robertcdeming

I’m writing a series on substack

https://open.substack.com/pub/robertdeming/p/cold-war-flying-stories-953?r=ejkiw&utm_medium=ios

I’ve done several Camino’s in Spain, but not the northern routes (Del Norte and Primitivo). A trail friend tempted me to walk Primitivo beginning October 1st.

It is typical of other routes in Spain in many ways; you will meet people from all over the world. Most pilgrims seemed to be from the Netherlands and spoke English. I detected no one with spiritual or religious intentions; hiking in nature was the top objective.

There were a lot of pilgrims, although it never felt crowded. Many albergues were full and it seemed necessary to call or book ahead for beds, although only one day ahead. This was particularly true as you neared the Hospitales Route split in the trail.

This ancient trail is wild and wooly and would be a challenge (or risky) in bad weather. It’s 21 km without any villages or services, up and over tall round grassy mountain tops.

Then after all the steep up’s all morning there is a terrible steep down in a ravine. It is one step at a time. When we reached the Albergue at Berducedo were both exhausted. Normally, it was just me who was exhausted, but Rachel took to her bed for a few hours of recovery.

The trail was generally good and took you through tiny villages and farms and herds of cows. The yellow arrows and monuments were everywhere. There was a second huge down the day after Hospitales but it turned out to be a gravel road, not steep or difficult footing, down to a reservoir.

We interacted more with locals on this trip, as there is a local economy outside of the Camino. People were all friendly and helpful and many greeted us in the villages.

We had some excellent pilgrim meals, which are of necessity sparse: salad with garlic soup, garbanzo bean soup, and always bread. Lunch was bread, cheese, and “ham”. Albergues are high energy places, full of enthusiastic people from 18 to 78 speaking languages from the world. Sleeping in bunk beds in mixed dorms.

We ate at restaurants too: my last night we had an outstanding meal of padron peppers, pulpo, and caldo Gallego.

I decided to leave the trail at ten days in; I was exhausted, and another week of walking wasn’t appealing. I have the sense this may be my last Camino. My fabulous hiking partner, Rachel, has a partner who would be joining us then, and it seemed like an appropriate time. Then two days before, I caught a cold. Walking on cold meds is possible but you need to have someone lead the way. I am extremely grateful for Rachel’s companionship and leadership on this Camino.

This Camino is more physical in the first half as you go up into the mountains, but eases up. We started in Oviedo on October 1st, and the weather was generally good for walking.

When I left for Spain on the first of May, 2017, I had no idea how much my life was about to change. I’ve been blessed with amazing friends and I’ve survived the adventures, too. I’ve walked Camino’s in Spain, France (80 days total), Portugal, 35 days total. I’ve walked into Santiago four times.

I’ve also walked the St FrancisWay -Florence-Assisi-Rome (28 days), Italy Coast 2 Coast (18 days), England Coast to Coast Path (16 days), West Highland Way (8 days), Triskelion Pilgrimage on the Isle of Man (4 days,twice!), the Robert Louis Stevenson Way in southern France, (15 days); 10 days on the Via Francigena in Italy, 6 on the European Peace Walk, 21 days on the California Mission Trail. How did I pull this off?

I’m writing a collection of walking stories, and my next focus will be getting it done. Many of the stories are from the Camino, but the first is my Marathon at age 12. The title is “Always Pee Before the Village.”

See you down the road.

Robert

We just spent two weeks camping and hiking in Switzerland; I’ll give you some impressions. We had an advantage, in that we spent four days with Swiss friends and got their opinions on places to visit. We also ate well at their home, including a traditional raclette. We were able to find interesting and beautiful places.

We attended two community theater performances, this one in Yverdon-les-Bains; the presentations were in French, which I didn’t completely understand. Too many words and too fast for me to understand more than about half. But, its live performance, and that adds energy to your life regardless.

We did a day trip from Sion to a mountain village called Grimentz. Although touristic, it was small and cute and we ate lunch in a small restaurant.

The Main Street though old Grimentz was well interpreted throughout.

We ran accross an artist painting on a beach on the lake by Lausanne. Josette had a long conversation with her and she gave us a book of her paintings. They are bright and uplifting and perhaps one day we will have something of hers on the wall. This painting is 5 meters long and has taken her most of the summer.

This is the Saturday market in Yverdon-les-Bains. Its the real deal, on a pedestrian-only street downtown, and what a fun place to hang out. Our friend knows this vendor and they had a long conversation. We saw lots of fruit orchards, and these are freshly harvested. There are also lots of interesting shops for random wandering shopping experiences.

We went to visit a friend who is an armorer and saw his final part of a restoration of a suit of armor from the 1500s. I asked about the symbol of village his workshop is in, a lobster missing its right claw. He didn’t know the origin, but ChatGPT did: the town was split into two and one side kept the lobster and the other the right claw.

One morning we drove the switchbacks up to parking (free!) for Torrent-Neuf.

The beginning is a 500 meter walk to a cafe where the trail begins, where you can fortify yourself with coffee. A bottle of local white wine is also available for 20 CHF if you need more fortification.

We walked along the irrigation ditches -bisses-built beginning in 1410 and spanning 4 kilometers. Some of them are wood troughs hanging off cliffs, some are dug into cliffs. There four passareles (suspension bridges) on this route. There is lots of good interpretation of the history, too. You may be surprised that the hundred year old photos show many women working alongside the men.

We camped 5 km short of Zermatt and took a shuttle to the town (you can’t drive in the town). It’s all hotels and restaurants and shopping and is pedestrian and bicycle only, with some exceptions- small electric taxi-vans.

We took a cable car up the mountain $65 each) and did some hiking. The highlight was the perfect view of the Matterhorn.

We met two groups of Americans hiking up there. It’s easy to spot Americans by clothing and their accent. Many people were speaking English up there, but Americans stand out.

There was a point in my life when I could have climbed this peak, but I had neither the money nor the time. That time is past.

There is a large downtown for tourists. We hated it. Too many Americans! on the plus side, there are very modern public toilets (free!) and the Matterhorn. I suggested that we get an ice cream; Josette said she would rather have ice cream with the happy woman at the campground. We found our way back to the pickup point for the 5 PM shuttle, but just barely. I told the happy woman what Josette said and she said the ice cream was “offert” for us and told the cashier not to charge us.

This bus with 19 passengers camped near us by Zermatt, too. It is a traveling hotel. Each of those small windows is a sleeping berth. Seating is up front, meals are cooked and in good weather served outside. They use the campground bathrooms (which were quite nice). They are on a two week tour of Switzerland. it looked like a fun group. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rotel_Tours

We spent a lot of time driving up and over mountains on well built but narrow roads. There is usually a hotel, bar, and restaurant at the top.

We spent four nights in Sion. This bisse trail begins at the city limits and follows a bisse for 10 kilometers. We walked two kilometers to a winery where tastings and meals were available. We didn’t partake (Josette doesn’t care for wine, and then there is the money issue.) it works be a great way to spend a lazy day, but we had already been up the mountain to walk Torrente-Neuf.

Sion had a huge event downtown- a mountain bike race. It was an energetic place, and I was surprised that I loved it.

We camped and did most of our own cooking, and it was still expensive. RV parks are $75 per night and restaurants and even grocery stores pricey.

Think of it like this: the Texas State Fair meets Llano Earth Art Fest. In the nearby town of Libramont there is an enormous agricultural fair, (20 Euro admission). A couple of villages over, near Tournay, is Le Petite Foir Paysenne, the Small Farmer’s Fair (free, by donation). Most of Belgium is agricultural land, rolling hills and forests; today we have a green landscape with puffy white clouds and a 75 degrees.

Should you attend a fair like this: come hungry, bring grocery bags or a small wagon, and lots of cash.

Beginning to end, you will be smelling and sidestepping sheep dung all the way to Robin Hood’s Bay.

Westerly winds. If a gust comes from any other direction it may knock you off the path. Few people walk the trail east to west for this reason. For us the strongest winds were in the Dales.

Most days are spent on long uphill sections. In the mountains, trails are limestone with lots of loose rock and big step ups, and you must watch where you put your feet.

In the Dales, there is a section called “the Nine Standards.” In it are long sections of flagstone trail and more being built. Lots of the flagstones were repurposed; one had 1837 nicely carved on it and many had old iron fasteners embedded. The flagstones are there because when it rains a lot, it gets boggy, and walkers sink in. Some have to be rescued. In 2012, Ann saw a woman up to her waist in a bog and sinking. This gives “stay on the trail “signs more urgency.

When I was there, walking solo in the early morning, it was raining sideways (a local told me that was the only way it rained up there.) Good rain gear is essential to your enjoyment and perhaps survival.

In the Lake District, a vacation destination for the upper income, when you are in a pub or inn, look under the tables. That’s where you will find the dogs, beautiful dogs with long ears and curly hair. Perhaps someday you will be able to rent a dog to lay at your feet.

In the Dales, to find the dogs, look for a farmer. If a farm vehicle comes by, you will see a farmer in a wool cap with a black and white border collie sitting next to him in the passenger seat. We had a great conversation with this friendly farmer and Panzer.

There is always beer. Out of curiosity, you will try all kinds of local beer with great names and labels, most around 3% alcohol, and without any distinct flavor. Eventually you may settle on Black Sheep or Timothy Taylor beer. Beer is offered in 1/2 pint and full pint glasses and the bartender will ask which size you want. I never saw a 1/2 pint poured, but they will ask you anyway. I heard about Old Peculiar Beer on the trail but the only time I saw it, the keg was empty.

I had enough full English breakfasts to last the rest of my life. I never did eat more than a bite of the black pudding. Otherwise, it was good fuel for a hard morning walk.

Pretty much everyone offers fish and chips, and sometimes it is very good. The best I had was in Chippy in Shap.

We stayed in a lot of different kinds of places, from youth hostels to hotels and inns, and this fabulous B&B near Patterdale. It’s a little farther than you want to walk to a pub or inn for dinner, so they offer this fabulous charcuterie board. This was probably the most beautiful place I’ve ever stayed. The hosts are wonderful and you can buy wool items at a gift shop run by mom.

We stayed at the Beak Hills Farm, B&B, which is an authentic farm stay. They have 200 sheep, but no longer run cows. But it’s a real farm, and she cooked a big meal for us. It was not fancy cooking, but it was authentic. Her husband had a collection of hunting horns, and played them for us. We had a very interesting conversation about hunting and farming in the Dales. Her mother started this business for walkers in 1976. They are very nice people.

The trail is well signposted and guidebooked (we used Cicerone and their GPS tracks). This trail is often done in 14 days but we took 16. We planned and made our own room reservations but hired Coast 2 Coast Packhorse to carry our gear. (Though I never needed what I had in that gear bag and could have made it fine with my 25 L daypack.)

We each picked up a stone from the Irish Sea beach and carried it to the North Sea beach at Robin Hood’s Bay.

There were five of us on this walk, and we made the plans in June and July just after completing Italy Coast 2 Coast. We all met on trails and have walked together before, except the other Texas guy. His initiation was walking the Camino del Norte the summer before, and he turned out to be a strong walker and great companion.

Another adventure in the books.

I know little about northern Belgium, but in the south, in Wallonia, spring is mild temperatures and only occasional rain. Here are some ways to enjoy this marvelous country.

Just outside of the tiny village of Beheme, near L’Eglise, is a festival celebrating old farming traditions. There was a parade of old tractors, horse shoeing, demonstrations of plowing, and steak on the grill. You have missed this year’s fete, but there are many. Local tourism offices will help you find others.

Gran Feu de Vance

There are end of winter bonfires all around between February and April. They are big parties with music and lots of good Belgian beer. Our community bulletin listed these events .

These New Orleans style events are all around, also February to April. Carnivals often run for a week.

We do quite a bit of walking in the forest here. This is the forest d’Anlier, a part of the huge Ardennes Forest. There are trails and marked routes throughout. Walking in the forest is relatively speaking, less spectacular than walking, for example in the mountains in Wyoming. However, they are calm, quiet, refreshing, green, and at this point full of singing birds and flowers. We take these walks, leaving from our front door. We also end up going through fields and sometimes a nearby village.

Between Martelange and Bastogne is an old narrow gauge railway converted to a paved hike and bike trail called Revel. It doesn’t quite get into Bastogne, but comes close. There are numerous small villages along the 22 kilometer trail and the grade is up towards Bastogne, but not ever steep. A great day would be riding to Bastogne for lunch.

The Revel has quite a bit of interpretation along the way, about the railway, but also WWII. Near this place, the Hunters of the Ardennes unit of the Belgian Army faced down an overwhelming force of Germans. Their job was to slow down the German advance, which they did, at a loss of 26 killed and 30 prisoners.

The US Army’s biggest battle in Europe was the Battle of the Bulge, December-January 1944-45. Monuments and interpretation abound. They get a lot of Americans visitors here.

There is a community theater in a village just outside Bastogne which has a very different kind of program. We joined them for four presentations in four different locations around the village, connected by a walk of about 1 mile between each location. The play was a comedy, set in the village, And it ended, of course, with beer (Orval -a world class Trappist beer made nearby-$5, and sausages $5.) I didn’t understand all of the story, but it was just fun to be along.

We had a long conversation yesterday on our bike ride along the Revel with the owner of restaurant where we had eaten dinner the evening before. He raises the trout, his wife serves them in a restaurant. I recommend it!

When I have visited Rome, I am surrounded by American voices. Here, I am the only American. The Belgian people are very friendly; here they speak French, up north it’s Dutch and English. There are B&Bs scattered all around and bike rental opportunities. Most medium size or larger villages have a tourism office. Walking trails and bike routes are well marked. Prices are about half what I see in Texas.

Yo visit this area, fly to Luxembourg, which is only a few miles away and also has lots of historical tourism. The entire country is the size of Gillespie County, Texas. There is a new tram circling the city which now also connects the airport to the central train station. All public transportation in this country is free.

Mount Lycabettus Pilgrimage

In Greek mythology, the goddess Athena was said to be carrying a limestone mountain to build the Acropolis, but was startled by a crow speaking to her, and dropped the mountain. She left it there, and eventually it was called Lycabettus Hill, or Lycabettus Mountain. It is 324 feet to the top, 909 feet above sea level, and the highest point in Athens. It’s name may have come from “where the wolves walk”. There was a temple to Zeus on the top for centuries, but about a hundred years ago the chapel of St George was built on it’s ancient foundation. It is now a popular tourist destination, and has a funicular carrying visitors to the top, where there are also a bar and a restaurant. 

In 1966 there was only the trail and the chapel. I was in the 9^th grade in the Halandri Academy, a high school catering to the children of American military  and businesses men, with a few Greeks whose parents wanted them to learn English. One of those Greeks was my friend Haralabous (Harry) Bousberelis, and he invited me to spend the Easter weekend with his family. They lived in a high rise apartment building in a downtown location. In the 1960’s Easter was a big event, similar to Christmas in the US. On Good Friday his parents drove us to the bottom of Lycabettus Hill and dropped us off in a very busy place where the hike to the top started. The climb started in a pine forest. The paved trail was busy, and there was a solid line of people all the way to the top. It would have been a significant effort for many of the people there, but for a pair of 13 year olds it was not challenging.  I didn’t know what pilgrimage was at the time, but for the thousands who climbed that evening it surely was a spiritual journey. By the time we reached the top it was dark, and small plaza outside the tiny Church of St George was completely full of people. Following tradition, we had candles with us, and soon a flame was passed from the candle on the altar to the crowd outside. We lit our candles and began our way down the mountain. The steady stream of pilgrims walking both up and down the mountain soon all carried lit candles, and I remember being awed by the sight of the candlelit zig-zag trail.

I don’t remember how we got back to Harry’s apartment; perhaps we walked or took a bus and I don’t remember much else about the weekend. On Sunday we had a big traditional Easter Sunday lunch in their apartment. I can imagine what was on the menu now, but I only remember one dish, because it was such a surprise to me. The family had been fasting, and Sunday was the end of the fast, and it was a huge meal. Harry’s big celebration was drinking a big glass of milk, all in one gulp, denied in the fasting of the prior week. A bowl of boiled potatoes cut into cubes came around to me, and they looked great, so I took a big helping. The shock was that the potatoes were cold, and coated in olive oil. I suppose it was the Greek equivalent of our potato salad. I ate everything, as I was trained to do; growing up in a family of seven meant that there were never leftovers, and you ate what was offered.

I remember another Easter weekend in the village where we lived, Glyphada, a suburb of Athens. There was harbor full of fishing boats and old sailing ships, and a large paved plaza with a stone dome-shaped church. The plaza was full of people, and at midnight on Easter Sunday morning men emerged from the church carrying a litter with the statue of one of their saints or relics. They were followed by a band of sorts, and there was singing and chanting, and people were greeting each other in the traditional Greek Orthodox manner: Χριστός Ανέστη (Christos Anesti), Christ is risen, to which the response was Αληθώς Ανέστη (Alithos Anesti), He is risen indeed. This tradition continued in my family for many years. There were also hard-boiled deep red colored eggs, which you would crack open by tapping your egg into that of another person and making the statement of faith. There were fireworks and joviality and energy, and I have wondered since if there wasn’t also a good deal of ouzo or wine. Another Easter Sunday tradition was barbequing a lamb, which we did at the house of some Greek friends, in their front yard, over a barbeque pit dug into their bare earth front yard, using a spit made from some branches of a tree in the yard. We turned the spit often and basted the lamb with melted butter and lemon juice. The home was quite modest and most likely the residence of a Greek Evangelical Church pastor named Kiriakakis, my dad’s best friend among the Evangelical pastors. The state sponsored church was Greek Orthodox, so the Evangelicals were the outsiders, the equivalent of protestants, and were a small but enthusiastic group.

I have participated in many Easter traditions in the years since, but none have come close to the energy and enthusiasm of the Greeks. I believe these traditions have as much to do with community and spirituality as any particular religious belief, and I hope some of this still exists. However, as I write this in Belgium, here these traditions are disparu, disappeared, lost in a single generation. I have never liked the greeting “Happy Easter”; I see Easter as a time of reflection, a call to consider the larger picture of my life. How did I get here? Where am I headed? What is truly important?