ganching

Father's Day

One of the most enjoyable aspects of walking the Camino is that it allows you vast amounts of time to think about stuff. One of the least enjoyable aspects of it is that it allows plenty of time for all the things that you don't want to think about to rise to the surface.

A typical day for me would be to get up around 6, shower, dress and then spend 20 minutes bandaging my poor, bleeding feet. I'd leave around  7 and then walk like a demon for between 20K and 30K with the occasional stop for a cafe con leche or a Kas.  I'd arrive at my next stop around one or two, check-in, shower, wash my socks and then I would have nothing to do other than re-read articles in the one copy of the London Review of Books that I had brought with me.  It's not quite true to say that I had nothing to do - my other options would be to go for a walk  (yeah - right) or go to sleep.   Almost every day I chose the latter.   After a long nap, I would wake up, get dressed, go out and find something to eat, come back and go to bed.   

Sometimes it would be hard to drop off due to the bright sunshine streaming in the window.  One night I was woken from a deep sleep by the noise of other guests arriving at the hotel.  Quite a lot of people walk in groups which requires them to have loud conversations among themselves in hotel corridors before they can go to their separate rooms.  This particular group were French and very animated.  They woke me up and I was really cross at how selfish and insensitive they were being.  I checked my watch.  It was 9.15.   As the sun was still shining it took me a moment or two to work out whether it was still the same evening or the next morning.

It may have been because of the all the time I spent on my own and the extra 4 hours sleep I was having every night (and day) but I had the most vivid dreams.  Many of them were about my mother and father.  One morning I woke up and it took me a few seconds to realise that I had been dreaming and I felt the most acute sense of loss.  In my dream I had suddenly realised that while my mother was dead my father was still alive and I could still go home to stay with him. During one of my afternoon naps I dreamt that I was talking to my mother and she was holding herself and laughing and laughing.  

I used to wonder when I was young how old people coped with all of their friends and family dying around them. I assumed that they must get used to it.  In fact I now think it is the opposite and each loss compounds all the earlier losses.

I miss terribly not having any "home" to go to.

It was the anniversary of my father's death when I was away and I lit a candle for him in a tiny, village church  in Galicia.  When I arrived in Santiago I went straight to the cathedral where the pilgrims'mass had already started. I thought about how proud he would have been of me that I had completed my 500 mile walk.

Today I am thinking of him as well and all the other people who have loss their fathers.

How British Airways Let Me Down And Why I Must Begin To Be Less Critical Of Easyjet (But It Is Still OK To Hate Ryanair)

Anyone who has ever glanced at this blog in more than a cursory way will have picked up that I am quite an anxious traveller. The first time I set off to walk the camino I was very, very nervous. Surprisingly the thing that worried me least was the travelling. I knew I had to catch a plane to Biarritz and then a bus to Bayonne railway station and then a train to St Jean de Pied de Port. What I hadn't factored in was that I would have to wait for several hours for the train to arrive and that when I reached St Jean I would find that my hotel room had been given to someone else and the horrid hotelier would be completely unapologetic.

On my second trip I was starting in Burgos. I planned it better that time and even worked out how the Alsa website worked so that I could check the bus timetable. I flew to Bilbao and caught an airport bus to the bus station where a very nice woman sold me a ticket for the bus to Burgos, unfortunately not for the bus leaving in half an hour but the one departing 5 hours later. As I recall the temperature was 35C and I had nothing to do but sit in a small park and read the Guardian from cover from cover while being slowly cooked alive.  I was less worried about the hotel I was staying in as I knew they would be open until late into the night. I arrived in Burgos  in the evening to discover there was a major festival taking place and the city was heaving with people many of whom continued to enjoy themselves throughout the night immediately outside my hotel room window.

This time I really did plan a lot more carefully.  I wanted to start in Astorga and after much research I worked out that I should fly to Madrid as there was a direct bus from the airport to Astorga.  I also finally worked out how to book and pay for my bus ticket in advance. I emailed the hotel and told them what time I would be arriving (around 7.30 in the evening).  I also decided to treat myself by flying from City Airport which is quite easy to get to from here.  The reason I don't use it is that the flights are more expensive as the low cost airlines don't fly from there.  I had almost two hours between the plane landing and my bus leaving.

What could go wrong?

The night before I left I went to bed really late.  I had just gone to sleep when it was time to get up.  I didn't sleep in.  City Airport is served by the DLR. I always feel like I am in a different city when I travel on the DLR and I have only used City Airport once before.  Rather confusingly City Airport station and the DLR station sort of merge into one another and it would, I imagine, be quite easy to be trying to change trains for Stratford and accidentally end up in Strasbourg.

I had forgotten it was half term so there were literally billions of people milling about.  I'd already checked in but realised there was some other process you had to go through.  After about 20 minutes I worked out that people were actually printing off their own luggage tags and attaching them to their bags.  (I suspect that soon you will be required to do your own safety check with the pretend oxygen mask and the pointing at the emergency exits and everything and I suppose  you will eventually have to provide your own plane.) There was then a massive queue to drop bags off.

Once I got through that I had my second breakfast and finally made my way upstairs to go through security.  I always fantasise that I will be selected from the common herd in order to be upgraded.  What actually happens in reality is that I am picked out but for additoinal security checks rather than a seat in business class.  I had the full body scan treatment which was just as unpleasant as it sounds and then finally I was in departures.

I checked the screen although I knew it would say "Wait In Lounge" as I was comfortably early.  With one exception this is exactly what it did say on the screen next to all the flights.  The one exception was the flight to Madrid where it said "More information will be available at 10 30".  My flight was due to leave at 9 25.  I will Draw a Veil over the next 5 hours apart to say that the British Airways staff were indifferent to the point of rudeness and that I became more and more irritable as each hour passed. I have never waited 5 hours for an EasyJet flight.

I arrived in Madrid at around 4.30.  The airport is huge and a complete labyrinth.  In order to get to the baggage reclaim area you need to take a train and then walk for many miles, up and down stairs and through shops and in and out of washrooms.  At the luggage carousel my rucksack was the second last item to appear.  I miserably made my way to the Alsa ticket office where a very nice woman sold me a ticket for a bus to Astorga - leaving in three hours.  I hung about the station with nothing to do other than read the Guardian from cover to cover and then got on a bus where I was sitting next to a woman who had escaped from an Almodovar movie.  Finally, at one o'clock in the morning, the bus pulled into Astorga.  Five minutes later I got to the hotel just as they were locking the front door.  The man doing the locking up was quite reluctant to let me in.  He grunted at me in an angry way and while I don't speak Spanish I do understand grunt.  Eventually he let me in and finally,18 hours after I left home, my holiday started.

It did get better after that. 

Home Again, Home Again

I am home.

It occurred to me when I was away that I have written very little about walking the camino and maybe it's time I did.

I got back on Sunday evening and had to be in work the following morning so I am very tired and can't wait for the weekend.  

I had some minor dramas and there were one or two occasions as I was washing out my blood stained socks when I wondered why I was doing it but overall it was a great success and I'm sure I've managed to obtain more than one plenary indulgence.

When I got back on Sunday night Traybake made me roast chicken dinner and I gave him his presents - a tin of tuna and a packet of quince jelly - and he told me how much he missed me.  I also brought down a tarta Santiago, which is a Galician regional delicacy.  I intended to give TB a slice of it however he mistakenly believed that I was giving him the whole thing and now refuses to hand it back.  I believe he has been eating it for breakfast every morning.

Galicia is very green and the weather is erratic.

I did one sentimental thing.  The little shell on the right came from my mother's house.  I guess that she picked it up from a beach in Co Antrim, probably Cushendun.  I carried it on the camino on my last trip and I took it on this one as well.  I caught the bus to Finisterre and I walked to the end of the quay and flung the shell back into the sea.  The shell on the left I picked up on the beach there and it is the only thing I brought back from the ends of the earth.

Finisterre, Sole, Lundy.....

One Day To Go

I am continuing my preparations for the Camino de Santiago.  Mostly these consist of rushing round and round in a circle feeling sicker and sicker at every turn.

The problem with going on holiday is that you have to do a massive amount of work to compensate for being away and deal with the anxiety that other people experience at the idea that you will be absent for more than 12 hours.  This is exhausting.  

I also have to do piles of housework as I cannot leave the flat in a mess as Traybake is looking after it for me so may well go poking around or worse still run his fingers along the surfaces to see how dusty they are.

Thankfully only one more day to go.  

Tonight the Titter of Wit Street inmates have been for dinner at the Best Turkish Restauarant in London as we were having an early celebration of Soda Farl's birthday.  The food was especially delicious this evening.

 I am not looking forward to  two weeks of pilgrim's menus.  A typical menu might be mixed salad consisting of tinned white asparagus, tuna and lettuce followed by a small piece of fried pork and a tiny portion of luke warm chips and all topped off with flan or possibly an ice lolly.  Thankfully they are very cheap and usually by the time dinner comes round I could eat my own arm.

After I got home I spent half an hour spraying all my belongings with some carcinogenic insect repellant.  It is questionable if I'll survive the night considering the amount of toxic fumes in this flat.  I have also put all my clothes in Waitrose extra large sandwich bags in an attempt to keep them a) dry and b) vermin free.

I have to keep reminding myself I am going to Europe and not back in time.

(There has been a horrible incident in London today about five miles from here.  Leaving the country for a couple of weeks is seeming more attractive by the minute.)

Packing List Camino de Santiago

I have started packing.

This is harder than it sounds as it requires a degree of ruthlessness which I do not possess.  It also involves decision making which again is not something I am particularly good at.  The problem with carrying all your luggage on your back is that you can't afford to bring anything "just in case" and there are certain absolutely essential things you have to leave behind like a laptop and books.

This is my third stint of walking the camino de santiago and I have learnt a few things a long the way.  The main thing is that carrying a rucksack is bloody hard work.

So my list is as follows:

Two t shirts  - one grey, one green, both drab but at least they are new from Uniqlo

One long sleeved shirt - checked shirt with sun protection, channelling a C&W singer crossed with a 1980s lesbian

Two pairs of trousers - one ladies pair and one pair bought in the men's department in TK Maxx. Both extremely unflattering and my bum looks very big whichever pair I wear.

One skirt - this is a knee length skirt made out of some very flammable material designed especially for walking.  Looks like something Brown Owl would have worn in the 50s (although would really have been made out of thick flannel in those days).  I love this skirt.

One fleece.

3 pairs of knickers 

2 bras 

1 pair of boots - I have had my boots for five years.  After the second time I did the camino they got very smelly and have remained that way ever since.  I have sprinkled them with baking soda as I read somewhere that it gets rid of stinkiness.  Seemed to have worked but I'm guessing that after the first day they will be as smelly as ever.

1 pair sandals - when you arrive at wherever you are sleeping for the night the first thing you want to do is take off your boots however unpleasant this is for everyone around you.

3 pairs of walking socks

I pair normal socks

One pair of over trousers - I bought these in Garvey's in Dingle in the post Christmas sale.  I'm hoping not to have to wear them.  As Galicia is often described as being like Ireland in the sense of it being green and wet I may have to wear them every day.

One rain jacket -  see above

Camera and charger -  I may be taking a photograph or two.

Phone and charger - I am only taking this in case anyone needs to contact me in an emergency.  My phone is more special needs than smart so I'll be using mainly as an alarm clock.

Adaptor for use in mainland Europe.

Tooth brush and tooth paste

Soap, moisturiser, deoderant, shampoo, conditioner and maybe, just maybe, a lipstick.

Passport - I have nightmares about losing my passport.

Credencial - in order to get into heaven you need to prove you have walked at least 100k into Santiago.  The credencial is like a passport and you get it stamped a long the way to prove where you have been.  You also need it if you want to stay in a hostel/refugio. Some people become obsessed with getting as many stamps as possible.  I am not one of them.

Guide book and hotel info - I have booked into a few places in advance but will be staying some nights in refugios.  Otherwise I will feel like a complete cheat.  The guide book is by John Brierly and there is a little too much guff in it about the inner journey but it is very handy for details of each days walk

LRB - weighs less than a book and I need something to read on the plane and during the 5 hour bus ride.

Crosswords and sodukos cut out of newspaper - again a substitute for a book.  I have been picking up Evening Standards on the way home from work purely to rip out the puzzle pages

Torch - as it will be midsummer it's unlikely I'll be walking much in the dark unlike last time.  However handy if you are staying in a hostel and need to use the toilet in the night.

Ibuprofen, tape and gauze, vaseline - On my last trip I got many blisters.  Eventually I learnt how to treat them.  Compeed is a complete waste of time.  On my first trip I got a really bad blister on the second to last day.  I made it much worse by using compeed and it looked like I had a stigmata for weeks afterwards.  There is a theory that if you put vaseline on your feet you are less likely to get blisters.

Small bag - this is a handy thing to have and not something I've brought before.

Insect repellent - last time I got bitten by bed bugs in a German hostel in Astorga.  It was my last day of walking and when I got to the hotel that night I had to wash most of my clothes in the bath. If I'd brought bedbugs home with me I would have had to sell my flat.

Water bottle 

Sleeping bag

Sun hat - I have a hat from Marimekko which makes me look like an eccentric Swede but it fits me and works very well to keep the sun off my face so a small price to pay.

Kerchief - channelling Dick Whittington

Walking pole - I used to think that everyone with a walking pole looked like a prat.  In fact not having a pole made me a prat.

Suntan lotion - heavy to carry but so worth it (but only if it doesn't rain the whole time.)

Large shell - I'm a pilgrim after all!

Small shell - from a collection which my mother kept in a jar.  I will leave it on the beach in Finisterre.

In theory you shouldn't carry more than 10% than your body weight; luckily this gives me ample room to play with. 

On The Road Again

In less than two weeks I'll be on the road again to Santiago.   I am exceedingly nervous about it.

The following things are worrying me:

Bedbugs, the smelliness of my boots, my snoring keeping other people awake, blisters, burst blisters, sunburn, trenchfoot, inability to speak Spanish, other people's inability to speak English, bores, bores who befriend me, religious nutters, being served octupus, rain, knee pain, not being able to find a hotel, losing my passport, getting lost, breaking something (camera, rucksack, leg), no access to internet, no books to read, nobody to talk to, too many people trying to talk to me, getting the runs, mad dogs.  

Apart from that I'm really looking forward to it.

How To Be Happy

Years and years ago I read an article about depression where various experts talked about how to be happy.

Dorothy Rowe suggested three things to do every day:

1. Do something physical

2. Do something spiritual

3. Do something intellectual

Like lots of good ideas this is very simple and in theory easily achieved.

 The physical part of it is the simplest.  Going for a walk seems to be the answer to almost everything including ill health, melancholy and world wars.  If everyone in the country went out walking for 20 minutes in their lunch break productivity would probably go up massively.  I sometimes hot desk at work and am struck by how filthy keyboards get as most people scoff their lunch over them every day dropping crumbs and other unspeakable thing in amongst the keys.

The spiritual thing is more problematic especially if you are non-religious and/or when someone describes themselves as "spiritual" it makes you want to boke.  As I recall Dorothy suggested if you are not the praying sort you could read a poem or do something that evokes a positive emotional reaction.

As for the  intellectual thing really this could be something as simple as reading a whole newspaper article right to the end - obviously this would not include anything gossip related or in the Daily Mail - or doing a cryptic crossword clue or two.  (In my case I could just allow Traybake to lecture me for 15 minutes every so often although this might defeat the whole purpose of the exercise which is about how to be happy.)

My April project didn't work out and while I have started a May project I think I might adopt this one as well.

I would very much like to be happy.  I will let you know how I get on.

Beigels And Other Small Comforts

Oh I am so glad to say goodbye to this working week.  There have been far too many slings and arrows for my liking.  Yesterday I got forwarded an email and made the mistake of scrolling down and reading all the emails that had preceded it.  In amongst them I found a really toxic message from someone much more senior than me which seemed to throw into question my integrity.  I was very, very pissed off.  Having learnt from earlier mistakes the first thing I did was send it to my boss.  She was, as I expected her to be, properly supportive.

 I can never decide whether it is better to be slightly naive about work matters and then be shocked at quite how shitty some people can be or to be  utterly cynical and expect the worst of every one.  On balance I still prefer to be the first even if occasionally I get caught out.

By the end of today, having talked to various people, I got the whole thing into perspective and I now feel slightly more positive.  

As it was a lovely day and a bank holiday weekend I left work early just after 5 and decided to walk part of the way home.  My office is a couple of miles away from Hipster Central AKA Shoreditch station so I decided to walk there rather than get on at an earlier station.

 The sun was shining when I left the office and the park nearby was thronged with people. Spring really has sprung here and the leaves on all the trees are out and the blossom is both bountiful and beautiful. My walk took me through Broadway Market and over the humpbacked bridge which spans Regent's canal and onto Goldsmith Row and Columbia Road.  I stopped off to buy bagels in Brick Lane.  (I noted that the prices had gone up since I took the photograph above.)  In the bakery I got three bagels and a piece of baked cheesecake.

 This weekend I intend to garden, clean and walk, walk, walk.  In just three weeks I set off again to Spain to finish the camino de Santiago de Compestella.  It may be a bit ambitious but I'd like to lose half a stone and get fitter in the next three weeks.  I need to get some practice going up hills so will have to find a suitably challenging walk.  I am thinking about Box Hill.

I can hear the front door banging which means that Traybake is on his way up for some shouting at the TV.

Later  - Traybake has finally left.  We were chatting as follows:

"You know sometimes I really miss Friday nights - drinking, dancing, shifting - that kind of thing.  There should be more to a Friday evening than cups of tea and gardening programmes and listening to you shouting at Newsnight.  I'm a woman, a woman made of flesh and blood with feelings...." 

"Why don't you have a bagel?!" 

"....a woman with needs!"

"Is that the time?  I have to be going!"

 I'm hoping the rest of the weekend gets better.

The Surly And Unsurly Nieces

I have had two weekends in a row entertaining nieces from Ireland.

The weekend before last it was the Surly Niece.  As always she was very busy and could only fit me in for a few hours here and there.  I shouldn't complain as she did cook dinner for me on her first night here as I didn't get home form work until ten.  On Sunday we went together to the Whitechapel Gallery and on Monday night Traybake accompanied the pair of us to the Best Turkish Restaurant in London (according to me and Tripadviser.)

This weekend it was the Unsurly Niece's turn. Unlike the SN she has only been to London a couple of times before so didn't have any parties to go to or dinner parties to attend.

I picked her up from Liverpool Street station on Thursday night.  I made her walk to Cannon Street.  TB claims I can go nowhere in London without going via Cannon Street including the toilet. I admit that I do like that station and the walk between it and Liverpool Street.  I thought it was important that the UN got a chance to see as much of London as possible including city boy and girls getting drunk on the pavements on a sunny Thursday evening.

On Friday morning I went for a run and then came home and accidentally looked at my work mail which resulted in me having to do some work despite it being my day off.  This meant that we didn't leave here until eleven.  We had a busy day planned.

First we went to Portobello Road.

The UN was not as enthusiastic about one of my favourite buildings as I expected her to be.

While there we went to the Lisboa cafe which met with her approval - in fact she claimed that the custard tarts there were the best pastries she had ever tasted.

I prefer the coconut ones myself.  I do like the junky Golbourne Road end of Portobello better than the more antiquey end at Notting Hill.

The UN failed to stop me buying some broken delft.

Afterwards we headed to the V&A to see more broken delft albeit more expensive broken delft.  The big Bowie exhibition is on there butI didn't even attempt to get in as it sold out weeks ago.  I liked Bowie but I wasn't a huge fan and the UN didn't really know who he was. Instead we looked at a lot of Ravilious china and some chairs and stained glass.

These are Jesus' feet as he ascends into heaven.  The window was made byHarry Clarke and if you are ever in Dingle you should go and see his work in the old convent chapel. 

We had a late lunch and then made our way to the British Museum to look at some mummies.  It was very, very crowded mainly with middle-aged Japanese and Koran tour groups.  We kept ruining people's photographs as they posed in front of coffins.  I don't really get the need for people to have themselves photographed beside iconic objects although I seem to be in a minority on this.

It was uncomfortably crowded so we decided to wait outside as we'd arranged to meet London sister at the entrance.  While we were sitting on the steps next to the sign saying "Do Not Sit On The Steps" I spotted a woman with long grey hair.  Since I stopped dyeing my hair I always notice women with grey hair.  She must have sensed me looking at her because she turned round and looked straight at me and smiled.  It was Mary Beard and I have to say she is actually very pretty.  I was quite excited but the UN didn't know who she was so was not impressed.

London Sister turned up and we went to the LRB cafe where, despite our earlier scoffing of pastries, we managed to force down large slices of chocolate Guinness cake.  We sat at a large shared table with four women who all had strong Northern Irish accents.  I assume the staff must have thought it was an invasion of female, Nordie cake and book lovers.

By this stage I was completely exhausted but there was still more to do.  London Sister sensibly went home while the UN and I walked to the embankment to catch a Thames Clipper to Greenwich.  It was a bit chilly but again a good way to see lots of sights.  I took millions of photos including one of Cannon Street.  There were a few tourists on board but quite a lot of people who were on their way home from work.  They looked like civil servants and had briefcases and drycleaning and bags of shopping from Tesco's and all of them got off at the piers near Canary Wharf where there is a great deal of soulless housing.

 By the time we got to Greenwich we were both freezing and dead with tiredness.  We stopped off at Pizza Express and then walked home.

 I think the UN enjoyed her day out but by the time we got in she was incapable of speech and had to go straight to bed.

I worked out we had walked for at least 12 miles and consumed about 10 million calories. It was worth it though.  

 

 

 

Two Years

 

For the day that is in it.