Gosh, my post from just over ten years ago, is poignant. (And as so much of this is about memory and memories, it confirms that it did occasionally rain on me before I reached Compostella. I know that I have often said that wasn’t the case. I guess a bit of welcome rain on a long climb really was welcome and rose painting things can justify removing it from the memory banks.)
If you are following this reprise of the ride, or just dipping in, I do recommend reading that post: continuing the “why do this?” story. The disenchantment with the state of the world hasn’t changed much at all in ten years. Actually, I think there is even more to hate about our species than there was was then: the invasion of Ukraine, Israeli genocide in the Middle East, the horrors of pretty much everything that Donald Trump and his acolytes and craven Republican party say and do (and the simple fact that he is president) and widely increasing racism, misogyny and homophobia pretty much all around the world.
I could go on and on couldn’t I? And perhaps what adds pain for me is the craven attitudes of successive governments of my own country (the UK, I have French residency but not citizenship) to the actions of Israel, to climate change and the UK contributions to that, to the destruction of public services, to fomenting rather than fighting xenophobia and racism. These all disgust me as did the Brexit process that started my semigration. Ugh.
Reading that post also underlines my continuing disgust at what has happened to the NHS. When I started working in the NHS in 1981 it was probably the nearest thing I’ve ever had to a religion and one important part of the pelerinage was trying to come to terms with how it had changed and how I could no longer work in it. The hurt has softened a bit over ten years but the anger if anything gets worse as I watch UK politician after politician, regardless of political party, dodge the question of the very low funding and see no-one admitting that this funding, with their relentless faith in managerialism, has destroyed so much that was good and efficient it. (I am not stupid, I recognise that the NHS was never perfect, no huge institution ever is.) I won’t bang on more now, disgust always threatens my capacities for positive feelings, for generosity and even my ability to see clearly.
The great bit in that post is being reminded of the lovely meeting in that shop in Saint Jean. I am also reminded that later that day, having pitched my tent and seen a bit of the town, I ended up in a bar discussing Basque identity, separatism and politics with a collection of people in their 20s and 30s. They were lovely, humouring my ignorance and gently proud of their Basque identity if probably glad that people were no longer dying for the separatist cause.
OK. I had hoped to catch up with myself today (if you see what I mean!) but I am tired and there is too much more to digest. A broken day on which to pause and recover some hope. More tomorrow!
[Restarting two days later in fact, 1.ix.26.]
Hm. That extra day reflects one sad aspect of the passage of ten years: my body isn’t as abusable as it once was. For the last three weeks, after sleeping in a soft bed with no real pillow, re-visiting Nottingham I have “cricked” my neck/shoulder/upper back and some days the continuing problem is enough to make working at the keyboard too sore, frankly too painful. Oh so much of me worked better ten years ago! “Où sont les neiges d’antan” (“where are the snows of yesteryear” is probably a fair translation but don’t trust me!!!). That was a favourite refrain of my late mother would say when lamenting changes in the world but also in her own physical state. (Her other comment, if asked how she was was “Not doing any high kicks”!) Well, well, I have just discovered that it comes from a moan about the loss of famous women from François Villon from 1461. Hm, that’s well before Mum’s period so I think I lost some of the history somewhere. I must steel my nerve and read this: https://www.ccfs-sorbonne.fr/ballade-des-dames-du-temps-jadis-neiges-antan/ when I can find time to get back to improving my feeble French.
I do remember that the day was both exciting, challenging and a bit anxiety provoking in probably varying mixes as the day went on. It was exciting and challenging both because I was rising out of the largely flat country I’d been crossing for days. However it was anxiety provoking because my French, though poor then and still weak, would, with a bit of gestural support and sympathy from the listener, get me through pretty much anything. My Spanish was “Una cerveza, por favor” and “Una cortardo, por favor” (my preferred Spanish coffee: a proper cup with just a bit of milk!) I saw problems ahead!
I think that gives a bit of a sense of the weather (I think I did get a rain jacket out once, which of course reduced the rainfall immediately!) and of the rising of the Pyrrenean foothills. I do remember that bits of the road were a relatively narrow for quite a lot of brisk lorry traffic. I was quite relieved when I made it to Saint Jean in one piece and in time to pitch my tent and still have lots of time for those good encounters. It’s not a huge time and
I don’t have many images of Saint-Jean which seemed small and lovely and absolutely centred on the stream of camino walkers (and the odd, or very odd, cyclist) going through.
That last image has its own story that has sort of matured in the last year or two. That chanteuse, with her daughter (I assume) were sweet though I thought her version of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” was, well, personal. The back story there was that, though I did know the song, I had never really rated Leonard Cohen so I just admired the woman’s obvious pleasure in it and the feeling that someone could maybe live, on those steps, on the coins from the travellers. Last year an interview with the remarkable CMAT or Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson made me listen to “First we take Manhatten”, which took me to this recording https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoSJmjNxK8U which has all sorts of other resonances for me with my Norwegian in laws. That made me realise how badly I’d misjudged Cohen all these years. Layers of memories, magical moments and mistakes are my psycho-skeleton I guess.
And, this, which I think was a “pocket shot” seems pertinent.
Oh what a spin!
And these:
I can see I am not going to catch up with myself, date for date, for some days yet. Good night all!
Started 31.viii.26, finished 1.ix.26.