Logrono

The rising sun trying to break through the clouds.

I left early at 6:30AM for the 30k walk to Logroño.  In doing so I left Basque Country and the Province of Navarre and entered La Rioja Province.

Octagonal Templar Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Torres del Rio  

It was a demanding day.  Besides the climb, there were tremendous winds.   I think I got wind-burn.   Two and a half hours into the 6 1/2 hour walk it began to drizzle a little.  We passed through the lovely little village of Torres del Rio.

Logrono only two hours away.

Logrono is a large city.  The pilgrims are not as noticeable.

Preparing to enter Logrono over the "Stone Bridge."
Twin towers of the Cathedral of Santa Maria in the background.

Los Arcos

Church of the Holy Sepulcher on the outskirts of Estella. 

I was on the road by 7AM this morning as again there was a steady drizzle.  The route out of Estella had a good group of pilgrims on the move.  Four Australians overtook me and we chatted a bit.   They are only able to walk for a week so they will be leaving from Logrono tomorrow to do a week of other things in Europe before heading back down under.  Together we stopped at the “Fuentes del Vino.”  The “Wine Fountain” is a gift to pilgrims from a local vineyard.  They have free wine on tap 24 hours a day for free!  At 7:30AM I just had a sip.  But I did notice some others filling empty bottles.   Way to heavy for me!

The Australians turn at the endless wine!

At the fountain I found two English lads whom I had met the previous afternoon in Puente la Reina.  While I forget their names, one has just finished their equivalent of high school and the other is the same age but has yet to finish school.  While they are here together they have a system where they don’t really walk together.  After the fountain, one went ahead and the other stayed walking with me.

View from the mountain made the ascent worthwhile. 

Sometimes the Camino breaks into options:  usually the original route and a less demanding one.  If I’m doing this, I am going soup to nuts.  So we began the ascent of the mountain before us.  It was about a 900 ft. climb.  By now the rains had let up and we were having a nice chat so the time went rather quickly.   The two of them are making the Camino to get a better perspective for the future.  For the two of them (as with us all) the road is a lot further than the 500 miles to Santiago de Compostela.  As the ascent became steeper, my British friend and I parted ways, as I needed more stops to catch my breath and make sure I kept breathing.

The South London lad leading the way.

On the other side of the mountain the winds were incredible.  While walking through the farms, vineyards and olive groves you could feel yourself getting pushed by nature’s force.  The two blessings were there was no rain by now and it was flat.  After an hour or so I met up with the English guy again and we walked into the city together where his friend was waiting for him arriving about a half hour earlier.

Church and plaza of Santa Maria de los Arcos.

Los Arcos only has about 1,300 inhabitants.  It is on the Odron River.  The center of the old town is the church and adjoining plaza of Santa Maria de los Arcos.  The church is 12th century.  But like so many others had been embellished as styles changed and the town grew in wealth off the pilgrims who passed through its portals.

Interior of Santa Maria de los Arcos.

As I concelebrated the evening Mass I could hear the winds howling.  As I spend more time in these elaborate churches I find myself getting distracted by so much of the art especially in the sanctuary.  While the women of Los Arcos were out in force for the Mass, the crowd of pilgrims was smaller than in the past.  I’m not sure if it was the 23k walk, the winds or that people are doing more socializing as new friendships are made along the way.

Estella! Picture Perfect!

Village of Lorca in the distance sparkles as the rains let up.

I am not a picture taker.  And if it weren’t connected to my smartphone I would never have brought a camera.  Yet I find this small village, Estella, (population about 15,000) so photogenic.  Maybe it’s the way it flanks both sides of the boomerang shaped Rio Ega.   Maybe it’s the different levels the village has grown into.   Maybe it’s just the mountains in the background or the arches and arcades that are on almost every street.   Whatever it is I find it very appealing to the eye.

Some of the best remaining Roman Roads between Puente la Reina Estella.
After close to 1700 years it's easier to walk on either side!

Leaving at 7AM, the day began crossing over la Puente la Reina in a light rain.  Most of the route I walked alone.  While the mud was not a great factor it was still present.  At a certain point a group of us were on one of the secondary highways as it began to pour.  Two Italian men and myself decided to stay on the road’s shoulder for longer than the Camino markers indicated.  I just could not take more mud.  So we waited to almost the last minute to return to the posted Camino for our entrance into town.

St. Peter's Church - Estella

One of the Italians who was walking with me at the time (even people who travel together don’t always walk side by side), began to tell me this is his third Camino walk.  I didn’t ask his age (he looked late 60’s early 70’s) but he explained that he did this same Camino Frances in 2011 as well.  Last year he walked the Camino Portuguese, which goes from Lisbon to Santiago.  He was a devout Catholic and also enjoyed both the walking and the sights.  He should know about sights, as he is from Ravenna (just south-east of Bologna) famous for its churches and 4th century buildings.

Rear view of St. Michael's Church

By the time we reached Estella (Which gets its name from CompoSTELLA) there was one last downpour before the sun and winds came out.   I got my bed at the albergue by 1PM and got ready for the main meal.  I walked around a bit noticing the beauty of the village and joined the evening Mass.  The parish of St. Michael the Archangel, which has a very imposing Romanesque church on the hill near by, runs the small albergue I am staying at.  After Mass I got a ham sandwich for dinner and went to the central “Square of the Brave” (Plaza de Fuertes) to watch the townsfolk and chat with some other pilgrims.  Remember the sun does not set until after 9PM!

Palace of the House of Navarre

Puente la Reina

After a restful stop over in a beautiful Pamplona, I was up early and on the road by 7:30AM for the next 22 k.  The rains of course accompanied me as I left the cobbled stoned streets of Pamplona.   Maybe it is because the city is so associated with Ernest Hemingway that I could not resist thinking that maybe the rains will accompany me on this journey as did the fish keep the old man company in “The Old Man and the Sea.”  But I digress.

Plaque commemorating Hemingway's favorite bar for cognac
before and after the bullfights. 

After about an hour or so the rains stopped.   They stopped just in time to climb the “Alto del Perdon” which could be loosely translated “Mount Forgiveness.”  For the pilgrims past and present it is just a harsh reality that reformation only comes with some discomfort and true forgiveness realized.  But by climbing such heights (1,200 feet) there can be wonderful vistas as well as hindsight.  It was actually so beautiful as the clouds were moving out that I forgot to take a picture.  The area is filled with modern wind turbines as the winds that whip around the region contribute to powering the Navarre region.

La Puenta la Reina looking to the hills on the far side of the city.

The village of Puente la Reina gets its name from a bridge that the Queen (the wife of Sancho III) had built for me.  Honestly.   She had the bridge built for the pilgrims to Santiago so that they could cross the Arga River more safely and easily.  Sine then it and the whole village have been called basically Queen’s Bridge.  Puente la Reina is like a six street wide 12 street long pristine ode to the Middle Ages.  Surrounded by a more modern set up of 21st century Spain it is spared from the Pamplonan suburbs by “Mount of Forgiveness.”

Much of the town, like the others on the Camino route, is supported by pilgrim commerce.  The albergues, hotels, restaurants are all for us.   Scattered on every Camino route are loads of grocery stores for us to pick at or some type of store for every pilgrim’s needs:   boots, rain gear, hats and of course walking sticks and shells.

The elaborate statute of St. James, the Pilgrim, greeting visitors .

Central to the village and beautiful in it's simplicity is the 12th century Church of Santiago greeting pilgrims as they pass or stop on the way.  There was a religious sister who helped me out to say Mass there.   Usually I like to concelebrate the parish Mass but tonight's Mass was replaced by a funeral at which I would have felt awkward so I was able to celebrate Mass while most were having there siesta.  It's not something we do in New York a 7PM Funeral Mass.  But then again we also don't have daily Mass each night at 7:30PM.  Say a little prayer for Rosa Jimenez Fernandez (the announcement was on the church door) when you have the chance.

12th century portal to the church of Santiago, Puente la Reina.
(Notice funeral announcement on door) 

Resting on Memorial Day!

Chapel of the Cross
Note the Pilgrim's Prayer on the kneeler.

Well my sunny respite ended as I awoke to a rainy Pamplona.  I am not as upset about it since I am only touring the city and not walking the next 16 miles to Puenta La Reina till tomorrow.  I am so glad I have this extra day to let my body recuperate a bit.  Besides it's a holiday in the States and I rested accordingly.  So I left my backpack in the hotel and headed back to the Cathedral of Santa Maria Real to celebrate Mass (for the deceased of the armed forces) and offer some prayers.  They have a wonderful Blessed Sacrament chapel and I think Spaniards sleep in as a rule.  I had the same sacristan, Carlos, who was expecting me.

Pamplona is really two cities:  one within the old fortified walls very much touristy and more bustling communities outside the walls and ramparts.  Pilgrims were very well represented and they, of course, are easy to spot.   If the size of their packs don’t give it away, the mud on their boots will.  They are either passing through or have started their days journey in Pamplona.

My San Fermin Outfit for July

There are some truly stunning buildings here.  But Pamplona’s fame in now linked to the feast of Saint Fermin and the “Running of the Bulls.”  Ernest Hemingway I guess introduced it to the English-speaking world in "The Sun Also Rises" and it has grown in fervor and popularity.  It is the big draw without a doubt.  But surprisingly almost as many pilgrims on the way to Compostela pass through each year as come to the Running of the Bulls in early July.

Happy Memorial Day.
May They Rest in Peace!

Arena in the Plaza del Toro
All the bulls end up here

Zubiri to Pamplona

I forgot to mention that one of the shortcomings of the albergue I stayed in was no wifi and even worse the bathrooms and showers were in a separate building (without heat).  The dormitories had but not the "sevicios."  I slept fine.  Not great but fine.  But I woke to use the bathroom around 4:30AM.   Well, after going out in 30 degree weather I was up for sure.  I went back to my bunk and waited for someone else to start rustling around.   An American college guy by the door did just that about 5:30 so I began to get ready.

The Moon setting over a chilly valley.

I was on the road just at sunrise:  6:30AM.  I left with Jacques, a French Man with poles in hand!   It was cold - not even above freezing - but very clear.  The moon was setting as the sun rose.   I was happy to be on my way as I needed to make up some time from yesterday.   The route to Pamplona was about the same length as yesterday: 14 miles.   It was not as hilly, not as muddy and it looks like for the first time in 10-12 days I will not see rain!

Countryside as things warmed up.

Jacques is going to Compostela to ask his patron to help him get his life on track.  He retired about a year and a half ago at which time his wife asked him for a divorce.  The past year he has been do pretty much nothing and he hopes by making the Camino he can get his life back on track some how.   Jacques like all the Frenchmen with poles left me in the dust.  I wish him well.

The Medieval Magdelene Bridge leading to the Old City. 

I arrived at my hotel around 1PM.  I am staying in Pamplona for a pre-planned two nights and you can't use the albergues for multi night stays.   Make room for the next folks.   Pamplona, at least the historic city is gorgeous.   I went to the Cathedral for Mass which they let me say (in English!) at one of the side chapels.   To be honest, I feel the worst today out of all three days.  I might be a little dehydrated or just the cumulative effect.  Who knows?   I do know for sure I'll be asleep early.

Cross on the Pamplona side of the bridge welcoming pilgrims to the Puerta Frances of the city. 

Roncesvalles to Zubiri

My Shadow on the road after I escaped the Witches' Forest.

I slept like a baby after the mountains and the elements on Friday.  As I awoke on Saturday it had been raining and there were clouds in the sky.  I had time to say some of my prayers and then I was out the door at 7:55AM.  I met up with tree french women as we plodded through the mud together.  These Europeans mean business.   Most carry walking poles (not the traditional pilgrims' wooden walking stick, these are light weight aluminum) and they know how to use them.   Give way!    I stayed with the three ladies until we stopped to read a sign saying we were in the "Witches' Forest!"  I needed to get out of there quickly before I got turned into a frog!

I quickly found an American man and an English college student and walked with them for a while.   The poor English kid was one of many who got stuck by the weather.   He only had what best could be described as a "sandal shoe."  It wasn't loose or cheap but it had holes in it and caused him great grief in the snow.   As a matter of fact he was stopping at the first pharmacy with its flashing green cross illuminated.   I could not keep up with them as the rains started to come down harder.  So I fell into "loner mode."   It made no difference.   You don't talk much in the rain and you really had to be attentive to footing in the mud.   Again it was not much fun.

I meditated for a while on the millions who have done this before me.   Not just people I know but pilgrims through the ages who had much less support than we do making the camino today.  I also thought of the craziness of modern like.  I "had" to leave Friday in the storm.  I had a reservation made!  Other around me can only do the pilgrimage up to a certain date.   They have to go back to work or whatever.  Worldly constrains imposing on a special adventure for some; a devout pilgrimage for others.

I was planing to go a little further but the mud more than the rain stopped me so I checked in at the municipal albergue in Zubri.  Zubri has a roman bridge, pilgrims, a church and a nearby stone quarry.   Virtually all employment come from the stones and those who travel over them.

The Roman Bridge of Zubiri (photo taken before Mass)

There are three albergues in town.  Mine cost 8 euro for the top bunk in the dormitory.  These alberges are only for pilgrims.  No tourists and are to house us on the way to Santiago.  They have rooms of varying sizes and are unisex.  Mine room had 11 bunk beds for 22 people all way too close to each other.   After you get your room you try to settle in as best as possible.  I got a sandwich and an orange at a local store and wobbled around some.

It's a strange sight as almost everyone gets their boots and wet clothes off as soon as possible and then (after the sun finally came out) wonder around in flip flops and shorts as boots and plants are left out to dry.  So read, some nap, some walk around and chat or visit others at the other two albergues.  Not all albergues are the same.   And I'll post about that later.

Monsignor "warming up" the congregation before Mass.

Mass was celebrated at the local church of Saint Stephen at 6:30PM.  Almost the entire congregation was pilgrims.  The retired Monsignor who said the Mass was feisty at 84.   Not only did he give a decent homily about the Most Blessed Trinity, he was almost as animated as our Deacon Franklin.  Before Mass he came out and got us singing and lead the songs during the Mass although not all the practiced songs were used.  After the closing song to Our Lady, the Salve Regina, he asked all the pilgrims to kneel for an additional blessing.  It was very much appreciated after a long day.

I skipped dinner but tried to stay out in the sun as long as possible.  Then up in the bunk and asleep by 9PM.

Difficult Beyond Belief

A group of pilgrims (in their twenties) leave me in the dust.

First I want to thank so many people (especially from Incarnation) who gave me gifts before I left.  Because of their generosity I am able to write to you from my nice and toasty hotel instead of the Pilgrims’ Hostel.   When the forecast came for the bad weather I reserved a room.   Thank God.

Pilgrims climbing some of first hills in the rain.

I just had seven of the worst hours of my life.  Maybe not all seven but at least five of them were.

I woke up early and excited to go.  My hotel in Saint Jean Pied de Port was the best one so far this trip.   The woman where I rented my room was very diligent.  The sun was shinning on the mountains.  I knew that bad weather was forecast but hope springs eternal.

Not just pilgrims are on the camino.

As I set out at 7:25AM pilgrims were filling the cobble stone streets of the ancient city.  Maybe I should have taken the fact that the church doors were locked as a bad omen, but I knelt for a while entrusting myself to Him who is the Way, the Truth and the Life and His Mother whose image will watch over me today and on so many of the routes of the Camino.  I knew the 13 plus miles would be tough but the 4,000 feet climb would be far worse.  I never knew how bad the weather would be.

The marker for entering Spain.

I was on my own.  I knew people would catch and pass me.   I’m kind of the tortoise when it comes to these things.  The climb began right away; the rain, a little later.  It wasn’t hard at first and to be honest I don’t think sun would be much better.   Once you’re wet, you’re wet.  But the weather also robbed the landscape of its beauty.  Before you knew it we were in the cloud cover.  That’s when the cold came.  First the winds, then the hale and snow.  I will be honest a few points I was really afraid.

The muddy trail as the snow began.

While I walked alone and it was wonderful at the beginning a pack kind of formed about two hours or so into the journey.  Senor Rojos (Red Poncho Spanish speaker), Messieur Chinoise (Chinese Man who spoke wonderful French), Mr. Green (Green coat and pack from England) and the Swiss Family Robinson (A Swiss Couple) joined me for a good four hours.  We were mostly in view of each other passing and overtaking on the roads and trails until the snows came.

Some of the climbs and pitches of the various mountains were just crazy.  Even worse than the rain and snow was the mud.  When the snow stopped of course the mud remained.  The whole thing was a mess.

Muddy Boots that began as swede brown. 

The hotel was indeed a welcomed refuge to shower and warm up when I arrived at 2:25PM.  Next door to the hotel was a nice little restaurant where I got the menu of the day (the Spanish eat so late).  Pilgrims’ Mass is at 8PM in the Abbey Church.   Too late today, I said Mass in my room.  The weather was so bad I couldn’t stop to eat the lunch I brought so it turned into an early dinner and I’m in bed by 6:30PM.  I’m going to take some medicine and call it a night.  Tomorrow comes quickly.  It’s longer but less climbing to the next stop.

Only two hours left! 

Climb Every Mountain!

Main Street of the Medieval Outpost of Saint Jean Pied de Port
The Pyrenees and Spain in the background.

“Climb Every Mountain!”  All you Rodgers and Hammerstein fans will quickly recall the play and subsequent movie “The Sound of Music.”  Well, as far as I am concerned the only mountains I am worried about are the Pyrenees and in particular the Roncevaux Pass.  Unfortunately, the weather forecast for Friday, my starting day for the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, is rain.  Oh, wait!  is that snow!  I have to go to the Pilgrims' Office before dinner for the latest reports.  There are two routes:  the more ancient, scenic and steep (Napoleon) Route and a more modern road.  I plan and hope to take the first.

Camino Sign indicating the estimated time to the next two pilgrim stops.

As I begin the Camino Frances (the route I am taking from France) the first day, everyone says, is the most difficult.  The overall route is just under 500 miles while the first stage to the Spanish town of Roncesvalles is about 13 miles.  It’s not because of the distance but the elevation that is covered:  almost 4,000 feet.  Practically thinking it’s walking up (that’s right up, not over) about thirteen football fields.  The guides say it takes about six and a half – seven hours.  The very helpful woman at the Pilgrims' Office said I should plan for eight.  I’m less worried about the time and more worried about the size of my backpack, which is still well over twenty-five pounds.  This week I have been trying to shed unnecessary weight.  I am looking at everything long and hard questioning if I really need it.

Pilgrims' Office, Saint Jean Pied de Port

At the end of last week I visited for the day Saint Jean Pied de Port, the Medieval French village/outpost that is the traditional starting point of the Camino Frances.  There must have been twenty to twenty-five pilgrims on my train alone.  It definitely heightened my excitement for the pilgrimage.  There were people clearly older and younger than me in the crowd.  I was feeling great until I saw the path and mountain.  All I could think of was telling one of our high school sacristans how I needed to get in shape.  It’s amazing how time flies.

They say the Camino Frances is the best marked and supported of the various routes to St. James’ Shrine.  I sure hope so.  While I will have a better idea of the schedule as it pans out, I expect to be on the road walking by 7 or 7:30AM (just at sunrise).  I hope to walk to my destination each day by 3PM to check into the pilgrims’ hostel.  Wash; rest up a little before my Holy Hour then Mass at 8PM, dinner, then bed.

Camino Marker indicating "The Way!"  

I doubt I’ll find my “dream” on the other side of the Pyrenees, as Julie Andrews sings.  I just hope to find a dry and comfortable bed and the promptings of God’s Spirit as He walks with me on the way.

Bread Alone

Bread in the window waiting to be taken home.

“Not on Bread alone shall you live but on every word that comes from the mouth of God” Jesus quotes to the devil in the synoptic gospels.  But Jesus was obviously not French!  This country runs on bread.   It’s understandable when a gallon of gas is close to $7.50/8 and a loaf of bread is only about two dollars; a buck fifty.

When I first heard about the chain of stores Le Pain Quotidien (The Daily Bread) I was put off a little because I thought it used the words of “The Lord’s Prayer” in French.  It doesn’t.  The more time I spend in France the more I realize its truism.   People eat bread here daily; all the time.   Three meals a day it’s offered.  And it is wonderful!

The kinds of bread vary from region to region and from time of day to time of day.  In the morning it’s bread with jam and butter.  In the afternoon it’s bread with the main meal – a sandwich on a baguette – bread with some wine and cheese.  At night there is bread with soup or with a quiche or cold cuts.  Bread, Bread, Bread!

Strange to me at least, is to see people eating bread while walking on the street.  I think of that as something kids do or parents do to pacify hungry kids.  When you buy loaves of bread here you don’t get a bag; just a wrapper to hold the bread.   So people walk the streets holding their bread batons.  Only the most disciplined can walk home without nibbling (devouring) the treasure they carry.   It’s only a very lucky loaf that makes its way home with its ends in tact.

Frequent sight on French streets.

I haven’t really had breakfast that often.  I stopped after my first week or so at the monastery in March.   I was afraid I might not fit over the mountains if I ate the bread I love so much.  That being said a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a small bottle of red wine make the perfect inexpensive lunch under a shady tree on a park bench.  That I will confess to!

Almost every neighborhood has a boulangerie (a bread store) while, for economic reasons, many shop owners have combined the bread stores with pastry shops (patisseries).  It’s a little controversial here because some of the purists believe these two arts should not be mixed together.  I’m not that observant to see any bread or pastry suffering (and I keep trying them town after town after town).

A Bread only shop.

So while it would do the French some good to get back to Church and hear the Word of God proclaimed once again, I can understand how they can think they can live on bread alone.

Mass on the Move

Altar of the Daily Mass Chapel
Notre Dame Cathedral, Bayonne, France 

It doesn't seem like it should be that difficult, concelebrating Mass at a local parish.  But it can be a big pain in the neck.  It takes up a lot of my time and energy.  So why is it such a big deal?  Well, here are some issues involved.

The first thing I do upon arriving at a new place is try to find a church that has Mass.  Now not every church has Mass daily.  Unlike Incarnation and most Brooklyn parishes, not every church has Mass on a given day.  Most churches have a schedule of where Mass will be celebrated in the village/town/city.  So you find that church.   But sometimes there is a hand written sign up: "Ne pas le Messe aujourd'hui" (No Mass Today).  I have what I need to celebrate Mass in my hotel but that is not ideal.  If it's early enough (most churches have evening Mass around 6 or 6:30PM) I'll check for another church.

If there is a scheduled Mass this is where the fun begins.  Every church has a sacristan/sexton who believes he or she is somehow part of the Holy Trinity or carries the keys of St. Peter himself.  More often than not this person will also serve the Mass or read the Scripture passage.  I'll approach this person and explain that I am an American priest and I would like to concelebrate the Mass.  Now it does not seem to be the custom here because the person has no idea why I would want to do such a thing.  Granted there is a language barrier but still it should not be that difficult.

Because this conversation all takes place in the small Mass chapel the entire group of people gathered all know that something "out of the routine" is taking place and so they begin to talk among themselves about this evolving situation.  Some believing the sexton is being "too hard on me," others upset that I am breaking up "their routine."  Some have come up to join the conversation or iron things out in their minds.

After dealing with the sexton/sacristan I get to the sacristy.  Some of the better sextons/sacristans will begin to find vestments for me (a simple white alb and a stole).  As a courtesy I'll wait until the priest arrives to vest.  Some priests arrive fully informed of my presence (the grapevine is awfully thick in these small parishes) others get the news upon their arrival.  I'll ask the priest if I can concelebrate with him and then get vested.

Not all priests like the idea of concelebration and some do better than others with small talk in the sacristy before Mass.  Some priests will chat about New York or my upcoming Camino Pilgrimage others will not say a word to me at all.  I find those priests from religious congregations - Dominicans, Jesuits, Eudists  - all do better at welcoming the stranger.  Perhaps it is because of the nature of religious life that they are more used to visitors.  Some priests welcome me from the Altar at some point of the Mass others say nothing.

Like at home Sunday Masses usually have more people around with the various ministers arriving in the sacristy.  Some of the more daring will try to "practice their English" on me.  While most churches seem to have only one Sunday Mass, it is usually well attended with organ and singing.

High Altar of the Church of St. John the Baptist,   St. Jean de Luz, France
Here King Louis XIV married Marie Theresa of Spain in 1660.

One example to show how welcoming some priests can be.  This past Monday was a holiday here in France.   It was the Monday after Pentecost;  a bank and school holiday.  When I arrived at the Church of St. Jean the Baptist for the 6PM Mass it was cancelled because there was a holiday concert that evening in the church.   After asking around for another church etc.  I was brought to the priest who brought me to the rectory chapel so that I could say Mass.  He was by far the kindest priest I met so far.

On my journeys if the first day works out, I usually return to the same church the next day.  I tell them I am coming and they can expect me rather than start from scratch the next day.  Of course in Solesmes and Lourdes it was an entirely different dynamic.  I have been told that along the camino it will be easier as other priests have preceded me through the years.

All that for Mass on the move!

Living Abroad

The other day I got reprimanded by a friend of mine for surfing the internet while in France.  I noticed he published some comments in the "Pray Tell" blog and I emailed him.  He thought I was wasting my time.  "You're in France!  Why are you reading my comments?"

Yes, I am in France.   And God willing on Friday I will climb the Pyrenees and cross into Spain through the Roncevaux Pass.  But a five moth sabbatical is not a vacation where one tries to do everything at every moment.   If I did that than I think I would be less rested than when I began.

So how is living abroad different in my eyes?  Well, I never take breakfast and usually eat my one big meal at midday.  Oftentimes I buy my food at the supermarket rather than going to restaurants. It's a fraction of the cost and most supermarkets have prepared sandwiches which I'll get as well as some fruit.  One of the great things about Europe and France in particular is the amount of public park space where one can sit to have lunch.  I've never stopped for coffee or a drink in one of those cafes in a big tourist square or in the shadow of a cathedral.  For supper, I brought some granola bars with me or I will get a crepe or something light if anything at all.  One of the challenges is that supper begins here around 7:30PM and it is even later once I cross into Spain.

Most stores in southern and rural France close for repose from 12noon until 3PM.  People enjoy their dinner and time together before the long afternoon.  Most stores are open until 7PM at least.  Depending on the weather and where I am I might rest up as well.  I'll use this time to work on this blog or to check out news on the internet.  Not all of the places that I have stayed at have had TV and only a few have had CNN or BBC in English.  Through the web I have been able to keep up with all need to. Sadly the news is not always good but it has been exciting to follow the talks and actions of our Holy Father.  And thanks to incrcc.org I even know the weekly collections at Incarnation.  Another blessing has been the opportunity to write extended letters to friends and do much missed reading.

In the evenings I turn in much earlier than the tourists do.  Unfortunately, I all too often hear them returning from late dinners or drinks on the town.  If I have a TV I might watch some football (soccer for you Yanks!) which doesn't matter what language it is covered in.   Sometimes an English movie might be on the TV with subtitles.  Just the other night I saw the classic "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?" with Joan Crawford and Betty Davis.  All too often, though, there just seems to be laundry to wash in the sink or plans to be confirmed or reworked.

Throughout the day I try to visits the various sanctuaries, sights and parks each place has to offer.  Usually I try to travel from place to place between 12noon and 2PM when most hotels ask you to vacate the rooms.  I'll make future posts about concelebrating (saying) Mass in the various French local churches and why I love train travel.

So I'm happy I'm not running around like a tourist.  And while I have no steamer trunks and entourage I am very much living abroad.