Jo's Camino

I've been putting writing in this blog off for a week now, and it's about time that I simply sat down and wrote something, anything, to keep my readership - though destined to decline in numbers now that I'm no longer on the Camino - in decent figures and happy. It's not as if there is nothing to write about in the last two weeks - quite the contrary, there has been a lot of travelling and sightseeing and thinking happening. To overview the time that passed since we left Morations:

We spent just over a week in Barcelona, managing to arrive even after a cancelled bus, half a night in a train station and hectic train trip (switching in Zaragoza and not knowing where to go) on the way. Barcelona was a lovely city, and we were fortunate enough to stay in the empty apartment of a friend of a friend's called Coral, who was moving to Granada but still had the flat. She also came up for two days before we left. It as relaxing and lovely, completely unstressed and yet still interesting. We slepts lots, saw all the sights, went to museums and walked along the beaches eating icecream. We also were fortunate enough to meet some friends from home in Australia, who proceeded to take us to very fancy restaurants on the beach and beautiful cafes in the city and were alltogether fabulous and very, very sweet. Ever since walking for ten days with Charlie, the word fabulous has become a part of my everyday vocabulary.

We managed to get to Germany without any trouble, arriving by plane in Bremen, exploring the city, then catching a train to Hannover and a bus to the suburb where my (step)aunt and her husband live with their two gorgeous two girls, six and three years old, who have latched on to me and won't let go. It's been a lazy few days here, and a cold few days as well, seeing as the temperatures have dropped to minus six or eight degrees and we're all staying inside as much as we can, amusing ourselves with food, crocheting and baby-sitting. I also managed to double my wardrobe for 120 Euros - not a hard feat seeing as I owned a grand total of three outfits, including the Camino gear. I don't quite know how long I'm going to be staying here now - I'm going to the airport in Köln with Ariel and may stay a day or two in that city, about a week from now. After that it's just me - I don't think I can go on living in the three-year-old's room for another few months, she's anxious enough to get it back already, but people seem to be making plans for me to stay longer as well. I suppose I'll just have to see how things turn out after Ariel leaves.

Other than that, I've been thinking and planning a bit, reminiscing a bit in the city I spent two years in, and researching the route from Le Puy to St Jean Pied-du-Port for September. Everyone has been asking about the Camino and if something, anything, has changed in perception or worldview, spirituality, religion, whatever it may be. Well, I began walking without a religion and I am still not religious, and I can't say I've gone through a massive, dramatic catharsis either. But yes, something has changed, and it's getting more apparent the further I am away from my Camino. There is something. It's not big, and it's not dramatic, and I can't even put my finger on exactly what it is. But the experience itself was great enough to leave something a little bit different. Just a little bit.

Speaking of the Camino, once again, a question that has only just been resolved a moment ago when I finally remembered to google it. Everywhere I went, I kept seeing the words 'Caminante, no hay camino' in places - graffitied on the slats of beds and walls, on signs while walking, everywhere. And I always wondered what it meant and where it came from, because my halfhearted translation of '... there is no way' didn't seem to do anything. It's from a poem by someone called Antonio Machado, and the whole quote goes like this and is translated thusly:

Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar.
Traveller, there is no way. The way is made by walking.

And after the 800km of Camino I travelled, I cried reading it.