Adventure: Camino de Santiago (Part 1)

I first learned of the Way of St. James (El Camino de Santiago) a system of historic pilgrimage routes to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, almost 20 years ago from one of Paulo Coehlo's books. Tradition says that Saint James, one of Jesus' disciples, is buried there.  It's been one of the most important pilgrimage routes since early medieval times.  Some of the earliest records indicate that the route has been traveled since around the 8th century. 

There are different routes to reach the Cathedral in Santiago. The French Way  starts off from the French Pyrenees through the interior of northern Spain .  It’s the most famous and followed route of El Camino de Santiago. Then there's The Northern Way which starts off at the Basque Country follows the northern coast of Spain  (along the Atlantic ocean) and the mountains of Asturias until Santiago. It has breathtaking landscapes and it’s less crowded. Another route is The Silver Way  starting from Seville in Andalusia, and following an ancient Roman route which merges with El Camino Frances in its final part. If you enjoy a good hike then The Primitive Way or Original Way (Camino de Santiago Primitivo) crossing the high mountains of Asturias, is the ideal route. And The Portuguese Way (Camino de Santiago Portugues) from the Portuguese city of Porto.

The pilgrimage to Santiago has been one of my dreams.  In my bucket list, if you would.  Some of my friends have  made the long month pilgrimage, and is something that changes your life's perspective. When my kids are old enough, and I have reached that age where solitude and reflection become permanent guests in your house, I will walk to St. James Cathedral.

For some, it's a reflective walk, consecrated entirely to the spirit and surrounding nature.  For others, is a way to explore afoot the geography and culture of the region.  Both ways are acceptable as long as you take it to heart and know how to transcend your experience.  The road is filled with physical and mental challenges. The views are both magnificent and humble. You might walk past medieval dirt roads and creeks or Roman bridges and centuries old ruins, along side old monasteries, family-run farms, millennial forests, as well as through major town roads, crowded beaches, miles long prairies and rolling hills.   There are rest stops along the way. Old monasteries or abbeys that now cater to the pilgrim, as well as cafes to calm your hunger and thirst.  I love the names of some of these places, such as La Taberna de Gaia a medieval style tavern in Leon, right at the foot of a magical place with breathtaking views. These are places were spirits whisper in your ears, where ghosts might roam free, and where your warrior goes to battle with its ego. At the end, a new man is reborn.  A transformational journey that is worth considering.

I'm speechless amidst all this beauty! I admit that sometimes my adventures are more ethereal than terrestrial, but this is one adventure I would take in a snap. Just thinking that millions of people all the way from medieval times have walked these routes is mind blowing. What sort of things did they experience? What were their loads? These roads tell thousands of stories, nation states were being born, war and peace were clenched in battle with each other, and people's destinies were being forged as they walked these paths. I would love to be part of that. How about you? Would you take this adventure?

All photos by Jose Ant. Gil Martinez used with permission.

Expats + other musings and links

Look around and tell me how many people you know are from another part of the world.  You are probably one of them.  For many, the call to roam extends beyond just a holiday – it’s about creating a new work-life balance, and finding fulfillment in a different country.  More than half of all my childhood friends, and relatives are living abroad, scattered around the globe.  They have left behind family and a way of life that they thought would be with them until the end of their days.  Whether this [population] mobility is driven by social, economic, or personal reasons, it's happening everywhere, and our generation is living proof. 

When I was younger, the mere talk of living abroad was sure to bring oohs and aahhs  around the room.  We heard stories of blissful snowy days, and huge super malls, long spreads of beautiful parks, flower markets and street cars, where theaters played back to back movie premieres and even the water tasted differently. Almost everyone had a family friend, a close relative or a neighbor living abroad whose return visit was always filled with anticipation. 

Most of us have adapted (assimilated) so well to living abroad, we can't fathom returning to our place of origin.  We even consider the legal adoption of our host country. We like it where we are, and are proud of what we have accomplished.  We participate fully in our communities abroad and have made life commitments in this new place we call home.  Anthropologists call this "acculturation." Nevertheless, some of us still see our families and friends back home, and even look forward to visiting our beloved land as periodically as we can.  Often, in situations where assimilation is inevitable or just the next reasonable course of action, we end up as chameleons, rather than as proper  expats.

But what happens when you find yourself experiencing a growing sensation of identity confusion?   Most of our lives we have been taught that identity is nontransferable, spawning from our mother land, our family rituals and our unique ethnicity. How do you fuse this acculturation into your identity?  Some of us think about these issues at some point in our abroad lives.  By having children, and raising that generation, we unwillingly step further away from our parent's generation.  At some point, you start thinking about family plots, wills, and what the future would look like without the place you come from as the point of reference.  That's a question in mind lately. Suddenly, putting down roots seems intensely nerve wracking. 

Anyway, did you know that the UK, and not the US, has the greatest number of expats around the world -about 3 million.  The Expat Dilemma is one we have all faced at one point in our lives. And sometimes, the expats are our parents.  Speaking of expats, have you seen this witty movie about young expats living in Barcelona? And this book comes highly recommended if you want to cure the tingling sensation of eternal wanderlust.  But if you prefer crime thrillers, then this expat book is for you.


~Credits~
Image 1: Pinterest (source:  www. frenchcx.com)
Image 2: Photo of Lost Girl Lindsey Tramuta, Photo by Elena Rossini
Image 3:  The Talented Mr. Ripley, 1999 (Paramount Pictures & Miramax Films via Word & Film)

Motherhood: On souls

Being a mother has recently opened up some moments for deep thought and reflection.  I've always been a believer of transcendental things.  My daughter will soon be 15 months old.  Like pieces of a puzzle, her personality and temperament are fully taking shape in front of our eyes.  Every new sound, gesture, disclosure is met with wonder, but also with a familiarity that is sometimes revealing.  I feel like I've known her a very long time.  As if our souls have somewhat embraced each other in another life.  Is this what they mean when they say your children choose you?  Or deeper in reflection:  Do souls congregate with other familiar souls for the purpose of closing the circle of life?

I believe in reincarnation.  In the evolution of souls. Evolution is not just for living things.  If cells have a (micro-life) purpose, and are programmed to fulfill that purpose, why couldn't souls be same?  I believe souls have a (macro-life) purpose.  And sometimes, this purpose doesn't get realized in one lifetime.  Am I making sense?  I hope I'm not scaring you.  We are human beings after all, and our intellect is given to us not just for the purpose of elevating our material yearnings. We also have the freewill need to connect and (potentially) merge with the Unknown, whether you call it god,  fate, alchemy or mother earth. And the road to this is raising questions and finding answers wherever you think they hide. Actually, our purpose in life should be to attain harmony and communion of the material and spiritual halves. To me it makes sense.  To you, something else makes sense. It's fine too.

I just like to believe that when they say that God doesn't give us more than we can't handle, or life has a way of working itself, what they really mean is that each of us is born with a lifemap that facilitates our journey. And souls are part of that lifemap, guiding us in our search for harmony.  That these souls have something to contribute.  That they've been with us for a while.  A nurturing (symbiotic) relationship similar to the one inside the body.  At a cellular level.  That these souls are with us because we have lessons to learn, love tales to weave, and more importantly, experiences that will help these souls and us, close the circle of life.

My daughter's soul has been with me for a while. And my mother's too. I know this now.

On fortune

I know that every moment with you is a gift, a blessing and a memory for posterity.  And we are lucky to have those moments so frequent. No. Fortunate. You come, and when you leave, the house is never the same.  It starts with a closet, then a patio hose-down, and ever so subtle all the stains on the wall are magically not there anymore.  An action that somehow washes away the stains on my life-apron.  You run to the pharmacy on your last day and buy multivitamins,  eye creme, and refills for the swifter duster. You are concerned with my health, my beauty routine and my home cleaning.  And who wouldn't want this everyday? I'm a fortunate child. But, it's more than housework.  It's soulwork. 

Our conversations stay forever pending. Because we never run out of things to talk.  Even as you leave, I already have something new to tell you.  The more we talk, the more I have to tell you.  We are fortunate.  A mother and daughter who talk to each other.  There would be no us, if it wasn't for our talking.  To know someone so deeply is to find oneself. And we have found each other. And when I think of my daughter, I can't help but see myself in her, just like I'm with you. Do you believe in the possibility of this continuing on into the next generation? Can Emilu and I ever be this way?  I only dream so.

Here and now

{Photo by me}

Sometimes I have no time to do the things I love.  If I'm not tired, which is never, I'm backed up with housework, which is not the same as being up to my neck with mindwork (usually a good article I have put aside, or the email message from a lost friend,whose reply beckons 30 minutes of my life.) Most times, however, I'm simply struggling to complete a thousand things, which I've began simultaneously in a effort to multitask.

I tell myself if I had the time, this would be an award winning blog.  I would redesign, and go on a one woman-one blog, journalist exploration of themes I'd like to write about, and share.  My pictures would be edited and published in a flash.  My posts would not linger in the draft section for months. And my stories would capture the stumbles and tribulations of womanhood in modern times. Writing used to be second nature. Although never easy, it used to put me at ease.  Like a cold smoothie in a hot day; writing was my treat.  Now, it seems something I must conquer everyday.  Insurmountable and intimidating.  I started this blog when I was pregnant, thinking my creative juices would be flooded with hormones too.  But, it was the opposite effect.  A downward spiral of pregnancy symptoms, followed by a lack of sleep, then REAL lack of sleep when baby was born, and finally, exhaustion in so many levels.

I read many blogs, and every time I find a post that reminds me of something I want to write about or clicks a light on in my head, I immediately find an excuse to avoid writing. Why?  Fear. Insecurity. Tiredness.  Lack of drive.

I don't like this person, I don't even know her.  I want to start writing.  Something.  Anything.  Consequently, and things are always consequent, I decided to start writing. Period. And posting more about the things I want to write about. Period. The changes will be subtle, but permanent.  I will make time for my writing.  And this blog will log those hours.  Making an effort to live in the here and now,  instead of the If I or when I, will be an exercise in perseverance and submission.

Growing

Babies do grow fast. Makes me want to hit the pause button for a little while. Impossible. Time is flying. It's inexorable.

Movies on love

Image credit Liza Hirst

Sometimes you come across a quote or passage in a movie or a book, or a billboard and it leaves you breathless.  The other day I was watching The English Patient, one of my favorite movies and this passage spoken by Juliette Binoche, the nurse, is so haunting.  I wrote it down the first time I heard it.  

   "Betrayals in war are childlike compared with our betrayals during peace. New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything. For the heart is an organ of fire."

Photo credit Mar, Amar, Amor

My second favorite passage,

 "My darling. I'm waiting for you. How long is the day in the dark? Or a week? The fire is gone, and I'm horribly cold. I really should drag myself outside but then there'd be the sun. I'm afraid I waste the light on the paintings, not writing these words. We die. We die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we've entered and swum up like rivers. Fears we've hidden in - like this wretched cave. I want all this marked on my body. Where the real countries are. Not boundaries drawn on maps with the names of powerful men. I know you'll come carry me out to the Palace of Winds. That's what I've wanted: to walk in such a place with you. With friends, on an earth without maps. The lamp has gone out and I'm writing in the darkness."

The historical context of this passage goes somewhat like this:  The protagonist's lover (K) is dying in a cave.  In the dawn of WWII a group of historians, including the protagonist, are in Egypt on a archeological mission and some of the men are secretly employed by the British government, as in the case of K's husband, with the ground mission to basically alter history: They are redrawing the boundary lines of former colonies with soon to be modern states.  Of course, we now know that these boundaries are at the heart of some of the bloodiest  ethnic and religious conflicts in Mediterranean lands.

Reflection: Deep in nature

What is it about nature in repose that makes us feel connected to something big or important? Unlike us, nature just is.  A tree doesn't want to be someone.  A cloud is just a cloud. The fog knows how to be.  Sometimes I think humans are the most unnatural of beings.
 

{Photo by Andrew}

{Photos by la porte rouge}