Pilgrimage

Walking as Therapy — 3

Stumbling into Saint Privat d'Allier

Before I return to this story, I just want to thank so many of you for following this story here on Mind | Body | Soul. I also want to thank the editors who have accepted these posts for this publication. I have made a an error in posting part two twice. This is the reason for the above title. The following is the real part three.

I woke up in the darkness hearing others stirring around in the dormitory of the Capucin Hostel in Le Puy en Velay. I didn’t sleep well, I never do on the eve of something important. My head was filled with thoughts and images that raced like ocean waves, cresting and then disappearing only to have different thoughts and images take their place. I was glad that it was time to get out of the bunk bed.

It was too early for breakfast. It was time to head to the Cathedral in order to attend the Pilgrim Mass. Unsure of the path to the Cathedral, I walked behind the half dozen other pilgrims.

Once inside the church, I was surprised at how many of us were there. Not all the pilgrims heading to Santiago de Compostela were inside. Some had already begun walking — pilgrims who had begun their pilgrimage in other countries.

I wasn’t interested in the Mass as I had long ago left the Church. I was only interested in making sure that my first steps were going to be measured from the Cathedral. With the service over, each pilgrim was given a tiny medallion along with a rosary as we got our pilgrim passports stamped. I paused at the door of the Cathedral to get a photo to mark this moment in time.

I walked back to the hostel on the pilgrimage trail that was centuries old. I had left my backpack at the hostel as I had intended to return and have breakfast. Back at the hostel, I had breakfast with a youngish woman who was tall. She had taken the bunk bed above mine the night before. She had gone to the pilgrim mass with me, and she was friendly.

Finishing my breakfast, I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulders and made it to the exit of the hostel when my new friend, Margot, asked me where my camera was. In a panic, I rushed back to the dining room and saw my camera still sitting on the small table where the two of us had eaten our breakfast. It was an omen, a reminder to get my head in check and be present.

In a matter of minutes, the pilgrim path, GR 65 left the street to go uphill. My walking partner left the path we were following to take an extension trail just before the 8-kilometre mark. We had been walking for less than two hours. I stopped soon after that to take a break and write in my journal. My feet were holding up and I was feeling better about my ability to do this.

I stopped for my meagre lunch of a baguette sandwich and an apple in Ramourouscale. I had walked over 14 km in three-and-a-quarter hours. My planned destination for the day lay only two kilometres away, a place called Montbonnet.

Three and a half hours later, I arrived in a small mountain village called Saint Privat d’Allier. My plan to stop in Montbonnet was changed when I found the hostel still closed. My feet had protested for the last seven kilometres. Not only were my blisters needing attention, but heel spurs and a painful hip had also slowed me down. It was with relief that I found a bed in a private home.

I had walked twenty-four kilometres and I began to believe in myself as a pilgrim. I had walked twenty-four kilometres, suffering doubts as well as pain along the way.

. . . to be continued . . .

If you like my work consider reading it slowly enough for Medium to record as being read, highlighting, commenting, and giving me 50 claps. I invite you to become a member here on Medium. Every time someone uses my referral link below, I receive a portion of your membership for the month. This helps me to continue writing for you as well as supports other writers like myself every time you read an article on Medium. You can also send me tips through Ko-Fi by clicking the tips link below. Thanks for reading!