Shrivenham-Santiago

Day 21-22 Santiago [Saints & Salsa]

2009-07-05T10:36:00.000-07:00

After a very welcome siesta in Hotel Mexico and some catching up with Blog writing I headed back up to the Cathedral to meet my fellow pilgrims for our evening meal at 8pm. This of course in the UK is rather late to be thinking about ones supper but in Spain it’s early in fact too early as when I tried to book the table for 8pm early that afternoon the manager said it was two early and that 8:30pm was the first sitting.

As I strolled along the narrow streets which led up to the Cathedral around 6pm Santiago was just beginning to get ready for a Saturday night. Barmen were busy putting out tables and menus and inside I could see the long thin coolers which sit on top of the bars being filled with tapas for that evening. I was keen to see what Saturday night in Santiago would be like with hundreds of pilgrims ready to celebrate after the long walk, ride or in my case drive.

Many of the shops were also reopening as they tend to closed at around 12pm for the afternoon when it’s really to hot for people to be walking around shopping though in the North where we were it’s not as bad as Madrid which can reach the forties in July and August. They then reopen at around 5pm normally through till 8pm but many of these tourist shops selling nick knacks will be open till gone 11pm. I had phoned Kate and the boys that afternoon to be told that the UK was having a heat wave and that it had reach the thirties in Shrivenham. Here it was a comfortable 25 degrees Celsius as I had seen another sign outside a pharmacist indicating the temperature.

I perused some of the shops looking at all the souvenirs that are available and I’m please to report it’s no where near as bad as Lourdes I couldn’t find a single flashing statute of St James. What I was searching for were car stickers of the familiar yellow and blue Camino sign. This was proving very difficult probably as most people walked and would frown on such an adornment who would want to advertise that the drove the Camino! ME!

In the Cathedral Square more pilgrims who had obviously just arrived were lying down in the centre of the square looking up at the Cathedral as seems to be the tradition. However I’m starting to suspect that some of the pilgrims may have only walked from the bus or train station as they look remarkably clean and don’t seem to be suffering any of the signs one would associate with a long gruelling walk. The genuine pilgrims are those who stagger and limp into the square, rucksack torn and dirty, sun bleached hair, skin turned to the colour of the orange earth of the Camino through rain and dirt. They walk in with steely determination in their own world not looking anyone in the eye.

However many of these so called pilgrims have back packs on with the scallop shell and a rolled up sleeping mat that looks like they were purchased this afternoon these have never been thrown down in the dust of the road or been stained with the sweat of the pilgrims’ back. Tim Moore in his book on the Camion where he walks the route from Pamplona with a Donkey comments on several occasions about fake pilgrims. Those who would leave the refuge late after all the others had gone to discreetly walk to the bus stop or taxi rank. He recognised several faces that would leave last but always seemed to arrive first at the next over night stop and no one else would have seen them on the road that day. They would always make sure they walked the last few hundred yards to the check point to get the Camino Passport stamped so they would receive their certificate at the end. At least I have been open about driving the Camino and undertaken it in a car that makes you feel every bump, the heat the wet not to mention the countless number of insects I have ingested on the way!!!

I found my fellow pilgrims at the edge of the square and we headed for the restaurant I had booked earlier on recommendation. On the way we stopped for a drink and I found a shop selling car stickers so my 7 will now have its reward for getting me here. At this point I realized that much choice of evening wear had been unwise a pair of chinos and a green polo shirt. This was the uniform of the bar staff at which we were now sitting and as soon as I got up to find the gents I had several people waving and shouting drinks orders at me! The restaurant was a modern building serving pilgrims fair a three course meal for 8 Euros. My meal was pleasant enough it wouldn’t have won master chef but it was filling. Unfortunately some of my companions did not fair so well with tough steak and even a long black hair in one meal. The half of the group staying with Linda and Gary Pontin in the other hotel the previous evening had been to a Michelin Star restaurant which Dom Bruce had been told about. This must have seen rather a large step down from the fine cuisine they had had the night before. However it was a good evening and fun a laughter had by all.

After the meal I a promised to introduce Alex Peal to tapas so we headed out to the narrow streets which had many of these small bars side by side. It was now nearly 10pm and I was surprised how quiet it actually was for a Saturday night particularly when I compare it to some of the other towns I have been in over the past few weeks. This may have been down to the rain or drizzle which by now had soaked the streets. We had decided to visit 7 bars before retiring. This seemed an appropriate number for several reasons. I had driven a 7 here, I had 7 Parishes, there are 7 sacraments of the church [well if your and Anglo Catholic there are] Saturday is the 7th day of the week and you drink seven glasses of wine at the Passover meal I could go on.

Now I should explain at this point that a bar crawl in Spain is quite a different affair than a pub crawl in the UK. In the UK a pub crawl simply involves visiting as many pubs as you can and drinking as many pints as you can often resulting in unconsciousness, a trip to A&E or a lift home with the boys in blue. In Spain this is a much more civilised way to spend an evening the idea being to sample the various local wines and the speciality tapas of each bar. When you order a glass of wine in a Spanish bar a normal table wine glass is placed on the bar and half filled this costs about a Euro then you are offered a selection of tapas so you are eating a drinking small amounts as you go along. So this was not a case of the Vicar and Organist on a knees up but two English gentlemen engaging in the local culture. At least this is what we both agreed to tell our wives before embarking on the project!

A pleasant evening was spent though we did make 7 bars we didn’t make 7 glasses of wine two were substituted one for a night cap of a scotch and then an espresso it would have been a cup of tea but there was none to be had. Around 1am we headed our separate ways back to our hotels.

I was somewhat dismayed upon my return to hotel Mexico to discover that directly under the hotel was a night club blaring out very loud music. I should have expected this as I mentioned the hotel was right in the university quarter of the town but I was sure I had not noticed it the previous evening. I decided to go and have a look as the music coming up through the doors was not your regular night club mix of trance, and pop but Latin American music. When I walked down the stairs to this basement club I was met with the most spectacular sight, lots of people of all ages spinning around a swing hips to a Latin American rhythm this was a Salsa Club. After ordering a bottle of fizzy water which is what most people were drinking I asked a nice young girl at the bar about the place. She explained that most of the people here were at the university, graduates and undergraduates she like many of the students there were medics proving the world over that those studying medicine seem to have an ability to work and play harder than your average student. They all belonged to the university Salsa Club and they came here during the week for lessons then put it all into practice on a Saturday Night starting at 2:00am when the normal night club finished for the night. She pointed to several people who were the dance teachers one in particular who was very tall [my height which by Spanish standards is very tall] who was moving round the floor effortlessly dancing with one person after another and giving them tips on the way.

It wasn’t long before he had salsad his way over to me and in a slightly effeminate manner introduced himself as the professor or Antonio. He spoke good English and explained that he was a professional dancer he had even appeared on celebrity come dancing in the UK! Not a program I’ve watched so I just had to take his word for it. He also explained that he had danced in competitions many times in Blackpool. I was suitably impressed. Well when in Roman as they say, that evening I learnt a few salsa steps and had a great time chatting to the medic students who all spoke good English. My trump card was telling them I was a priest in the Church of England which they thought was great many commenting that they felt that the clergy in Spain were unapproachable and did not understand modern life. In the end my late night turned into an early morning with the dancing ended at 5am. Thankfully fizzy water had been the beverage of choice for the dancers so I left with a clear head and conscience some interesting insights to university life in Spain, a few could theological discussions on the church and faith today but most importantly some new dance steps that I would impress Kate with at the RMCS collage ball in July! I should finish by saying though I did not make the morning mass at 10am in the cathedral I did make the midday mass.

Technical Problems but all OK!

2009-07-04T01:25:00.000-07:00

This mat be my last update for a while. I have been having problems with my little note book I think it has a virus on it which will now not let me connect to the internet. At present I am in a Campsite at Santillian del Mar a sort of Spanish Burford very pretty little town until I catch the Ferry home on Monday. It´s pooring with rain but thankfully I moved out of my tent yeasterday and into a chalet Hi Dy Hi and all that so at least I´m dry. I had hoped to be a beach bum this week but it has rain 4 days out of five so far.

The kind man at reception has let me borrow his PC but only for a short time as he needs it to book people in and out. So I will try and fix my PC today.

Looking forward to getting back home to seeing Kate, Alex and Ben as well as some familiar faces and enjoying a pint of real ale.

Blessings

Richard

Day 20 The Shrine of St James The Apostle.

2009-07-04T01:19:00.000-07:00

I awoke in hotel Mexico my base for the next three days which is situated in the university quart of the city. It was a basic room single bed with good bath room which had a bath and shower. Again I was on the 5th floor which seemed to be made up of single rooms. I could have had breakfast in the hotel but it’s easier and cheaper to simple walk into a café bar so I decided to do this on the way to the Cathedral. I had arranged to meet my fellow pilgrims for the midday pilgrims mass, some of the group had arranged a guided tour that morning which would end up at the Cathedral. The previous evening Dom Bruce and I agreed to save seats for the entire group for the Mass. The tradition is if you’re a pilgrim that you don’t head straight for the shrine but prepare yourself first.

I found a very pleasant café bar on the way and breakfast consisted of a milky coffee and a slice of Tarte de Santiago which is an almond pastry similar to bakewell tart but without the jam, all for 2 Euros.

I walked up the steps of the cathedral slowly recalling the past three week’s journey that had brought me here. The many things I had seen, places I had visited, shrines I had prayed at and the people I had met including the Civil Guard. I had some apprehensiveness at going in as this would mean the end of my pilgrimage which had been 18 months in the planning. I had sat in my study at the vicarage after evening meetings looking at the map on the wall and the guidebooks trying to imagine what this moment would be like. I know I had another week in Spain and some other places to visit but essentially this was just killing time waiting for the ferry from Santander to Portsmouth. In a way it was all a bit of an anticlimax, something other pilgrims had written about in the books I had studied over the past year. It’s really the journey itself which is important it’s the microcosm of life which pilgrimage represents that brings you into an encounter with God not a silver casket with the dried bones of a Saint [or so I thought] though the fact they are there is the reason for setting out in thee first place.

Well after a pause and a short prayer I walk through the doors of the Cathedral. I was surprised that it was smaller in size than I had imagined not like the huge cathedrals of Charters, Burgos or Segovia. There was a real buzz inside actually quite noisy but this is how medieval cathedrals were not sanctuaries of silence. They were places where people met, did business as well as prayed. As I walked round there were several masses being said in side chapels in different languages. As I moved to the high altar I could see the large statue of St James rising up the ornately decorated sanctuary and people walking behind the statute and embracing it as is the custom. I also noticed the huge botafumeiro censer hanging in the sanctuary which is the size of a large dustbin and takes 7 men to swing it pulling on a large rope which the cathedral is famous for.

As I walked round I bumped into Joy and the group which had taken the tour and followed them to behind the high altar and the passageway that leads up to the head of the statue of St James and we all walked up the steps. This was it, the moment, journeys end. I knelt crossed myself and embraced the statue kissing the scallop shell on the back and paused. Normally you can’t stop but I had put on a clerical collar this morning so the shrine attended held back the queue for me while I prayed rank in this case clearly having privilege. I then bowed was given a prayer card by the shrine attended and left it was all over and no bright lights or angel voices but I had not expected any.

What I did find interesting is that as I came out of behind the high Altar there was another set of steps leading underneath to the crypt which is where the silver casket containing the bones of St James brought here in 813AD lay. This does not seem to attract as much attention as the statue which is only from the 13th Centaury in comparison, but I know Europeans seem to have a thing about plaster saints. I descended to the crypt and this to me was far more sacred than the statue and there was a place to kneel and pray in front of the silver casket. Whatever you may think or believe this to me was something special as in that silver box which is about 4ft in length are the bones of a man who walked with Christ on this earth, who heard his teaching first hand, who eat with him at the last supper the first Eucharist, who witnessed his death on the cross and most importantly his resurrection who touch the risen Lord and was commissioned by him to baptise people in his name. A man who called Peter, John, Matthew, Luke, Mary Magdalena and the other apostles friends a person who through my own ordination I have an apostolic link. It was here as I knelt and prayed that my heart leapt for joy and I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit very strongly this was no anticlimax but an encounter with the living Lord.

As I immerged from the crypt I felt spiritually renewed and invigorated and before to long found the group with Joy still going round the cathedral and I followed for a while chatting with Anne before going to save some seats as it was getting very busy. We had been told by the guide that they were going to use the large incense burner at the midday mass. We were very lucky as this is only used 24 times a year and many people come to Santiago and never see it, before finding my seat and as I was wearing my collar I sauntered into the sacristy where tourist can’t go. The nun at the door just smiled at me and I was in an area where hundreds of robes and all manner of liturgical regalia were hanging. There were also lost of priest getting vested many of them Canons of the cathedral. At one point one strolled over to me shook my hand smiled and welcomed me. He asked where I was from and I said England and asked if I would be taking part in the midday mass. I said yes but I presume he meant would I be up at the altar celebrating and I decided it was best not to tell him I was an Anglican remember the Spanish Inquisition! I then headed back out to find some pews and after sitting for about 15 minutes I witnessed the strangest liturgical act. The organ piped up very loudly with a fanfare and a long line of clergy all dressed as Canons [Edwin you would have blended in well here with you scarlet sash!] were lead to the sanctuary by about ten servers dressed in white robes. They all took there places and one of them address the people saying welcome to the cathedral and the shrine of St James on behalf of the Bishop and Canons. A quick prayer was said the organ piped up for a second time and they were all led out a huge crowed gathered by the sacristy door all taking pictures and wanting to shake hands with the clergy. Cleary in Santiago if you’re a priest you’re a celebrity!!!

Before two long I spied Dom Bruce in his splendid habit along with Gary and Linda and I went to get them and by ten to twelve the whole group was all seated. The Mass was very moving it began with a list being read of all the pilgrims who had received their certificate that day. My name was not there as undertaking the Camino in a Lotus 7 does not count as far as the Roman Catholic Church is concerned. I think I will ask Bishop Stephen when I get back if he can furnish me with something for my study wall [so if you’re reading this Bishop maybe you could ask Jane or Leslie to put something together on the PC] I’m sure it will be just as valid as anything the RC church give out!

The Mass was led by a lovely priest who seemed very grounded and gave a good address focusing on the spirit of the journey rather than the arriving and we all went up and received together. At the end of the Mass the celebrant said that all the pilgrims were to be censed and the huge censer was lowered a shovel load of charcoal put in followed by a similar amount of incense. Then 7 large men took hold of the rope and began to pull hard lifting then of the ground at some points. In a very short space of time the botafumeiro was whizzing past our seats and going right up into the roof space leaving a large trail of incense in its wake. We had been told that it had only come of the rope twice in the last 500 years so I considered if statistically it was due another escape if it had it would certainly result in several pilgrims being speedily dispatched to the pearly gates. As well as a liturgical purpose there is of course a practical purpose to this huge censer. Imagine being in this cathedral several hundred years ago with pilgrims who had been waking for months with no access to showers or baths the stench must have been incredible and it took something of this size to probably even disguise the smell for enough time for a service to take place.

After the Mass we all headed for a café bar and coffees, beer and plenty of Tarte de Santiago was consumed. The afternoon had been designated as free time. I went to check out a couple of restaurants that had been recommended to Margaret Smith by John the Vicar of Bishopstone who had walked the Camino the previous year and I choose the best of the two and made a reservation for twelve and then headed for a siesta.

Day 19 Leon to Santiago.

2009-07-04T01:12:00.000-07:00

Well here it is the final day before arriving at Santiago and meeting up with my fellow pilgrims from Shrivenham & Ashbury. I set my alarm for 8am so as to be out of the hotel and on the road by 9:30am as I hoped to get to Santiago by 4pm so I could check into my hotel shower and change before meeting my follow pilgrims by the steps of the Cathedral at 6pm.

However it seemed like Christian in Pilgrims Progress that dark forces might be at work trying to stop me reaching the shrine of St James. Firstly my alarm clock failed to go off or I slept right through it waking at just before nine. No matter I thought I got packed as quickly as possible and headed down to the café bar in the hotel for a quick coffee and cake for breakfast. I then went to settle my bill to be told by the receptionist that there was a problem with the hi-tech lift that brought cars too and from the basement garage it was jammed! She said it should only be about 10 minutes before the technicians get it working. Translating this into Spanish time meant at least an hour. I took my bags out of the room went down to the car and loaded up. There were several other guests by their cars waiting to go. After about a 40 minute wait we all gave up and decided to head for the café. The receptionist said she would call us when the lift was fixed. I texted Alex Peal whose mobile number I had to say that I was delayed and the 6pm rendezvous might not be possible. By 11:15am and no sign of the problem being resolved I knew that if it wasn’t fixed by midday the technicians would stop for lunch and not start again till 2pm. I could see myself spending another day in Leon. Thankfully at 11:40am the receptionist said the lift was working and I headed to the car and out of Leon which was relatively straight forward.

The road I was following followed the Camino exactly and I could see many pilgrims on foot or on their bikes heading to Santiago but they would not be there for at least 4 or 5 days. My Sat Nav estimated that my arrivel time would 6:04pm so if I parked the car and headed for the Cathedral I would not be too late for my meeting and hoped that Alex had got the message. I had intended to stop and several places on the way to look at some of the pilgrim chapels but this was now not possible so I concentrated on the driving.

It was bright and sunny but not too hot and the drive up into the mountains was great encountering cloud level at several points making it like driving through fog but as soon as I descended a little the sunlight broke through. I did stop at one point which was the highest summit of the mountains I was crossing and there was a small pilgrim chapel and a large cross to which pilgrims had attached notes, photos rosaries or simply placed a stone at the foot of the cross. There was a group of Dutch pilgrims there and they chatted giving me some stick for not walking. One of their group had walked all the way from Holland and had been joined by various friends on route. After some friendly banter we wished each other well [Bien Camino!] and I began my decent the Caterham handling the bends with no problem at all but I was being carful as there were cyclists round every corner though the speed some of them achieved was very impressive again passing me on several occasions.

Lunch today was a sandwich brought at a garage a sort of Spanish BLT [no comment] when I stopped for fuel in a small village this was eaten in a lay by with an apple and some water watching pilgrims slug up the hill on foot or via pedal power, but I could not dither for long as I wanted to keep my appointment. Over the next couple of hours I made up quite a bit of time and the Sat Nav was estimating I would arrive at Santiago at about 5:30pm so I would be able to keep my appointment. All was going fine and the drive had been very pleasant despite not being able to make the stops I had intended and I counted down the signs giving the distance to Santiago 100km, 60km, 30km, 25km my excitement growing.

I was driving at a steady 60mph or 100km hour not pushing it when I passed a sign saying Santiago 14km, when I came up behind some slow moving traffic two cars and a small white van doing about 45kmph. I then noticed in my mirrors a light green car come up behind me very fast and was sitting on my bumper. I was a bit concerned as he was so close that if I stopped suddenly he would hit me. He then dropped back and accelerated again coming up very close and repeated this several times. This was rather unnerving as I was not sure what he was doing but it seemed as if he was trying to provoke me or make some kind of point. We approach an incline and I could see the road ahead was clear so I indicated and overtook the three slow moving cars. As soon as I did this the green car behind me then leap frogged me and over took me while I was over taking £$*&^ idiot I thought he was trying to race me so I let him pass but then he swooped in front of me and slammed his brakes on. It was at this point that a little sign popped out of his rear parcel shelf saying POLICE STOP! and I saw a hand vigorously waving to me to pull over. It was the Civil Guard a sort of military wing of the police force who my mother had warned me about on many occasions!

I stopped the car and two officers stepped out of the car and asked what I was doing. I explained that I felt that their car was to close to me so I decided to over take the slow traffic in front. They then demanded all my papers which I had and they went of into a huddle. The younger of the two then came back and asked if I had any money on me. My mother has told me in the pass that this particular type of police will stop you for any reason then take all the money you have. It's important to insist that they explain what offence you have committed and if money is to be handed over an official ticket issued. So I asked what offence I had committed. The younger officer then said I had been driving carelessly. I asked if I had broken the speed limit. Like UK police cars this would be recorded on camera. He paused and said no. So I asked again exactly what offence had I committed he replied again driving carelessly and how much money did I have. I then asked if he was going to issue me with a ticket. At this point he walked off and had a loud discussion with the older officer involving a lot of hand waving. I over heard the older officer saying let him go its not worth the trouble but the younger said no he was going to fine me. At this point the older office went and sat in the car. The younger came back and asked for my papers again and then went back to the police car. After about ten minutes he emerged with what look like a hand held computer and began writing down info off my license. He said he was going to charge me for driving with out care and this would be a 210Euro fine. I questioned that I could not understand what I had done wrong as I had not broken the speed limit and only over taken three vehicles which where moving slowly. His response was sharp if I didn’t like it I could come to the police station and deal with it there. At this point I felt I should just relent and I asked him to issue the ticket which took about another twenty minutes. He produced a machine which printed of a ticket which said I had been driving carelessly it even indicated that I had been doing 77kmph in a 100kmph zone. In other words I was doing about 45mph when I over took the traffic in a 60mph zone quite how this constitutes carless driving I will never know. I’m sure everyone who gets a ticket has what they feel is a valid excuse but if I had been driving carelessly I would be the first to say it’s a fair cop but through out this trip I have been aware of the fact that I wanted to return home safe and sound to my family and have not pushed it. I hate to say it but my mother was right, it seems as if these two Civil Guard saw a flash English car and decided to give me some payback for the Spanish Armada. Well as a pilgrim you must pay your penance and I suppose I did 210Euros worth. The ticket said I have a right of 30 days to appeal and if I had the time money and inclination I would but for now the priority was to get to Santiago and then safely home.

This whole incident put rather a dampener as I drove into Santiago and I was pleased to find the hotel and get the car parked. I phoned my mother as I walked to the Cathedral and she used several Spanish expletives to describe the Civil Guard reminding me that they could not be trusted. In contrast I have met and been stopped by the local police [Spain has three police forces Local, National who are like our police and the Civil Guard a creation of Franco’s] on several occasions not because I was doing anything wrong they just wanted to look at the car and they were all very friendly and wished me well on my trip indeed one local police officer even said watch out for the Civil Guard!

As I walked across the Cathedral Square having phoned Alex Peal I have to say the site of folk from Shrivenham and Ashbury as well as Dom Bruce from Elmore Abbey who had joined them was most welcomed. I sat down had a beer and felt secure as I was amongst friends and recounted the whole incident to them. After a good chat the group split in two to go to respective hotels and I joined Joy’s group for an evening meal at there hotel which was very pleasant and most relaxing. At around 11pm I strolled back to my hotel very much ready for bed after the adventure of they day

Day 18 Salamanca to Leon

2009-07-01T11:10:00.000-07:00

Some months ago when I was planning my route I discovered that there was not much of great interest between Salamanca and Leon. Zamora lay on the road between the two but the guide books that mention it at all advise that it’s given a wide birth as it is nothing more than an urban and industrial mess with only a very small part of the old town remaining. There were places tucked away in the area but this would have involved a considerable detour and I was keen to keep my mileage to 200 miles per day so as I set off from Salamanca at around midday I was not sure what I would find on route.

The drive to Zamora was very flat and straight thankfully the weather was a little cooler today so it was pleasant going listening to 80’s hits on my IPod. This came to an end when I pulled into garage to fuel up and buy bread and water for a picnic later. The helpful attendant warned me to be careful as it was illegal to listen to music on headphones while driving and warrants a 60 Euro fine if caught. This law I could not fathom as in a modern car with a stereo on you can’t hear anything and in my 7 I have to drive with either headphones or ear plugs as the engine noise is so great that after a couple of hours you end up with ringing in your ears. However wanting to play it cool I check the RAC booklet to ascertain that this was so which it was and then put the IPod in my man bag and put in my foam ear plugs attempting to hum some tunes on route.

The outskirts of Zamora were as awful as described and the traffic heading into the centre was so heavy that I decided to bypass the place altogether, this led me to take a wrong turn and I end up on the larger N630 an A road rather than the CL612 a C road. I had hoped this smaller C road might provide some interesting little villages. However I was glad I stuck to the N630 as this led me to the small village of Mayorga and just as I entered the village I spied a sign pointing left to a 15th Centaury Monastery so I turned the car round and followed the little road for 3km to discover a large ruin. The place was disserted apart from a young woman I passed on foot who turn up a while later. All the gates were closed and it seemed to indicate that they would open at 4pm. As it was now gone three and I had not had any lunch I decided this was as good a place as any to stop. I set up my folding chair and tucked into French bread, choricho and a small tin of pate I had in the car from France, washed down with a couple of mouthfuls of wine from my wine skin.

An hour later not much had happened. The girl had got fed up of waiting for the gate to open and had simply climbed over. I was intending to do the same thing when a couple of cars turn up shortly followed by the man in charge who opened all the gates. I was very impressive and in its day would have been similar in size to the abbey at Glastonbury. It was clear from the large sign by the gate that it was been managed and restored by the Spanish Heritage Department. Apart from this there was no other information and I have searched my guide books and the net to no avail. None of the structures had roofs on and the tops of the walls were lined with storks nests, clearly by there number if you follow superstition the little town of Mayorga was about to experience a baby boom!

Despite the lack of information this was a photographers dream and I put my little Canon G10 which I had brought for the trip through its paces. It’s a compact camera but has all of the flexibility of a larger digital SLR apart from the lens can’t be interchanged. Even so the lens gives you an equivalent of 24mm – 120mm which is really all you need. There is an additional digital zoom which gives an equivalent 200mm which I used to good effect at Le Mans. All in all I have been very impressed with the results and hope you have enjoyed them on the blog, by the way if you double click on the little slide shows in the Blog this will give you a full screen picture so you can see the photos in greater detail. One of the features I particularly like is that you can switch to black and white or sepia tone which gives very good results. I know this can also be done on the PC afterwards but it was good to play around in this way.

After an hour's photography I decided it was time to head for Leon. The rest of the drive was as dull as the mornings made worse by lack of music but I did pass three parked police cars so decided I had been wise not to wear the headphones. It was also getting considerably cooler and grey clouds were appearing in the sky. I thought it could well rain before I arrive at Leon. I even found myself reaching for the leaver that operates the heating at several points. Coming into the centre of Leon was straight forward. I had pre-booked my hotel, Hotel Paris which was right by the Cathedral. I followed the sat nav until I came to one of the bollards that goes up and down in the road. I had no pass but then notice a button marked Hotel Paris which I pressed and a voice soon crackled on the intercom and then the bollard descended and I was through.

At this point I felt like a film star arriving as the street was full of pedestrians who parted some cheering and clapping at my little car and making sounds of great exclamation. Though this brought a smile to my face at first it all became rather embarrassing particularly when I had to stop outside the hotel where a large crowd gather taking photos. I asked the receptionist if I could put the car away first. She said she was sorry but the garage was full. I showed her my booking form which clearly indicated that I had reserved parking but she apologised and said there was nothing she could do. I pointed to the car and the crowed and said I have to have somewhere secure to park the car. She said the nearest underground car park was nearly a kilometre away. At this point the hotel manager appeared to see why such a crowd had gathered in front of his hotel. He could see my problem and felt confident he could get me into the space he had for motor bikes. He walked out of the hotel and instructed me to follow him in the car. I drove slowly up the street followed by the crowed and then round the corner to what looked like a set of huge lift doors. These he opened and I drove in. A button was pressed the doors closed and we began to descend at the same time the car slowly rotated 180 degrees. All I need was the Thunderbirds theme tune and Brains to appear at the door. When the lift stopped I drove into an area that could hold about 8 cars and there was a small space for bikes which had been used by a group of cyclists. We moved the push bikes and the 7 fitted perfectly into the space I could now rest easy.

Back at reception the receptionist was very sorry about not having kept the space but I said it was no longer a problem. She gave me my key and then a card marked Spa Pass. What was this I asked? She explained that the hotel had a Spa and it was all free to guest including the treatments. This I should indicate is very much in keeping with the Camino as pilgrims would often spoil themselves at Leon before the final push and more mountains before Santiago. My room was small but very clean and tidy up in the roof with a mini bar, TV and air-conditioning. It seems in Spanish hotels rooms on the top floor in the attic space are kept for single travellers there a bit smaller than a normal room but all you need I could have stayed here for a week quite comfortably. This is very sensible as in so many hotels these days you are penalized for being a solo traveller having to pay a room subsidy which is most unfair.

I decided I would head straight to the Spa as a long hot drive had taken its toll. The Spa was on the second floor and consisted of a set of small changing rooms, a pool which was about 10x10 meters a Jacuzzi, steam room, sauna, and a shower system that was again very hi-tech. It reminded me of the scene from Dr No when Bond is caught in the swamp and has to be decontaminated before entering number 1’s layer, though in this instant you walked round in a large circle while various jets squirted you in places that a member of the clergy should not be squirted. By the end of this process I was spotlessly clean and headed for the pool. Lengths were pointless as with one push you were at the other end but it was very refreshing. I discovered there were various buttons around the edge of the pool which operated air bubbles one so strong it nearly removed my trunks! This was becoming more James Bond by the minute, having arrived in a Lotus, revolving lifts, and space age shower systems all I needed was a Bond girl or a sinister man in a grey suite to walk out stroking a white cat and say ‘we have been expecting you Revd Hancock’! However apart from me and the occasional member of staff putting towels in the lockers I was on my own. I decided a good steam was in order so headed for the steam room and lay there for twenty minutes as it suggested on the door. When I stepped out would you believe it the place was full of Bond Girls!!! What would 007 do at this point? I decided to head for the Jacuzzi and engage some of these lovely creatures in conversation, unfortunately there was no facility for ordering a martini. I soon discovered that they were not all guest of the hotel but members of the Spa and had just finished work in the city and were having a session before heading home. When I was asked what I did I felt like saying I work for her majesty’s government! However saying I was a priest in the Anglican Church I think generated far more interested. They were all very interested particularly in the fact the clergy can marry which they thought was a very sensible idea and that we had women priest too.

At this point another young woman join the gathering in the Jacuzzi but this time I discovered that she was a pilgrim like me from Vienna on her way to Santiago named Christine. Unlike me she had walked from just the other side of the Spanish boarder with France in the Pyrenees. Unfortunately she had sprained her ankle a couple of days ago and for now was unable to continue having been told by a doctor to rest it for a few days. Well a good place to be stuck in I retorted. She told me that she was married and had a little boy of 5 called Mathew who suffered from hyper activity and that the past five years had been very difficult. Her husband had changed jobs and had more free time and suggested that she take a month’s break so she decided to walk the Camino. This was very brave on two counts walking alone in some of the places I’ve been through is no easy thing and I would not want to be a lone female in some of the isolated villages I have been through. Secondly leaving ones child for such a long period is not easy I know Kate can’t be away from our boys for more than three days before she feels she needs to get back. I explained I had to young boys and I missed them and my wife but it is some how different for a mother to be separated from her children sorry if this sounds sexist but it’s just the case. We swapped notes on the pilgrims experience particularly the feeling of loneliness that can be generated in large crowds rather than on the road as well as the constant urge to be on the move and how frustrating it was for her to be stuck in Leon. I did offer her a lift but knew this would be considered cheating by anyone walking the Camino but it seemed the English and gentlemanly thing to do. Quite what I would have done with all my kit in the passenger foot well and her back pack is another matter. I realized at this point I should have brought the Aston Martin rather then the Lotus. 007 at instant would have contacted Q to have it flown in! By now I was looking like a prune so I said farewell and good luck to Christine and headed back to my room to get changed and find a place to eat.

Leon was a buzz of activity my last visit here had been with Kate and the boys and I felt quite homesick sitting at the café by the cathedral we had visited last time. While I had been in the Hotel it had clearly rained and there was a welcomed freshness to the air. Rather than a sit down meal I opted for the tapas as this gives you a better feel for the place and it’s easier to engage people in conversation at the bars. I met several other pilgrims from Holland, the US, France, Spain, Germany but no Brits on my tour round the Bars. By 11pm I was feeling quite bushed so decided an early night would be in order and a chance to writer up the blog as the hotel had Wi-Fi. It was very pleasant sitting in my room writing with the sounds of the street below rising up to my window.

El Escorial, Avila and Salamanca.

2009-07-01T01:27:00.000-07:00

Today has been a day of many childhood memories as I drove through the region of Spain I used to come to as a boy with my family which is about 60 miles North West of Madrid known as Sierra de Guadarrama.

This morning as I had a final stroll through Segovia I was very aware of the many smells of food frying with olive oil, streets that have been washed clean and familiar smells of freshly backed bread wafting pass my nose which took me right back to when I was a small boy. As I drove along the memories continued by the strong odour of pine mixed with something else that I have never been able to identify. In a sense this was very much home and it is as much a part of me as my life in the UK.

About 20 miles out of Segovia I stopped for fuel and to remove the hundreds of bugs that had ended the short existence on my windscreen, it was at this point that I realized that I had no front number plate. I was confident that it had been on the front when I parked in the hotel car park the previous night as I normally do a check under the front nose cone to see that the sump has not been damaged or is leaking oil. I concluded that either it had dropped of in the last 20 miles which seemed unlikely as I could not recall anything scraping and it was held in place by three very strong adhesive pads, which once when I had to replace a broken plate took considerable effort to remove. Or as I suspected someone had claimed S7 FOP as a trophy either way I had no front plate and I knew that in the UK this can lead to a major fine. I checked my RAC guide to driving in Spain and sure enough it was the same in Spain a fine of 200 Euros can be made on the spot by the police if your plats are missing or incorrect.

I decided the best course of action was to stop at the next garage and ask if they can make me a temporary plate. Though this would not be the same as the UK plate it would at least have my number on it. The rest of the drive was very pleasant driving up into the mountains of the Sierra de Guadarrama dispersed with huge reservoirs which supply much of the water to Madrid. You could see that the dry season had already begun as some were quite low and you could see ancient villages beginning to appear on the shore line that had been swallowed up when the river had been dammed.

Before to long I arrived at Navas Del Rey [Place of the King] which was a small village I used to come with my family to live during the long summer holidays. My uncle has a villa about 3 miles from the village in the hills. When we first used to stay it had no electricity or running water. Each day we would drive into the village to fill up five or six 40 litre water carriers to take back to the villa and at night everything was either lit by candle or oil lamps it was very romantic and for a child with an active imagination was fantastic. It reminded my very much of those spaghetti westerns you would see with Clint Eastwood in fact all those famous films such as ‘A Fist Full of Dollars’ etc were filmed in this region of Spain and not Mexico or the US as some suppose so it was as real as it got. A few times a week we would walk the three miles into the village to Pub Disco 2000 where I practised my teenage flirting with local Spanish girls. Being English and in this small village made me a novelty and exotic so attention was easily gained.
On one occasion this led me to take up the offer the following day of walking to the next village to meet up with a girl and her friend to use the pool they had access to. The village was 10km and in the heat it nearly finished me off until I was picked up by the local police and thought I was in trouble. They drove me right to the pool little did I know that the officers were friends of my uncle and he had seen them in the village when he went to collect water and told them that if they saw a stupid English boy walking in the heat to the next village to give me a lift. Thankfully the return journey was provided by the girl’s father who was very interested in how much my father earned in the UK. I think he was sizing me up as to a possible match for his daughter and I wondered if I would be married by the end of the summer in some bizarre rural Spanish ritual.

As I drove through the village where the girl had lived I saw several old men sitting outside a bar who pointed at the car as I drove by and I thought they might be saying ‘look Hojse it’s that English boy come back in his sports car. We told you should have made him marry Maria’! Stopping and explaining I was a priest in the Church of England and not some millionaire would have only caused more confusion.

When I reach Navas Del Rey I realised that time had done the sleepy little place no favours as it was now a large suburban sprawl and Pub Disco 2000 was no more. I decided not to hang about as I wanted to remember it as it had been when I was a boy and some where I could return to in my thoughts and dreams. I did drive to my uncle’s villa which is down a dirt track not really meant for a Caterham. I knew no one would be there as he was working in Madrid and I had said that I would not be coming right into the centre of that big city in my little car. Had my timing been different I could have arrived at the weekend and stayed with them. The little villa looks much the same but now has electricity running water and a swimming pool.

After this little trip down memory lane I headed for El Escorial which is a huge palace and the burial place of the kings and queens of Spain. Built by Felipe II between 1563 1584AD and is dedicated to St Lawrence. When Felipe II built Escorial he instructed the builders to make all the royal apartments very plain they are mainly just white washed walls with heavy rustic furniture. All of the gold and gilt was saved for the church and mausoleum at the centre. He declared that this was a place for God and not kings and it was a kind of spiritual retreat for the royalty of Spain.

Upon entering the small town that surrounds the palace I came across a citron garage and pulled in to see if they could make me up a front plate. The receptionist was very helpful and said she would phone the Spanish equivalent of the DVLA. After several phone calls which took well over half an hour during which I showed the finer points of the 7 to the garage mechanics who had gathered round and where impressed with the simplicity of the car the receptionist said it would be possible. Great I thought but she then went on to say I would need to send my documents off and the plate would be ready in three days. I then discovered that all plates in Spain have to be made by the transport department and are not made in garages. I thanked here for her help profusely but explained that I needed to be in Santiago in three days so could not wait for them to be made up. It was then the I realised that I had a set of spare plates in my garage. They were leftovers from Halfords when the lad making them up had not got the letters central so he said I could have them free and made me another set. I got on the phone to Kate and then Anne Bell to get the spare front plate brought out with the group coming from Shrivenham along with some more sticky fixings. By the evening Kate had phone to say plate and fixings were in Alex Peals case. I would just have to explain to the police that a new plate was on its way from the UK and hope they would understand. This delay meant that visiting Escorial was not really viable and as I had been to it many times before decided to press on for Avila.

It was over 20 years ago that I last stopped in Avila but only for a brief time and never got to see the convent and house where St Theresa lived had her visions and wrote the ‘Interior Castle’ one of the great works of Christian Mysticism. St Theresa of Avila is a sort of Spanish Julian of Norwich so if you have read any of her works you will find Theresa of Avila equally inspiring if not more so.

At my last visit all one could see of Avila is the medieval wall which surrounds the whole town rising up on a hill out of the plane it was a very impressive site. These are considered the best preserved medieval walls in Europe and are 2km in length built in the 12th centaury. I was shocked this time to find a massive urban sprawl of high rise buildings surrounding the town. What on earth have the Spanish done to the place! It was ghastly and there had been no attempt to make any of the buildings sympathetic with the old part of the town. I have noticed this in several of the towns and cities I have been through and planning laws must be very lax. No thought is given to demolishing a row of medieval houses to be replaced with a high rise block of flats. I fear after it is to late the Spanish will look back at what they have lost. When this is compared with the great efforts the French went to rebuild there towns after the Second World War, St Malo for example rebuilt from the ground up its very sad that this urbanization is taking place.

I found an underground car park just outside one of the main gates into the old city and headed for the Convent or so I thought and got very lost. My theory of ask an American can back into play as I saw a group of young American University students with a tutor come the other way. I asked if she knew where the convent was and she said ‘follow me’. As I walked I chatted to the students who where in Spain for a semester in Madrid learning Spanish and before to long we were at the door of the church which lead to the convent. The young people didn’t stay long they were obviously on a whistle stop tour of Avila and then I had the place to myself.

I was then very lucky as I was shown the garden and house though I could not go in where Theresa lived 1515 -1582AD and then led to the chapel which has a famous statute of her where the nuns come to pray. It was beautiful peaceful and cool and I was able to sit and pray in stillness for sometime. It was a welcomed reminder of what this trip is really all about, to see how God has influenced the lives of the saints through the ages it was very moving knowing the St Theresa had prayed daily in this little chapel when she live here in the community before leaving to found her 19 orders of the Barefoot Carmelites with her disciple St John of the Cross who was from just down the road at Fontiveros. After drinking deeply from this spiritual well I set off to Salamanca via Fontiveros birth place of St John of the Cross but there is very little there to see.
I passed several police cars stationed on the outskirts of the small towns I passed through but thankfully they showed no interest in my lack of front number plate and I arrive safely in Salamanca. Tonight’s hotel had been book many months ago a familiar Ibis with parking. The charming and attractive girl on reception to my surprise was not Spanish but Polish studying at the university here. Salamanca is Oxbridge for Spaniards it’s their premier university and run on a collage system like Durham, Oxford and Cambridge. It's also Spain’s finest example of Renaissance and Plateresque architecture. The university was founded by Alfonso IX of Leon in 1218AD making it the oldest in Spain. Amongst the city’s many impressive buildings is the Plaza Mayor [Main Square] built in 1729AD and is huge.

This is where I headed for my evening meal after a welcomed shower and by 8:30pm it was beginning to come alive. On all for sides there are cafes and bars with tables to sit and watch the world go by. Supper was veal and asparagus with a glass of Rioja followed by a rich dark coffee and small cigar all for 11 Euros about £9:50! Buy now the square was filling up with students and had a real buzz about the place. I had hoped to see some Tunos or Troubadours as in previous visits with my family. These are musicians from the various colleges more often than not studying music that come out to sing in the square. They dress in Renaissance costume and have long black capes to which are attached long coloured ribbons. These ribbons are attached by young ladies to whom they sing as a favour if they are liked. There is great rivalry between the collages as to who’s the best and a Tuno whose cape resembles Joseph and his technicoloured dream coat is clearly a hit with the ladies. Sadly none appeared due to it either being only Wednesday or possibly the university term has finished but in Spain the term continues much later than in the UK

After a walk round in the cool night air and a glass of wine and couple of tapas I headed for my bed knowing the Santiago was now only two days drive away.

Burgos to Segovia and the Feast of John the Baptist

2009-06-30T01:18:00.000-07:00

After a great nights sleep in hotel El Cid dreaming of great knightly quests I set of for Segovia some 200 miles away. At this juncture I left following the Camino’s traditional route which would have taken me westwards to Leon but I was keen to visit Segovia for its impressive cathedral, castle and roman viaduct. Then the following day to visit Avila the birth place and home of St Theresa of Avila one of the west’s greatest Christian mystics and on to Salamanca which is Oxbridge in Spanish terms their premier university.

As I pulled the car out of the cool of the underground car park and felt the blast of heat as I entered the sunlight I knew I was going to be in for another very hot day. I put lots of sun cream and made sure I had plenty of water then set off for another day’s adventure.

I now feel very nomadic and the call of the road is an odd thing and generates a mixture of feelings which can sometimes be overwhelming. At one level you just want to get to your destination in my case Santiago and the Shrine of St James' then you feel you would just prefer to be back home and can feel extremely homesick. However then another feeling comes in which is that you never really want the journey to end, that you would be happy to spend day after day travelling as if some unseen force is constantly calling you on. I know that all of the books I read by seasoned travellers before leaving on this adventure spoke of these feelings. It seems to take several weeks before this begins to happen. The first couple of weeks can seem just like an average fortnight’s holiday but once into the third week this disappears and you are no longer a tourist but a traveller or true pilgrim. I have met several pilgrims who have been walking for over 6 weeks now who have homes and families but they too echo this new existence. Maybe this is what Jesus was referring to when he said that foxes have their holes and birds there nest but the son of man has no where to lay his head. As I sped along the very dry long straight roads of the Spanish plains I had plenty of time to contemplate all of these new feelings.

My first stop was St Domingo de Silos where there is a huge monastery which was rebuilt be St Dominic in 1041AD over the sight of a previous abbey which was destroyed by the moors. Here I picked up another Camino which comes via Barcelona. The setting is very rural and it’s quiet and tranquillity has been an inspiration to many artists. The monastery is still in use today so access is limited but I was able to see the magnificent cloisters and the pharmacy which has been recreated as it was in the middle ages. Sadly they were very strict about photography so I was only able to take pictures of the outside of the building and as I had arrived at ten to one just managed to get inside but not able to by a postcards of the interior as they shut the gift shop for lunch and it would not reopen until 4pm.

By now the temperature was 32 degrees Celsius. I knew this as one of the very small shops in the town had a sign which flashed the time and temperature alternately. I found a very old looking hotel and headed inside. It was blissfully cool not due to air-conditioning but the 4ft think walls and small windows. Ironically in the foyer there where pictures of the little village deep in snow and ice showing the great fluctuation in temperature in this part of Spain. The hotel was empty apart from one other elderly couple taking refuge from the heat and a few flies buzzing around, the noise of there tiny wings adding to the atmosphere of the place rather than being an annoyance. A lady dress as a Spanish maid [nothing like a French maid more like a nun sadly] was in the café bar and I asked her to make me a tortilla and mixed salad. Tortilla is basically chunks of fried potato with onion and then egg sometimes referred to as Spanish Omelette. This is very much childhood food to me as my mother being Spanish would make this regularly and still does when she comes to look after the boys on Wednesdays.

I would have liked to have stayed in the cool of the hotel with the flies until 5pm when it would have cooled but I had a long way to go and had to brave the heat. I pressed on to Valladolid but by the time I got there it was so hot I didn’t feel like walking around. I managed to fuel the car and find a small bar to have a long cool drink of orange and lemonade. The car had attracted some attention the barman very please I had parked it outside of his establishment. Unfortunately I had to shout at three young lads who where taking pictures of themselves with the car. This was fine until the third and largest of the three decided he was going to sit on the very fragile fibreglass wheel arch. They seemed surprised and I explained but the bar man came out and told them to clear off and was very apologetic for the local youth.

I had intended a planned stop at Coca which has another ancient monastery but I was running late and the heat was too intense to consider a detour so I pointed my horse for Segovia. It was to some relief that I began to descend from the hot plane into a deep valley with trees and shade bringing a welcome drop in the temperature. It was not long before I set eyes on the fairy tail turrets of the Alcazar Segovia’s castle a welcomed site for any knight on a quest. In fact it impressed Walt Disney so much when he visited the place that when he came to build Disney Land he said he wanted the castle to look like the Alcazar in Segovia.

I have not had a lot of luck with my intention of camping through a mixture of heat, tiredness and late arrival and tonight was going to be no different. I headed to the campsite just outside the city but when I arrived had second thoughts as it resembled a traveller’s camp rather than a campsite and my little car was already attracting too much attention. I was concerned that I might wake from my tent in the morning to find it stripped so decided it was going to have to be another hotel.

I punched up a list of hotels on the sat nav and headed for the nearest one with parking. Now here’s a travellers tip for you. If like me your moving from hotel to hotel and don’t have a reservation take a mini PC note book that will let you connect to the web. I parked up and went into reception to ask the price of a room with parking this was a three star hotel Holiday Inn in fashion nothing particularly spectacular. The girl at reception asked if I had a reservation to which my reply was no. The total cost for my stay was 85 Euros nearly £80 a lot for one night. I asked if they had free Wi-Fi which they did. I then went out of the hotel sat on a bench and logged on to the internet and did a search for the hotel. Several sites came up with offers a few minutes later I had reserved myself a room with parking and breakfast at the same hotel for 46 Euros half the price about £38 much more like it. The girl was somewhat surprised when I walked in and then said I had a reservation. She said no and I asked her to look and watch her eyebrows rise as she found my booking. 46 Euros I said waving my little note book. She said that she didn’t think this was allowed and phoned the manager who said if I had a booking on the hotel computer with a credit card for that price then it was valid! I rewarded my ingenuity with a shower and cold beer before heading of into town.

It was a Tuesday night but there seemed to be a lot more people out than I would have expected more like a Friday or Saturday and they were all dressed up in their best. Elegant old ladies like Spanish galleons floating up and down the wide open vistas of the town centre.

I found a cheap and cheerful restaurant which de Platos Combainons which means combination plates and tucked into chicken fillets, fries and a small salad with a house wine all for 9 Euros oh and as much bread as you can eat, very good value. I decided to give the hotel restaurant a miss as I had no reservation!!! Seated next to me were an English couple who live in Andalusia for 6 months of the year returning to the UK in the summer they where heading for Santander and the ferry but love Segovia so much they always stop on the way up.

At this point I discovered there was about to be a fiesta which was why their where so many folk around for today was the feast day of John the Baptist. I haven’t really been looking a diaries but a quick glance at my iPod confirmed that this was the case. It was only 9pm so things wouldn’t liven up for another hour or so. After a pleasant meal and conversation with my expat neighbours I headed up to the Cathedral in the old part of town. Sure enough a large stage had been erected outside the Cathedral and a huge bonfire built. The tradition in Spain today is that bonfires are lit all over the county it is also midsummer’s eve so a hit of the pagan mixed with the Christian. At 10:30pm dry ice started to waft from behind the curtain on the stage and various lighting effects began to a cacophony of music as the curtain slowly rose. Three singers a girl and two guys with a large band then jumped into a compilation of Spanish favourites and in no time at all the square outside the cathedral was heaving and everybody dancing young and old many families with young children too it was all very friendly and you felt completely safe.

I can’t imagine this happening in Swindon my experience has been that the fighting has normally broken out at this point as people stagger senseless out of the bars. In Spain and France so far despite being out late and bars open every night to gone two I have not seen one drunk or experienced one act of aggression we have a lot to learn from our European cousins about how to have a good time.

The dancing went on until the small hours and for the most part I enjoyed the atmosphere enormously but it’s the first time I have really experienced how lonely you can feel in a large crowed. I’ve spent hours on my own over the past weeks and never had this intense feeling. But with everyone around you dancing with their friends, wives or lovers you do feel very lonely and I wished that my beloved Kate was here with me to dance the night away. To take my mind of this I decided to capture as much of the event on my camera as possible and then turned in a 1:30am but the party continued till 4am.

I have never experienced a whole town let alone a whole nation sharing a collective hangover! I was up at 8:30am and out of the hotel and looking for a café for breakfast but many where still shut and the streets very quiet. By 9:30am more people had ventured onto the streets and were heading for work. You need to remember that this was no bank holiday everyone worked yesterday and would do today but I think the boss would be sympathetic too the situation as he or she would as likely be nursing a sore head to. I watched with some amusement drinking my coffee feeling rather bright eyed after a good nights' sleep as weary Spaniards passed by often looking a little dishevelled.

I had a couple of horse to walk round the town visit the cathedral which is the last great Gothic Cathedral in Spain dating from 1525 built to replace an older building. It is huge and you strain your neck trying to look up at the high towers and vaulted ceilings. While there I joined a mass said in Polish. I then headed up to the Alcazar castle which I have visited before several times but it was good to walk around the new military museum and armoury as well as taking in the magnificent views over the battlements. It was not long before that feeling returned of being driven on and I new I was time to head back to the hotel check out and Head for Avila as well as some old childhood haunts.

Day 15 Loyola and Burgos.

2009-06-25T00:49:00.000-07:00

This morning I headed up to Loyola with Bob which for the first time in a week took me off the Camino route but I have always wanted to visit Loyola the birth place of St Ignatius [1490] founder of the Jesuits. It’s a place I have passed by many times on the way to Madrid but never had time to stop. Ignatius was an army general and was wounded in the leg by a cannonball during the battle of Pamplona. Legend has it that while he was recuperating in Santa Casa [Holy House] he asked for a book of heroic exploits of knights instead his sister gave him the life of the saints. He was so disgruntled that he through the book across the room.

However not being provided with any other reading he red the book and this led to a profound religious experience and he decided to renounce all and become a priest. After his ordination he along with several other friends who had also been ordained set up the Jesuits and order of priest that where there solely to do the Popes biding.

They did indeed do many good and charitable works but as with any organization politics took over and the order become one of the most wealthy and powerful in the church. It played a large part in the Spanish Inquisition which is unexpected as Ignatius himself was imprisoned at one time by the inquisition. [No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!!!]

At Loyola there is now a huge basilica which was built next to Santa Casa the size of the building, built in the 17th centaury gives a good indication of how wealthy this order was [and still is] as the dome of the basilica can be seen for miles around. Unfortunately as it was Monday Santa Casa was closed so Bob and I could only explore the basilica. After a spot of lunch it was time for us to go our separate ways as Bob had to be in the office and I had to get to Burgos by the evening a good 4 hour drive with the two stops I had planned.

By now the sun was at its zenith and the heat was like that encountered when opening an oven door. I have to say that my journey took on something of a penitential nature as driving with the sun beating down and hot air being blasted into my face I looked with envy at the air conditioned cars driving pass with cool refreshed passengers on board. This was the opposite too the driving rain in previous weeks but even so the experience of driving a convertible in these conditions was not pleasant. I found myself stopping every half hour to reapply sun cream.

Thankfully every small village I passed had a water fountain by the road back from the days when people journeyed on foot or horse back and needed such refreshment, these are trough like structures with one or to brass taps which constantly run fresh water. Though it’s not advisable to drink the water and I had 2 litres of drinking water in my drinking system it was very refreshing to wash ones face soak my base ball cap and bandanna which I had round my neck which when wet helped to keep my cool.

Often their was a bar across from these water stops and folk would come out to look at the car. I was flattered on several occasions when people said I was a Caballero which means knight and the car was my horse. The Don Quixote in me was most impressed with this and naming the car Rocinante seemed very much the right decision. When I told some of the locals this they laughed and agreed that only a mad man would be driving such a car in this heat. As they say only English men and mad men go out in the midday sun!

One of my stops which was most welcome was Santa Domingo de la Clazada which is right on the Camino from Pamplona. St Domingo wanted to be a Benedictine monk but was rejected so he went to live as a hermit in the woods through which passed the Camino. He began to help the pilgrims by building roads and bridges and also a hospital which is now an impressive Spanish Parador a government run 5 star hotel with prices beyond most pilgrims. The town sprang up around this including the cathedral which now houses the saint’s remains and I was able to go down into the crypt and pray as there was no one else around and ask for safe passage to Compostela.

Back in the car again the heat had not diminished and the final hour and half to Burgos was literally hell probably hotter. I arrived late and really could not face a campsite having to put a tent up and then go and find food. So I headed to the centre in the hope of finding a reasonable hotel with secure parking. I drove round for some time beginning to lose faith that I would find somewhere. Clearly my prayers at the shrine of St Domingo had been heeded as I ended up right by the cathedral and found a hotel named Hotel El Cid after another great Spaniard.

My luck was in as they had a room and parking which they would give me at a special rate as it was late and they where keen to sell the rooms. The hotel was very traditional the sort of place Don Quixote would have approved of particularly as each room was named after a knight and the walls in the lobby where covered with tapestries of knights undertaking great quests.

My first quest was to try and wash some of my clothes as I smelt anything but knightly. I managed to was my chinos a top and several pairs of pants and socks. As I was on the top floor and my window was set back in the roof I was able to hang them all out to dry without them being seen. To give you and indication of how hot it was when I came back only a couple of hours later after my evening meal everything was bone dry.

Burgos was founded in 884AD and has been a key strategic city from day one. It was the capital of the Kingdoms of Castile and Leon from 1073 until 1492 when this honour was passed to Valladolid. In the 15th and 16th centuries it became very wealthy from the wool trade and more recently Franco chose it as his command post for the Spanish Civil war. El Cid was born here and severed Fernando I fighting against the moors but he got caught up in politics with the Kings’ sons and was banished at one point fighting for the moors. He was really immortalized by a romantic poem ‘El Cantar del Mio Cid’ and he and his wife are buried in the cathedral and an impressive statue of him now graces the main gate way to the old part of the city.

Unfortunately the Spanish seemed to have picked up a nasty habit from the British charging people to go into cathedrals. Not once in France was I asked to pay a fee but always gave or paid several Euros to light a candle. Burgos cost 4 Euros and though beautiful inside there was no opportunity to light a candle and even the stoups found in the doorways of European churches had no water in, the custom being to dip ones finger into the holy water and touch your forehead to remind oneself of your baptism. I am saddened that these great places of worship and pilgrimage are becoming nothing more than tourist attractions. If France a secular country can afford to keep its cathedrals open and maintain them primarily as places of worship then we and the Spanish should be able to do the same. The past three cathedrals have had no place set aside for prayer, or where prayer request can be made very poor!

Supper consisted of tapas in a lovely bar with a very friendly barman who took time to describe the different dishes and help me with my Spanish. He was clearly a fan of the UK as he had various items hanging up in the bar including an old fashion policemen’s helmet. After a couple of glasses of what I believe to be the best wine in the world Rioja and several tapas I enjoyed a walk round in the cool of the night before heading for my ‘knights’’ chamber [get it?]

Day 14 Pamplona

2009-06-23T11:31:00.000-07:00

Today I crossed the Pyrenees and said farewell to France but not hello to Spain, as this is the Basque Country. Being in this part of the world and saying I was in Spain would be like standing in Swansea and saying I was in England. The Basques are a proud people with there own culture and distinct language and many of the signs [as in Wales] are written in both languages. Sadly in recent years ETA has not done much to help the Basque cause like the IRA has isolate the people rather than endured them to the rest of Europe.

While I was in Taize there was a young Basque woman in my group and we spent some time speaking about the tensions between the Basque country and Spain. She was very impressed with how the British had managed to be one nation but with its four distinct countries Ireland, Scotland, England and Wales. She felt that something like devaluation as in Wales and Scotland would work very well in the Basque Country and would satisfy most people. I felt quite proud to be British and part of a nation that honours the distinctiveness of its peoples and culture under one Queen.

However Spain has more similarities to the UK than one would first expect it’s really not one nation but several distinct Kingdoms with their own heritage, culture and language in some cases. Ask most Spaniards and they will proudly tell you they are Austrian or Castilian a bit like a proud Yorkshire man in the UK. Over Spain’s history these separate kingdoms have been brought together under one flag the red and yellow strips of the Sangri e Sol [blood and sun] and it was the Spanish civil war and General Franco that finally achieved this.

Crossing the Pyrenees was fantasist I was pleased I put a polo neck on for as I climbed it got colder. The Caterham simply relished every bend and it was almost as if Rocinante was alive with its engine making noises of delight as I went up and down the gears. Hair pin bends are taken as if on rails. My Sat Nav predicted that it would take two hours to traverse the mountains in the end it took me an hour and twenty minuets and I wasn’t pushing it at all as I didn’t know the road. With empty roads and an experience driver a Caterham I’m sure could do this in under an hour no problem!

As I sped by engine roaring I saw many pilgrims both on foot and bike trudging up the very steep roads with and expression of determination etched onto their faces and one or two of desperation. I decided not to stop as this might result in a lynching but I’m sure many thought if they did the pilgrimage again it would be in one of those funny little green and yellow cars. At the summit I did stop by the pilgrim chapel and several pilgrims came to chat and have there picture taken with the car. When I explained that my journey was one of 3000 miles and in aid of Leukaemia Research any bad feelings or misgivings they had about someone driving the Camino disappeared and they wish me well. The cyclists have a distinct advantage on the way down and on two occasions as I gingerly approach a hair pin bend was rather taken aback to be over taken by a cyclist who must have been doing more the 40mph and shot round the corner like the Olympic cyclist in a veladrome.

I arrived in Pamplona at 3:30pm earlier than expected and in true Spanish style everything was closed for the siesta. Being Sunday as well Pamplona resembled a ghost town. When I found my hotel it was closed with a note on the door saying come back at 5pm. I drove into the old part of the town parked the car and headed for a place I have read about many times Café Iruna. This is the café where Hemmingway would sit and watch the world go by and make notes for his books. It also appears in ‘The Sun Also Rises’. Without two much trouble I found the place and apart from the modern canopies at the front which now said Café Hemmingway – Irune the interior is much as he described it in his books, art deco almost Parisian in style.

I sat and enjoyed a cold beer and watch a rather harassed waiter who could have been Manuel from Faulty towers as the square was packed with people relaxing on a Sunday. For all I knew I could be sitting right next to my hotelier who was enjoy a Sunday drink but I would have to wait.

Just after 5pm I headed back to the hotel and was met by very Spanish looking girl dark complexion even darker eyes like black pearls. I then discovered that what I had booked into was an apartment. I found this on the web and it was a good deal but the building I was staying in was 1km from the reception. The girl who I think was keen for a ride in the 7 which by now had attracted much attention with people lining up to have their photo take, jumped in and showed me the way. The parking was good right under the building but I was handed no less than 5 keys for various doors.

The girl explain that these where apartments used by the university for conferences and when there was nothing on they let them out. I had a large bed room, walk in wardrobe, huge bath room with a Jacuzzi bath and a smaller reception room. I felt rather a guilty pilgrim thinking of all those pilgrims in the refuges in bunk beds three high. Then I remembered I was and English Man and a chap and when one travels one does it with a certain amount of comfort but nothing ostentatious.

I had a rendezvous planned this evening with another English man and good all-round chap Bob Slater a regular at the Men’s Breakfast. Bob’s company has offices near Bilbo so he had managed to be over during this time so we arrange to me in Pamplona. It was great to meet up with Bob outside his hotel and stroll into the centre of town having a good conversation. Something I have not engaged in since I was with the 7 Club at le Man. We headed for Café Iruna and had a glass of Vino Tinto [Red Wine] while I brought Bob up to date on my adventure so far. We were served by the same waiter as earlier who by now was a little more composed but just as slow.

After this we head from bar to bar drinking wine and eating tapas as is the custom. The price difference between France and Spain is staggering. At the first bar we ordered two glasses of wine and four lots of tapas this came to E6:50 amazing. At one point we ran into two lads from the US who were walking the Camino. Pamplona is very much a recharging point after the Pyrenees and in preparation for the heat that lies ahead. Both had finished university and were on what seem like an old fashioned European tour the Camino being the first part, Hemmingway would have approved.
As it was Sunday by about 11:30pm the bars and cafes were shutting up shop just as well as I had lost count of the tapas and the glasses of wine and Bob and I headed back to our respective hotels after getting a little lost but thankfully I had my sat nav in the bag and this along with some help from the locals got us back.

Lourdes

2009-06-22T07:29:00.000-07:00

Lourdes is a place that evokes many emotions both positive and negative. This was my first visit and though I have had opportunity to visit before have not done so because I felt it was a little to over the top. Though I enjoy visiting the Shrine of Our Lady Walsingham it is far more and English affair with plastic and tat kept to a minimum and emotions only reviled politely over a cup of tea with fellow pilgrims.

It all began back in 1858 when a young girl named Bernadette visited a cave by the river in the then small hill village of Lourdes and had a vision of the Virgin telling her that people will come here to seek healing. With in a very short space of time 1860 the church endorsed the vision and the miracles have continued ever since.

So first impressions of Lourdes is that its Disney Land for Catholics, the main church and complex has a uncanny similarity to the entrance of Disney Land with the church perched up on a hill just like the castle and long avenues leading to it. It certainly has a wow factor about it. However instead of Mickey mouse or Pluto to welcome you there are statues to Our Lady at which the faithful have left flowers or sanctuary candles. It’s also clearly a place that nuns come on holiday as I have never seen so many in one place. I thought at one point half of the convents in Europe must be empty. It’s some what disconcerting sitting in a café having a quite coffee to suddenly be surrounded by a gaggle of sisters eyeing this sinner suspiciously.

I should add that my experience of sisters in orders in the UK has been nothing but positive as they all no matter what there age seem to have a huge joy and affection for life and people.

On top of all this there are rows and rows of shops selling religious rubbish form glow in the dark Madonna’s to rosaries so large they could be used to anchor a large ship. Ironically many of these shops as well as selling religious artefacts also sell knives, crossbows and replica guns but nobody seems to get the disjunction between the two.

I have never really understood the obsession the Roman Catholic Church has with the Virgin Mary though being half Spanish I see this devotion played out in relationships between sons and mothers in Hispanic countries and Italy. Its not just Mary but female saints in particular seem to develop a far great sense of euphoria than the many male saints. However ask one of the faithful at Lourdes if these women are so important and contributed so much to the church why dose the church not allow women to be priests? At this point if an insult is not hurled you are looked at as if you are completely mad!

With all of this one almost feels like just moving on as faith has been turned into an amusement park and commodity but patience is the key and you just need to go along with the flow for a while and stop looking at the tat and start looking at the people. It soon becomes clear that you are surrounded by fellow Christians with a deep and sincere faith. It may be expressed in quite a different way than us Anglican are used to even those of us accustom to the more catholic side of the Church of England. Here people are either searching for an answer to life’s purpose, healing from some illness that medicine has failed to cure or have returned to give thanks because prayer has been answered and healing taken place. In a short five minuet stroll you can encounter people from all four corners of the globe and it reminds you that as a Christian you are part of a truly world wide family.

I attended as much of the program as I could in the time I had which included a huge service of Benediction in the massive underground Basilica which resembles a multi story car park, A Holy Communion in English led by a charming Priest form Canada but the most moving thing was the evening candle light procession with thousands of other Christians sing hymns and praising God and of course our Lady. Though a traveller in a strange place along way from home it was the first time on the trip that I actually felt that I belonged rather than just being an observer.

So my advice is don’t dismiss Lourdes it’s worth a visit but when you do ignore all the religious tat and nonsense instead look into the eyes of your fellow Christians and there truly God is to be encountered.

Day 13 Le Puy en Velay to Cahrors

2009-06-20T16:08:00.000-07:00

I awoke this morning to the sounds of a city stirring which is actually quite enchanting. Lying in bed trying to guess what each of the new sounds are. The slow build up of traffic noise is the most obvious but then behind that are lots of layers of sound. There is the bee bee of lorries reversing in the distance, the brushing sound of a street cleaner and the clatter of waiters putting out tables ready for breakfast and the fast coffee for those on there way to work. I don’t think I would like it everyday but it was a pleasant change from the pigeon that sits on the vicarage roof and wakes me up most mornings.

After breakfast I headed up to the Cathedral. Le Puy is built in the cone of a volcanic bowel with several rock out crops. The oddity is that it always seems as if you’re going up hill. When I left my hotel I was going up hill and when I arrived back I was still going up hill. It reminded me of that famous optical illusion with monks seeming to be walking constantly up stairs.

The oldest part of the town, which is known as the Holy City was built back in 926BC after the Bishop of Le Puy made one of the first pilgrimages to Compostela. It consists of a maze of medieval streets and passageways and is very easy to become completely lost in. The Cathedral has a black Madonna and there are several references to the Camino. Though the place was not swarming with pilgrims I did see several walking around wearing the scallop shell and passed some of the refuges where pilgrims can stay the night. One in particular which was run by the Franciscans had quite a buzz about it.

After the cathedral I made my way to the Chapel of St Michael d’Aiguihe which is built on top of one of the rock out crops. When planning the trip I had seen it in one of my guide books and was determined to climb to the top. There are 250 step steps to the top and I am very pleased I have lost a lot of weight otherwise it could have been the end of the pilgrimage. The climb took me about 10 minutes and I was pleasantly surprised that I managed it with out getting breathless the little chapel is quite beautiful and the views of Le Puy spectacular. The decent was much quicker and I headed back to the hotel and was on the road by 11:30am

The driving today has been the most fun but also the hardest as it was a constant string of bends and steep climbs often following narrow roads so as to avoid motorways. This demanded all my concentration even though there was little else on most of the roads. The 7 was being driven hard but not particularly fast with all the climbs and for the first time I saw the temperature gauge rise above 80 but settle around 95, much to my relief as I have had nightmares about the car over heating on these mountain passes.

As I passed through small hill top villages I came across more pilgrims trudging the Camino. Many smiled as I passed in my little car with its scallop shell but there where a few who gave me looks of utter distain that I should be following this pilgrim path in such a contraption. I believe envy is one of the [7] deadly sins!!

Lunch today was a picnic of French bread with a small tin of Pate Champagne and a couple of mouth full’s of wine from my wine skin. This was eaten sitting next to a tiny pilgrim chapel by the road which intersected by the Camino path. The odd looks from fellow pilgrims soon turned to smiles when I offered them a slug of my wine flask to help them on their way but no one asked for lift. I will have to buy another bottle of wine tomorrow to replenish the wine skin for the Pyrenees.

The afternoons driving was even more intense than the mornings not helped by the fact that the French seem to have resurfaced every D road in this stretch of my journey leaving fine grit everywhere. This meant I had to go at a snails pace often for several miles to avoid sliding around and protect the paint work from chipping. When I undressed this evening I also had gravel and tar stuck to my neck and back which had been flicked into the car. The result was I arrived at Conques two hours later than intended at 5pm but it is regarded as one of Frances most spectacular medieval villages and abbeys so I felt I could not miss it. Traffic is not normally allowed in the village you have to park in either a top or bottom car park. This results in a ten minute walk to get to the village. Thankfully the young guy on the gate was so impressed with my car that he gave me a special sticker and let me drive into the village and told me to park right by the abbey. St James be praised!

The abbey is dedicated to St Foy a young girl who became an early Christian martyr her relics are at the abbey so it ensured that this became a stopping off point for pilgrims heading to Santiago. The abbey also has one of the finest collections of treasures from the 9th – 16th centaury. I could only spend about half and hour having a look round as my sat nav indicated it was another 2 hour drive to Cahors and I was suppose to be camping.

The final part of the drive was the toughest with more small roads and resurfacing. I arrived in Cahors just before 8pm. I decided I couldn’t cope with finding a camp site and putting a tent up. I had also not had time to by any provisions for an evening meal or breakfast so felt a motel was the best bet. Again the sat nav came up trumps and gave me a list of hotels with in a kilometre radius of the town centre. On the list I found a Formula 1 these are run by the same people that run Ibis but are very basic so I headed straight there. It was about 1km out of the town by the out of town shops. A room was available and only 30 Euros around £28.

Its very basic a bed in a square room, wash basin, chair and TV and the décor is not up to much but I was very tired and it did exactly what it said on the tin ‘room for the night’. Finding something to eat was a little more problematic as there was no food outlet near the hotel so I drove into town. Cahors is very disappointing apart from the amazing fortified bridge across the river there was no main square and I drove round and round hoping to find an area of bars and cafes but with no luck. By now I was so tired I felt like just going back to the hotel but then I passed a Kebab shop so it was a donner and chips. This admittedly is a disgrace in France but needs must. I was very pleased to get into bed and very quickly fell asleep.

Day 11 Taize to le Puy

2009-06-19T14:49:00.000-07:00

I was up early this morning as I wanted to get the tent packed up and to be away before 9am. Thankfully it was another bright sunny day so there was no trouble packing up. I dread the day when I have to pack up the tent and it’s raining. Trying to pack things away into the 7 wet is not going to be easy.

After a Taize breakfast of a bread roll pat of butter and hot chocolate I said my farewells to the group I had joined and then headed 5km down the road to Cluny. The Abbey at Cluny was once the most powerful and wealthy community in Western Europe it was founded by William the Pious Duke of Aquitaine in 910. It finally closed in 1790 and much of it was used for building materials the French even built a road through the central part of the nave. Can you imagine what English Heritage would do at this suggestion!

Unlike William I was not feeling particularly Pious and decided that the 7 needed a clean as it was caked with 10 days of mud and cow manure, which when heated on the exhaust makes a rather unpleasant whiff. There’s hardly any point of cruising through beautiful French villages waiving at the young ladies if your car leaves a rather organic odour in its wake. The first garage I found I fuelled up and then used the jet wash to clean the car. It made a pleasant change too actually by using on of these to clean the car rather than a rain shelter. Rocinante was soon sparkling and turning heads once more as I left Cluny.

The drive to Vichy was fantastic. The D roads were virtually empty and the car just eats up all those wonderful bends. I had to stop twice to reapply sun lotion as by 11am it was scorching and even though the breeze was cool through driving I could feel my arms and the back of my neck burning. I got lost at one point. A new bypass has been built and it’s not on the sat nav or any maps so I kept taking the wrong exit. This then involved driving about 4km to a junction where I could turn round. At one point I though I would be condemned to drive this labyrinth until someone came to the rescue or I ran out of fuel.

On route I chanced upon an old garage whose forecourt was filled with rows and rows of classic French cars in various states of repairs so I had to stop. The owner was an avid collector and in the workshops he had the ones which had been fully restored. He was very impressed with the 7 and let me walk round a photograph all the cars and the rather provocatively dressed manikin he had standing by the side of the road looking like she was trying to hitch a lift.

I arrived in Vichy for lunch time and had no problem finding a secure underground car park. Vichy is the French equivalent of Bath. It has thermal springs and bath house which the wealthy Parisians flocked to just like the London aristocracy in Georgian times. For this reason parts of it look just like Paris and it very easy to think you are there. There are lines and lines of small boutiques selling all manner of luxuries. Kate would love this place and when I phoned her this even suggested we visit together sometime in the future. At the centre of the town is the Parc des Sources the main focus being the Art Deco bath house built in 1900 it is reminiscent of the design found on the Paris Metro and has a long colonnade that enabled the wealthy to stroll around the park from the bath house to the Opera and Casino with out getting wet.

I found a very pleasant restaurant offering a buffet of very healthy salads and pulses which on such a hot day was most welcomed. My French is also improving daily I can now order several types of beer rather than just beer! After lunch I had a stroll round and sampled the waters as is the fashion and then wished I had not. The thermal spring water in Bath England is not the most delightful beverage one can have but the water here is ghastly I actually wanted to spit it out but had to swallow as French folk where knocking it back like it was Champagne.

As I continued my walk round I heard loud claps of thunder and the sky turned black. Shortly after it began to rain so I thought I would be in for a wet second half of the day. Half an hour later it was gone and the sun was out once more so I set of for Le Puy with the hood down. As the air had been renewed by the rain it was very refreshing driving along often through clouds of steam caused by the rain on hot tar mac.

However I was soon to catch up with the rain as it was moving in the same direction and it was not to long before spots of rain appeared on the windscreen. As I could see clear blue skies ahead so I hoped I could out run the rain [just like everything else on the road]. I got some odd looks form folk as I drove by pouring with rain and the hood down. As long as I kept above 30mph its fine the water just goes straight over your head. Twenty minutes later I was at the centre of the storm and could not see anything as my glasses where covered in water and huge clouds of steam rose for the road. Again I sort shelter in a jet wash which I had spied up ahead.

Ten minuets later it was all gone and I continued on my way hood down and headed up the mountain passes. The driving was excellent and every so often there would be two lanes to let people pass slow moving traffic mainly logging lorries. At these points it was down into third gear and foot to the floor. Now I know why Catherham’s are always successful in hill climbing races they just gooooooooooooo!

After an hour of driving upwards round tight bends which the 7 grips as if on rails I arrived at the top in the small village of La Chaise –Dieu whose abbey appears quite menacingly out of the trees as you approach. This is part of the Camino so it must have been a welcomed sight for pilgrims who had just traversed the mountain and were looking for refreshment and a bed for the night. The Abbey like so many others no longer functions so modern sore footed pilgrims today have to settle for the many hostelries displaying the scallop shell and by the looks of some of the prices they realize that have a captive market as the nearest refuges are down the other side in Le Puy a good half days walk. I was very please I had brought the 7.

The abbey has the most magnificent choir with 144 oak stalls. Above each stall is a separate carving for each brother that sat there depicting vice and virtue many are very amusing. Above the stalls hangs a series of 16th century tapestries circling the choir depicting scenes from the bible. They are spectacular now but in there hay day it must have be incredible to sit for prayers as a brother and look at the bible stories portrayed in brilliant colour.

The drive down the mountain was lots of fun using low gears and making sure the car does not run away with you was important as there are some sharp hair pins. This is where the sat nav come into it’s on. On the 3D setting you can see the road ahead mapped out so a quick glance enables me to see where the bends are and which way they will go and how sharp they will be. This is just as well as the French only put blue and white hatchings signs when you come to a 180 degree bend so it’s easy to get caught out and by the rather dented crash barriers on the side of the road several people have been. Thankfully my decent was fun but uneventful as I kept full concentration until I saw the Chapelle of St Michel rising up from a rock outcrop signifying that I had arrived at Le Puy. I nearly didn’t find my hotel as it has been renamed All Seasons rather than Ibis but as I had programmed the address into thee sat nav there was no mistake and the receptionist confirmed the hotel had been rebranded but was still part of the Ibis change owned by Accor.

My room was very pleasant with a fantastic view of a large square with a fountain surrounded by cafés and bistros. My lighting of candles and prayers at shrines on route had obviously been heard as I discovered I had a bath and not just a shower as normally found in these hotels. A quick trip down to the bar and armed with an ice cold beer I had a good soak in the bath which was heaven as my knee and shoulders where acing from the hard driving. Constant gear changing and being pushed left and right in the cockpit round those bends.

Supper was Moule and Frits normally fantastic when I have had them in Brittany. I was concerned as to quality as we are miles away form the cost but being France I was sure they would be perfect. Disappointment ensued when the rather large bowel of Moules was presented and I discovered that the mussel inside many of them were no bigger than a pea.

After an evening stroll and writing my blog I headed for a very welcomed bed with fresh linen sheets.

Taize

2009-06-18T14:55:00.000-07:00

It’s good to be back in the Taize Community where I first accepted my calling to the ordained ministry nearly twenty years ago. It was during my first visit to Taize with a small group from my home parish of St Peter’s Burnham that I decided to put my name forward for ordination. It was something I had been thinking about since the age of 17 but had been advise to do something else first thus art collage and photography, but the calling never went away.

It was one evening while praying in front of the Icon of Jesus and the Believer that I felt the time was right and after evening prayer I went and spoke to my Vicar who was leading the trip and the journey began. Since that time I have returned to Taize on several occasions, once to live in the community to test my vocation to the monastic life but realized that my path lay else where namely Kate who I had just met before going to live there for 4 months.

Every week young people from all over the world come to spend a week in Taize. To take part in the daily prayer of chants, simple bible readings and silence three times a day. They also have a daily bible study and then help with the work of the community, be it cleaning cooking or gardening. During the holiday period there can be over 5000 people here mainly aged 17 – 30. Being with so many Christian is a very powerful experience as for once you feel like a majority rather than a minority and can be open about your faith with others, something young people and adults for that matter find difficult at school or in the work place. In Taize talking about ones pilgrimage of faith is commonplace. Then there is the addition of the international dimension sharing with Christians from all over the world of many denominations. Here the divisions of nationality, wealth and denomination all fade away as the common focus is Christ and his unconditional love.

The community was founded by Br Roger a Swiss Lutheran at the end of the Second World War. He wanted to do something to bring reconciliation between peoples who had fort a long and bloody war. As you drive to Taize you are always reminded of this as you pass the war cemeteries where so many young men of both sides lay, there lives cut short through mans inhumanity to man.

My stay this time is very different than before as it’s only two days rather than a week but even in this short time I have been able to engage fully in the experience. I was part of a small discussion group which consisted of a South African Minister, and Irishman, a Basque, and several Germans. We shared a bible study on the Sermon on the Mount as well as sharing our own spiritual journeys and our work was being part of the washing up team. Things have change a lot since my first visit nearly twenty years ago. There are now proper toilets, showers and many more permanent buildings rather than the large circus type tents that use to be used though the adult meeting place was tent of this kind. In times pass the best way to describe Taize was like a refugee camp they even used the same large blue tents that are provided by the UN in international emergencies.

Something’s never change and that is the Taize food which is very simple enough to survive a week on but not more. My first night I was delighted to see chicken nuggets on the menu board. However when it came to the meal it was one chicken nugget each with some peas and carrots so little chance of putting any weight on here. As I had my own tent I slept in this as it offers some privacy. There are barracks but quite often the snoring let alone the smell can lead to an international incident so a tent is best. I have found my rather thin self inflating sleeping mat very comfortable. I think it must have some kind of honey comb structure in it because I find I can’t feel the hard ground or any bumps and have slept very well with it. The other possibility is that my backside is now permanently num from spending so much time driving the 7!!!

Another early start tomorrow as I want to be away by 9am it’s a long drive to Le Puy so I will sign off now as I want to be fresh for the morning.

Day 8 Troyes to Taize

2009-06-17T15:17:00.000-07:00

It was fantastic this morning to wake up in a bed and not until my alarm sounded at 8:30am. After a shower I then had a leisurely breakfast in a large open room with bright sunlight pouring through the glass walls. Already today was showing far greater promise than the misery of yesterdays constant rain.

Before I had gone to bed the previous evening I went down to the underground car park in the hotel to see if I could resolve the problem of the faulty driver’s headlight. I managed to unscrew the casing using my multi tool pen knife. No mean feet after having drunk three glasses of wine at dinner. I discovered that the problem was simply a loose connection. This I presume the result of too many cobbled streets which had shaken the connector loose from the bulb. It was quick and simple to push it all back and have a set of working headlights again.

After breakfast I headed out into Troyes which at its centre is a maze of 16th centaury courtyards and churches. Apparently it’s shaped in the form of a champagne cork which is appropriate for this region of Champania. However many of the buildings are in a poor stat of repair with rotting wood and render falling from the walls with several of the streets having a rather shabby appearance so clearly the fact that this is the place where the most over priced wine in the world is produced has not at least recently benefited the city.

As I walked down the main parade I was rather disappointed to see very familiar shop signs, Etam, Next, Burton, Top Shop and even and M&S which to a Brit was rather reassuring. I suppose this is the result of globalization but it would be nice to see genuine French shops though the share holders of these multi nationals would probably disagree.

To me it’s a bit like travelling to Spain or Greece and then to go out in the evening looking for Pub Anglaie serving fish and chips. Why travel at all if you’re never going to see or sample the local delicacies.

In the church of St Nizier I found my first real link to the Camino a statute and altar dedicated to St Rocher. He was a pilgrim who suffered from leprosy but was cured by making the journey and was protected by an angel and had a dog who brought him fresh bread each day. Though thankfully leprosy is not one of my concerns on this pilgrimage I decided to light a candle and say a prayer hoping for a better day as I travelled to Taize.

I had hoped to find a morning communion service but there was none not even in the Cathedral of St Pierre et St Paul. The problem is that the Roman Catholic Church in France is desperately short of priests and they have to be shared around covering large areas. Maybe they can learn a thing or too from us in the C of E perhaps its time for the Roman Catholic church to think seriously about ordaining women.

After getting lost in the maze of alleyways I finally found my way back to the hotel and got underway just before 11am. The sun was shining but it was chilly and there were dark clouds in the sky. On several occasions I found my self reaching for the leaver that turns the heating on in the 7 to get some hot air in the cockpit. The roads were great and virtually clear apart from the odd lorry carrying logs moving slowly with flashing beacons on the rear. I was rather surprise the first time I over took one to discover they are twice the length of a conventional articulated lorry so I needed to take this into account when passing. Thankfully the acceleration of the 7 makes this rather simple.

After a couple of hours in the car with one short fuel stop the temperature had risen and all clouds disappeared and I stopped to put sun cream on. It was not long after that than the fields of wheat, corn and sunflowers was replaced by rows and rows of vines. I had entered Burgundy and saw signs for another great place of pilgrimage for wine buffs Chablis, which I arrived in by 1:30pm. It has to be said there is nothing like sitting in Chablis drinking Chablis over lunch. By now all the trauma of yesterday’s wet drive had vanished and my heart was singing at this great experience. Chablis unsurprisingly was full of Brits and I chatted to several outside the Bistro who also had beautifully polished classic cars park about the town.

I still had a 200km drive to Taize and a stop at Abbaye Fontenay so couldn’t linger in Chablis so reprogrammed the Sat Nav and set of the Fontenay. Sadly there was no room in the 7 for a couple of bottles. The next forty minute drive was exhilarating with clear roads in dispersed with small French villages whose residents waived or gave me an approving thumbs up as I passed through at a crawl to respect there speed limits, reminded of all those people who speed through Shrivenham as if they had to get to a fire.

Abbaye Fontenay is the oldest surviving Cistercian foundation in Frances founded by St Bernard in 1118 who was from noble birth and with his families support the order grew. Sadly there are no brothers these days and the Abbey is privately own. In the past it had been used as a working mill, the working mill wheel is still in place but in 1906 it came into the current family who carried out all the restoration and it has been beautifully restored, with immaculate lawns that our bowling club would be proud of. By now the temperature was around 29C so it was very refreshing to walk though large cool chapels, refectories with courtyards containing splashing fountains.

Again the French aren’t big on facilities at these places unlike our National Trust who cater for every whim of the English middle class. The Abbey had a toilet [note the singular] which considering the numbers that visit and the queue was inadequate. There was also advertise in a small out building café but upon inspection no cream teas or French pastries but vending machines so it was an Oragaina rather than a pot of Darjeeling. I was half tempted to get the camping stove out and make afternoon tea in the proper way to demonstrate to our French cousins how a visit to a heritage site should be concluded with tea and cake. Unfortunately the tea lesson would have to wait for another day as I still had 170km drive to get to Taize if I was to arrive by 6pm when the community welcomes new arrivals.

The final 170km was a delight with more clear roads apart from the odd tractor and the 7 performed admirably on all the lovely bends and hills. My drinking system proved its worth again and this avoided dehydration in the hot sun. With the top down and the wind blowing through your hair you don’t realize that you are actually sweating a lot so its very easy to suddenly not feel well and light headed if you have not been drinking regularly. I pulled into Taize at exactly 6pm and was welcomed by a young Dutch girl who made my day thinking I was under 25 and putting me with the young groups. When I told her I was 40 she did not believe me thinking I was just trying to get a better camping pitch in the adult section so the diet has paid off. I should add that adulthood begin at 30 in Taize. Those under 30 are considered young people and camp in a separate area. Upon inspection of the adult section I was glad I had aged 15 years as the grownups have proper showers, toilets and tables to eat our meals but more about that tomorrow as I must get my tent up before evening prayer.

He who would beset him round with dismal stories..

2009-06-15T14:33:00.000-07:00

Today has been the most difficult day so far of the pilgrimage and I am feeling quite miserable this evening though a good meal and a couple of glasses of wine have lifted my sprits. Oh and that I am spending the night in a hotel after four nights under canvas.

This morning I rose at 6:30am as I wanted to get packed and out of the campsite at Le Man before 9am. The weather forecast had predicted overcast skies all day with high humidity but no rain. Sure enough as I stuck my head out of the tent at dawn the skies where grey but it was warm and no sign of rain. As there was no queue for the showers I took the advantage and went straight to them. Breakfast was a meagre black coffee and a few all butter biscuit I felt scrambled eggs and all the washing up would only delay me.

I managed to get everything packed into the 7 by just after 8am. The hood was down as no rain was forecast and I set off from the camp site right into the Le Man rush hour added too by all the others who like me decided to get away early from the race track. It took me well over half an hour to clear Le Man and by then I had already noticed spots of rain on the wind screen but felt confident it would pass. About 10km out of Le Man I passed a trucker's café bar and stopped for breakfast. Determined not to put the hood up I open my large golf umbrella and covered the cockpit while I went in. Breakfast consisted of a very large white coffee and fresh French bread and as much butter as I could speared on.

By the end of my petit dejeuner it was raining hard and I was soaked while I put the hood up and set off with windows constantly misting up. It then rained solidly until I arrived at Troyes at 6:30pm and I was not a happy bunny to say the least. I had been particularly looking forward today as my route followed the Loire Valley crossing the famous river every so often as I passed through villages with impressive stone bridges. However there was more water on the road and falling from the sky than there was in the river. I stopped at Troo, Vendome and Orleans but there was little point in site seeing as it was raining so hard so there was no pleasure to be found in walking around, though I did make an effort to go into the cathedrals.

I also discovered that the French don’t seem to do Mondays. Everything was closed including garages and even though they advertised 24hrs service none of the automatic pumps would accept my British credit card and I watch with some alarm as my fuel gauge pass the ¾ empty mark and passing garage after garage that was closed. I finally found one of a section of duel carriageway and I filled up even though the price was much higher than else where. The same was true of trying to find something to eat or a toilet. Even the supermarkets close for two hours for lunch imagine Sainsbury or Tesco’s closing for lunch people would panic thing the world was coming to an end.

At Orleans I parked in a huge underground car park which was directly below the cathedral so at least the 7 was dry. I went up and walk into the cathedral and asked for the loos to be told there where none in the cathedral. Can you imagine visiting an English cathedral and there being no loos or a tea shop it just wouldn’t happen. I went across to a bar brought an espresso and then headed for the loo to discover the in cost 20cents. After then getting change I tried twice to open the door but to no avail and upon asking the bar tender he simply responded it’s not working. The problem shall we say was managed by stealth.

By now I was running 3 hours behind with a mix of bad weather and set after set of road works and a 20km detour because of an accident. I should have been at Orleans by 1pm but it was now 3pm and I had 200km to go to Troyes no fuel and no food.

The psalmist shows how we can be angry with God and my prayer or conversation in the cockpit as I drove out of Orleans was far from reverent and more akin to a husband and wife arguing about directions in the car. Just as I though it couldn’t get any worse I realised with horror that the passenger door was not secure and the hood bag which holds the roof when its sunny was missing and had clearly dropped out somewhere along the road. At least it didn’t have the hood in! I will just have to roll the hood and stow it with out the bag and order another one when I get back to the UK. Then to top it all I realized in the reflection off another vehicle that my driver side head light was not working and in this rain it was important to be a visible as possible!!

I felt like Job in my 7 wondering what calamity would strike next and how could this happen to one who has set out on pilgrimage with the best intentions. The journey from Orleans to Troyes was miserable with driving rain and more delays. I see on the French news this evening that there has been serious flooding in parts of France so in some respects I have been lucky. I was also reassured to receive a message on my phone from the hotel saying they where looking forward to seeing me and that a space had been reserved for my car in the hotel underground parking.

I arrived in Troyes at 6:30pm feeling very miserable and wet through wishing I was back at home. I was met at the hotel by a lovely French girl whose smile raised my spirits and showed me to a very nice room. The hotel is an ibis the European equivalent to a travel lodge. I always thought all the rooms were the same but the room I have seems much larger than usual. This is either due to receiving sympathy from the nice receptionist for my drown rat look or that having lived in a tent for the pass four days and then spent the past 5 hours in the cockpit of a 7 with my luggage taking up all the spare room that anything seems big after this.

It finally stopped raining at 7:30pm so I decide the best therapy was a good meal and several glasses of wine. It was a five minute walk into the old quarter of the town where restaurants and bistros where in abundance and unlike everything else today OPEN! Two hours later I am much rived and the forecast for the next four days is sunny. We shall see! I think it was Mark Twain who said that ‘until you have been delayed on your journey you have not really travelled’.

24hrs Le Mans

2009-06-13T13:26:00.000-07:00

I have discovered over the past couple of days that there are many different types of pilgrimage. There are those which lead the faithful, to Jerusalem, Assisi or Santiago de Compostela and then there are those which lead fans to gather in there thousands to worship that which they hold most dear. Be it their football team or the smell of rubber, oil and the roar of an engine which is to be found here at the 24hr Le Man.

For one week every year the town of Le Man is the focus for the thousands of people [mainly men] who worship the motor car commonly know as petrol-heads whose patron saint is not our Lady but, Clarkson. In some respects it reminds me a little of the International Air Tattoo at Fairford which Shrivenhamites are familiar with. Every spare field around the circuit becomes either a car park or camping site.

I’m in the posh bit ‘Private Camping’ for members of Motor Clubs the petrol heads equivalent of belonging to a monastic community. Our 2 acre site is shared between the Lotus 7 Club, the Lotus owners Club and the Porsche Drivers Club. I don’t know who let in the German cars!!! We have our own shower and toilets, marquee with bar and restaurant and big telly which I mentioned before. Most of all we are only a 3 minute walk from the main entrance and have seats in the main Turbine Stand 34 which overlooks the pits and the start/finish line. We even have our own race girls know as the ‘Speed Chills Girls’ who are here to make us feel special and not middle aged as we all are. I’m please to report that our girls are no bimbows. Though they sport short skirts and small yellow shorts depending on the time of day they are all studying for a degree at Oxford Brooks [where my beloved wife study] so our girls not only have looks but brains one was even studying philosophy so I was able to engage her in philosophical debate.

The worship of the internal combustion engine does not only take place inside the circuit but around the camp and in the neighbouring villages. At night people gather on the streets and roundabouts to watch cars go by. If you are driving something sporty be it Ferrari, Porsche or a Caterham 7 you are stopped and asked to rev the car and burn rubber. Failure to do so is met by a soaking with water pistols. The French Police are all over the place but let this pass as it is part of the ritual. Instead of plaster saints being paraded its horse power and polished paint work. I received a round of applause and cheer for my efforts even producing smoke from the rear wheels! However as these tyres need to last me another 2800 miles once was enough and Rocinante is safely parked in the camp site and will remain there until Monday morning.

The start of the race is overwhelming and the atmosphere is electric. At around 2pm the cars are brought out from the pits and lined up diagonally along the pit straight. Years ago the drives had to stand on the opposite side of the track and when the green flag was waived they had to run to there cars and start the engine and go, these days as the drivers have to be fastening in properly and the car started by the pit crew this is mainly homage to days gone by. At this point the main straight is a hive of activity with technicians making final adjustments to the cars the press taking photos and the race girls posing with the cars yes and even our ‘Speed Chills Girls’ with oddly enough ‘Creation Racing’. Then the national anthem of each driver is played and the flag of the nation paraded. The Brits even out did the French when God Save the Queen way played with around 80% of people in the stands standing, doffing hats and singing and then a huge cheer. In fact I’ve hardly heard a French voice since I’ve been here.

The testosterone level at this point is off the scale!!! Finally at ten to three an official waives a green flag and the cars go off on their warm up lap. Then the most amazing thing happens. Once all the cars are clear absolute silence descends on the stands the tension is incredible. The President of the French Automobile Club then walks out on a gantry above the Rolex Clock and the digital time flickers two 24:00:00. As the sound of the cars in the distance gets closer he unrolls the Tricolour [French Flag] as the cars approach the start line he waives it and the race begin to the most enormous cheer, sound of air horns which is all drowned out by the drivers flooring the gas pedal along the straight some reaching nearly 200MPH in a few seconds and the Rolex timer displays 23:59:59 and counting down.

You then realize that this race is going to continue until 3pm Sunday afternoon and after about half and hour everyone gets up and goes to have a drink or to by provisions for the evening meal at the local supermarket. The race is quite amazing really each car has up to three drives and apart for fuel, tyre and driver changes these cars will drive non stop at constant speeds in excess of 150mph for 24hrs. The aim is not only to win but to finish it is the ultimate engineering challenge. It’s because of races like this that you and I now have cars that only need servicing once a year or two in the case of diesels.

The battle this year is between the French and the Brits. The Brits are racing 3 Lola Aston Martins numbers 007 008 009 petrol engines in the famous Gulf colours of orange and light blue as in the Le Mans film staring Steve McQueen. The French are racing Peugeots which are HDi diesels just like the engine I have in my Peugeot 407 family estate but my bigger.

I will venture back to my stand this evening after my dinner and when it’s dark and the night racing begins.

Day 4: Acigne to Le Mans

2009-06-12T07:09:00.000-07:00

After 3 days of not being on the move it was good to set out again this morning. For the pilgrim or traveller to be stationary is not a good thing. It took my about forty minutes to load the car and get ready. I will need to improve on this time if I’m going to make real progress when I’m only staying over night in places.

Thankfully the sun was shining this morning and continued to do so all day, getting hotter and hotter. After leaving my friend Tom’s place I pit stopped to take on some fuel. As the 7 only had a 25 litre tank it’s important that once the indicator has passed the half way mark you stop at a garage if you see one. As I’m avoiding all the main roads the likely hood of finding a garage is reduced so it’s better to play safe and fill up when I can.

I headed out of Acigne on the D57, 38km towards Vitre and there was very little traffic and the road was great, so I was able to be generous with the throttle, but not over zealous. At last I was driving through beautiful French countryside with the top down the wind in my hair and sun on my skin.

When I arrive in Vitre I found a parking space next to a small café. I sat outside and brought an espresso, believing that if I gave them my custom they would be more likely to keep and I on the car. It certainly attracted some attention and one chap Michael who had recently moved back from Brazil sat next to me over a coffee to ask all about it.

After this pleasant and rather technical interlude I then went for a stroll round the town. Vitre is fortified high on a hill overlooking the Vilaine Valley. Walking round it you could be mistaken for thinking you are on the set of a pantomime such as Sleeping Beauty or Repunsel as there are tall towers with pencil point turrets though on this occasion no damsels in distress. Most of the buildings are from the 15th – 16th centaury. I first went into the gothic style Cathedral of Notre-Dame which had quite beautiful stained glass particularly in the East window, which featured the resurrection. After lighting a candle and saying a prayer I headed down to the Chateau. There is real only a shell left though the town hall and a small museum are inside the ramparts. My exploration was rewarded down by the station with a delightful café where I stopped for a café frappe and to write some post cards.

My ploy of buying a coffee at the café where I had parked seemed to pay off as the car was all in one piece when I returned and I then set off for Laval. Again beautiful roads and there was nothing for it but to put my Top Gear album on the IPod and listen to some great driving tracks while I sped along the open roads. There nothing quite like driving a 7 down a road lined with trees listening to ‘Keep your Motor Running’ and like a Bat out of Hell!

I arrived in the centre of Laval at lunch time after a small detour to avoid a Peugeot garage that had caught fire which was surrounded by fire engines and police cars and belching the most acrid black smoke. Imagine going back to collect your car after a service to find not only no car but no garage either!

In the old medieval part of Laval, not as extensive as Vitre, is a car park covered with Lime trees providing much needed shade where I stop and went to a Bistro opposite. I had the Plat de Jour which today was mutton, not something often found in the UK but it was delicious. I was lucky to be joined by a very glamorous female called Charlotte for lunch who took a liking to my immediately and sat on the chair opposite for the whole meal. I should add that Charlotte was the Bistros’ cat.

After a very leisurely French lunch I had a stroll round the old part of Laval which is very small indeed and decided that the best thing to do was to head for Le Man so I programmed the Sat Nav to avoid all the main roads and I set of down the D357 which again was another fantastic road. It was very hot so I had covered my face, neck and arms in sun screen before leaving and was also able to utilise my drinking system. This consists of a 1 ½ litre camel back which cyclists use stuffed behind the passenger seat with the drinking tube coming from behind the seat so that I can just grab it with my left hand and suck to get water.

I arrive in Le Man around 3:30pm and although the race doses not begin until Saturday there was already a carnival atmosphere in the town. As I drove passed in the 7 there where many cheers, raised thumbs and claps. My camp site with the Lotus 7 Club is Camp Blue which is fenced off and has security at the gate and patrolling so you don’t have to worry about the car or your kit. We have a marquee with bar, eating area and a huge TV which is about 8ft by 10ft that has the racing beamed directly to it. There were already lines of 7s by tents and I was directed to a nice shady spot by a tree and only 50yards from the shower and toilet block. No tardis like blue chemical toilets here these are all plumbed in and there is piping hot water in the showers all the time. The only negative thing is a very noisy generator which powers the bar, kitchen and large TV. Apparently this is only an emergency one as the main generator had broken down but would be back on line tomorrow.

It took me about an hour to set my pitch up but apart from the generator I think it will be very pleasant. This is as long as it doesn’t rain other wise it will be a quagmire.

I cooked my supper of chilly and rice and then had a stroll round the race enclosure and even though it was 10pm and dark cars where still practicing for the night driving that would take place during the race and there was a buzz in the air as the sound of very large V8’s sped round the track followed by the red blur of their tail lights. There will be much to explore tomorrow.

Day 3, Rain rain go away!!!!

2009-06-10T11:39:00.000-07:00

I had a bit of a lay in the morning but was woken this morning not by children getting ready for school but heavy rain on the skylight. As I was planning my route I was imagining beautiful French countryside bathed in sunshine often illustrated in my many guide books. The scene outside my window this morning resembled them in no way what so ever. Would this rain ever go away? At least I should be thankful that I was not under canvas!

Tom, Steff and the children where all at home today as Children under the age of 10 in France don’t go to school on Wednesdays so we had hoped to all go out somewhere but the weather was so bad that it was a day indoors.

I spent some time with Tom in his workshop which is full of big boy’s toys, large saws, stump cutters, shredders trailers and several chainsaws and now my 7. On wet days he can’t get out to do tree work so spends time maintaining his equipment and paper work. Today he needed to sharpen 16 very large metal teeth that fit into a machine for removing stumps, this takes several hours each week and has to be carried out with a special diamond grinder as the teeth are made of tungsten.

Later in the morning Steff took me to the local out of town shopping area to see if I could get pay as you go mobile broadband. In the UK we often bemoan the amount of red tape we have and how our French cousins pay little heed to this. Well it’s not always the case particularly with regard to mobile phones and broadband. In the UK I can go into any phone shop and for a relatively small amount walk out with a new phone or broadband dongle on pay as you go no questions asked. In France even for pay as you go you have to have a French bank account, and more id than would be needed to get into GCHQ at home.

After several shops we finally ended up in SFR and they produced a box with a pay as you go dongle all I needed was a credit card and driving license, but Steff had to vouch for me and give her address as my residence for the month. So I have discovered that viva le revolution is not always the way here particularly with mobile phones.

The afternoon was partly spent trying to register the dongle even more red tape. The dongle came with a 30 page booklet and showed how to register and get online. After an hours messing about Steff call SFR to say we were having problems, only then did they say that it took 48 hours to register. Why that couldn’t be in the booklet I’ll never know. I've been rereading ‘Around the World in 80 days’ Phyllis Fog never had this trouble. In the end I’m connected and can now access the internet using the SFR dongle and hopefully will be able to top up once the number is registered. However though this is the glorious EU I will have to go through the whole process again in Spain as the French dongle will not work there. You would think that in a continent that has a single currency that there would be a single mobile net work that you could use everywhere.

After lunch there was a break in the rain and I managed to give Tom and the family rides in the 7 but on the final run the heavens opened and Tom and I got rather wet. The rest of the afternoon was spent play Piou Poiu with Steff and the children. The aim of the card game to get your chicken to lay three eggs. Unlike poker I was surprisingly successful at this new game but betting with a 7 and 5 year old would not be correct.

All the weather reports on French TV say the summer begins here tomorrow which bodes well for the 24hr Le Man which I head to tomorrow morning passing through two places synonymous to the Camino Troo and Verom.

Day 2 Acigné

2009-06-09T13:16:00.000-07:00

This morning was another early start as I was up with the Jenkins family as they got ready for school and work. The sounds of parents telling children to turn the telly off and get ready for school and “where’s your home work” were reassuring waking up in a strange room and bed.

The night before Tom and I had spent the evening reminiscing about our school days, and all the scrapes we got into. We shared a room with a bunk bed, Tom on the top bunk me on the bottom. You get to know people pretty well when you have shared a room 12 x 15 foot for two years. This reminiscing was accompanied by the bottle of scotch I had brought Tom for putting me up for the next couple of days and my head was slightly the worse for wear!! A confession! We remembered when we borrowed a pub sign from Bideford which had been taken down to be re painted ‘The Portobello’. We carried this about a mile back to our boarding house and lent it against the wall. Beets a traffic cone. As it was so large it was impossible to conceal so when our House Master came to make his nightly inspection he was some what taken aback with our knew décor. He had to hold back a smile and after a half serious telling off told us that we would have to get up a 5am the next day and take it back, which we duly did.

After the family had left I set to work cleaning the mud that had covered the 7 in the rain the previous day. The sun was out so the hood came off and I headed into Rennes having my first taste of driving in this beautiful country with the hood off enjoying the sun. The Sat Nav took me straight to a secure underground car park so there were no worries about leavening the car. I then selected a café that had plenty of buzz and people walking by and engaged in some people watching.

The French are all so elegant no track suits here unless they are actually jogging. The word CHAV is thankfully not in the language. Even the teenagers though very casually dresses seem to look like they are in a teen soap. Us Brits used to be renowned for our smartness abroad but these days its locker room rather than club house. However I’m doing my bit to keep the British end up and sported my pink striped shirt and sleeveless cricket jumper.

One of my tasks for today was to get mobile broad band on pay as you go. Would you Adam and Eve it there is no such thing in France. You must have a French bank account in order to get Broad Band even if it’s not on a contract. A very helpful chap in ‘Phone House’ [Car phone Wear House in English] who spoke perfect English explains this to me. I’m therefor some what concerned as to how often I will be able to up date this BLOG. Apparently free Wi-Fi at MacDonald’s is the ticket.

By lunch time the early starts of the past couple of days had caught up with me and the sky was turning grey so I headed back to Tom’s for an afternoon nap which was most welcomed. I was woken by the sound of very heavy rain on the sky light and with horror thought I had left the 7 on the drive with the hood down, but then remembered I had gone back down and pushed it in the garage.

After writing a couple of post cards I walked into the Village of Acinge to find a post box. It’s a similar size to Shrivenham with a lovely church of St Julian but not quite up to par with St Andrew’s though the rearadoss was very impressive as it had no east window. The village has a couple of bars, to Boulanger, pizza parlour and a one stop shop type set up and a small school. There is a working water mill and a beautiful river running around the out skirts of the community.

Tomorrow I hope to visit Fougers and with a bit of luck the sun will finally shine.

Day One

2009-06-08T13:27:00.000-07:00

It seemed to take an absolute age to get everything packed into the 7 yesterday. Every available nook and cranny was utilised. I wasn’t really sure if I was going to get everything in and in the end a few non essential items had to go. By 9pm all was loaded and the car sat in the garage ready for my 5am start.

After watching the first episode of the new series of Kingdom, realising I would now miss all the other episodes I turned in for the night. I slept well to start with but then had a nightmare about the car over heating with all the addition luggage as I tried to cross the Pyrenees which woke me at about 2am after which I found it hard to get to sleep again but did doze off.

At 4am my alarm clock signalled the start of a journey I had been planning for over a year and I leapt out of bed like a small boy on Christmas morning. Made a very strong think coffee but I was wide awake. I started the day by saying Morning Prayer in my study and praying particularly for the journey and my family that would be left at home.

I had cheated the night before and showered and shaved before going to bed so that all I needed to do in the morning was a quick wash and brush my teeth before putting on my clothes that I had laid out in the spare room so as not to wake Kate. Then the first difficult decision, do I take my old trainers or the new? I opted for the old as I knew they where broken in and comfortable I’ll save the new ones for the trip to the US in August.

At precisely 4:45am I slowly pushed the 7 out of the garage and onto the drive. My gamble not to put the hood up had paid off; it was cold and cloudy but dry. After putting in my ‘Man Bag’ as my wife calls it I went and woke the family gently to say I was off.

After big hugs and kisses and lots of take care from all sides I slid into the cockpit and fired the engine up and that beautiful deep throb indicated that Rocinante was alive and ready to go. With some excitement and sorrow as I would not be seeing my lovely family for a month I pulled up the drive and away.

I decided to go via Bourton to pass St James’ Church to symbolically mark journeying from St James Bourton to St James Compostela. This was done at a snails pace as they had resurfaced the road the day before and there where lose chippings everywhere. It would not have been a good start to puncture the radiator before I had even left the Benefice.

The Vale was shrouded in mist and very beautiful and serene. As I drove I thought of the many different places I would see the sun rise in the coming months and felt the exhilaration of and adventure beginning.

This euphoria was soon lost as it was very cold driving with the hood down even with the heater on full blast and I began to question the wisdom of leaving the hood down. By Southampton my legs were boiling hot through the heater and engine wash while my right arm and head was num so I was overjoyed when I pulled into the Portsmouth Ferry Terminal and about 6:30am an went straight to buy a hot coffee.

Much to my surprise the terminal was packed full of children all going on school trips. So no chance of getting a kip on the boat and I felt my first pang of missing my boys as I saw lads of a similar age already spending the money Mum & Dad had given them for France.

The car was put on the lower deck with the motor bikes as it won’t make the ramps. At least this means I was first on and will be first off. I then encountered the first problem of the solo traveller there is no one to keep your seat so I just had to take a chance and leave my bag and jacket on the seat while I went and got my breakfast.

As I arrived at Cherbourg the sky was leaden so the chance of driving with the hood down was looking less likely by the minuet. I managed to drive for about half an hour before the heavens opened and I took shelter in a Jet Wash of all places which was covered and managed to put the hood up. In order to do this I had to put all may luggage in the passenger seat so it was rather cosy after that. From then on it rained no stop with torrential down pours every so often and I could feel my right arm and side getting wet. I was very please that I was staying at friends tonight and not camping so that I and the car could dry out.

I managed to stop at Coutances for lunch [saucisson beget & espresso] and looked into the cathedral and lit a candle at the Altar to our Lady as a thanks giving for safe passage to France. As the rain got harder there was not much chance look around so I decided the best thing was to head straight to my friends house.

The weather got worse as I continued but on the D40 I came across the tomb of St Leonard quite the most extraordinary place just by the road side. An avenue of trees which was decorated by cut flowers and hundreds of objects many children’s toys.

According to Catholic on Line, he was a Frank courtier who was converted by St. Remigius, refused the offer of a See from his godfather, King Clovis I, and became a monk at Micy. He lived as a hermit at Limoges and was rewarded by the king with all the land he could ride around on a donkey in a day for his prayers, which were believed to have brought the Queen through a difficult delivery safely. He founded Noblac monastery on the land so granted him, and it grew into the town of Saint-Leonard. He remained there evangelizing the surrounding area until his death. He is invoked by women in labor and by prisoners of war because of the legend that Clovis promised to release every captive Leonard visited. His feast day is November 6.

I finally arrive at Acigene at around 5:30pm and was very please to see my old school mate Tom and his family. The car was put in his garage to dry off and I was brought inside and given a Scotch which was most welcome after a hard day in the saddle.

Well day one is over and apart from the rain it has been a good one but hope its sunny tomorrow.

To be a Pilgrim…

2009-06-02T11:50:00.000-07:00

Well finally my sabbatical has begun and what a week of great weather to start lets hope it last!

In my first week off I turned forty while on holiday in Wales with the family. There was no noticeable difference, apart form the fact that I started to like jazz and ended up downloading Quincy Jones on iTunes. According to other male friends who have also reach the big 4-0 this is quite normal. Great!

I have also reached my second target and lost 3 1/2 stone and am now back to the weight I was when I got married going from a 42inch waist back to 36inches and feel much better for it. Who says a mid-life crises isn't a good thing.

On Sunday I was given a send off at the end of the Pentecost service at St James Bourton to mark my pilgrimage to the shrine of St James Compostela. Both my colleagues gave blessings Canon Edwin for the car and Revd Anne for me and ample Holy Water from the font was sprinkled as we had just had a baptism. I also revealed the name I have given the car ‘Rocinante’. This was the name that Don Quixote another mad Spaniard gave his horse and as Spain is my mothers home land and I’m also slightly mad it seems an appropriate name. The word Rocin actually means work horse or nag but the suffix ante means previously or before so Don Quixote gave his horse this name to symbolise that he was no longer something ordinary but now a greet steed worthy of a knight.

Believe it or not I can claim knightly rank as in the Middle Ages the clergy or priests were considered the knights of the church and Bishops its princes. So Rocinante seemed even more appropriate and I hope my adventures are as exciting as Don Quixote’s. Though I'll probably be chasing wind turbines rather than wind mills in this day and age. I did warn you I was mad!!

So I’m blessed and the car, I'm liter, the route is planned, all the items I need have been readied I have even had a trial run of packing them into the 7 and they all fit not forgetting the amazing £3800 which has been raised for LRF. I’m now itching to go and few final tweaks and a polish of Rocinante and the pilgrimage can begin.

Alleluia £3000 Target Reached!

2009-04-28T10:09:00.000-07:00

Great News!

Today my target of raising £3000 for Leukaemia Research was reached and there are still more donations to come in. This means I can setoff on my trip knowing that this sum of money has been raised and will go to help the battle against Leukaemia and other blood disorders.

Thank you so much to all of those who have sponsored me and to Mike and Jane at the Prince of Wales Shrivenham for their Charity Bingo Night last Saturday which raised £430.

Just because the target has been reached there is no need to stop so if you haven't yet sponsored me then please do. The final total will be calculated in September at the end of my Sabbatical so please keep giving.

Cheers
Richard

Ten weeks & 10bls to go!

2009-04-01T10:16:00.001-07:00

Ten weeks to go now until I set off on my pilgrimage to Santiago and as the day approaches the final stages of planning are coming into place.

Last week the 7 went for a full service, new cambelt and MOT at a Caterham specialist Millwood near Stroud. Unfortunately they fail the car on its MOT because it did not have side repeaters on the wings. This seemed like utter nonsense as it didn’t have them in the first place. The garage conveniently informed me that it would cost £120 to install these so that it could pass the MOT.

I complained to Caterham as they are one of their authorised dealers and they were completely baffled as to why the car should fail on this as they build the cars without them though some people do ask that they are fitted as an additional safety feature. I also contact the DVLA and they informed me that providing the front indicator could be seen flashing [not a reflection] by standing 1m to the side of the rear bumper then it should pass.

The manager of Caterham UK contact Millwood to quiz them on this but they where unrelenting but thankfully Caterham value their customers and agreed that they would meet the cost of installing the additional indicators on the wings and would take it up with the garages’ senior management at a later date.

When I arrived to collect my car [in a dog collar to their surprise] I asked the manager to perform the 1m test as laid out by the DVLA witnessed by Mike the Landlord of the POW who had kindly given me a lift over. I asked the manager if he could see the indicator flashing his reply was yes but it’s a grey area! Looked orange and flashing to me! This was clearly a case of this garage trying to generate trade. I should have used Shrivenham Garage as they have always been great dealing with our cars but as this was a Caterham specialist I felt they would know the cars so their would be no complications. Though at the end of the day the car will be safer pulling out at junctions and it hasn’t cost me anything so I should be grateful.

The route is now complete to Santiago and I now look longingly at the adventure laid out on the maps on my study wall. As I mentioned at the beginning of this BLOG I’m not good at waiting and only being a couple of months from the off is testing. Thankfully there’s lost to be done in the benefice with Easter on the door step so not much time to think of the forthcoming trip.

Finally the weight loss program is coming on well. All Caterham drivers are aware that the lighter the car is the fast it accelerates, not that I’m entering a race but it’s just the principle. At a day on how to maintain your 7 at Caterham, club members were asking how they could lighten their cars, with different brakes, carbon fibre wings etc. The engineer suggested, to us mainly 40 something men, that the best and most effective way for us to lighten the car and achieve greater acceleration was for us all to lose a couple of stone! As I got to just over 19 stone at the beginning of 2007 I decided I must lose some weight and made some effort over last year in the fear that I would not fit into my little car if I kept going.

However with the trip creeping ever closer last November a concerted effort was begun to shed the lbs and I set myself the target that by the start of my trip I would be back to the weight I was when I got married 15 ½ stone. I’m now at 16stone 4bls so only 10bls to go. Though according to my BMI [Body Mass Index] if you follow that sort of thing even at that weight I am technically ‘over weight’ though in my wedding photos I look quite underfeed. If I went to the BMI suggested weight I would need to be12 – 13 ½ stone and question if there would be anything left of me.

I have to say that I already feel much better in myself particularly my knees and fully intend to keep the weight off. The diet I have followed has been no miracle or celeb fad. It’s simply been not to be a pig! I have just reduce my portion size and not eaten so much beard or pasta and made sure I eat breakfast. Thankfully it has not involved anything drastic like giving up Real Ale!
Finally it’s great to see the £3000 target for Leukaemia research is now over the 50% mark and a big thank you to all who have sponsored me so far. It’s not too late so if you haven’t please do. It would be great to know that the £3000 had been raised even before I left the UK.

And the Lord did say unto them sound your Horn! [Joshua 6:5]

2009-03-08T14:32:00.000-07:00

For the past couple of months the horn on the Caterham has been playing up. In a car so little which often can’t be seen by folks in their big 4X4’s its important to be able to let people know you are there.

However I have found that on several occasions I have pressed the horn in a moment of need and nothing has happened which is most alarming resulting a few very close shaves. I had checked the normal things like fuses and even changed the solenoid but this did not resolve the problem. I had dismantled the horn switch which sits in the steering wheel hub and cleaned up all the contacts but though slightly improved it was still hit or miss as to whether it would sound.

I had discovered there was a small device that had a spring loaded brass bar that touched a contact ring behind the steering wheel on the steering column. Unfortunately the only way to get to this was to remove the steering wheel some thing I had never done before and it filled my mind with thoughts of wonky steering or worse if I attempted the repair. With the MOT looming at the end of the month I had two choices let the garage sort it probably at some considerable cost or have ago myself.

Well nothing ventured nothing gained so the other day socket spanner in hand I tentatively loosened the nut that holds the steering wheel in place. This was easy it came undone with out any trouble. Then I gave the steering wheel a tug, but it would not budge. The problem was I was treating the car like a delicate flower when all it needed was a good hard tug which removed the wheel in one go.

This immediately revealed the problem the faint colour of a copper ring could be seen around the steering column but it was so dirty and oxidised that no wonder contact could not be made. The device on the steering wheel which I discovered from the manual is called a pencil was badly worn. After a quick look on the Caterham web site I discovered that a replacement pencil was £5.93. This was not going to break the bank but I’m a great believer in trying to mend things first rather than simply replace.

Using my small electrical rotary tool with a wire brush I quickly cleaned the copper ring back to a bright shine. Then putting the pencil in a vice and using an abrasive head in the tool I reground the end of the brass rod so it was flat once more. Everything was then replace in reverse order and hay presto the horn was fully functioning again and would certainly pass the MOT.

St James the Great Stoke Orchard, the Camino in the Cotswolds.

2009-03-02T15:31:00.000-08:00

The Saturday before last we had our first dos of spring with bright sunshine and relatively warm temperatures. The Caterham had been sitting in the garage since the heavy snow fall earlier in the month so I was itching to get it out and take the hood down.

All I needed was an excuse for a blat. Thankfully one of my congregation Vic Garman had told me about a church the other side of Cheltenham at Stoke Orchard that was linked with the pilgrim route to Santiago. What’s slightly amusing is that Vic is form across the Pond the good old USA. I have several American friends and they all have the knack of being able to tell me about historical places on my door step. As they are visitors or travellers to the UK they read the guide books and do the internet searches where as we just take for granted where we live. So if you want to know anything about good old Blity than ask an America and you’ll be surprised by what you may discover right outside your door. That’s probably why Bill Bryson’s books are so popular.

The drive up was great though a bit breeze but the heater kept my legs warm while the rest of me froze. I travel up via the back roads to Cirencester in order avoid the A419 which though quick is dull as you miss going through all those lovely Cotswold villages and then along the A435 which is a great road nice and wide with lots of bends and great views, the Sat Nav, which now works in the Caterham as I installed a 12V power socket before Christmas taking the worry out of navigation.

The Church of St James the Great is in the centre of Stoke Orchard along the Stoke Road and is set in a beautifully kept churchyard. The church dates back to circa 1170AD. It had a fantastic car park which was locked so I had to leave S7 FOP by the roadside. The exterior of the building does not give any hints to the treasures that await inside, though if you look closely at the lintel of the door you will see small engraved pilgrim’s crosses. Pilgrims would carve these in the stone and then upon their safe return carves a circle around the cross as an act of thanksgiving. I hasten to say I did not follow the tradition which today would count vandalism!

When you open the door an enter the little church with beams of light coming through the windows picking up the dust dancing in the air and making mottled green patters on the floor as the light passes through very old glass with a green tinge you immediately notice the remains of ancient wall paintings covering the whole of the nave.

The paintings are very faded and damaged but once your eyes become accustom to the light you can start to make out shapes and figures. The paintings [over 40 in total] depict the life of St James from his call by Christ to his Martyrdom which can be found in Chapter 12 of the book of Acts in the Bible. According to the guide this is one of the few places in the whole of Western Europe where his complete story is told the other is in a stained glass window in Chartres Cathedral. Though little remains of the original paintings thanks to a modern photographic technique much detail has been reviled that can’t be seen by the naked eye and framed sets of prints can be seen on the walls under the original paintings.

Standing in this small church certainly gave me a feeling of being linked to the many pilgrims that had passed this way centuries before on the Camino to Santiago which I too would be shortly setting out upon. I wondered as I travel through France and Spain and visit other pilgrim churches whether any of the crosses I would find carved on doorways there would have been made by the same hand that made those on the lint here.

To see the photos in full size simply double click on the slide show opposite.

Nuke the Leuk. [Its all for charity]

2009-02-16T11:24:00.000-08:00

One of the most important elements of my trip to Santiago is to raise money for Leukaemia Research. £3000 is my target a £1 for every mile of the journey. Why have I chosen to support this particular charity you may ask?

Thankfully neither I nor any member of my direct family has been affected by this awful disease, but as a clergyman I have sadly all to offset come across people who have particularly children and young adults. My predecessors’ wife was very ill with the disease while they were here at the vicarage so the good folk of Shrivenham know all to well about its implications. Thankfully she made a full recovery.

As a clergyman I am mailed by charities on a daily basis so I am aware of the never ending list of possible causes to support. The deciding factor was joining the Lotus Seven Club, as Leukaemia Research is the Clubs charity and to date the club has raised £340,653.78 which is no mean feet. As I am undertaking my trip in a Lotus / Caterham 7 it seemed the logical charity to choose.

Leukaemia Research is the only charity in the UK dedicated exclusively to researching blood cancers and disorders including leukaemia, Hodgkin’s and other lymphomas, and myeloma. Anyone, at any age can be diagnosed with a blood cancer. 24,500 people in the UK are diagnosed every year. The Charity is committed to giving every one of them the best chance of survival. It has scientists and doctors working in over fifty top research centres across the UK, seeking to improve diagnosis of blood disorders and treatments for patients, and to find a cure for blood cancers.

They also support patients, their families and friends by providing a free information service including a range of over 40 publications and receive no Government grants and their life-saving research depends entirely on voluntary donations.

I hope that as well as joining me on my adventure through this BLOG that you will also wish to support Leukaemia Research. It couldn’t be easier to donate simply click on the ‘Just Giving’ link on this page and follow the simple instructions. If your not keen on electronic transfers then please just send me a cheque made out to ‘The Leukaemia Research Fund’ to St Andrew’s Vicarage, High Street, Shrivenham, SN6 8AN. I will then pass it on and update the totalizer.

The Shrine of St Swithun.

2009-01-30T08:04:00.000-08:00

Today I have my monthly quiet day so I decided to make a mini pilgrimage to the Shrine of St Swithun in Winchester.

I last visited the shrine one year ago to offer prayers for my benefice as it was going through rather a difficult time. The effect was almost instant as no sooner had I left the Cathedral that I received a phone call informing me that a difficult situation had been resolved. Then over the course of the weekend several other problems where also resolved, followed by a continual improvement over the rest of the year. Coincidence? Perhaps, but I like to think earnest prayer undertaken as part of a pilgrimage was answered.

Today on a spiritual level was an opportunity to return to the Shrine and give thanks. On a motoring level I hoped it would be an opportunity to get some practice driving the 7 in the rain with the hood on which is something I have only done a couple of times. I am quite sure that on my summer trip I will encounter some rain. However even though I was heading for the Shrine of St Swithun synonyms with rain it has been a dry day, but very very could. It’s said that if it rains on St Swithuns’ day [15th July] it will rain for 40 days and 40 nights as a result of some monks digging up the poor Saints corps so they could build a nice cathedral and shrine, which in those days was very good for business. As a result of this exhumation it rained continually for 40 days. Finally I hoped to test my note book and write a BLOG entry on the road so to speak which is why I am writing this in a Café Nero in Winchester.

Winchester is only 60 miles from Shrivenham and the normal route is to head East along the M4 from Swindon and then down the A34 and onto the M3. But keeping with the principles of avoiding motorways I headed cross country down via Marlborough, Tidworth and, Middle Wallop. The route was great, clear roads with lots of nice bends and hills and the new Sat Nav worked well the journey taking about an hour and a half.

On route I drove past Thruxton Race circuit and as I have never been there before I popped in to see what was going on. Nothing! Race circuits are like ghost towns when there is no event, it was a good 20 minutes before I even saw anyone around so I was greatly temped to just take the 7 on the track but I resisted.

Parking a 7 is always a nightmare even though it’s small. You have to ensure you are not to close to anyone. Other divers often open doors heavily onto the 2 millimetres of aluminium body work sometimes leavening a hole or fail to see the car when reversing crushing the nose cone. Touch wood so far all is well and I found a good covered car park.

Time to start heading back as the staff are starting to think I have overstayed my welcome and at these prices another cappuccino is out.

Agrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr The Waiting!

2009-01-10T05:19:00.000-08:00

It’s minus 2 degrees Celsius outside and everywhere is sugared with frost creating a picture perfect winter scene, the freshness and chill of the air almost takes your breath away. As I drive around the Benefice [in the family Peugeot] delivering the Sunday notice sheets I see people enjoying their Saturday pursuits with families, pets or on horse back. It’s idyllic.

However the group that is clearly missing is the petrol heads, which some may well give thanks for. In the Spring, Summer and Autumn this group of eccentrics, of which I am a proud member, can be seen in their brightly polished pride and joys driving around the British Country Side waving or tipping their driving caps to passersby some times on there own or often in lines of automotive history and glory. There is nothing quite like the beauty of bird song been broken by the deep throbbing note of a V8 in the distance or the stilled quite chatter of a village High Street as the purr of a well tune E Type Jag passes through immediately taking people back to an age when motoring symbolised freedom and adventure, not speed cameras and CO2 emissions.

No at this time of year us petrol heads are confined to the garage and workshop, as the nemeses of us all, the grittier truck prowls around the country lanes spuing its cocktail of sand and salt devouring ice but also body work, seems and seals.

We have to be content with pottering around in the garage taking things to bits and hoping we can put them back together again, and on occasion wheeling our cars outside to run the engine for a while. So far I have change the coolant, repaired the brake light switch, checked the cam belt [scary] and polished just about everything waiting for the rain to wash the salt away and the sun to dry the roads.

I was never particularly good at waiting as a child, you know Christmas, Birthdays etc and not much better as an adult particularly when I’m excited about something. This is not helped by the fact that on my study wall is a large road map of France marked with yellow dots and fluorescent orange marker showing my route from Shrivenham heading towards Spain and Santiago.

Planning the route in my spare time has been great; I’m as far as Cahors at the present which is the planned stopping point for Friday 20th June. A 2000 year old town with the river Lot looping it, famous for its truffles, Saturday morning market, dark heady Cahors wine which was produced as far back as Roman times and the Cathedral de St-Etienne (St Stephen). It’s also a traditional stopping point on the Camino de Santiago.

As I bury my head in the many guide books I have acquired I’m whisked off to beautiful villages, sun drenched valleys and glorious winding French country roads lined with poplars. I can almost hear the throb of the engine and exhaust of my 7 as I go up and down the gears and turning through bend after bend. This is more enhanced by the joys of Google Earth which lets you see these places from above also all bathed in sunshine and even follow the roads as if driving them. The illusion does not last for long as I look up and out of my study window to the frost, cold and grey skies and then catch the pile of paper work in my in tray that need attention.

Only 21 weeks, 1 day, 6 hours, 34 minuets and 22 seconds to go.

40 Something!

2008-12-30T04:01:00.000-08:00

What is it about turning forty that makes you want to try and run fast back wards and recapture your youth?

The female of the species at this time of life, purely from my observations, seems to worry about wrinkles and things moving south which I presume is a reference to the over population below the Watford Gap.

Men on the other hand who from the first moment they were able to look in a mirror new they looked fantastic don’t worry about how attractive to women we are. This is largely due to David Mellor or politicians in general because if they can get a bird we all can if we were bothered.

No upon hitting 40 we seem to worry about life getting dull and remember the fun that could be had with a couple of mates with a stick that be came an AK47 and the recreation of Apocalypse Now. If you ask most men of my age had they been to Nam the answer would be yes as aged 12 [in their minds at least] they had recreated the whole conflict in the backyard or down the lock rec.

So how do we compensate for this turning of the years? Well while the other half is looking at the cost of botox we look at our toys and decide we need a new one [or second hand if the house hold expenses are tight]. This will often be in the 2 or 4 wheeled variety and must sound right. The right sound being the noise created by pegging some football cards to your bike frame so they were flicked by the spokes of the wheel creating that V8 effect.

As we sit in or on our new toys our minds connect once again with the little boy that is inside us and we are Nigel Mansel or Barry Sheen and for a fleeting moment we are back in the yard with no responsibility just having fun and dreaming dreams. So does the male of the species really need to grow up, my wife often comments she has 3 boys in the house. We just need to remember that Jesus said if we are to enter the Kingdom of Heaven we must see it through the eyes of a child!

Look it up if you don’t believe me [Matthew 18.1-5]

Nagging Doubts

2008-12-29T03:33:00.001-08:00

After last nights BBC 2 viewing aimed at petrol heads, ‘Top Gear Vietnam Special’ and ‘The Real Italian Job’ with Chef James Martin I have been hit by those waves of doubts whether 2600 miles in a Caterham is such a good idea.

Jezza, The Hamster and Captain Slow took up the Top Gear challenge of riding knackered motor bikes and a moped 1000 miles from South to North Vietnam, at the end having to covert there bikes into boats for the final leg. Thankfully I won’t have to convert the 7 into a boat as Brittany Ferries will take on the challenge of getting me home from Spain to the UK in comfort and style.

At the end of the program my confidence for this trip was brimming over if they can do a1000 miles on those old bikes on terrible roads then 2600 in a 7 across beautiful EU funded roads should be no problem.

However I then watch ‘The Real Italian Job’ with Chef James Martin who entered the famous ‘Mille Migglia’ a 1000 mile rally around Italy for classic cars. His budget was considerably greater than mine buying an £800,000 1948 Maserati, and having a man in a van with loads of spares and mechanic to boot, not forgetting his very attractive co-driver Sarah. This is something I had not thought about though I’m sure both my wife Kate and the Bishop would have something to say if I zoomed off on my pilgrimage with a very attractive blond navigator. Then there would be the problem of where to hide her when I was staying at Monasteries. I will just have to settle with the warm female voice of my Tom Tom sat nav, at least she will know the way!

Sadly despite James’ huge investment, back up team, dishy blond and a rather snazzy 1930 white driving cap, [which I will get] he only completed 200 miles of the race before his engine blew and it was all over. There’s nothing worse than seeing a grown chef cry.

I therefore went to bed with the little voices in my head saying if he can’t do 200 miles in a classic car with all the kit what chance have I in my little 7 on my own, with only a spare accelerator and clutch cable, a roll of aluminium tape and a multi tool pen knife. I thought of the embarrassment of returning to the parish 3 days after I had set off because to car had packed in.

Then I remembered who actually was going to be my co-driver on this adventure the main man the Supreme Being, God of God’s Lord of Lord’s the one and only JC. He may not be able to fix an oil leak though I hope would direct me to some good catholic mechanic who would and encourage me along the way. That reminds me better pack a dog collar; it always helps in those situations. In any case Mary made it from Nazareth to Bethlehem 9 months pregnant and on a donkey [the BBC had to use 9 you know] so what have I got to worry about.

The Count Down Begins!

2008-12-28T16:50:00.000-08:00

In 23 weeks time I will be setting off on my Sabbatical Adventure driving a Caterham 7 Roadsport from Shrivenham to Santiago de Compostela in Northern Spain.

Admittedly this is a rather unusual way of undertaking one of the most famous pilgrim routes in all Christendom, which normally begins from either Canterbury or Winchester down through France across the Pyrenees and then along the North coast of Spain.

To walk this route normally takes several months for the seasoned walker but I have only four weeks and decided to try and visit as many Holy sites as I could on route including Taize, Cluny, Lourdes, Loyola, Avila to name a few, oh and a bit of a detour to take in the 24hr Le Manns. This will involve me driving around 2600 miles or about 200 miles a day. Having been a professional Photographer in my past incarnation I am also keen to create a photo easy of the journey and to publish daily photographs on this blog.

So why in a Caterham 7 you may well ask, not the normal mode of transport for the clergy. The answer is partly an early midlife crises, ( I will be forty next year) and have dreamed of owning a 7 since I was 19 and first saw Patrick McGoohan as No:6 in ‘The Prisoner’ driving one in the opening titles depicting freedom of spirit, ‘I am not a number I’m a free man’. Also as it’s a very small car it had to be now before my middle-aged spread meant that getting into it required a shoehorn and Vaseline, though I have lost well over a stone since acquiring the car in February due to that fear!

The main reason apart from the enormous fun is the challenge of living out of a car that has a boot the size of a small child’s rucksack, a roof that takes over 15 minutes to put up so there’s no point as your wet through by the time you have finished, no air con, no stereo [even if it had one you wouldn’t hear it over the engine noise] it’s just me, God, the road, 135bhp, a tent and couple of pairs of pants.

Jezza as Top Gear fans know him, said of the Caterham 7 ‘that owning a normal sports car like a Prosche or Ferrari is like stroking the tarmac with your hand, owning a Caterham is like getting down on your hands and knees and licking it with your tongue! It’s also vastly cheaper.

In this type of car you are not cocooned from the world around, you feel the elements and because it has no roof when you go through and town or village and pause people immediately come and speak to you, which means you have to interact with complete strangers one of the most important experiences on any pilgrimage.

Finally I hope to raise some money for charity Leukaemia Research as this is the charity that the Lotus 7 club supports, so please sponsor me for making the trip.

This blog will be written while on the trip so that you can all keep up with the adventure but for now it will just be updates on the planning.