What is a Pilgrimage? Getting there! (Part 1)

The above is a question I need to work on as it will be the subject of my second class for The Psychology of a Pilgrimage study abroad program for the summer of 2020.

But first, a little background.

Thinking back to when I might have first heard of Pilgrimage and I’m guessing it would have been in some movie or maybe school.  I certainly did not send me off on a quest to experience such a phenomenon.  I am sure that tales of King Arthur, the Green Knight or the Crusades may have caught my attention at some point but again nothing to send me trekking off down unfamiliar roads just because.  I’ve often thought that putting 40 or 50 pounds on my back and traipsing up and down mountains to be rather ridiculous.  Nor have I ever been big on hiking great distances.  Mucking about in the wood or down a trail for a couple of hours was my limit.

So, a pilgrimage of any kind was on my list of something I saw myself doing for any reason until my friend Gary told me he was heading off to Spain to hike the Camino.  I first heard of the Camion de Santiago by reading the Shirley MacLaine book The Camion: A Spiritual Journey in 2001.  I remember thinking this was an interesting book until the flying saucers arrived along with extraterrestrial beings. I chalked the book and Camion up to New Age airy-fairy stuff.  Fast forward to 2005, and my friend Gary tells me he is going to Spain to hike the Camion.  I kidded him about looking for flying saucers, and I shook my head in disbelief.  He is to be gone for almost three months, and I’m worried I’ll not see him again.  However, he finally returns, and I find him to be a changed person.

We met for coffee to talk about his travels.  It was hard for me to put my finger on it, but he was calmer, more self-assured, with a spiritual presence about him I’d not experienced before.  He had turned in to a wiser person someone I could turn to for help with difficult life problems.  I waited as months past to see if the old scattered Gary would return.  At times he did, but for the most part, he was a renewed person.  I pondered this and from time to time thought about taking this walk. After dealing with Cancer in 2005, I began traveling to England in 2006 to fulfill a dream I’d had since seeing a picture of my Dad riding a bike down country lanes with his buddies while stationed in England during WW II. That photo was the impetus for my travels.

 I’d return from my travels and meet up with Gary for dinner or coffee, which inevitably led to his encouraging me to walk the Camino.  By 2010 I’d followed the trail of King Arthur, been to France looking for Lancelot, rode through Wells searching for Merlyn, found a family in Liverpool and Austria, and spent a good deal of time riding about Europe with my friend Mark.  I remember sitting on my bike thinking about where to go next, and of course, this Camion thing came to mind for my 2011 travels.  However, 2011 rolled around, finding Mark and I riding around southeast England.  Destiny came knocking upon my return from an unexpected source.

A friend of mine came into my office and says, “I’m going to be fifty next year, and I want to walk the Camino.  My boyfriend does not want to do it. Will you go with me?”  Without giving it much thought, I say “Yes”, and we begin to plan our adventure. May 2012 found us in Paris where we would begin our pilgrimages.    

In the summer of 2012, I find myself on a pilgrimage from Paris to Santiago de Compostela with my friend Lisa. We were on a Pilgrimage which consisted of riding a bike through parts France and Spain, hiking, getting separated and reunited by chance, many wonderful conversations, drinking lots of wine, laughing our butts off, great food, crying, more laughing, meeting new people, and a reunion only found in movies. It turned out to be a trip of a lifetime which created an inseparable bond between us.

New Tent

My Bike

 The pictures are of the second bike I purchased in England. If I remember correctly I purchased it from Stonehenge Cycle in 2010 and is a duplicate of the bike I have at home.  I just picked it up from Hayball's Cycle shop where it lives when I'm not in England.  This is how it looks when I drop it off and head home.

Tomorrow I'll add the rear panniers and head out to the campgrounds in Hudsons Field I think.  I have almost a week before the Festival starts so I might just go on a ride for a week. We'll see tomorrow.

The opening the panniers on the front is like receiving a gift every year because I don't remember what I left in them.  The trunk has a blanket which my friend Gary calls a poncho liner.  It is where I carry my non-perishable food when I ride; well some perishable also.  One bag will contain my house and bedroom, one my kitchen, one for dirty clothes and other sundries, and the last will be a pantry for more food, wine, etc...

Whats In Your Backpack

This year I carried the following on my travel to England:

Three Fast dry long sleeve shirts that roll up to short sleeve when needed.

Three Fast dry leg zip-off pants with zipped pockets for protection

Three Fast dry underwear

One pair of closed toe sandals. I have two pair using one while the other rests.

One sleeping map

One Rain Jacket

One Flannel Jacket

One Knee brace

Two outlet converters American to British for plugging into

Three additional outlet converters for Europe different from British

Twelve crunch bars for snacking

One headlamp (bought for me by my Camino friend Emily)

Two padlocks for use in hostels

The laptop I’m currently working on

Walking stick

Two fast dry towels

One bag weight scale

Eye Glass strap to hold glasses when I ride

One umbrella

One wool beanie

One ziplock bag full of assorted pills which needs to be cleaned out

One journal and folding file for receipts  

According to my scale, it weighs in at 20 Lbs

May 13, 2019: Back to England

For the first time in five years, I will fly to London Heathrow and not to Dublin.  For some reason known only to the airport operators and the airlines flying into Heathrow was cheaper this year.  I encountered the first problem when Mark and I arrived at Skyharbor Airport, Terminal three.  It seems that Delta is one of two major airlines that fly from this terminal.  I had an 11 am flight, and the place was virtually empty.  Breezed through check-in and as is our custom we when in search of a restaurant for breakfast. There is only a little expensive coffee shop available everything else is on the other side of customs.  This left us with a teeny tiny little muffin and a small cupa reclassified as large.

We said our goodbyes, and I headed to the Precheck line for a very quick security check.  I then headed to the gate to wait for my flight.  About an hour later I was on board and settled into my aisle seat.  We took off on time so far, so good.  Arrived in St. Paul Minnesota on time, which was great since by the time we landed, according to my boarding pass, my flight to London would already be boarding.  I rush to my gate, which as not that far low and beholds they had not started boarding on time.  I’m one of the luckiest that get to board early so off I go.  I get to my assigned seat and do a double take of the seat I picked. NO! this can’t be correct.

I always chose an aisle seat for the flight from Phoenix to whatever airport I’m flying to Europe.  I ALWAYS chose a window seat for the flight to Europe so that I can lean my pillowed head up against the bulkhead.  The ticket shows I had chosen an aisle seat for the flight across the pond. NOOOOOO!  Well, that’s that I settle in and await my seatmate which is always worrisome.  Skinny kid slides up and without so much of a how do you do says, “That’s my seat!”  I get up and in he goes put his earphones in losing himself in his world.

O.K.!  We are off for London.  After dinner accompanied by three free glasses of wine, I can usually go to sleep.  Well, that’s not happening so I watch a couple of movies see if I’ll nod off. Not happening.  There is one empty window seat in the very back.  I ask one of the crew members, all of whom seemed to be over 60 if I could sit there.  After looking at me like a deer in the headlights, she points to a vacant aisle seat. I attempt to tell her I already have an aisle seat, but she doesn’t get it.  Back to my seat and manage about two hours of sleep and then watch another movie.

Heathrow: walk for about 20 minutes to reach customs.  Once there the line seems to go on forever and I sware that from now on no matter the cost I’m only flying into Dublin.  Get through customs, get my bag, head to the train station which is in a different terminal. Walk another 45 minutes again swearing only to fly into Dublin. Get to the train station can’t by a ticket to Salisbury one of the customer service people never heard of it. “I’m a London person,” she states as it that explains why she can’t help a customer.  At this point, I opt for the bus, and off I go to the Central Bus Station.  There I purchased a bus ticket to a town called Woking where I catch the train to Salisbury.  I’ve done this many times and usually the quickest way to get there.

Woking: It was an enjoyable ride as the day is beautiful, all sunshiny, blue skies, and gentle breezes.  I enter the train station, which is busier than I’ve ever seen it. The ticket line is out the door, people milling about in what seemed like confusion as to what to do.  I get myself into a queue to purchase my ticket.  I’ve checked out the train board which tells me my train is delayed.  No big deal trains are delayed a lot in the U.K.   Reaching the ticket agent he tells me my train may be delayed up to three hours. What the  hell I think and say to him, “no worries, I’ll get there when I get there.”  He laughs as if thankfully I’m not going to give him a ration of shit for the train being off.

On the train platform, I do not hear the usual “mind the gap announcement.”  There is nothing but announcements about canceled or delayed trains.  So I’m psyched up for a three hour way, but as luck would have it 45 minutes later, I’m on the train to Salisbury.  I seem someone got themselves run over by a train closer to London is why things are all mucked up.  Nice train ride car is warm due to the sun shining in the window, and I’m nodding off.  Every year I have brought home from my travels a minimum of 100 Pounds and 100 Euros to be used the following year.  I have looked in the places I usually stash the money but can’t find it so thinking I left it home.  I’m thinking of taking a cab asking the driver to stop by a bank to get some money.  Upon reaching Salisbury, I decide to walk and enjoy the day which I do

After a warm greeting by the staff at the college, it’s time for a nap.  I arrived at Heathrow at 7 am, and it is now 3 pm.  I decided to take dinner at the college and then settle in for a good nights sleep and that is just what I did!

December 2018: Endings

LePera's Huntington Station New Years Eve 1960
Dad, Mom, Aunt Elise, and Uncle Red

December 2018: Endings

     And then she was no more.  December 2018 my Mom died.  We have some inkling that certain events will ultimately happen you know like people dying.  However, for me when it happened the thoughts I had over the years became a reality.  My Mother was Sixteen when I was born in 1943. After leaving the hospital, we went to my grandparents home where we would live until my Dad came home, hopefully, from WW II.  The house we came home to was build in the early ’20s and consisted of a kitchen, a bathroom,  two small bedrooms, and a parlor.  Living in the house was me, my Mom, her sister, and my grandparents.  Thus I became like another child of my grandparents with my Mom and Aunt more like sisters.  Thus we all grew up together of which I remember very little.

I know we all lived in that house together. I have pictures showing us all living together but no memory of it. Really at this point memories of that time have been on the wane.  I look at the old back and white pictures which stirs glimpses of memories around what was happening.  When I think back, I mostly find pictures stored in my memory of the house but no people until I’m about five years old.  I can see my grandfather remodeling some part like the bathroom.  However, there are no memories I can drum up of my Mom or Aunt at the time.  I know they had to be there, but they are not. Other family members come to mind but not them.

The reason I’m dwelling on this is that there are lots of relatives and friends of my grandparents that circulated through our home.  Almost every time I’d go to Florida to visit my Mom I’d make her drag out the boxes of pictures, and we’d look at them together.  I’d look at a picture unsure of who it was, and she would provide the names.  Once named I’d be able to connect to their stories in our lives.  We’d laugh or shake our heads over the memories of those stories.  That long-ago time was a world my Mom, and I shared that none of my brothers and sisters did. 

All those people in the pictures are now all gone.  Well until December that is.  My Mom was the last of them and her generation.  Because of our combined history, her generation was also mine more then mine was.  Although I was a war baby born in 1943, I did not grow up so much with that generation as I did with a generation of immigrants coming to America for a better life.  My life was influenced by the Victorian age, the roaring ‘20s, the depression, and a war. 

Now her stuff has all been sold off, and soon her house will be gone, there is nothing left to show she was a person of flesh and blood other than a few pictures I possess.  Pictures, furniture, clothes, jewelry and so much more are now gone.  A whirlwind came and made it all disappear, poof.  All the cliches of “she will always be with you in your hear, or she lives in your children” do not offer a person to sit with and reminisce about a life lived together.

When my Mom died, I experience the onset of profound loneliness.  There is no one left for me to say “Remember…” 

SALISBURY TOWN UK WALK AROUND 2018 JULY 21