Far Further Furthest: May 2011

Here I am! In Decazeville, France.

Today I'm making the second break in my Way. The body was already asking for it! It's such a pleasure to sleep until 9, to wake up slooooooooowly and sit in the sun, and have some nice breakfast and leave your feet in the air and not inside the boots...

The last days have been nice and horrible. After Le Puy-en-Velay, the Way turned up to be one of the biggest disappointments of my life.

From Munich to Le Puy I was meeting at most two or three new pelgrims each day. After Le Puy, it was a HUNDRED each day. I was horrified. How can anyone pretend to be on a spiritual Way, on a pelgrimage, if every five meters you meet a group of two to six loud people walking in the same direction as you? And I'm telling you something: Most of those people were no pelgrims. They all had their credentials, but they were there 'cause it's a nice thing to do on a free week. No existential searching, no spirituality at all, most of them even let their baggage be driven to the next destination by a taxi. What the hell!!!

It was impossible to sit down and have some time for yourself: The next group of happy tourists saying bonjour bonjour would arrive instanctly.

It was impossible to hear the silence: There were always enough people around you to destroy its sound.

It was even impossible to feel away from civilization, since every two or three kilometers there was a huge yellow or red sign announcing the next hotel or the next restaurant!!!!

I got so pissed, so uncredibly pissed, that I have finally decided to quit the GR65, the official Way of Saint James in France.

I don't know if you can imagine how it hurted so see the Way full of easy tourists. I got sick of answering how many kilometers I was going each day, and how many kilograms my bag was weighting. In five days, I repeated the answers like a hundred times! And NONE of the people there, NONE of them asked even ONCE why are you here, what was the reason for starting a 2500 km Way by foot, what are you dreams in life, anything more deep than how many kilos does the fucking shit weight. No fucking idea, tourist! I don't care! I never weighted it! The idea never even crossed my mind!

I had faced other troubles before in the Way. The cold and the heat, the problem of the money, the never ending ways, the difficulties finding somewhere to sleep, the blisters in the feet, the hurting of the legs, of the shoulders, of everything, the days you had to ascend 1000 meters or more under heavy rain or a hell-like sun to descend them again, the nostalgy of home, the presence of my inner devils. None of them could move me even one millimeter away from my destination, but THIS. This has thrown me out of the Way in less than a week. For I have taken the decision, I will leave the Way and seek for an alternative in the next possibility I find. This may be in a week or tomorrow. I heared there are other Ways going in the same direction (The spot where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Pyrenees) after Toulousse. Let's see what we find.

There was such a bitter fight inside of me, I was feeling so bad that I shaved my beard -this has a huge symbolic meaning for me-, I cut my towel in two and gave half of it and a pack of other things away. One day, I even stopped talking with the idea of not opening my mouth again until I reach Santiago. At night I stopped that bad idea...

It all may sound a bit exaggerated for you, but this Way means SO much for me, I need it and the Solitude I had before Le Puy SO hard, that it is at not point exaggerated.

A route differs from a road not only because it is solely intended for vehicles, but also because it is merely a line that connects one point with another. A route has no meaning in itself its meaning derives entirely from the two points that it connects. A road is a tribute to space. Every stretch of road has meaning in itself and invites us to stop. A route is the triumphant devaluation of space, which thanks to it has been reduced to a mere obstacle to human movement and a waste of time.
The great Milan Kundera

*I cannot hear to the music in this computer. I hope this are the songs I'm searching :)

When you set out for Ithaka
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - do not fear them:
such as these you will never find
as long as your thought is lofty, as long as a rare
emotion touch your spirit and your body.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - you will not meet them
unless you carry them in your soul,
unless your soul raise them up before you.

(...)

Have Ithaka always in your mind.
Your arrival there is what you are destined for.
But don't in the least hurry the journey.
Better it last for years,
so that when you reach the island you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.
Ithaka gave you a splendid journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She hasn't anything else to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka hasn't deceived you.
So wise you have become, of such experience,
that already you'll have understood what these Ithakas mean.
Constantine Cavafy

Well, at the very beginning I told you that the days were horrible but also nice. Not everything was contaminated by the tourists. I have met some uncredible people also. A girl that left everything (even the house!) and left, another that is traveling for weeks with her bike through Europe, an uruguayan-israelian guy full of wisdom and a bit of mala hostia... It's all a part of the Way, I guess. I meditated a long time if these problems with the tourists are there for me to accept their presence or if I should simply search for that what I was searching from the very beginning: The Solitude. And I think it's rather the second thing.

I'm copying you a part of my diary on the 51th day:

51 days.
51 days since I took my bag in Munich and said ' I'm going to Santiago '
51 days of walking. All day long. Be it as it be: Sun, rain, fog, heat or cold.
51 days of sending to hell all conventionalisms, the routes, the highways, the speed, the progress, the State of Welfare.
51 days of walking to, with and throught my dreams.
51 days of falling, of external and internal pains, of broken dreams, of fears, of hitting the ground with the teeth
51 days with some moments close to giving up.
51 days of saying NO. I do NOT give up, I do NOT stop, I do NOT stay (no me quedo inmovil al borde del camino), I have NOT said everything I had to say.
51 days of staying up again, of making the next step, of restarting my way, of rising the fists and the head and continuing, of trespassing my own frontiers, of arriving even further.
51 days of firmly holding the stick and looking into the pain's eyes
51 days of living my dreams, of being me, ME, Samuel, without restrictions, withouth limits, witouht sugar.
51 days of nature, of inmense skies, of valleys, mountains, smells, dirt, rock.
51 days of spitiruality, of pureness, of instinct.
51 days of returning.
51 days of remembering. Building. Forgetting.
51 days of letting myself fall, of trusting, of simplicity, of beauty.
51 days full of moments - de diminutos instantes inmensos en el vivir-
51 days of joy, of cry, of emotion, of nostalgy, of Fernweh, of seeing nature work.
51 days of getting to know me better, of go for a walk towards my limits, of burning, of learning.
51 days of using my body like never before, of learning from him, of getting astonished about its machinery.
51 days of Way towards me.
51 days of filling myself with a confidence made of stone, of world.
51 days of welcoming the rest of my life.
A 51-day ritual. And even more. The returning. The initiation. The Debugging, the Connection to what sourrounds me and forms me.
One destination, Santiago, like a lighthouse.
No ending.
A Way that doesn't end, it reaches Santiago and continues into the Unknown.
One Life. Full. Intense. Richtig. It's here. And it's now. Just as it's there, and it's then. One Way, one Force, one Motor, The Direction. And letting myself go. One step, and then the other. Slowly towards the end of the world. Until the Next starts.

I'm on my way.

Con diez cañones por banda,
viento en popa a toda vela,
no corta el mar, sino vuela,
un velero bergantín;
bajel pirata que llaman
por su bravura el Temido
en todo el mar conocido
del uno al otro confín.
La luna en el mar riela,
en la lona gime el viento
y alza en blando movimiento
olas de plata y azul;
y ve el capitán pirata,
cantando alegre en la popa,
Asia a un lado, al otro Europa,
Y allá a su frente Estambul:
- Navega, velero mío,
sin temor
que ni enemigo navío,
ni tormenta, ni bonanza
tu rumbo a torcer alcanza,
ni a sujetar tu valor.
Veinte presas
hemos hecho
a despecho
del inglés
y han rendido
sus pendones
cien naciones
a mis pies.
Que es mi barco mi tesoro,
que es mi Dios la libertad;
mi ley, la fuerza y el viento;
mi única patria, la mar.

Allá muevan feroz guerra
ciegos reyes
por un palmo más de tierra,
que yo tengo aquí por mío
cuanto abarca el mar bravío
a quien nadie impuso leyes.
Y no hay playa
sea cualquiera,
ni bandera
de esplendor,
que no sienta
mi derecho
y dé pecho
a mi valor
Que es mi barco mi tesoro,
que es mi Dios la libertad;
mi ley, la fuerza y el viento;
mi única patria, la mar.

A la voz de ¡barco viene!,
es de ver
cómo vira y se previene
a todo trapo a escapar:
que yo soy el rey del mar
y mi furia es de temer.
En las presas
yo divido
lo cogido
por igual:
sólo quiero
por riqueza
la belleza
sin rival.
Que es mi barco mi tesoro,
que es mi Dios la libertad;
mi ley, la fuerza y el viento;
mi única patria, la mar.

¡Sentenciado estoy a muerte!
Yo me río:
no me abandone la suerte,
y al mismo que me condena
colgaré de alguna antena
quizá en su propio navío.
Y si caigo,
¿qué es la vida?
Por perdida
ya la di
cuando el yugo
del esclavo
como un bravo sacudí.
Que es mi barco mi tesoro,
que es mi Dios la libertad;
mi ley, la fuerza y el viento;
mi única patria, la mar.

Son mi música mejor
aquilones,
el estrépito y temblor
de los cables sacudidos
del negro mar los bramidos
y el rugir de mis cañones.
Y del trueno
al son violento,
y del viento,
al rebramar,
yo me duermo
sosegado,
arrullado
por el mar.
Que es mi barco mi tesoro,
que es mi Dios la libertad;
mi ley, la fuerza y el viento;
mi única patria, la mar.
Espronceda

No te quedes inmóvil
al borde del camino
no congeles el júbilo
no quieras con desgana
no te salves ahora
ni nunca
no te salves
no te llenes de calma
no reserves del mundo
sólo un rincón tranquilo
no dejes caer los párpados
pesados como juicios
no te quedes sin labios
no te duermas sin sueño
no te pienses sin sangre
no te juzgues sin tiempo

pero si
pese a todo
no puedes evitarlo
y congelas el júbilo
y quieres con desgana
y te salvas ahora
y te llenas de calma
y reservas del mundo
sólo un rincón tranquilo
y dejas caer los párpados
pesados como juicios
y te secas sin labios
y te duermes sin sueño
y te piensas sin sangre
y te juzgas sin tiempo
y te quedas inmóvil
al borde del camino
y te salvas
entonces
no te quedes conmigo.
The great Mario Benedetti

Peace to you. Buen Camino (:

Far Further Furthest

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Le Bonheur, the Minor Variation and the Big Disappointment

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

50 days

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Le Puy-en-Velay

Wednesday, May 11, 2011