16 April 2011

 In the morning Ian delivers me back to the Bordeauxstation in what we both think will be lots of time. Fate intervenes. At the ticket wicket, I present my papers with proof of purchase. The agent looks at the paper, looks at the computer screen, looks again at the paper and, after some moments, says (in French) “The tickets were printed yesterday.” I say “Not by me.” He then enlists the assistance of several other agents, who all examine the screen and my papers with great interest but little illumination. By now it’s 15 minutes to train departure. I ask if I have to pay again. “Oh, non, monsieur”. More time passes. More scratching of heads. Finally a supervisor is called in. She looks at the screen, looks at the tickets and says that everything is fine, all seats are reserved, but I must pay. So out with the trusty credit card and pay – again – for my set of tickets that will take me fromBordeaux all aroundFrance on four trains for ten hours to get to Le Puy en Velay. I get my ticket, find track 6, find car 12, find seat 66 and am on board with five minutes to spare. What if I had no money?

 The trip to Le Puy is long and circular. There is no train service east to west in central France. Bordeaux is east, Le Puy is west, so the train goes from Bordeaux in flat agricultural (vineyards) country south to Montpellier – where I see the Mediterranean, an unexpected pleasure, change trains for Lyon, heading north-east, change trains in Lyon for St-Etienne heading west and again in St-Etienne for the last train to Le Puy. I almost blow it in Lyon. I think that I have a two-hour layover, but the train is behind schedule (unheard of  in Europe) and I have about ten minutes. I get to the right track and am about to get on the train, when I read the routing on the side of the train. No mention of St-Etienne. I ask a redcap – it’s not my train. It pulls out, another pulls in – this is my train. I would have gone off in the wrong direction. I haven’t done that in almost 50 years.

On the train from St-Etienne, the entertainment is provided by two young clean-cut seemingly competent young men who pull out a parcel, two large sheets of wrapping paper and Scotch tape and proceed to “wrap” the parcel. Charley Brown and Linus could have done it better. When they are done, I am sorely tempted to ask to take a picture of the finished work, but I suspect they might be insulted. Across from me sit two male teenagers, big grins on their faces as they tell me that they don’t speak or understand a word of English. Apparently this is a matter of pride for many young French today. It’s a shame. Why wouldn’t you want to speak more than one language? I am finally starting to feel excited about this journey.

 This last train is like being in Norway: many tunnels, running on mountainsides beside a fast river. It is a three-car train and makes a very satisfying clickety-clack as it runs over the track. The area here is called Rhone-Alpes, describing it quite accurately. It has been sunny and warm all day.

 An observation today. I have seen literally thousands of people today at the various train stations and on the train. Not a single one – not one – is obese. Very few are even chubby. It seems to me that this is a terrible indictment of our North American life style and of our whole lethal food industry. They are killing us for profit.

 In Le Puy, a city of about 29,000, the only flat parts are the river valleys; the Loireand the Borne merge here. The rest is very hilly, very steep. My gite d’etape (hostel) is next to the cathedral in the old town, at the very top of the hill. It is directly under the famous, but ugly, statue of Our Lady of France, situated on top of one of the “puy”. At the train station, a local woman suggests that I take a taxi up my lodging. It is very, very good advice. It’s steep and the roads are irregular stone cobble, much of it volcanic rock.

 I check in to the gite, run by the Franciscan nuns – I am greeted by two young nuns – and given my room. Unexpectedly and very pleasantly, it is a single room with a bed, wardrobe, spotlessly clean, toilet and showers nearby and a French door directly on the street. When Karsten arrives tomorrow, he will have a room next to mine.

 The huge statue of Our Lady of France, directly above my gite,  has an interesting history. It was created in 1860 from 233 melted-down cannon taken from the Russians in the Crimean War. There is a British and Canadian connection as well. The British took Russian cannon, melted them down and formed the medal of the Victoria Cross from them. So every Canadian who won a Victoria Cross in every war after that has a little piece of Russian cannon on his chest.

Less than one hour to fly from Frankfurt to Paris, then about two hours to get out of the airport. I have to get my baggage … which has arrived safely, so that is one big concern out of the way. Then I need to get a SIM card for my phone, exchange some money for Euros and find a bus that goes to or near Gare Montparnasse, from which I will be leaving tomorrow morning. I discover that my hotel is on Rue du Maine, not Avenue du Maine. This takes a while. It is already 4 PM when I am supposed to meet my cousin Roger and his wife Jackie, who have come from north ofLondonto see me today and are staying about 5 km from here. I find a cab driven by Marc Etienne Monet, 50s, fleshy face and body, no English, and who is very excited when he finds that I have come toFrance to walk the Chemin de St.-Jacques. His wife walked it some years ago. I meet Roger, Jackie and Will Inrig, grandson of old friends. Will is studying here in Paris. I thought he was studying film, which he was, but now he is studying Fine Arts and will start at the Sorbonne this fall. We walk down the street to a small brasserie on the bank of the Seine and have drinks and a light dinner. It’s wonderful! Jackie asks me probing and thoughtful questions about why I am doing this and I answer truthfully, “I still don’t know why.” She cautions me, very sensibly, about trying to recreate the experience. After dinner, I say goodbye to Roger and Jackie, promising to meet again soon and Will takes me off to Montmartre to see the lights of Paris at night. Then he generously gets me back to the door of my hotel. I use the European plug adapter for my cell phone to charge it overnight. This will have fateful consequences.

Sorry about the lack of news.  I am in the Auvergne district, specifially the Haute Loire (think back of beyond) and there is very little Internet or WiFi here and what there is, is spotty. I will catch up when I can.

13 April 2011

 It’s just after6 PM and I am once again sitting in the departure lounge at Ottawa International Airport. I am heading out for Paris via Frankfurt; once again I have given my precious backpack to Air Canada to get safely to the airport in Paris. I did ask to see the baggage tag and it is indeed to CDG, Charles de Gaulle in Paris. My plan was to put the backpack inside an old black suitcase. The plan failed because when I tested the suitcase at  ValueVillage, the zipper that I tested was, unbeknownst to me, for the expansion section of the suitcase. The main zipper was non-functional and I didn’t realize that until a few hours ago. Happily, Carroll had mentioned something about a nylon carrying bag for backpacks and I had picked one up at Mountain Equipment Coop. It works fine, so the package on the baggage belt is a non-descript black nylon duffel bag. Shouldn’t tempt anyone.

 I almost came without my trusty Tilley hat, on to which Carroll has sewn a lovely pink scallop shell from the west coast of Canada, a happy gift from Mary Virtue. I had my hat on when I got into the car to go to the airport, then put it down between the driver’s seat and the centre console and promptly forgot that I had done that. When I got out at the airport, I picked up my backpack and my carry-on bag, then realized that my hat wasn’t there. I was prepared to leave without it. Carroll got into the driver’s seat, then jumped out triumphantly with the hat in her hand. What a relief … and not an auspicious start to the trip. I must not leave things behind!

 The weather here is gray, cool, a little rainy, very low ceiling. It would be good walking weather. I have no idea what to expect when I get to Le Puy. I hope that it is at least clear because I want to get some photos of the town’s major features.

 14 April 2011 1030 AM

I am now sitting in another lounge, this time inFrankfurt. I am between flights, waiting for the plane toParis. It’s sunny and warm here. The flight was uneventful, as all flights should be. Because I have lots of Aeroplan points, I flew business class. That meant that I had a little pod all to myself, a seat that reclined into a bed and excellent food and service. Seems a little bizarre, flying in luxury to start an 800-kilometre walk, but what the hey, it’s my camino.

1230 in Paris. I am here and so is my backpack. What a relief!

I have less than 24 hours now until I leave Ottawa for my walk across France. Yesterday I had the last opportunity for grandchild therapy for the next 10 weeks. My son Christian brought the grandchildren to Ottawa for the weekend so that I could spend time with them. I am prepared to go, feeling calm and wondering what in hell I was thinking when I decided to do this.

Today I bought a small light carrying bag for the backpack so that I don’t have to carry the pack everywhere. I still plan to use the cruddy used suitcase I bought for $10 to disguise the backpack when it travels without me. This is my plan for having my pack take the same planes that I will be on tomorrow. I will let you know how this works. I will be wearing my boots, carrying my rain jacket and all electronics that are going with me. Also my guide book the Miam Miam Dodo book from Le Puy en Velay to Saint Jean Pied de Port.

I get an uneasy feeling when people talk about nationalism or about patriotism. That’s because I believe that these terms are code for inclusion and exclusion based on geography or, more historically, on tribe. Nationalism and patriotism, like tribalism, are based on inclusion in a group that, by definition, excludes all others. When it is tribalism, at least there is some kind, however loose, of family or clan connection. But nationalism is a loyalty to something that is quite artificial – a political entity based on defined geographic borders.

I love the country which gave me sanctuary when Hitler was threatening to invade Britain, in whose Armed Forces I served for 25 years and in which I have spent most of my life, but I don’t think that Canada, which is an artificial political construct, should rank higher in my loyalty than a true friend.

As E M Forster said; “I hate the idea of causes, and if I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country.”

The word patriotism has been hijacked, in my view, by politicized people who want to define anyone who doesn’t agree with them as less patriotic or even as treasonous. George W Bush gave this approach a huge boost after the destruction of the twin towers, when he said; “If you are not with us, you are against us”, leaving no room for the civilized discourse that is the real trademark of democracy.

So I am a Canadian and a proud Canadian and I would die, if necesary to defend my country … but I am not a nationalist or a patriot in the narrow and modern sense of the word. I haven’t yet heard the term used in Canada yet, but I expect it any day now that we have a federal political campaign underway.

I am sitting here in the Maple leaf Lounge at Vancouver’s airport, waiting for a flight that will take me and Carroll back to Ottawa after a whirlwind visit to Vancouver Island. A couple of months ago I was invited to be the keynote speaker at the annual meeting of the Victoria chapter of the Canadian Company of Pilgrims on Saturday 2 April. I was delighted to be able to accept. Since Carroll and I had very little experience of the Island, we decided to make it a short holiday as well.

We flew out on 30 March in time to attend the annual Moreuil Wood lunch of the Armoured Corps in Victoria, where we met friends whom we had not seen, in some cases, since the ‘60s. Following that, we went off to stay with Mary Virtue and her delightful husband Les Foster, who put us up for the time we were there. On Thursday we drove up to Comox, where we spent an overnight with old friends (and a fellow helicopter pilot from Germany) Bob and Joyce Goldie. Their daughter Lauren drove up from Victoria to spend the evening with us. She now has beautiful grown daughters. The last time we saw Lauren (who was then Laurie), she was a tall gawky pre-teen, already showing signs of her beauty.

 En route to Comox, we visited Chemainus, where the town has commissioned wonderful mosaics on many of the stores’ exterior walls. We also visited Cathedral Grove, a stand of preserved old-growth forest. Some of the trees there are over 800 years old. It felt like a visit to Jurassic Park and I kind of expected to see dinosaurs peeking around these enormous trees. I cannot imagine what it must have been like when the island and much of the mainland was covered in these awe-inspiring trees. I want to come back, find one of these stands of old-growth forest, then sit in it for a few hours to feel whatever feelings come up.

On Saturday, we spent the day at the Salvation Army Citadel, with about 140 caminophiles. About a third had already walked the Camino de Santiago and the other two-thirds want to. I spoke immediately after lunch, and the audience’s enthusiastic feedback inspired me to new heights. After four years I still love telling the story and it was enormously gratifying to have a welcoming audience. (I also sold a lot of copies of the book, A Journey of Days!).

 Riding on a high note, Carroll and I went off on Sunday morning to have lunch with Gene and Claudette Lake, an old military friend from Germany days. It was Gene who had suggested, when he discovered I was coming out to Victoria to speak, that I get in touch with Cadboro Bay Books. Patricia, the owner, was very gracious and set up a reading for Sunday afternoon. The tiny store was filled to overflowing and the audience was attentive, then asked all kinds of questions. One person told me that it was like I was speaking directly to them. I find that kind of comment very satisfying, since it means that I have really reached them.

 So now it is only a week until I leave. Almost time to panic!

To my surprise it’s been over three weeks since I last added anything to this blog.  It isn’t that nothing has happened; it’s just that I really can’t believe that readers are interested in the details of my everyday life.  Frankly, I think they would find it boring.  Since I am less than three weeks away from embarking on my next adventure in Europe, my life is starting to get a little busier.  A couple days ago I had a phone call from Berlin.  It was Karsten calling.  My first thought was that he was cancelling, but he wasn’t.  He just wanted to talk about where we are going to meet in Le Puy. (You may recall that he is the young German who walked with me for a couple of weeks on the Camino de Santiago four years ago. He is going to walk with me for a few days.)  I had another call a day later from England.  It was Roger Sage calling to tell me that his most recent attempts to contact me by e-mail had failed.  I am meeting Roger and his wife Jackie in Paris on my first day in Europe. Roger is a favourite cousin, whom I haven’t seen for about 15 years.

On the home front, Carroll and I are busy getting ready for a short trip to Victoria where I have a couple of book events early in April.  I feel very honoured to be the keynote speaker for the Victoria chapter of the Canadian Company of Pilgrims at their event on 2 April at the Salvation Army Citadel in Victoria. The next day from 2 to 4 PM I will be at Cadboro Bay Book Company, where I am invited to speak … and with a little luck, sign some books.

Travelling could be interesting. Carroll had surgery early in March to correct surgery that she had had a year earlier. She has been cautioned by the surgeon to do no exercise other than walking and to not lift any weight greater than five pounds for the next four months. Her purse weighs more than that! That means no carryon for her unless I carry it.

While on Vancouver Island we are also going to meet some friends whom we haven’t seen for years.  Two of them are former helicopter pilots with whom I flew in Germany and several of them are armoured corps folks with whom I served in the distant past.  We also plan to visit Butchart Gardens, which I have only seen in winter and that Carroll has never seen. We fly back from Victoria late on 5 April, so that on the morning of the sixth I can do another book presentation here in Ottawa for the Ottawa Newcomers Alumnae Club.  Then it’s only a week until I leave.  The checklist is complete and the gathering of the contents of the backpack is well underway.

A different kind of event! I will be departing Ottawa on 13 April for another extended walk in Europe. Carrying his backpack, I will start my walk in Le Puy en Velay, France, then walk over 800 kilometers west and south to end in Pamplona, Spain, walking over the Pyrenees enroute. This is another of the ancient feeder routes of the Camino de Santiago in Spain and has been travelled by pilgrims for well over 1,000 years. I expect to be in Pamplona by the end of May. You can follow my on my blog at https://guythatcher.wordpress.com.

Tomorrow I will be 74. Yes, I know that it’s only a number. But it is a number that a lot of people will look at and then dismiss everything else about me because I am OLD. Frankly, it is a bit of a surprise. It shouldn’t be; I have had 73 years to get used to this.

A week ago, as part of my training for the French part of the Camino de Santiago (properly Le Chemin de Saint Jacques in France) I walked from Carp to Kanata, about 13 kilometers. Not a long walk but it was bitterly cold. The wind was strong and biting, but always from my back or a rear quarter. I walked for the first 45 minutes with cold hands, but they eventually warmed up. A few days later I walked 18 kilometers in a big loop from my house. Both walks were with my backpack loaded with enough weight to simulate the real load. Then I walked another three kilometers that evening, for a daily total of 21 km. That is the farthest that I have walked in a single day since 24 May 2007, when I walked the last leg of the journey into Santiago. It feels to me as if I am ready to go.

Another six weeks and it will be real. I am getting anxious about it. I have to be careful not to overextend myself in training. How much is enough, how much is too much, how much is too little? Will I be able to do this? Will the body hold out? What unexpected curves will the journey throw at me? Still, it IS an adventure and I want it to unfold in whatever way it chooses to unfold. All I have to do is be there.