Walking as Therapy — 2

The second omen that this pilgrimage might be a disaster.

No alarm clock was needed to wake me up. For the third night in a row, sleep was a stranger. First, there was the usual lack of sleep the night before I took the plane to Paris. Then, the was the lost night on the plane, and the the past night in the hostel.

I should have had no problem sleeping after staying awake through a Canadian night in Paris because of the time change. It was even mor surprising considering how much walking I had done after arriving in the city. But, a combination of blisters and the anxiety to begin the pilgrimage from Le Puy en Velay had my head bouncing all over the place.

I slipped out of my cot in the small room I shared with a few others whom I never did get to know. I wrapped a towel around myself as I made haste to reach the toilet which was in a separate room from the shower. My bare feet protested as the blisters had refilled overnight.

When I returned to the room, I lanced the blisters before getting dressed and going down a very narrow, winding staircase to reach the dining area. I wasn’t the first one to enter the dining room. Whatever reasons the others had, they were up at dawn. It was early and I was surprised at how many were already eating. A few chatted with neighbours though not in French. I heard German words that I knew. Everyone in the dining room were much younger than me, and none appeared to be going on a pilgrimage.

Sitting alone at a small table, I checked for email while eating a croissant and a banana. I returned to the buffet table to get a second banana and some strawberries. Finally, it was time for me to leave the hostel and make my way to the Gare de Lyon where I would be catching my train to Le Puy en Velay.

It was a six kilometre walk to the train station. I could have taken public transportation, but I didn’t. I was a pilgrim and a pilgrim walked. Besides, I had lots of time before my train was supposed to leave. I had thought of walking from Paris to Santiago de Compostela, but my research told me that the route from Le Puy was better marked that the route from Paris. In addition, the Le Puy route had more accommodations for pilgrims.

Arriving at the station, I bought my ticket and walked to the platform where I was to catch my train. At least that is what I believed as I saw a train sitting there waiting. Seeing Lyon on the platform sign, I was confident that I was in the right place with plenty of time to spare.

It wasn’t until a half-hour later that I realised that this train wasn’t the train I was supposed to catch. The train I was supposed to catch should have left a few minutes earlier. I had missed my train.

In a panic, I rushed back to the ticket office and told them what had happened. The woman behind the window smiled and reassured me that I could still make it to Le Puy later that day as there was another train later in the day. She gave me a first-class ticket and told me which platform I would catch the train. I had another two hours to wait until departure.

I slipped outside to sit in the sun and munch on a baguette and do a bit of reading from one of the two books I carried with me. I had most of my reading choices on an eReader. However, there’s something about a physical book that makes a difference. I read:

“Embarking on a spiritual journey is like getting into a very small boat and setting out on the ocean to search for unknown lands.”

This was going to be my journey, I told myself after reading these words from a book called When Things Fall Apart. I had picked up the book in Calgary, Alberta in a used book store. My life had fallen apart and I had been in the city for six months getting psychoanalytic help to put my life together.

I began to realise that the pilgrimage trail that I was beginning was not so easily planned and that any plans I could make could quickly become useless. My lack of paying attention had already proved that. Not being present led to blisters yesterday, and then missing a train this morning. I vowed once again to remain present and avoid anymore rocky shoals in my tiny boat.

In the late afternoon, I arrived in Le Puy. I had successfully navigated a change of trains in Lyon. I had remained present and had been rewarded. I wandered from the train station in Le Puy to the Cathedral, taking in the sights as I walked.

‘Perhaps I should stay an extra day here,’ I told myself as I say so many interesting things to visit if I had the time. I knew that this would likely be the only time I would be in Le Puy. I had three months set aside and my feet would only thank me for delaying the start.

Just before sunset, I had finally registered for the pilgrimage. From the Cathedral, I walked down the streets I would be walking from the Cathedral to reach the Camino path, also know as the GR65. I had booked a bed in a hostel before leaving Canada that was at the edge of the small city, on the Camino trail.

I would be returning to the Cathedral the next morning for a Pilgrim’s mass along with almost everyone else that was staying at the hostel. I had supper in the hostel and once again checked my email for messages from home. I wasn’t used to be away from the people I loved and who loved me in return. Finally, I turned in for the night. I will be walking tomorrow, taking my first steps on the Camino, on the Chemin de Saint Jacques.

. . . to be continued . . .

The first post in the series can be found here: