10kg Doesn’t Include a Laptop

And so the next step of the journey comes round… Tomorrow I begin my quest to write the next bestseller novel. Don’t worry, you’ll all feature… names changed, obviously. And yes, Tracey, I’ll thank you in the acknowledgements!

Thanks to my lovely mum and dad I’m heading into deepest darkest Devon to a Writer’s Retreat for a handful of optimists reckon they might have a bit of latent talent. Or at the very least want to spend some time seeing if they can drag a skerrick of something resembling talent from their mushy grey matter (that’s me testing out a bit of fancy descriptive work, right there… “mushy grey matter” is a creative high, don’t you think?).

So I’m off to try my hand at a bit of creative writing and then… on Tuesday 17th May I fly from London Stansted (only the most inconvenient airport in the UK, what with not actually being attached to an actual city… not even London, despite the name) to Biarritz in France. From Biarritz I catch a train to St Jean Pied de Port at the base of the Pyrenees and by Thursday I expect to be starting the Camino de Santiago by hauling myself and my over-sized baggage over the Pyrenees themselves, which brings me to my chosen title for today’s post…

It turns out that (as everyone on the forum agrees – www.caminodesantiago.me.uk) 10kgs is the ideal maximum weight to carry on one’s back over the course of the Camino… So it is a touch concerning that, despite some serious stripping back of my pack contents I can’t get the load below 15kgs… As it is I risk alienating my fellow walkers with my lack of fresh clothing. If I take out anything else I will be walking naked by day and dining of an evening in nothing but a pair of undies. I’m sure a wise person has said at some stage that ‘a naked pilgrim does not a new friend find… at all… for the whole walk’. So I think I’m going to have to suck it up and strengthen my legs quickly. My heaviest single item is my camera, which I refuse to leave behind… I have already jettisoned the laptop (yes, Meaghan and Jurgen I did consider the ipad, but I considered too long and now I’m out of time… not to mention the impact on my budget).

So, my lovelies, prepare for some erratic communication (I’ll hold back on the erotic communication). The Writer’s Retreat has no internet (one doesn’t want one’s creative flow interrupted by Facebook) and I’ll be accessing internet from public internet cafes along the Camino as and when I can (and as and when I feel like it). If you’re interested and fancy a bit of a giggle I did find these Extracts from a Caminoist’s Diary very amusing and perhaps a little more informative than I needed.

I can’t even begin to explain how excited I am about this next stage. I’ve been so fortunate in having the time and space to lie low and relax with my family, but my muddled head is starting to crave some meditative walking space and the chance to push and challenge myself to think, create and grow. I’ve done enough reading and researching now to know it’s pretty straightforward on the Camino in terms of following the right trail, finding food and shelter and other basics. I’ve also read enough of the personal accounts to know that everyone walks the Camino for different reasons. Some head out with a mission in mind, others just have the instinct to walk, some are on a spiritual journey, others are expressing their faith and in some cases people don’t know their motivation until they start walking. For me it’s a mixture, but I can sum it up with a brief story…

Many of you will know I used to run a fair bit. I got into running (despite being built for comfort, not speed) and I loved it. I built up over time until I was able to run a half marathon (21.1kms), which I did, four times over about a year. I found it addictive, meditative and I was surprised at my own ability, never having been a sporty child. And then, about a year ago I decided to run the big one – to take on a marathon (42.2kms). I chose London, partly because it’s one of the famous ones and partly because it would mean I could run my first marathon in a place my family could come and shout on sidelines for. So I started training, building up as usual, bit by bit. But instead of finding my meditative headspace I seemed to struggle with every step. I started to dread runs, or avoid them altogether. I was getting injured all the time. The prospect of a marathon had killed my running mojo… I didn’t do London this year (I may one day still – never say never), because it turns out running half marathons is my limit for running for now. But walking? I had tucked some memories away somewhere and forgot that thanks to the striding pace of my mum and years of being dragged along cliff-top walks, over fields and hills, through parks, along beaches, up and down valleys at a pace most Olympic walkers would envy, it turns out I have been training since a very early age to walk long distances. Walking is a space where I find logic, peace and inspiration. I can walk for long distances without tiring too much. And it makes me really happy. So this Camino, this is my marathon.

I’ll look forward to keeping you posted along the way.

Loads and load of love,
Lozzy
xxx

p.s. In case anyone is interested, the sign on the road to the village has changed… There’s a Skittle Festival on at the Appley pub this weekend. They know how to rock out round here ☺

Too Golf for Folk Music

So, sometimes the little screw-ups can land you in the most rich and exciting spaces… Like, for example, if one should only remember at the very last minute (car packed, GPS set) that one should have changed the accommodation booking in Edinburgh to allow for one’s arrival a day early and so one therefore contacts the hostel only to find that there is nothing available to accommodate the earlier arrival… So, being the solution focused type, one gets the map out, selects a random town name on the map that looks near Edinburgh, but not actually in it, and makes a call to the first B&B one google-finds, which, by some lovely coincidence has a room free…

Despite one’s past record for such ‘lucky dips’ having a rather vanilla outcome at best, this one turns out to be in possibly the most glorious location on earth, ever, in the history of glorious places… ever. And the B&B is like a little paradise within paradise, with toast!

My friend Caroline and I were convinced we had stumbled across a secret beauty – a beachside gem, bathed in sunlight and clear, cool air. We walked for miles on wide open beaches, refreshed ourselves in cosy Scottish pubs, watched birds, took photographs (me), painted (Caroline), and soaked up the fine Scottish air. We swore to tell only a handful of people about this beautiful place, for fear it would become over-run if we publicized our find too eagerly…

Bless our naïve hearts! On our last morning there, Caroline was surfing the inter-webs and came across the evidence that our ‘Secret Haven’ was in fact rather well known… Gullane (pronounced Gullen, which we discovered only after we’d said it wrong to about 100 locals on separate occasions… I’m sure they weren’t laughing at us at all) claims to be home to one of Scotland’s most famous golf courses… Just down the road in Aberlady is a highly-prized bird-watching location and the home of the Scottish Ornithological Club, where you can see some rare bird species… It seems a few people have been here before us!

Once we got over the shock of realizing we had not stumbled upon an as-yet-undiscovered Scottish coastal tribe, we were able to settle into the humour of a trip that would see us start with glorious twin-bed, ensuite B&B accommodation and downgrade with each move until we found ourselves sharing with vocal and frustrated walkers and selfish snoring tourists in a hostel dormitory with shared bathroom. On balance, I think we can safely say the Edinburgh hostel sucked the most. Although we had a private room, it was not private enough to separate us from the bucks night crowd who decided to continue their party back at the hostel at 3am. And thank god the locks were good when the group of holidaying ‘older’ gentlemen mistook our room for theirs at a similar hour the following night and tried to get in a couple of times. Nothing beat the grandeur, however, of the youth hostel in Loch Lomond… in a castle. Utterly spectacular and like something out of a horror film, but full of uber-healthy walkers and climbers (possibly the stuff of other people’s nightmares, but undoubtedly good conditioning for me in the run up to the big walk).

So, accommodation issues and giggles aside, things have been really good, thanks for asking. I’ve enjoyed what might constitute a speed-therapy session with a friend I hadn’t seen properly for something like ten years (condensing ten years of life into highlights, lowlights, emotional traumas, achievements and significant events); I’ve climbed rocks to look out over the sea (and thanked the Universe for the ; I’ve walked over vast sands on the beach where my grandparents ashes were scattered and explored the rocky beaches of my mum’s childhood; I’ve driven the length and breadth of the UK (sort of); worked out how to order a half-decent soy chai in Starbucks (desperate times, etc.); I’ve slept on the floor of my brother’s living room (house of six guys… floor possibly not my most hygienic choice, but the sofa was covered in tobacco); screamed at the top of my lungs in my car just to feel free; got myself a tan… from Scotland; enjoyed a folk music jamming session in an Edinburgh pub (thanks to the advice of the barmaid in Gullane).

For me, most importantly, I think I’ve started to find my rhythm. I made a very wise decision a couple of weeks ago in deciding to spend this week back at my mum’s instead of braving the chaos of London. I’m just not ready for the fast pace yet… But I’ll be there soon.

It turns out that the places that fill me with joy and make me feel close to bursting with excitement and potential are the places where nature makes me feel humble and where I have challenged myself to get to the place where that is apparent. I learned this while climbing over barnacle-covered rocks in my bare feet to get to an enormous rock pool and then going the precarious few rocks further (despite the sharp imprints of barnacles that were slowly slicing my feet) to stand at the edge of the Firth of Forth. And I learned it when I decided not to be afraid (long story, probably wouldn’t normally be afraid of a beach… read on) and I walked across the mud-sands at Silverdale (note the stuff about guided walks across the sands for safety) instead of taking the road back to the village. I let the mud-sands squidge through my toes and up my legs, before climbing more rocks and making my way across crumbling cliff paths when I couldn’t get any further on the beach. I don’t know if that stuff made any sense, but it feels exciting to me!

And finally, just a quick update on The Big Walk… I’ve decided to start in St Jean Pied de Port on the French side of the Pyrenees – it adds about 20-25kms to the journey, not to mention a HUGE incline on day 1, but I felt like I was cutting it out for no real reason and I think I’ll feel like I haven’t properly done it if I don’t start it properly. I’ve booked my flight to Biarritz for Tuesday 17th… I’m excited now!!!

Next week is my Writer’s Retreat… No inter-webs available there, so feel free to abuse me at will, without consequences until a later date. And expect a classic novel by the end of the week… I feel it coming on.

Love youse… and miss my Aussies!!!!
Lozzy xxxxxx

Ps. The title of this post comes from a conversation about whether we could find any good music in Gullane… The statement was my conclusion.