Part 6: Or How the Pilgrim Imposter Avoided Detection

As soon as Vespers were over, I hurried back to the hostel. My instructions had been very clear; be at the dining hall by 7:15pm sharp as that's when the doors open. I entered the small courtyard outside the big wooden refectory hall doors and gasped. It was full, stone-wall-to-stone-wall full of pilgrims! Those large wooden pegs I had noticed along the walls were now hung with beautiful walking sticks. Pushed under every bench I saw backpacks and daypacks, most of which were decorated with large scallop shells...sure signs there were pilgrims around. The multi-cubicle structures along the south wall were stuffed with muddy hiking boots and worn walking sandals. Suddenly the sign above it made sense to me: 'Please remove your boots before entering the hostel rooms.' Everyone seemed to know everyone else. In the cacaphony of conversations, I recognized French, English, German, Dutch, maybe Norwegian. Before I could even begin to make a plan, the doors opened and everyone filed in to take a seat at two long tables. People asked me rapid-fire questions that I couldn't understand much less answer! I sat between two groups...Germans on my left, a French couple on my right. Those folks I could at least greet...we 'bonjoured' each other, and the man asked in English if I were an American. Relieved to hear a question I could understand, I only had time to say a quick 'yes' before one of the Brothers took center stage and welcomed everyone...for at least 10 minutes in French. Volunteers then began to set out big baskets of bread and bottles of wine on each table, soon followed by salad and a hearty potato dish that the pilgrims ate with gusto. All that walking really works up an appetite. As I visited a bit with the French couple, I discovered that he was an anesthesiologist and his wife, a nurse. This was their second time this summer walking parts of the pilgrim trail. As he interpreted for me, I learned what the questions and greetings were all about...walking the Pilgrim Path. "Where did you walk from today?" "Where are you walking to tomorrow?" "Where did you start the Path?" "Will you walk all the way to Compostelle?" "Have you walked other Paths?" "How many kilometers have you walked?" quelle horreur! How do I answer all these very nice, very sincere pilgrims? How do I explain that I am just a tourist that probably took the very last bed away from one of their fellow pilgrims who at this moment might be sleeping under a bridge somewhere? What I decided was that I'd be vague...not exactly lie...but...So my response was I was 'walking locally.' They didn't really need to know that meant I was strolling around the village shopping! They could assume what they wanted. Still...the shame of it all! At one point during dinner I felt so uncomfortable in my imposter role that I contemplated leaving. "I can't do this! I'm a fake!" Only the thought of asking 6 people to move so I could get away from the table prevented my flight. I took a deep breath and sternly told myself, "You CAN do this. These are nice people. Just go with the flow and enjoy the experience." So, for now at least, I, too, was a pilgrim on the chemin St. Jacques de Compostelle.

Part 5: The Pilgrim Imposter's Cell

My room was tucked up right under the roof and had a dormer window that looked out onto the cemetery, the residence of the Brothers, and the village rooftops. It was clean and spare with a blanket and pillow on the closet shelf. I opened the window wide and took in the late fall air. Most of what I could see from it was clear Aveyron sky and the thick woods and underbrush of the conch-shaped valley that wound up to the village and the Church. The only decorative touch was a beautiful icon on the wall which I couldn't identify. Mary, perhaps? I made up my bed, grabbed my journal and pulled up a simple straight-backed chair to the desk. "The hills are all covered with trees--very beautiful, very rugged. It would be really fun to hike here." After resting a bit, I descended the long stone stairway. I needed to call Laury to let her know I was staying here tonight, and I wanted to explore the village more. I would listen carefully for the bells; I didn't want to miss Vespers!

Part 4: Trapped in the Deception

I reported back to the Hostel at 2:30pm, the appointed check-in time, and was invited into the reception office. I sat down at the desk. The woman across from me asked my name and started to shuffle through some papers. "I'll pull out your paperwork," she said. I told her I didn't think I had any. "But you have a reservation...let me look again." Of course, she didn't find any."When did you make your reservation, Madame? she asked and raised her eyebrows a bit when I replied, "this morning." We completed the registration. The available room had a single bed, sink, and shower, but no toilet; it was down the hall. Was this acceptable? Yes. Did I require sheets and a towel? Yes. Would I be eating dinner and breakfast with them? Yes! After I paid my 26 euros, she indicated I should step into the lobby and a host would bring me my key and show me to my room. I murmured, "Merci, Madame" and she replied "Do you know how lucky you are to secure this room? We're usually booked weeks and months in advance." As the lovely white-haired host and I ascended this stairway, I worried to myself..."what have I gotten myself into?"

Part 3: The Pilgrim Imposter

With the church at my back, I stared up at this impressive 4-story building. It appeared that people were entering and leaving by the open door on the first floor, so I said to myself  "why not see what it's all about." I walked into a lobby area with a guest book, some chairs, some tables and brochures about the building. The brochure I picked up explained that this was the "Hotellerie Et Accueil" of Sainte Foy. My rudimentary French translated it to a hostel and welcome area for the church with rooms for individuals and groups wishing a place for retreat, a place to stay or sessions of pastoral counselling with the Brothers, 'Les Premontres.' Hmm...it didn't say you had to be a pilgrim. I wandered around the village a bit more and returned to the hostel. The church bells began to ring again, and I knew I had to leave (Laury and I had plans that evening), but I also knew I had to return. I felt moved to stay somewhere in the village and let my life be governed by the bells, at least for a little while. I wanted to experience life as the people in this village had for hundreds of years...life structured around the bells, their chiming of the hours and their call to worship. A week later I was back to gather more information about how to spend the night either here or some place else in the village. As I entered the welcome lobby, a woman asked if she could help me. "Yes," I replied, "can you tell me how one goes about making  reservations to stay here?" "Tonight?" she asked and I gulped..."sure, why not?" "Madame, you are in luck. We have one room left."

Part Two: The Plan Takes Shape.

As soon as the last prayer was 'amen-d,' Brother Jean-Daniel strode over to the grand piano in Mary's Chapel and began to play. Accompanied by his wonderful sacred music, I explored the interior of this magnificent church. I lit a candle to Ste. Foy and watched others light candles to St. Jacques. I slipped out of the church by the south doors and wandered around the Fountain of Plo. I paid my 6 euros and visited the Cloister to view the church treasure housed there.

A wide stone walkway encircled the church and as I got to its back side, I was greeted with these grim reminders that the church not only celebrates life, but also death. My head was reeling from the sights and sounds of this sacred place. How many roughshod feet had walked on these stones over the past thousand-plus years? How many seekers like me had come to this place to see this beautiful church, to worship, to light candles, to entreat the intervention of the Child Saint, Foy? Some where from the depths of my unconscious I heard words spoken in my voice..."I want to come back here to live for a year to study." That didn't make sense, but what it told me was that I needed to return to Conques. Then I turned around and saw this building; I began to make my plans....

The Pilgrim's Journey, Part 1

I became more and more enchanted with Conques as I entered the village proper. Old stone houses, shops, galleries, restaurants, and hotels lined its cobbled streets. There were pots and baskets of flowers everywhere begging to have their pictures taken. I stopped frequently to capture images of interesting buildings and flowing fountains. My inner pilgrim, though, kept urging me onward until I eventually reached the Abbey Church which anchors the village. I stood in the parvis in front of the church admiring its beautiful tympanum when the bells began to ring. White-robed Brothers appeared out of no where, their sandalled feet hurrying into the Church for noon office. I slipped through the back doors and sat in the nearest pew, drinking in the beauty of this elegant Romanesque church. My pilgrim heart was soothed...at least for now.

On Being a Pilgrim

I've blogged about pilgrimage sites before. During my month in France last year, I visited two pilgrimage villages...Rocamadour and Conques... and many, many churches that attract tourists and pilgrims alike. Last week I began a 'pilgrimage' thread on Dona Nobis Pacem as well. Pilgrimage has been creeping up on me since last September, maybe even before. In January I read a blog entry at Abbey of the Arts that challenged me to give my 2010 a theme word; what word resonates with me as the new year starts? I picked 'pilgrimage.' Or should I say, pilgrimage picked me? Now that I'm not employed, I have an even stronger feeling that I am a pilgrim seeking the holy, the sacred in myself and in the world. Where is this pilgrim headed? I don't have a clue! But I do have a pilgrim story from September to share with you. Come back to find out just who was "The Pilgrim Imposter!"

This was my first view of Conques. I parked my car on the outskirts of the village and walked into it via one of the two main pilgrim routes leaving it, rue Charlemagne. I would soon pass through Porte du Barry and be within the walled village. My heart sang and was immediately captured by this exquisite village and its Abbey Church.

Murder in the Latin Quarter

I just finished reading "Murder in the Latin Quarter" by Cara Black. I'm a huge mystery fan and love Cara Black's mysteries, all set in Paris. I did a book review of this and two other of her mysteries over at "Red Bell Reads," but want to share the setting of this fast-paced story here. The Latin Quarter in Paris is the area around the Sorbonne where the Universities of Paris were established in  1253. While Black's heroine, private investigator Aimee Leduc lives on the l'Isle St. Louis, she went to school here in the 5th arrondissement and still has her expired student ID from her days at the Sorbonne. The murder mystery swirls around illegal Haitian immigrants, voudou, clean water projects for Haiti and the unscrupulous Baby Doc Devalier. But what intrigued me even more was Black's richly detailed descriptions of one of my favorite parts of Paris. She even sends Aimee into my very favorite museum, the Cluny (Musee du Moyen Age). I couldn't help exclaiming out loud as I followed Aimee's adventures..."I've been there. I know that place. I'vewalked down that street. She's spot on with her descriptions!"

More of the Sorbonne and the entrance to the Cluny Museum.

Sun??

I'm searching for the sun again today; it's certainly not to be found in Iowa right now! What better place to look than the sunny Mediterranean coast at Collioure? I had to dig out the photos from last September to find these memories of the two days I spent at the sea. The days were warm, hot even, and I had to buy some shorts and a top to be comfortable. Okay, I had shorts with me, but the heat and slightly sultry air were good excuses to do a bit of shopping in the town's cute boutiques. Besides you really can't wear the basic black knit shorts in a beach town. I bought white cotton shorts and a turquoise sleeveless tee; I sort of matched the boat you see in the foreground. I spent two and a half days exploring the town's historical sights, strolling along the beach, lounging in the beach-side cafes, and looking at some incredible art, both in Collioure and a nearby town, Ceret. How I'd love to sit on the sand and warm my bones in the bright Mediterranean sunshine right now! I'm sure I'll have to re-visit Collioure again soon...it's supposed to snow here tomorrow.

Searching for the Sun

I always check Jilly Bennett's blogs first thing in the morning. She blogs about Menton and Monte Carlo, both located on the sunny Mediterranean coast better known as the Cote d'Azur. I do this because I need a daily shot of sunshine; I'm a California-born girl, after all. I was raised on sunshine and outdoor living. It's difficult to find both during an Iowa winter. This morning, tho, I was disappointed. Once again France is suffering with unusual cold, snowy weather. Snow on the Mediterranean? Not very often, but there's snow there today. So, I had to take matters into my own hands and search my photo archives for a bit of summery color and warmth. Makes me feel better just to look at these beautiful flowers! How about you?

I took all these flower photos last June in the Betty Ford Gardens at Vail, Colorado.

How Did They Do That?

I have several blogs saved in 'My Favorites,' and it probably won't surprise you that many of those are about France. There are a couple that I read daily; others I check on once a week or so. Every one of them written by a person living in France at some time in their blog history relates the story of how they got to France and why they stayed. As I sit here in a state of possibility, their stories intrigue me. Would it be possible for me to live in France, full or part time? A handful of those bloggers married Frenchmen; that is probably NOT going to happen for me! Others moved businesses to France; some came for school and stayed. They all share a love for all things French, but I think it takes more than that to have a French life. I've read the information about visas and Carte de Sejour's; I know how difficult it is to move to France. Whether it's Paris or Provence or the Lot, it takes a lot of determination and a fair amount of financial resources to make life in France a reality. I'm totally open to ideas, though. Let me know what you think...how do you think I could make this possibility into a reality? If you live in France, I'm open to any insider tips you might have as well!

Roussillon in the Luberon, Provence

Along the Lot River from the Belgian Cross upstream from Cajarc.

NOLA is Back!

This blog post is dedicated to Laury, whose beloved New Orleans is back. Not only did Laury's candidate, Mitch Landrieu win the Mayoral election last week, but the Saints won the Super Bowl yesterday! Life is good in NOLA this morning, and I'll bet they're still partyin' on Bourbon Street. I took this photo of Laury leaning out of the window at the Chatette last September. Today Laury is in Frankfurt, Germany doing an orientation for her military contract job which will be in Stuttgart. She'll be away from the Chatette for two months...a long time to be missing Cadrieu and the Lot...but necessary right now. During the month I spent at Laury's, I was privileged to hear a lot about Hurricane Katrina and the devastation it wrought on New Orleans. Laury's 'storm stories,' as she calls them, broke my heart. It wasn't just property that was destroyed during the storm, it was also lives, jobs, friendships, love affairs, churches, parks, and essential services for the poor and the underserved. The storm brought out both the best and the worst in people. It changed Laury's life forever. Today, though, there is joy in NOLA. As I listened to NPR this morning, correspondent Cokie Roberts, an ex-pat New Orleanian, summed it up: This may sound silly but this Super Bowl win on the heels of Mitch Landrieu's victory seems like a turning point for New Orleans ( my paraphrase of her comments). I pray that she is right!

Doors...Closing & Opening

The world turned upside down this week at Red Bell Farm. I liken it to one door slamming closed...very unexpectedly... hopefully with another one opening in the near future. I am no longer employed; long story, not pretty, so not something I'll go into here. While I say that door slammed unexpectedly, it was not surprising; the how, when and why of it was. Just as this aged closed door in St. Cirq Lapopie has elements of starry beauty on it, so does the door that just closed in my life. I feel as though a huge burden has lifted and in less than 24 hours, my brain has already shifted to a better place. I'm sleeping better. I feel more inspired, more creative and more enthusiastic about life in general than I have in a long time. All those bright stars decorate my now-closed door and they shine on my path to the future....

Peeking open, this is the door in Laury's soon-to-be-part-of-the-Chatette barn. It's still a bit dark and dim inside; I don't know exactly what's in there. Things aren't in full leaf-and-flower yet. I feel the door to my future is opening like this, slowly beckoning me in to new adventures, new inspirations, new creations. Could that future be in the Lot? Is it somewhere else? Will it be in healthcare? Or will I find my true self in another place? Only time will answer those questions. I'll keep you in the loop.

Who Are Those Cute Kids?

I just bought a new print/scan/fax machine and decided to try out the scan feature with this photo I received in the mail a couple of weeks ago from my brother. I remember this photo session; there were many proofs for my mom to choose from. I got those tres glam glasses in 6th grade, so I'm thinking I was in either 6th or 7th grade when this stupid photo was taken. I don't believe this one was the final choice, at least I hope not! Could I look more geeky?! And why did my rascally brother send this to me...' just in case you want to put it on your blog'? Could it be because he looks absolutely angelic and adorable? They both are so darn cute in their little matching sweaters and spiffy bow ties. The 'rascal' brother is Jim, in the solid bow tie; Walt wears the striped one. So, who are those cute kids? Well, two of them are my brothers!

La Maison de Laury

I so wanted to link a very special piece of music to this blog post. Alas, my blogger skills are not quite sophisticated enough to do it. I received a double CD in the mail a couple of weeks ago from Marina Gendel who is a pianist/composer/arranger for the Boston Ballet. Her CD "Musical Compositions for Historical Dance Lessons" was composed and arranged for the most part in this pretty stone house, Laury's Chatette, where I stayed last September. Marina sat at Msr. Winkelmann, Laury's lovely baby grand piano, and created while Laury worked in the other room. One of the pieces, "La Maison de Laury", was arranged specifically to reflect the beauty and mystery of the Chatette. I purchased the CD directly from Marina as it's not available in the usual places. While I love all the pieces, Laury's House and the very last song entitled "Chateau de Cadrieu" are my favorites for obvious reasons. Laury blogged about the CD here at Soar-Dream-France. Since my skills are not good enough to bring you the music automatically, I'd invite you to click on the song links. For "La Maison de Laury" you need to scroll down to where it says 'anonymous French' with the song title. Click on the little speaker for a brief clip of that song.

"Chateau de Cadrieu" is found at the very bottom of the list. It is appropriately haunting and matches the Chateau perfectly!

Birthdays, Birthdays!

There in the foggy mist at Chico Hot Springs lurk two birthday kids. Travis' birthday was Monday, Feb. 1st and Becky's birthday is today. It's so hard to find a photo of both of them together. Becky is usually behind the camera for family shots. This picture was taken over the Christmas holidays while Chase was visiting. He's back there behind Becky. Parker is chewing on his finger and Marley is looking quite glam in her little knit hat. Why the hat, you ask? The hot springs pool is outside. As warm as the water is, it's still winter in Montana and I'm sure her little head was cold. Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Travis and Becky!