Whispers from the Camino: No Freaking!
September 2, 2023
Pilgrimages really start the day that you commit rather than the day you take the first step on the trail. In the weeks leading up to my anticipated September 5 start day, I was already reflecting on what spiritual invitation was awaiting me. I have already alluded to the need to practice radical trust as I was stepping into this with no plan or guarantee for my financial security.
But I had another goal in mind as well—to keep my “freak out factor” at bay as much as I possibly could. I was walking into a completely new experience in foreign countries, with unfamiliar customs and currency, with different languages and a 500-mile route to negotiate on foot. Generally, the one thing I could count on was my physical ability to tackle an adventure that was at least mildly ambitious. But this year was different. I had injured my leg in a pickleball game nine months prior which forced me to postpone this trip by three and a half months. I wasn’t even sure my leg was going to be up to this.
I didn’t get hardly a wink of sleep on the overnight flight. No crying babies to blame or an extra talkative seat mate. I just was thinking and pondering what lay ahead of me over the next few weeks.
It was midday by the time I arrived in Paris with the eight hour change in time. As I departed the plane I knew that if I was going to freak out this would the moment it would show up. I do love the process of pilgrimages, but it often requires a great deal of problem solving that many people avoid by making arrangements ahead of time.
I needed to get to my room at Monastery Stays (old monasteries converted to dorm style lodging), clear the passport line, get euros and find the train that would deliver me to a good night of sleep. And I had to figure all of this out in a country where the only words I knew were “Oui” and “vin.”
I did well at the airport. It was all confusing to me, but every time I was uncertain about which direction I needed to take I simply asked, “Train? Train?” And people politely pointed me the right direction.
I was glad that I had made the intentional decision not to freak out. Just before getting to the train my phone stopped working. I knew this was going to happen soon after arriving in France, but I had hoped that I would have had a few hours to figure out how to get an international data plan that would cover France, Spain and England.
This meant that I couldn’t track my Monastery Stay location by GPS. I would have to rely on the train stops that were all written in French, of course. And I couldn’t download a map to help me get oriented. I had the address, the name of the place and the general district it was in. I found the district listed on the one of the routes and hopped on the train for what I expected would be about a 45-minute ride according to my pre-planning that I had done when I booked the place.
This is when it got interesting and I was pleased with how much I approached each challenge before me with a bit of trust and even a little playfulness, as if I was on a scavenger hunt. I was confident that I would reach my destination somehow, but it was clear that it wasn’t going to be a straight shot.
I think I was about two-thirds of the way toward my destination when the conductor began explaining something over the intercom. Of course, I didn’t understand a word and assumed I would just watch all the French citizens around me for clues as to what was taking place. We arrived at the next stop and every person got off. I sat there for a few seconds thinking, “Could it be possible that this just happened to be every person’s stop and I was the only one still going on?” The conductor came back on the intercom. I didn’t understand his words, but I did understand his tone. It was time to get off. Another passenger who spoke English informed me that the train had mechanical problems and we would have to find another train.
We all crossed the tracks and waited for another train. I was confused. Trains were going both directions and multiple trains were going the same direction, but to different destinations apparently connecting with other routes.
I took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to freak out. A train slowed as it neared the throng of us and everyone was getting on this one train. It seemed clear that this was the train I needed. But by the time I arrived at the doors it was overstuffed and even if I could have squeezed in I didn’t like the idea of being trapped in a train that I wasn’t even sure was the right one.
After studying the maps and routes above my head I was confident that I knew which direction the train was supposed to go. But the maps also showed two places where upgrades to the tracks were forcing trains to reroute. I knew I was going the right direction, but unsure if detours would take me further from my destination where a much needed bed was awaiting me.
I settled in and trusted that either I would get there or I would figure it out. Then, at one of the stops the train simply reversed directions and started going back toward the airport. It took me two more stops to realize that I was backtracking. I just started laughing. I am sure all the good French-speaking people knew what was going on, but I couldn’t find any rhyme or reason to this Paris train system.
Monastery Stays—Lanteri in Paris
I got off and waited for another train that was going in the same general direction I wanted to go. I could see my destination on the route map above my head and this time I delighted in seeing that with every stop I was nearing my lodging for the night.
In the end, the 45-minute train ride that I had anticipated took two and a half hours.
And best of all. I didn’t freak out! That’s how I wanted to start this pilgrimage—calmly trusting that I would figure it out one step and one stop at a time.