has been hard to come by and I couldn’t even connect with them through WiFi because I couldn’t receive text messages.

If anyone want’s to reach Kent in the next couple of days, contact me.

May 2 much Needed rest day in Vézelay

We are taking it easy, washing our clothes viewing the Basilica, having a leisurely lunch, getting money from a well-hidden ATM, impromptu concert, practicing my French, taking an afternoon nap. We’ll be ready to go early tomorrow morning! 11 k to Domecy sur Cure. Should be fairly short walk in cooler weather —maybe rain!

Off We Go!

Sierra Nevada near Granada, Spain painting by John Singer Sargent

We leave for Spain today to walk our first Camino since 2019.

It’s been hard getting ready this time. We feel so much older, and technology seems to thwart us at every turn. We’re walking the less-traveled Camino Mozárabe from Alméria to Granada, Córdoba, and Mérida. We know we will not walk every step of the way, but we look forward to experiencing the stillness of remote places and the rituals of Semana Santa in Granada, Córdoba, and a few small villages in between.

I feel as uncertain, fearful, and unprepared as I did when I set out on my first Camino thirteen years ago. Maybe it is the usual pre-trip jitters, but getting ready has been unusually difficult. It is partly because we are leaving Kent’s book, We Ran Away to Sea, which has occupied us for most of the pandemic, still in progress. We anticipate publication on June 2, 2023. If anyone would like to send us a pre-publication review, even brief, let us know. We’ll send you a PDF review copy. Wish us Buen Camino!

Arles to Toulouse: Le Chemin d’Arles

I’ve uploaded a higher defnition version the 21 minuite video of our pilgrimage from Arles to Toulouse in the Fall of 2019: https://youtu.be/c0_f8mQGebM

Pilgrim Walk and Reflections: Thursday, January 22, 2021

My husband and I set off on our usual 3.5 mile walk along the North Valley ditch banks.At first I was busy talking with him, since we had been working separately all day and had lots to catch up on. By the time we got to our turn-around spot overlooking the Candelaria Fields toward the Rio Grand Bosque with the volcanos beyond, I had been quiet for quite a long time.

I never tire of the view from there, where we often see cranes, geese, small birds, and sometimes coyotes or hot air balloons. It is a special, perhaps even sacred place. The ditch points straight to Vulcan, the largest volcano. I wonder for how many centuries ditches, paths, or lines of some kind have pointed from this spot to the volcano. What had this land looked like 400 and 500 years ago, before the first Spanish came?

I took some deep breaths. It had been a busy, difficult day. I raised my arms and clasped my hands over my head while focusing on Vulcan. From the corners of my eyes I saw my open hands as they rose, framing the volcano. “Maybe now we are in better hands.” I was thinking of yesterday’s inauguration. Maybe I will breathe easier. Unbidden, the song, “He’s got the whole world in his hands,” came to me, and I clapped and sang as we turned toward home.

At the Alameda Drain, I let my husband hurry ahead. I walked to the edge of the deep ditch, peered down, and was happy to see there was still a border of ice along the edge at its bottom. I spent a long time looking at the assorted trash in the ditch, thinking of the muskrat I’d seen swimming and disappearing into a hole in the bank last summer. There was no water now.

The sky was patchy with dark clouds, white clouds, and bits of blue. The elm tree behind me was already showing signs of swelling buds. Birds flitted in the trees across the street. The mourning doves called. Snow covered the distant mountains. I studied the many grasses and small shrubs that lined the ditch. I was happy and at peace. Suddenly, right in front of me, I noticed two long narrow leaves that formed the unmistakable shape of a cross. I would have taken a photo, but I’d sent my phone home with my husband. I recited “Our Father” more than once. The world was so beautiful.

As I walked a few steps toward home, a bright blue speck in the dirt caught my eye. I thought of the Virgin Mary’s cloak. I bent down to pick it up. It was a little piece of glass. What it had come from and how it had gotten there; the only piece of blue anywhere? I recited a “Hail Mary,” and recalled some of some of the many images I had seen of Mary while walking caminos in France, Spain, Italy, and Portugal. Then, I spied something purple. It was a tiny fragment of brown glass (likely from a beer bottle) that had oxidized to form a purple sheen. This, too, seemed special. A piece of trash thoughtlessly discarded along the path had become something beautiful.

I continued walking, warmed by the sun, which had broken through the clouds. I looked at the yellow fruit of the nightshade that also lined the ditch, and I picked a small stem. At the corner where the ditch meets the street, I noted a new fence and gate of golden wood, topped with a wrought-iron sun with wavy rays. As I turned onto our street, South Peak was centered at the its end, the sun hitting its top. In my mind’s eye I was transported to that also sacred place I have visited at least twice after a long hard climb. I don’t know whether I’ll get there again; not now in ice and snow for sure. As the warmth of home enveloped me, I was grateful for my pilgrim walk. The frustrations and worries of the day had faded away and I looked forward to a peaceful night.

Pilgrimage in Place

Sunday, January 9, 2021

Inspired by a Zoom meeting with a small group from the Albuquerque Chapter of American Pilgrims on the Camino, Kent and I embarked on a small pilgrimage on Sunday afternoon. Although we usually prefer to walk in the natural areas in the bosque (woods) along the banks of the Rio Grande, I thought that an urban pilgrimage would be interesting for a change. The last few times I had been to the tiny Chapel of our Lady of Guadalupe in the Plaza Escondido in Old Town, it had been closed – probably a good thing, as in years past it had deteriorated with 24-hour access. Hoping that it would be open during the day, I chose it for our destination.

Google Maps said the chapel was about 2.2 miles from home. Years ago, I had walked along ditchbanks, crossing I-40 at Rio Grande, and then picked up a railroad track east of Rio Grande, south of the freeway. I could not see the railroad track on the map anymore, but I could see a bike path paralleling I-40 and figured we could access a way south from there.

It had snowed during the night, a bit of a novelty in Albuquerque, and as we set out clouds increased, threatening more snow. We put written prayer intentions in our pockets, snapped a selfie and repeated the morning meditation that begins, “I give thanks for the journey” as we set off on foot toward the recreational path along the Alameda drain. At the intersection with the Campbell ditch, we turned south toward Indian School, taking a slight scenic detour onto a smaller ditch that also took us to Indian School Road. Along the way we passed a cactus garden of prickly pears and chollas covered in snow and walked under a broken tree limb that hung dangerously over the path. At the intersection with Indian school, we found a grocery cart piled with the possessions of a homeless person, but there was no person in sight.

We continued on the Campbell ditch to the south., where we had an unobstructed view of the snow-shrouded Sandia Mountains. We paused here to read my first prayer of thanks for the sustaining earth and a plea for help to protect it. Across the ditch sits a lone house in the midst of empty space. It belongs to the Anaya family, whom I got to know years ago when the children were in 4-H activities and choir with my daughter. The family has been engaged in lawsuits over the property, zoning, and development. I’ve lost track of the status of these cases and have made a note to follow-up.

We saw that a chain link fence now closed off access to large vacant lots ahead of us, and that continuing farther south along the ditch would probably lead us into an area of no-return. So, we cut west sooner than we would have liked, coming out along the north side of Cut-Bow Coffee on Rio Grande Boulevard. To my surprise the coffee shop was open, with one couple waiting outside a for pick-up and another couple sitting at a colorful table along the south side of the building. I was reminded of happening upon groups of pilgrims gathered at outdoor cafes along the Camino in Spain.

Our route grew grim as we crossed through the freeway underpass, which was littered with trash and refuse that indicated a homeless encampment high up under the roadway.

On the other side, at the foot of an art installation celebrating Albuquerque’s 400^th anniversary, we found another abandoned homeless grocery cart. Here, we took the bike path toward the east, passing some lovely mosaics (some with sections broken and removed). To our right a wide cut had been made through a chain link fence – an overgrown area behind it strewn with trash. Who knows how it all got there and how many people have camped there? An irrigation ditch lay beyond the fence, so we walked through the opening to reach the ditch, pleasant, with some lovely trees. We crossed a small footbridge and came out onto a street with truly lovely, creatively designed homes. Farther south at a cross street, chain link fences again blocked our way, closing off huge empty tracts of land behind buildings and warehouses.

We stopped again for prayers, and I noticed a nativity scene in a nearby yard. Farther east we reached a street that took us south to the Sawmill Market, where a few people ate at outside tables. This new development opened just as the pandemic was starting, and we have not visited it, but now of course, much is closed. We continued south past the beautifully landscaped Hotel Chaco to reach Mountain Road and the sculptures of the Albuquerque Museum. We took San Felipe south into Old Town, where to my delight, the lovely little chapel in Plaza Escondido was open. I spent more time inside than I usually do, sorry I had not brought something to leave at the altar where flowers, photos, and other offerings had been set. A Bible on the lectern was open to pages from Revelations. I took time to read some of the carved wood inscriptions on the walls. For more information about this chapel and its origins (which I had not known) see the webpage.

The clouds had cleared – there would be no more snow. Across the courtyard I noticed a shop selling “up-cycled” items – “make an offer” the sign said. We passed a “Breaking Bad” shop and continued toward the plaza, thinking that San Felipe de Neri Church might be open. It was not: but, to my great joy I discovered the dead tree with the carving of the Virgin had been placed in front of the church, part of its roots and all. For years the carving in the dying and dead tree had survived in a parking lot behind the church, where only those who knew to look could see it. I had shown this secret treasure, as well as the hidden chapel, to many people many times. On a recent visit I was sad to discover that the tree was gone. Even today, I looked with longing at the pile of dirt left where the tree had once stood. But here it was! The lost had been found, my pilgrimage rewarded. There must be a story about how this carving came to be, and how it was rescued.

Since publishing this I discovered another blog post about the “Madonna in the Tree:”

We headed toward home along Rio Grande rather than backtrack to the small neighborhoods and bike path. I would not choose that return again as it seemed long and noisy, but there was one interesting sight: large Camino 66 signs at the place that had once been Rowland’s Nursery. We again passed the abandoned cart near the historic marker. Now a young woman with a sign, probably asking for a ride, stood at the freeway exit, her belongings spread beside her. She did not look at us, but at her phone. As fellow pedestrians, I suppose we had nothing to offer her.

We were relieved to be back on the ditch again, where I noticed a memorial we had somehow missed on the way south. During our brief pilgrimage, we had seen much to contemplate, both lovely and sad. We don’t need to cross an ocean to walk a pilgrimage.

My phone said we walked 12,953 steps, or 4.8-5.7 miles depending on who is counting.

Chapel of Our Lady of Guadalupe

A Hard Walk

Inspired by reading Dianne Homan’s Walk Your Own Camino and a recent hike close to home.

The Physical Camino

September 24, 2020

Townsend's solitaire seen at the travertine falls — Townsend’s Solitaire

Yesterday Kent and I took a walk in the Sandia Mountains on a trail I always thought of as moderate, although it goes steadily up for a couple of miles, and the switchbacks start to seem endless before the trail reaches a lovely flat spot where we once camped. From this place, where a large long-fallen log provides a place to sit, one can choose to continue up on the South Crest Trail which winds around and if followed far enough will lead over 20 miles to the north end of the mountains; or one can take, a bit to the right, the CCC trail, an unmarked, unmaintained (although none of these trails seem to have had any maintenance in the 20 years I’ve been walking them) trail that is much shorter than the Crest Trail, but heads straight up the mountain, providing a real test of stamina and, especially on the way down, a challenge to the knees. A third choice, the Upper Faulty Trail goes right and north, passes through some lovely stands of Ponderosas and makes fairly gentle ups and downs across some small arroyos and through pleasant open woods, eventually intersecting with the Lower Faulty Trail, which can be taken farther north or back to the Lower Crest Trail, meeting it below the switchbacks, a quarter-mile or so above the travertine falls. There are a couple of steep descents on the Lower Faulty, the worst one on loose scree that descends precipitously to the junction with the Crest Trail. That was the route we chose, and it was at that last descent that I panicked.

I was already very hot and tired and my knees, feet and even my hip joints were beginning to hurt. I was terrified of slipping because there was nothing to stop a long slide to the bottom, so I braced myself with my poles, testing them each time I planted them, hoping they would not slip, and that my feet would not slip when I placed each foot carefully in what I hoped was the next safe spot. I was so hot on the sunny slope that my eyes began to burn from the salty sweat that ran into them. My shirt and shorts were also damp. Why had I not brought my bandana, that could have doubled as a face mask and kept the sweat out of my eyes, or at least wiped it from my face? The face mask hung uselessly from my wrist, as there were no other people on the trail, and I was so hot. My lips were dry, but happily I found a chap-stick in my waist pack. My water was almost gone. When I finally reached the end of the descent I was shaking and lightheaded, so we paused for a while in the shade. We had another mile or so to go to the parking lot. The trail was rough with irregular rocks, requiring careful attention to the placement of each step. At the travertine falls there is a short-cut with another steep descent in full sun – this one not so slippery, and not so long, but I was terrified going down, all the same.

By the time I reached the shady rock at the bottom where Kent waited for me, I felt terrible. Shaky and hot, I took off the hat that was stuck to my damp head. My hair was wet and stiff with salt. I panted, felt lightheaded, and suddenly nauseous. We had only a tiny bit of water left. I drank most of it and wanted more. We sat there for a very long time, watching the birds (Red-breasted Nuthatches, Stellar’s Jays, a Townsend’s Solitaire) flitting through the trees and visiting the slight the trickle of water in one small section of the dry travertine. A gorgeous Abert’s squirrel, his light tail waving and his black ears erect, scampered up the rough stone. I leaned forward and rested my head on my hands on my poles, wondering how I’d gotten so out-of-shape and so old that this trail was so hard. After what seemed like a long time, I started to feel better, took deep breaths, stood up and slowly continued the rest of the way to the parking lot without feeling worse. There was an unopened bottle of water in the car, and although it was as warm as hot tea, I gulped down half of the bottle. When we got home, Kent made a pitcher of lemonade and I downed 3 huge glasses. I looked up my symptoms on the internet and read about heat exhaustion caused by dehydration and overheating during strenuous exercise. Next time, I will take extra water, some electrolyte tablets, and my bandana. According to my phone we walked just over 6 miles in about 5 hours, although the trail guide gives the distance as closer to 4.5 miles.

I thought about moments on the Camino, when I faced similar challenges and moments of despair. The most recent Camino from Arles to Toulouse just one year ago had many steep ups and downs, often very rocky. Steep descents in loose rock are my least favorite parts of any walk, and there were many on this route. I remember standing at the top of a hill, seeing the village we were heading for a heart-sinking distance below, and wondering how I would ever manage to get down. My despair was deepened by the fact that the last sign had said it was only 4 km to the village, leading me to think the day’s journey would soon be over. I was not expecting two km of precipitous descent.

During these times of physical trial on the Camino and on other walks, I often wonder why I am doing this. Perhaps because it feels so good when I stop? But I think there are other reasons. I am testing myself and my endurance, and I’m putting myself in the position of many walkers who are walking now and who have walked in the past who have had no choice, whose way Is hard, life-threatening and challenging. I remember walking through endless mud on my first Camino, ten years ago, thinking I was paying for my sins. If our Caminos were just “walks in the park” we would have no stories to tell, and no challenges to test ourselves and make us strong. We experience humility and awareness of our human frailty, which I hope brings us closer to all life and to God.