The Camino Of The Sister Britches- Arriba Y Abajo
“Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy. “ - Pema Chodron
“Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” - Roald Dahl
“ARRIBA! ABAJO!” - The Battle Cry Of The Sister Britches, Caroline and Paige
The odyssey of The Sister Britches did not really begin until Caroline and I had been in Madrid for a couple of days before leaving our hotel to walk to the Atocha Train Station, which should have been a simple ten minute stroll. Of course, the 10 minute stroll did not take into account that Caroline has a long- standing packing disorder. Her suitcase is huge, purple, with tiny inadequate wheels considering its size and weight. She named her suitcase Barney. I never liked that show on PBS, and I never liked that purple dinosaur’s namesake, either. Barney the Suitcase was a cumbersome beast. I wish I could say that the Sister Britches had a love- hate relationship with Barney, but there was really no love involved after about 10 minutes. Trust me, my suitcase, Silver (named for the Lone Ranger’s horse) was not petite, by any means. Silver was more compact however, had sturdy wheels that GLIDE, and a handle that did not wobble and threaten to snap off.
By the time we had been misdirected by 5 different ticket agents as to which of the two floors of platforms we needed to be “Arriba,Senoras.”UP the escalator we would go) , “Abajo, Senoras.”(DOWN the escalator we struggled) , we were laughing to keep from crying. Finally, we had the presence of mind to ask a WOMAN wearing a Renfe lanyard, who sent us to the proper floor which I cannot even remember now. The “Arriba and Abajo-ing “ was foreshadowing of Coming Events, but we were blissfully unaware at the time.
Although The Camino has no hard- and- fast rule for where it begins, St. Jean-Pied-de-Port is generally acknowledged to be the beginning of The French Way. Caroline and I ended up there on a beautiful Sunday morning and explored the narrow, cobblestone streets that oozed charm and history. The Basque influence was everywhere, as well as the scallop shells of The Camino and shops catering to peregrinos(pilgrims) who needed to buy trekking poles, rain gear and souvenirs.
We were awakened in the pitch- black hours of early Monday morning to the click, click, clicking of trekking poles striking cobblestones as pilgrims wearing headlamps got an early start. It was thrilling and inspiring to know we were about to begin, just not in the dark. We were about to be truly tested, exhausted, inspired, enchanted, frozen, soaked and over-heated for eleven glorious days. We would meet people from Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Zambia, The United Kingdom, France, Germany, The Bahamas, Canada, Ireland, Iceland, Scotland, Sweden, Puerto Rico, Spain, and the United States. We would have the privilege and pleasure of walking every day with four people we had never met and never would have encountered if not for The Camino. We had all booked our unguided tour through the same company, Fresco Tours, and so we were all staying in the same hotels and inns along The Way. For eleven days, Fiona, Michael, Chin, and her husband John, Caroline and I shared meals, conversation and a walk across the Pyrenees that bound us together as friends for a lifetime. It was an unguided tour, we were not obligated to walk together, hang out together, be anything but polite to one another. Before we left Texas, I had told Caroline that there are beautiful gifts that appear during the pilgrimage; all we really needed to do was be open, be aware and expectant. Our four new friends were, and are great gifts to us. Our little band of pilgrims walked and talked our way “arriba y abajo” for well over one hundred miles of mud, ancient Roman roads, loose rocks, cool mountain pastures covered with sheep and wild ponies, village and city streets, pouring rain and blazing sun.
Sometimes, when I was not sure I could continue putting one foot in front of the other, I would concentrate on Michael telling a poignant or funny story about the junior high kids he used to teach, or Chin and Fiona discussing the map and where we should stop to have a picnic with all the cheese, bread, Iberico ham, fruit, nuts and cookies we had bought earlier in the day, or John and Michael discussing baseball playoff scores, or Caroline telling a story that was slightly off- color but hilariously funny and made me laugh until I cried along with everyone else even though I had heard it before.
We shared our heartaches and our best days from the past, our family stories and careers, our hopes and dreams for our children, grandchildren and ourselves. We spoke of what was wrong and what was right in our world. Honestly, I cannot tell you with certainty the political preferences and persuasions of any of my new friends, but I can tell you that we agreed on everything of significance, which I have found to be true more often than not with people I encounter. I find so much comfort in the universality of shared joys and concerns.
Opening up myself to the magical, mystical grace that is present on The Camino is the easy part. The difficulty comes in bringing home that spirit of expecting to be “Surprised By Joy” as C.S. Lewis wrote about in his book of the same name. Perhaps expecting joy seems like a counterintuitive, or impossible task. If grief is inevitable, isn’t joy to be expected, too? Keep on walking, keep on hoping, keep on believing in the magical power of Perfect Love in an imperfect world.
Oh, and if you go walk The Camino, look for Sweet Caroline and me. The Sister Britches are already planning to walk from Ponferrada to Santiago de Compestela sometime in the future. Barney will NOT be making the trip. Caroline’s Camino Miracle was being healed of her packing disorder.
Love and Grace,
Paige
