I Feel Like You’re Walking With Me

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I’m sitting here in the cool, clean Estella public library. It’s beautiful… they have incorporated gothic pillars– and I’m sure they are genuine– into an ultramodern design, very striking. I was just blessed by the priest in the church with the view you see above in a small group of 10 pilgrims. I was the only American, as I often am, and was so glad that I worked up the courage to go.
I wanted to pass this blessing on to you. Most of my readers are friends old and new, near and far. Your reading this means so much to me. Traveling alone is so much a matter of attitude, and seeing your remarks and comments make me feel like your spirits are on the road with me.

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The blessing was quite personal. The village priest took our names and had a short conversation with all of us. Then we took pictures, right there in the cathedral smack in the middle of mass, as a group. I was thinking of friends and the problems we all face as I was walking. I came upon a ruined church in the countryside
with an alter where people had written their hopes, dreams, and why they were walking… eerie, lovely and strange. We are creatures who suffer, but also rejoice.

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Estella is a good time town. If I could, I would have you all to the meal I had over an extended two hour lunch in the square. Even the town’s motto is about eating: midieval foodies! A quarter bottle white wine (Navarra chardonnnay), water, the appetizer, melon with Serrano ham,
then lamb stew with big red roasted pimento peppers, and a cake with caramel and a honey drizzle for dessert (14 E). The cake was for Scott’s birthday, which I missed.

Life is full of troubles, but pleasures too. The words of the blessing card I got from the priest end with “so that we may reach the end of our journey stregnthened with gratitude and power, secure and filled with happiness. I with that for you.

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Yum camino, Suzanne

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Divine Beauty vs. Iphonzilla

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Each day of walking is like a world, and you can never tell what will happen. All of these photos are from one day, yesterday. But they don’t tell the whole story. In the midst of all of it, there were mishaps, enough of them to really jar me and test the travel spirit.

I left the adaptor plug for the Iphone in a socket in that village that starts with a Z. Panicked, I ran around stores to try to find an adaptor. A lovely lady at an art store had some, but Iphonezilla didn’t like them. Finally I went to what they call a “China Store” and bought a fake Iphone charger with the proper prongs. Now my phone takes hours to charge, but no it works. I wrestled with that horrible question of attachment to the device. I do a lot on it: photograph, blog, Facetime with Scott. Perhaps some of you know the feeling of running around in a foreign culture with that emergency feeling in the pit of your stomach. It took hours. I bought watercolor paper I didn’t need to patronize the art supply/ hardware store lady, and some cologne I probably did need at the China store for all their help with my phone. Iphonezilla ate a large part of my day, then would not charge, keeping me up late, as you should never leave your phone unattended. I wanted to talk to my husband Scott on his birthday.

My weird vasculitis was acting up again. I’m vain enough to not show you a picture of it; it’s disfiguring but not dangerous. In fact, it was a conversation starter. I got 5 versions in 5 languages of “Are you all right? And what is that?” Then everyone would tell me it was heat rash or an allergy. But it got me introduced.

That hostel was industrial and no nonsense. When you’ve hosted a thousand years of pilgrims, you know how to do it. Already fried from the phone thing and the leg thing, the snoring thing in my room of 8 women almost did me in. I slept not more than 2 hours last night, really pissed off at the snore monster, a spry French woman in her seventies.

Then the day began again, and after walking, a compassionate hospitalero (inkeeper for pilgrims) snuck me into a private room to catch up on my rest. This simple act of kindness touched me deeply, and saved my day. The following photos are from this, my 4th day on the road. Estella tomorrow— maybe. Buen Camino, Suzanne

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Camino Secret Gem

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Hola from the extremely slow pilgrim. Today I didn’t walk 12.8 km. I’m between Pamplona and Puente de la Reina. That’s all you need to know. And I’m in a little gem of an albergue, drinking white wine on a red tablecloth in the late afternoon and writing you, dear reader.

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This giant baguette filled with chorizo will last me for 2 more days. The soda and sandwich cost 2.70 E. It could have been beer, no extra charge. I get a full course dinner for wine and desert here, my first meal with other pilgrims. I slept like a baby last night in a room full of elderly Frenchmen; apparently I was in a French “wave”. Today I ran into- not literally, thank goodness– herds of the not-rare-enough species MAMILS– Middle Aged Men in Lycra, normally on bicycles, sending their luggage, include colognes, ahead. Not all of them, of course.. everyone has been sweet and polite, the way life should be. And I am a MAWILC, a middle aged woman in loose clothing. We are the only ones wearing long sleeved shirts and pants. Ah, those limb-exposing, sleek youngsters are lovely.
Got up at a respectable 6:30 and the whole albergue was leaving. Everyone leaves at once, but the waves soon vanish, especially if you’re hiking slowly. And I stop, I confess, to photograph and sketch. It”s my Grand Tour, after all; I choose to be Ruskin-esque and enter the world through my pen. But it takes TIIIIIIIME.Time to see the wheat and smell the poppies. If I stopped to smell every rose in Spain, you’d never see me again.

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Tip: I tear out pages with maps from the Brierley guidebook and carry them in my pocket. It’s helped me several times when I’ve had to ask directions: nothing like a hard copy. And my small compass mounted right on the chin strap of my backpack is really invaluable. I feel like a child with an address label sewn in. Do they even do that anymore?
Since you read this far, I enclose the abstract photo of roses blowing in the wind. Ultreia!

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Walled Spanish Garden, with Pilgrim Totem animal

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How far have I walked today? I think I’ll keep that a secret for now and tell you how far I haven’t walked. I haven’t walked 25 km. And I ended up in paradise, the Mirabel Roncal. It has a walled garden from long, long ago with museum like lawn ornaments, beautiful rooms, tables and gardens everywhere, and a great pilgrim totem, a turtle pond.

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I am the turtle, eating a fine lunch in the garden with a beer from a soft drink machine, and olives and olive oil bought from the same snack automat. I added my own spanish seedless pear–Scott, take note!–and cheese, and a garden full of roses. Why would I want to leave?

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I don’t really deserve such beauty, but there it is anyway. It’s a hard life, being a pilgrim.
Re the not-walked kilometers: the standard guide, Brierley, divides the Camino into stages. I will be sure to tell you each day how far in the current guidebook stage I didn’t walk. Remember my icon, the turtle.

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I am saving my complaints, philosophical ideas, spiritual opening, etc. etc. for another blog. Don’t worry… you’re not getting off that easy. But for now the birds and butterflies drowse in the sun, and there may be a basque dinner to eat. The owner liked my sketches of the place, so maybe I can dine out in fine Basque fashion on those. Now back to bliss. Buen Camino, Suzanne

Pamplona Unbound

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I have a crush on Pamplona.
Pamplona is seductive. In fact, the whole journey I’ve had nothing but good luck. People have helped me. Small dark men are courtly and helpful. My hotel is beautiful. I see swallows over tile roofs and hear peacocks calling at night and roosters in the morning.
And when I got to Pamplona, the whole city was engaged in a local Black and Red night, with concerts on every corner, and dancing in the street. You can’t describe it: a euphoria and a warm wind, everyone smiling.

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Best of travel: a room with a view, travel luck stays strong, easy connections. I watch the stream of pilgrims go by and know I’ll be joining them tomorrow.
Worst of travel: traveling alone, there’s no one to watch the pack or carry my passport and money. I have to drag the pack into every bathroom. I used to give Scott my passport to carry. No more. I’m in the “training” stage of the journey where I have to constantly check my money belt, securing my phone, etc. Yes, I’m sometimes lonely, but I already feel captured by Spain… happy prisoner.
My room has a view over Roman and Navarro forts, to the hills, where I’ll head tomorrow. Buen Camino, Suzanne

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Where a pilgrim begins

I started this pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela last year in September– in my mind. They say that the pilgrim way begins right from your front door. The post below was written in September 2013 when I first decided to start. In the meantime, I have bread dipped in Spanish olive oil, and walk among the twisted oaks of Spring Lake. Join me as I walk, write, sketch, and wander in the land of bull, oak, red wine, relics, grails, and pilgrims. Suzanne

Toward Compostela: A Pilgrim on the Starry Way

I called my niece Rachel Welsh, who is, conveniently enough, a scholar of the Middle Ages, to ask her advice on this crazed idea I had to walk the length of the Camino de Santiago.  She said, “You’ve already started your pilgrimage.”

My front steps, a winding path through an arch towards the sky. My front steps, a winding path through an arch towards the sky.

In the Middle Ages, you started from your own front door, or perhaps from the steps of your local cathedral.  Rich or poor, doing penance for sins or seeking your fortune, man, woman or child– you started where you are.  And so here is my own front door on this bright September day in Northern California, the wind whipping the rain clouds and the first reluctant leaves along the pavement. A little glitch of the light entered— a protective travel spirit?  It is the first day of fall. Or this might be the real start, the chair…

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Pompeii Winter Day with Toy Cameras


Pompeii, December. We stepped off the train from Naples into the first rain of the season, Vesuvius wreathed in fog. The ancient wagon ruts filled with water, but we could still use the stepping stones in place for two thousand years. It’s a large city, a grid of named streets, fast food counters, offices, fountains, floors, stores, a harbor, rich and poor homes, bread ovens, baths. Interrupted business is everywhere evident… those businesslike Romans! Wild dogs slept sadly on the cold stones. We bargained for a 10-euro umbrella for two. The rain worked to our advantage; we had a lot of the site to ourselves. It was a day for ghosts and images brought in on rainclouds and reflected in puddles. Pompeii!

Myth Notes:  Pompeii is  a web of Greco-Roman mythology, with a dash of Isis from newly-conquered Egypt.  It was wine country (Dionysius/Baccus/Silenus) and was on the coast (Posiedon/Neptune).  I think the Romans would have been appalled at how we got so much information on Roman culture from Pompeii; it was a hick commercial village far from the centers of power in Herculaneum and Rome.

Studio notes:  I’ve done Holga, Lomo, and pinhole toy photography for many years.  We chose to take the Lomo Fisheye and Lomo Sprocket Rocket with us, as they used 35mm film rather than the more awkward– but more fun– 120 mm film.  At airports now , many security guys have never even seen film.  I hand-carried it in a ziploc bag without film containers.  It always caused consternation and dismay in the security lines.  What the heck is film?

Lomo Sprocket Rocket Camera
Lomo Fisheye Camera

Happy Couples and Girls with Horns: Archaic Art Friends from Rome and Naples

This is my image of true love: looking into the light of eternity, together.

The Etruscan “Happy Couple in the Villa Giula museum  in Rome used to be painted and draped with fabric.  They had wine glasses and perfume bottles in hand and were reclining and eating at the same time– wonderful.  She had her earrings and jewelry on originally too.  This is the most famous of the tomb sculptures and is still incredibly moving for its feeling of affection and love. Not to mention the great “dos”, his and hers.

Then, the Romans invaded, and everyone started thinking about money, real estate, commerce.  Look at the new portrait of the married couple, Roman-style! Brood, worry, and scheme… not much trust there. And no more damn reclining in married portraits.

When not buying something or conquering someone,  in their spare time the Romans loved their soft and ahem, harder , images of sex.  This is a sweet one from the Secret Cabinet of Pompeii, a collection of erotic/ironic art  in the Naples Archeological Museum.  We did get in, though the guidebooks report this is often dicey.  It was deserted.  I think there’s a basic misunderstanding about what was erotic and what was common during the height of the Roman Empire.  Phallic-shaped signposts, lucky charms, and house decoration: common and boring.  Wall-painting series of  “menus” showing different sexual activities you could choose in the brothels, especially if you’re illiterate: interesting, erotic, naughty, not boring.  She’s light and he’s dark, showing the power of the guy, or something; this painting convention continued through the Renaissance and later in erotic scenarios. It’s Pan and his goat, but she seems happy.

Girls with Horns!  What can I say?  You can check my Mythic notes at the bottom for more ideas.  Here’s an Egyptian version of girls with horns.  They seem to have water buffalo horns, an image seen still in Naples because of their wonderful water-buffalo mozzarella cheese.  You buy it from the deli, little balls swimming in a salty sea, and carry it home in a tied plastic bag like goldfish from the fair.  Mozarrella alone is a “secondi piatti”– main dish– in Naples.   It’s grilled a bit, served with bread, and that’s it.

And now some Pompeiian paintings of girls with horns.  The “encaustic” they used included wax, but the paint actually used soap (lye-based) as the “caustic” medium binding the pigment  to bond with the walls.  These are not frescoes– the plaster was dry.  These are wet, slippery paint layers.  They then used the hot wax to seal the walls as a varnish on top, which they could buff to a high shine.  The first girl definitely has horns; the second may be more of a crescent moon, perhaps Diana.

Horns or crescent moon?  What say you?

For the last happy couple, Scott and I, the morning after our arrival back, at the IHOP at 6AM.  We are not reclining and eating, like the Etruscan couple, but you see a soft upholstered booth, coffee, empty plates and cups, books, and happiness.  Good enough.

Mythic notes: I saw a lot of images of  Europa on the Zeus-Bull.  She was taken to swim on Zeus-Bull’s back through the Straits of Bosphorus– Bosphorus means ox-crossing– dividing Europe from Asia/Turkey–in other words, the Straits of Istanbul.  Europa and Io merge women with bull or cow, and then put them in water– a river or sea.  They might be a holdover from a more ancient cow -goddess, or metaphors for mass migrations and settlement of cattle people, but I just thought that the girls with horns were cool.  The Romans idealized the Nile as a source of fertility;  Roman matrons would buy vials of Nile water at the local Isis-temple  and douse themselves with it to increase conception.

Book notes:  The Social Animal by David Brooks was a great buy.  It’s trending sociological research, carried by his  made-up, somewhat borg-like characters named  Harold and Erica.  The characters provide a framework for reporting findings from everywhere.  Intriguing.  Many are saying that the creative/artistic mind is the big money earner in our new world. Well, let’s hope.  He lets Erica do art after she retires, and there are a few pages on the latest social research on music, painting, and other arts.   Recommended for a rousing non-fiction read and a juicy idea source.

Studio Notes:   I’ve done large paintings of both Europa and Io as abstractions.

My Marble Buddies: Hanging with Sculpture in Rome and Naples

Three weeks in Italy! I felt like I was dipping my toe into a river of souls.  It was a time of borderlines and thresholds: old year to new,  marble to flesh, ancient streets filled with modern people, and classical beauty in the faces of people arguing, eating, buying stuff, driving Smartcars. The ancients seemed to live,  and the Christmas crowds of elegant Italians seemed temporary flickers haunting the alleys.  Meet some of my marble buds. 

The Capitoline Walls… this guy is great.  Is he a David figure?  To us he looked like he had 400 years of saying “Hey, Sailor” to his credit.   Cocky.  Just sayin’…

 

An achingly blue winter day, and I couldn’t tear myself away from the brilliant negative shapes against the stone. Youth and horse… stunning  contained force, and a tremendous face.  I like the entire Capitoline hill, and this museum piazza was designed by The Big Mike, Michaelangelo.

Capitoline Hill, sunset from the museum cafe terrace.  Murmurations of starlings, kinetic.  The whole Hill was formerly a nest of  state oracles and seers.  They liked the elevation so they could interpret flights of birds.  Nowadays the seagulls have invaded.   Oddly, they fly at night in the city, shrieks and white forms soaring in the darkness, a bit ghoulish.

 Classical sculptures are virtually all knockoffs—copied from ancient Greek sources, now lost— or propaganda for the ruler du jour.  Some mighty bodies were made with removable heads so the next Caesar could just screw his own on.  The head of Constantine below is 5 feet high, so the whole sculpture, with pedestal and base, might have been 50 to 70 feet or more.   Statues of this mass can so easily verge on  Facist architechture.  But they impress.  Think of Lady Liberty!

What has that flawed eye perceived in its time? Think, too, of paint and decoration, fabrics and jewels originally draped around the sculpture.  The marble we see now is more a bone structure.  Ripped from their original colored and decorated context, they become evocative collage pieces.  But some still shine. I felt that it wouldn’t take long to develop a real relationship with them.  The more we like them, the more they come alive, like any so-called “object”, I suppose.  I’ll miss hanging with them.

Next: Happy Couples and Horned Gals: More Archaic Art Friends from Rome and Naples