Pathway To Heaven: over the Pyrenees at over 80.
My mother died at 83. It was on the eve of my father’s 90th birthday. Friends and family had gathered at a dance my parents went to every Sunday night. There was a catered lunch beforehand and a celebration afterwards with dancing, of course.
My parents were great dancers, often the first couple on the floor. They were “showoffs.” We indulged them. After all it was a special occasion. They danced the Anniversary Waltz, a fast jive number and were two steps into a tango when my mother went down on the floor. Her heart had stopped. She died in my father’s arms, as he tried to keep her from falling. Always a bit of an actress, she was costumed for the event in a sparkly dress, silver dancing shoes, hair coiffed and make-up on. It was a convincing performance.
This scene plays often in my mind. I am now 81. Do I have two more years or twenty-three? My father died at 104. My thoughts aren’t morbid. But they are challenging. Not that I feel I have to outdo my mother in her final act. I would just like to be as fulfilled, at the end.
What I am really hoping to explore in my pathway to Heaven is how to maximize my remaining time on Earth. How to elevate my experiences to be closer to the “divine” and how to leave a legacy of fulfillment when I eventually exit stage left.
I should also clarify, before I go too far my understanding of the word “divine.” Always when language is used, it comes with almost too much context. Divine has always had religious connotations. My sense of the divine is not from any organized theology. It is more in the sense of a “higher order.” There is the material world which we can understand through our senses and then there is the non-material realm, which is not on any sensory plane. It is an intuitive understanding. It is that “which can’t be said,” because language will comprise “it,” alter “it,” even corrupt “it.” It is this intuitive(ness) that I understand to mean the divine. How to define it? How do to get it? and what happens next? is the part of my pathway to Heaven.
To help me do all three of the above – maximize, elevate and inspire, I chose to walk the Camino France´s. It is longer, more challenging and historically richer than many of the other Caminos. How I first chose walking as the activity and the Camino as the route evolved over time.
As I have said before, I come from a long line of dancers and a shorter line of actors. Although I used to dance when I was younger, my late husband was not a dancer. He was, however, a walker. It was easier for me to walk with him than persuade him to go to a dance with me. I took the path of least resistance. I took up serious walking, when my husband was diagnosed with a heart condition. His therapy was to walk five kilomtres three or four times a week. I decided to walk with him. My first five kilometres nearly “killed” me. I was exhausted, developed a blister and stopped short of a divorce. I’m not sure I have ever danced 10,000 steps, but if I had, it was more fun! I persevered, though, with the challenge of walking. It became easier. We actually began to enjoy it. We went away for weekends to walk more interesting and more challenging paths.
I toyed with the idea of walking a Camino. My husband wasn’t interested. He had worked in market research all his life. Things had to be predictable. Caminos are not predictable. I continued to enjoy our predictable walks and forgot about walking a Camino. What we couldn’t predict was my husband’s death. He died at the age of 72 from Esophagal Cancer. I had lost my walking partner. Time passed and I realized that I needed to walk. I needed to put a lot of what was happening in my life into perspective. The Camino resurfaced as a random note on Facebook – “Groups you might like to join.”
How did they know? Well the Camino calls you when you least expect it, but when you need it the most. I joined several Camino groups on Facebook. I walked with a local group of pilgrims in Toronto, walking my way up to ten kilometres three times a week – fifteen when I walked with the pilgrims. Finally I walked the Portuguese Camino in April 2024 – 300 kilometres from Porto to Santiago in eighteen days. I carried a 12lbs backpack, stayed in hostels and managed without buses or taxis. I was 79.
I was elated. I wrote about my journey in Pathway to Peace. Somewhere along the way I decided that the activity to take me through my 80s (or however long I am spared), would be walking. Although I would love it to be dancing, it’s easier and more accepted in public, to walk alone than to dance alone. I cave to the conventional.
Before I decided to attempt the Camino France´s, I walked, as a dry run, the Camino Portuguese (coastal) It was another path of least resistance, because the first five or six days are flat, a boardwalk by the sea, with little or no elevation, unless you count the sand dunes. Could I surmount the Pyrenees? The only way to know is to try.
After completing the Portuguese Camino in April 2024, I didn’t walk for five months. Yes, I was tired. But, I had asked a number of questions of the Camino and I had to work through the answers I was given.
The Camino said:
1. Close your company – I did this in June 2024.
2. Stay in Canada – I was thinking of selling my house and moving to another country (maybe Spain).
3. Perfect your house and garden. I was looking for a project and it was right under my nose.
4. Enjoy your three (adult) children – I missed my kids while I was away for three weeks. It was an emotional message.
5. Write.
I wrote “Pathway To Peace” a book about my first Camino. Some people can put a concept on paper and be done with it. I couldn’t. The Camino wouldn’t leave me. It had my number and it kept calling. I started walking with the Toronto Community of Pilgrims, once or twice a week. I went once a month to the coffee meetings of the Canadian Company of Pilgrims – Toronto Chapter. I was looking for a reason to walk again. I was looking for someone to say, “piece of cake; you can do this.” Well no one said the Camino France´s was a piece of cake, but many said I could do it.
“But I’ll be 81,” I said.
“Pick a number,” they said. “Then walk that number of steps. Stop; drink some water; relax; repeat.”
I remember someone saying once that, “as you walk over the Pyrenees, you can almost touch heaven.” I thought if I died in the climb, then I’d be closer to my preferred destination in the afterlife. I thought of my mother dancing her way into another realm. There is something very ethereal about dancing, walking or in my case climbing into the next life….maybe.
And if I lived, I could write about the adventure. I booked my flights in November for the following September. I upgraded my tickets to be able to cancel 24 hours before my departure, ten months is a long time; anything could happen. In December I booked a lower bunk at Orisson and another in Roncesvalles. I would have booked accommodation in St Jean Pied de Port and Zubiri, but they weren’t open yet for bookings. I had to wait.
In January, I decided that I should check to make sure that I was physically fit enough to do an extended walk. I started taking my blood pressure. It was all over the map – 140/60 rising up and down in erratic patterns depending on the time of day, the amount of stress and the position of the arm, the cuff and the digital apparatus. I started placing bets on the outcome of various readings. I now know I will never play the horses, as my father had done. He lost too.
In fact one day I had a reading of 105/50. This couldn’t be right. I’ll take it again. 104/52. Still not right. I stopped after the third reading of 103/55. I was worried that I would end up in an ambulance heading for the emergency department of my local hospital.
I dutifully booked an appointment with my family doctor. I had a list of complaints. I couldn’t go in just for blood pressure. Ultimately everything was resolved and I wasn’t put on blood pressure medication, because the low numbers were too low and the high numbers were, as she said, just old age. Whew! I could now book medical insurance for my trip with a clear conscience.
In mid January, the snow came and I had to limit my walks to 9kms through Mt Pleasant cemetery, which is plowed. The ravines were just too icy. Of course, I could have done several loops through those plowed paths and walked 18kms or more, but winter depresses me, so I do what I can and hope for the best.
Once the ice melted, I was back with the walking group and managing 15kms over varied terrain. It was wonderful. A pilgrim, who had just completed the Camino France´s in September/24, gave me the name of the hotel where he had stayed in Paris. It was across from the Montparnasse train station, where the train leaves for Bayonne.
I was hoping to catch a train from the airport to Bayonne and then take another train or bus into St Jean, but I just couldn’t make it work. I would have to spend a night in Paris and get the fast train out the next day at 7:30am.
As an aside I am a big Agatha Christie fan and take pride in the number of train stations I have navigated, that are mentioned in her various mysteries. Montparnasse will add to my list of Gare du Nord, Gare de Lyon, Gare Saint-Lazare. Clearly, I have decided that my journey to St. Jean Pied de Port will start in Paris.
The icing on the cake, though, is that my sister-in-law will meet me for the day in Paris. She has decided to fly down from Edinburgh a day earlier, book a time slot for both of us to see the restored Notre Dame, which I am told is amazing. We will then have lunch and dinner together and a great old chat.
With my journey taking shape, I still had to work out a few bugs I had identified on my Portuguese Camino. I managed to have easy access to my water bottle by securing a clip on its screw top closure to a loop on the left strap of my backpack. I did have to stop it from bouncing around, though, as I walked. Fortunately, I brought a few bungie cords and used one to hold the flask in place – a MacGyver moment. However the wire ends of the cord kept getting caught in my very delicate merino sweater. I worried about holes.
2. I bought another waist pack with just one water bottle holder from Temu for $10.00. Not only was it a tight squeeze to get my water bottle into the holder, it also shifted my balance to one side and drove my symetrical brain crazy. I decided for $10.00 I wouldn’t return it all the way to China. I’ll donate it to a pilgrim cause.
How to make something very simple, very complicated – just give me some time. My other problem on the Portuguese Camino was the fact that my waist pack kept unclasping. It had a very sturdy “buckle.” It carried everything I needed neatly at my waist, but it would suddenly just unsnap!! I ran out of time in April/24, so I bought some safety pins and created a safety chain to hold the bag when the clasp didn’t. It worked except for the extra step of having to undo both a clasp and safety pin when I wanted to take it off.
I set out to find a better waist pack. I thought maybe I could get a waist pack that also carried water and I could solve two problems with one purchase.
1. I bought a Patagonia waist pack online for $100.00. I was euphoric. I was going to walk another Camino. I blew the waist pack budget. It arrived. It was the perfect blue of the Camino. I didn’t even try it on. I put it in my “Camino“ drawer and waited. In April, I tried it on. It was huge. It could have done duty as a daypack and then some. Although it was very large, the slots for water were too small for any of my water bottles. How could this be – too big, yet too small? Reverse it and it’s the story of my life. I couldn’t return it. I’d left it too long. I’ll have to try to sell it somewhere.
3. On one of the group walks, I noticed that a chap was wearing a cross body bag that carried water. That’s the answer. I found almost the same bag on Temu for $12.00 with a detachable water holder – even better. I ordered it, but had to buy $25.00 more from Temu to get it shipped. I might have said “no.” but it was the perfect bag. So now I am the proud owner of a pond fountain that doesn’t work, a hose attachment that I haven’t tried and a Titanium cutting board that I love!!
4. The cross body bag, although perfect in theory, didn’t work either. It was fine, good quality for the money, but I hated having a ton of “stuff” including water resting on my chest where I needed to breathe. I also had it as a rather bulky bib when I wanted to eat. Yes, I could take it off, but the whole idea is to NOT let your valuables leave your body – ever. Another donation.
5. I did some more research. I saw some crocheted water bottle holders that attached to backpack straps. I can do this. I found cotton yarn in my stash – black. I crocheted a water holder with ties – orange. Meh! It somehow didn’t have the cachet I wanted.
6. I ordered a water bottle holder on its own. It had an over the shoulder strap secured to a long pouch that held a good sized water bottle. I affixed it to my backpack. It was OK. But I looked like the sales rack at a Goodwill store. The Camino is not a fashion statement, but neither is it a dumping ground. I hated how I looked.
7. I am now back to doing what I did on the Portuguese Camino except rather than using a bungie cord, I am using some interlaced Velcro strips that look like a holder and they work!! Eureka!! I will use my Portuguese on again, off again waist pack too, rather than trying to replace it. I may try to find a better safety chain, but I am running out of time and patience.
I fretted over rain gear. I have a Decathalon poncho that goes over my pack. It’s a bit big, but it works. I took a cheap poncho from Canadian Tire on my last Camino only to have it shred in some rain and high winds. I also bought a rain suit – jacket and pants from Canadian Tire this April, hoping to avoid taking my Decathalon. I bought extra large to go over my backpack, but I forgot about my waist pack and water bottle. It wouldn’t close. I have to stop banging my head against these brick walls. Just go with what works and be done with it!
Through all of this re-working of my gear, I walked. I walked alone increasing the weight of my pack. I walked with various pilgrim groups, lengthening my walks and breaking in a new pair of the same shoes I had worn on my first Camino. In fact I walked my way up to 20kms one gorgeously sunny, summer’s day. “Say not the struggle naught availeth.” OK, I had a light pack. I then walked 13kms with an 8lb pack.
I’m now a week away from leaving and I have walked 20kms with a 10lb pack, broken in my second pair of exactly the same running shoes – Under Armour that I wore on my first Camino and started dealing with the last minute hurdles the Cosmos has sent me.
1. The plumber came today and stopped the toilet from leaking.
2. I have to get the number of “Mike the Mouse” guy, as the rodents have returned to the cupboards under the kitchen sink.
3. I have a dentist appointment on Wednesday to replace a filling that just fell out.
4. I’m reserving this space for the next shoe to drop. I still have seven days. I’m sure something else will happen.
Well the fourth shoe didn’t drop. In fact I was even able to stretch it. Please let me explain. I was having trouble with one of my “new” shoes. It was a little tight. I had tried a number of fixes but none actually worked. I could have gone to a shoemaker but being stubborn I decided to try to do it myself.
I found a semi circular cheese slice. It’s difficult to imagine and not very common. However it fit the toe of my shoe perfectly. I then had to find something to wedge it in. Tricky but never underestimate the versatility of IKEA. I have one of their garlic presses and it worked. I wedged the cheese slice to the toe of my shoe, secured it with the garlic press, poured boiling water into the shoe and let it dry. The shoe fits perfectly.
The last few days were filling in time. I trimmed the roses, tidied the compost area did a final clean of the house before changing into my Camino clothes and heading out.
My son insisted on taking me to the airport, which was busy with no obvious pilgrims. Well it was a flight to Paris. My flight to Porto last year had more people doing a Camino. I missed connecting with people before my flight.
There was absolutely nothing to watch on in flight entertainment. I know our collective IQ is slipping down dramatically but really if this is what passes for entertainment in the general public I’m so glad I have opted to read and write rather than watch some AI generated kitch.
We landed safely-always welcome. We were bused to a customs clearing area with several other flights in at the same time. Airports are always zoos. I was able to connect to wifi and let Rosa know that I had landed. I now had to find the shuttle train into the city and find Rosa. I have now been awake 22 hours.
Fortunately the adrenaline was still pumping and I was able to follow some people along a circuitous route that involved a tunnel to a train. I must have bought a ticket although I don’t remember. I somehow remembered the name of train station to disembark. I now had to find Rosa.
It’s really weird how travel works. Somehow you stand nonchalantly in a few places and suddenly your contact appears. Fortunately the station where I was to meet Rosa was very small. I walked in an out of the entrance several times, hoping by moving that I could conjure up my sister-in-law.
Well it worked. Rosa’s hotel was right across the street. She happened to be looking out of her window when she saw me pacing back and forth outside the station. She came over to meet me. I know this only happens in movies. But I’m glad it happens also in real life every once in a while. It also happened in Paris which is a magical city anyway.