Shakespearshakes
Member
- Time of past OR future Camino
- Camino Frances (2015)
Camino Frances (2016)
Camino Frances (2017)
Caminho Português (2018)
VDLP 2019
It was mid-Afternoon in St. Jean Pied de Port I was in a hurry to reach Orrison. I purchased a Baton de Bois. aka a pilgrim stick. I also bought a ½ liter bottle of water. Perhaps I will need this I thought.
Turned out by the time I reached the alberge the water was long gone and my throat so parched I could have drunk the Niagara Falls.
The stick stood me in good stead however, so much so that by the time I reached Orission I was speaking with it.
It could have been the lack of water of course.
On those seven never-ending km's to Orisson I was glad to have it with me. Same thing the day after when I took the wrong turn and found myself on the difficult and slippery path down to Roncevalle.
More than once it enabled me to stay upright.
The next day it rained continuously and again It's support on the treacherous muddy slopes down to Zubri was invaluable.
The next day I met two Aussie girls and I had started my Camino Family.
Strictly Platonic I hasten to add in case my wife is reading this!
I was resolved to walk alone and I did so, however it seemed that every other day or so just as my, or my friends spirits were starting to fade we would meet up along the way and the Banter would start.
We each gave as as good as we got, and we were merciless in encouraging each other to continue.
On one occasion one of the girls mentioned that she was being virtually accompanied on the camino by a elderly friend back in Australia who was too old and frail to walk herself but had been full of enthusiasm and encouragement for her decision to walk the CF
She had asked that she be kept up to date on their progress. It enabled her to feel that she too was taking part in the Camino.
I then lost sight of my Australian friends for a while and assumed they had probably overtaken me somewhere.
In Villafranca Montes de Oca I left the Alberge and walked a kilometer with the uneasy feeling something was missing before I realized I had forgotten my stick. No choice but to walk back and retrieve it.
And so I reached Burgos the end of my Camino. Responsibility called and I was needed back home
As I was flying home and checking my rucksack as hand luggage, It meant that I would have to leave my stick behind.
With a few hours to kill before leaving I wandered around the beautiful old city when suddenly I heard my name being called accompanied with a few choice Aussie sounding expletives. It was my Camino mates !
By a stroke of fate, one of them had had broken her hiking stick a few days before. I passed my stick into her care, confident now that at least the stick if not I, would reach Santiago that year.
We kept in touch and she posted me a picture of my/her/our stick in front of the Cathedral. She had grown so attached to it that she took it back home with her to Melbourne.
About a year later I received a mail with an unusual request. The elderly lady had passed away and my friend requested my permission to place my/her/our stick in her grave.
On the other side of the earth. That simple Baton de bois bought in St. Jean and carried over the Camino first by me, then by another, now accompanies an elderly pilgrim on her last Camino.
Turned out by the time I reached the alberge the water was long gone and my throat so parched I could have drunk the Niagara Falls.
The stick stood me in good stead however, so much so that by the time I reached Orission I was speaking with it.
It could have been the lack of water of course.
On those seven never-ending km's to Orisson I was glad to have it with me. Same thing the day after when I took the wrong turn and found myself on the difficult and slippery path down to Roncevalle.
More than once it enabled me to stay upright.
The next day it rained continuously and again It's support on the treacherous muddy slopes down to Zubri was invaluable.
The next day I met two Aussie girls and I had started my Camino Family.
Strictly Platonic I hasten to add in case my wife is reading this!
I was resolved to walk alone and I did so, however it seemed that every other day or so just as my, or my friends spirits were starting to fade we would meet up along the way and the Banter would start.
We each gave as as good as we got, and we were merciless in encouraging each other to continue.
On one occasion one of the girls mentioned that she was being virtually accompanied on the camino by a elderly friend back in Australia who was too old and frail to walk herself but had been full of enthusiasm and encouragement for her decision to walk the CF
She had asked that she be kept up to date on their progress. It enabled her to feel that she too was taking part in the Camino.
I then lost sight of my Australian friends for a while and assumed they had probably overtaken me somewhere.
In Villafranca Montes de Oca I left the Alberge and walked a kilometer with the uneasy feeling something was missing before I realized I had forgotten my stick. No choice but to walk back and retrieve it.
And so I reached Burgos the end of my Camino. Responsibility called and I was needed back home
As I was flying home and checking my rucksack as hand luggage, It meant that I would have to leave my stick behind.
With a few hours to kill before leaving I wandered around the beautiful old city when suddenly I heard my name being called accompanied with a few choice Aussie sounding expletives. It was my Camino mates !
By a stroke of fate, one of them had had broken her hiking stick a few days before. I passed my stick into her care, confident now that at least the stick if not I, would reach Santiago that year.
We kept in touch and she posted me a picture of my/her/our stick in front of the Cathedral. She had grown so attached to it that she took it back home with her to Melbourne.
About a year later I received a mail with an unusual request. The elderly lady had passed away and my friend requested my permission to place my/her/our stick in her grave.
On the other side of the earth. That simple Baton de bois bought in St. Jean and carried over the Camino first by me, then by another, now accompanies an elderly pilgrim on her last Camino.
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