I want you to walk with me from Rabanal del Camino to El Acebo

There is something about blizzards that makes you feel alive. With the snow and rain drenching your clothes all the way in to your skin, and the wind in your face sending small pieces of frozen rain, like needles of ice, desperatly trying to puncture the surface of your facial skin. And then you stop for a moment, in the grey cloud on the top of the mountain you are climbing, and right behind you, in all the greyness, there is a small patch of sunlight that seemingly should be an impossible occurance. And somehow you feel like life is an adventure beyond your wildest dreams.

And then you hit the last Templario's home in Manjarin and your wildest dream has gone even wilder. And you enter a wooden cabin out of the rain, up on a mountain, and it has a fire stove and cats and a donkey that walks around eating scrap pieces of bread. And as you leave the horses come galloping down the road, galloping free, out of the grey cloud as if coming from nowhere. And you keep climbing up, up, through the cloud, until you come to the pass where you have the sense, even though every view is blocked by cloud and mist, of passing from one world to another. And this new world takes you down, steeply down. And then you enter El Acebo. And the old stone houses bring you back a hundred, two hundred, three hundred years back. And you put down your bag and you know that when morning comes you will see the view. And when morning comes you meet the frostbitten, chilly air of the snow clad mountains, and your heart fills up with awe as you move slowly, trying to block out the cold wind, slowly down towards Ponferrada, and you stop, time after time, as the snow falls and covers your wool sweater, and you breathe, and you feel like crying, and all your heart can say is: I am alive. I am alive. I am alive.

astorga

Astorga is beautiful. It has the atmosphere of a place with many prayers. I am finding friendship hidden in the heart of a Norweigan beauty. She has the most amazing life story and smile and she spreads love all around her. She provided me with the best quote ever as she was telling me about how she felt bad that she had to take the bus one day, because of physical pain,( after walking several hundred kilometres) but then gave herself a break and thought "well, I have been in a wheel chair for a long time because of a broken back and I am partly paralyzed in one leg..."

Christmas

Realized I haven't blogged about the fact that I am actually flying home for Christmas. I am taking a flight from Santiago, so my trip is close to ending (for now...) I am agreeing with all the old ladies of our neighbourhood (which is the patch of forest withing 10 km from my house): Erikka can't be away for another Christmas...

I did receive more Italians in my life

I am now in Leon.

I must say that the most amazing thing about this trip is meeting all these gorgeous, lovely, adventureous, fabulous men!

Last evening was spent in a long conversation-partly in song and prayer- with an Italian photographer from Milano. I got a new recipy for tortelli I need to try out. I also got the answer to what my heart has been talking about for awhile. I have known that my next pilgrimage must have something to do with St Francesco (St Francis) but didn't quite know in which way. Well, it's obvious isn't it? I must complete my dream of going to Italy, and I must walk from the northern part of Italy down to Assisi! It is so obvious and I never realized. Such is the mystery of life. It won't be a very long walk, but I can always make it longer by throwing in Rome, or maybe walking all the way down to Sicilia...

I am going to sleep for a few hours, then find a supermarket (didn't find one last time!) and then see what to do with my evening. No more Italians around for the day, but I suppose I will run into Andrea again tomorrow. He really couldn't see the point of the Swedish pancake party we pilgrims are planning, but I guess an Italian wouldn't. But as they do get every other necessary part of cooking, we can forgive them for not loving pancakes, can't we? Australians don't mind a Swedish pancake party, and Joe is back soon enough, so all will be well. Well, apart from the fact that Joe will tell me that Australian pancakes are bigger, fatter, better, more pancaky...

about leaving comments

I was informed by a friend yesterday that my blog doesn't allow for non-bloggers to leave comments! Sorry guys, I have now changed that, I really hope it works... If I understood the Spanish, you should all now be allowed to leave as many comments as you possibly could come up with...

(yes, you could interpret that as a hint if you would like to)

sahagun

We have now come half way from Roncesvalles to Santiago!

Last night I slept in the same albergue, in Terradillos, as a Belgian couple I have been travelling with for a while now. We had an open fire, good tea and a peaceful evening. I am reading Tennesse Williams' A streetcar named Desire, which means it can be hard communicating with me. Every spare moment I am lost in the Penguine Classics with yellowing pages...

Joe has returned to Madrid for the weekend, to rejoin us on Monday or Tuesday. I am in charge of his walking stick, The Joestick, which usually indicates that Joe is to be found in whatever bar it has been placed outside. Now it is my main travelling companion, and a good one too.

I need to find a supermercado. I still have time. Everything closes at 2 pm. It then re-opens at 5 pm. The Spanish schedule doesn't make sense to a Swede. We don't have the same summer heat as Spain does. We don't eat a huge lunch that goes on from 2-5 every afternoon either. And we definitly don't eat our evening meal at 9 pm. But, I'm getting used to it. Just need to find a shop before it closes...

a place of acceptance

I am learning so much from the Camino. A very wise Canadian woman told me the other day: Remember that the Camino will give you what you need.

It does. Every day I have to receive what it gives and not keep thinking that things should be different.

"I should be praying for others."
"I only pray for others I should deal more with my own crap."
"I should read my Bible."
"I should journal more."
"I should be more silent."
"I should talk more."

I have quit doing this to myself. If I am hungry I eat. If I am sad I cry. If a prayer comes to me I pray. If it doesn't I don't. If I need to be sarcastic and pulling off fart jokes I do. If I need to be writing important messages from God in the sand to people with blisters who have important revelations to share with cancer sick strangers on the others side of the world I do.

I think we spend too much time fighting. We need to spend more time surrendering. We are part of a bigger picture and us fighting is really only a gesture of trying to be in control of a situation outside our control.

Today I placed my forehead against an old stone cross and gave up my need for answers. I guess I will have to do that daily for the rest of my life but it was the first step. I had to say it. I had it coming for the longest time... "God, I love your word and all, but it all does boil down to that I understand nada of what you are trying to say... and all is good. Because I love."

I know there are many people fighting. And I know there is a war going on. But I think there is something to be said about the way of the Camino. Be where you are, be who you are, and trust that what you need to be saying, praying and doing will come to you.

Our flesh and our fears, cannot and will not be put to death with a selfmade axe. We will only ever be free from fears, and the evil those fears make us do, by the grace of God. And that, my dear friends, is something far bigger and deeper and more impossible to comprehend than we could ever imagine. Our hearts transformation is beyond our control, all we can do is surrender and accept that we are who we are at the this moment, and that we are where we are at this moment. All our faith really is, is a hope and a trust that God will meet us right there and that all things are well.

eagles and freezing my butt off

Yesterday I saw twenty eagles at once.

First one that was soaring above my head and stopped in the air. Then a few hours later I saw twenty of them all flying together above a hill. And then I dreamt that Mirja's Mum Asa-Lisa told me that they all gatehr together because it has been a bad year for the fruit (!) they eat and that they are loking for prey to hunt. Now work on that one, charismatics...

The refugios don't have heating. It gets cold at night. but i love my travellign companions and we are havign a good time. Forgot teh name of where I am, but it's 42 km from Burgos.

snow and stomachs

Today we woke up to snow.

My so called water proof bag soaked through so all my clothes are wet. We went to a bar (in Spain everything that happens happens in bars: you eat breakfast lunch and dinner there and there is constantly old men drinking alcohol any time of the day) and I ordered tapas. I pointed at some potato salad and when it arrived it wasn't actually potatoes but chopped up pieces of some animals stomach. I tell you, that was more than I can stomach...

Joe and I and the Italian German who's name I daren't try to spell right now have now arrived in Burgos.

praise our almighty lord

Finally tea. Like actual good tea. With milk. In a tea cup.

I need more italians in my life

Today I picked mushrooms with an Italian German who makes gelato. His favourite flavours are hazelnut and lemon. The mushrooms were the kind called Proud Mountain Slicelings. In Swedish, that is.

by the way my friends

Forgive me for not emailing you guys (being all the wonderful people who read this) and for not reading your blogs, just don't have enough internet time. It kind of ends up being a probably healthy fast from too much internet. But I do miss you all, and think of you much. If anyone has anything you need prayer for, why don't you text me and I will bring it with me on the camino?

+46 702474074

Always with you...

going deeper into myself

And then the full impact of the consequences of womanhood hit me. I didn't get very far out of Logrono before breaking down crying and having to turn back. I stayed with the first woman i met on the street. If angels would come with three kids and a husband Esther from Rumania would for sure be one of them.

Conversation between my uteris and my legs:

Legs: Hey, give us back our energy, what the heck do you think you are doing?
Uteris: Your energy? Now, you have had all the energy for days, what do you have to complain about?
Legs: Well we have to do 30 km today, and what good do you do anyway?

Between the two of them there wasn't much energy left for my brain to work.

But now I am better. I walked. Today I took it very easy. Sang in a beautiful Church. Christe Lux Mundi, in streaming sunlight through an old stone window. I love life. Last night we played cards. I beat Joe. (I just had to put it in here, hun, I just had to.) And we ate a lot of food.

My gang of people has split up, but we have formed a new group that kind of moves in the same speed. I seem to get stuck with the Australians don't I...

So the deep part of me is starting to process and work and bring thoughts and feelings up. I guess that's what a lot of this is about...

ducks

I had no idea that it was possible to endure such intense physical pain and still keep moving.

On our second day, we being my group of friends I started off with in Roncesvalles, the albergue we had planned on staying at turned out to be closed. So I ended up having to go 15 more km as the sun was setting, running down a long hill, arriving crying and exhausted to find my wonderful travelling companions waiting for me and some very good food to comfort me... (We wlk alone and meet up at night, or walk part of the way together) I was glad to have made 35 km in a day, but it wrecked my knee to the extent of me having to face some serious pain the next day. With Joe being a doctor I was quite OK though, because he didn't really allow me to complain that muc. We did some swearing together. I`m sorry guys, but contrary to the common belief, pilgrims do have to swear. I have settled for that fact. And if that is the fact, I have to pick up a swear wrod that feels OK. Joe hasn't left me much choice, though. I will be saying Fuck a duck for the rest of this trip...

I love my group. The "old guys" 45+: pink haired German Gunter, the New Yorker Richard with huge glasses (do all New Yorkers repeat their sentences, repaet it, you know, repeat it?) the loud and farting almond farmer Martin from Mallorca, and then of course the younger companion, the handsome gentleman doctor Joesph from Melbourne. Don't worry, he's got a girlfriend and he isn't my type...

I'm in Logrono, have walked 20 km and have 13 more to go today. I wouldn't be so harsch on myself if it wasn't for the fact that I can't stand being left behind by the others... And they wouldn't be so harsch on themselves if it wasn't for Martin, who is constantly claiming that every stretch of the camino will be completely flat, and that we all could walk at least 46 km without any problems...

I'm better today. Less pain. Body adjusting... I have the appetite of a small tiger. Need to find some food... The other day I ate a big plate of pasta, bread, lamb, chips, and Tarta de Santiago all in one go...

Not much time to write, gotta go. God bless, will tell you more next time I hit computer.

Ps. Planning on registering the Silly Walk de Santiago at the Ministry for silly walks... Funny how 35 km of walking can make you look like a duck.

first walk

Spanish earth worms are huge. Now that's something for fishing.. ;)

I love the Camino. walked the first 26 km. Met another Australian. Joe, 28, from Melbourne. Good times.

pamplona and having faced many fears

I am in Pamplona! I know some people will be thinking I am strong and courageous for doing this trip by myself. I need to tell you, and it is important: I am not. I only make it, because now and then, I hit a brick wall and break down and cry and realize that all I have to offer God is weakness and tears. That's where he meets me and gives me the joy and strength to go on. My only strength is my weakness: knowing that I have to trust God and can't do it by myself. I have to constantly deny my own futulie attempts to get by, and trust that HE will make it work... My week in Taize was beyond words. "You seem to have life changing moments every few hours" said my Australian brotherandcraphereallyhasdughisclawsintomyheart Edward. Friends are more important than life itself, because we can't love God without loving our friends, being human is OK and it is necessary to accept that I have needs and accept that I am at where I am at and the German chorus to Pippi Longstocking goes: Hey Pippi Langstrumpf, die macht was ihr gefällt. I think noone really understands the Cross, but when we let go even a little of our own workings and check out the grace of God in ways deeper than discussing Biblical words, it's as if life goes radiant, the world slows down, God is present, our eyes are opened and every piece of information is profound, be it so a Bruce Springsteen song played on the radio of an old man on a bench infront of a statue of St Franscis or the drawing of a tiny sun on a piece of garbage. So after my major God-I-can't-make-this-You'll-have-to-scrape-me-off-the-floor-breakdown (Sunday) I found a busload of Spanish nuns and students who gave me a ride (Monday) to La Jonquera in Eastern Spain. This kind of changed my plans of crossing the Pyrenees, as I found myself south of the mountains already. So I found my way to Pamplona via a night in the hotel the busload checked me into (they actually had a money collection trhoughout the bus to give me a place to sleep!!!) and a night with Miriyam (Kirby's friend I met in Dresden) in Barcelona (she stood cooking for me late at night!) and then a night in a pension in Pamplona that some nice Catholic's checked me in to! Tonight I am going to Roncevalles, about 40km north of Pamplona, to start walking back here (I know, I know, but I have to start in Roncesvalles, even though it means I will be backtracking...). I am getting my pilgrim's passsport in Roncesvalles, and I guess that means I will start walking tomorrow. I am now down to 10 Euros, which will take me by bus to Roncesvalles and give me a night there (it seems like this is a village that consists of one Church and not much else!) and from there on we will see how things go. I might not find free internet until I am back here in Pamplona again, but that shouldn't take very long... So, I only have "the easy" bit left now. I am actually getting started. I am actually walking now. I cried with joy here on a bench, in beautiful Pamplona, with washing hanging out from the windows, and flowers, and sunshine... I'm here, I am nearly in Roncesvalles, I am starting tomorrow (hopefully) and all is well.

I am alive

Will write more next time I hit a spot with a computer. For now: I am in Spain, on the east side heading west to start walking. My plans changed as usual. I am looking for buses, trying to avoid hitch hiking, as my Mum and Dad so wish for me not to. Tell you more later... But I am very full of joy and peace and songs...