Gobsmacked!

I went to France in September last year with only a few expectations. I did that intentionally because I wanted to be open to whatever manifested during my month in the Lot. I expected to see some beautiful art and see historic places. I expected to have an adventure. Those expectations were certainly met, but as my Brit friends would say, I was totally 'gobsmacked' by the two things that were the highlights of my trip: people and pilgrimage.
I've dedicated several blog posts to pilgrimage...I feel very drawn to walking at least part of the pilgrimage path in France and I absolutely fell in love with Conques, a pilgrimage village in the Aveyron. I think it's safe to say I was 'gobsmacked' by Conques!

The people who became friends during my magical month truly were a gift. My cyber-friend, Laury became a true friend for life. I knew we were kindred souls from our blogs and our emails, but getting to know her has definitely melange'd some real magic in my life. Through Laury I became friends with Jean, Greg, Jean-Luc & Odile, Christiane & Jean-Paul, Josie & Patrick. If someone had told me that I was going to France to make friends, I would have scoffed...'no way...you don't go to France to make friends!" But make friends I did...GOBSMACKED! Laury and I continue to be in contact regularly by email and by phone. She and these others continue to melange magic in my life. It's too soon to share that magic, but let me tease just a bit...if everything falls into place, there is change in the wind.

GOBSMACKED again!

Day Two

Since I didn't feel like driving 30 miles round trip to walk today, I decided to try the road to the north of my property instead. This is what it looked like...see what I mean about mud? The neighbors have driven their truck on it, but there wasn't a place anywhere that I didn't squish in the mud. So I tried walking in the field to the right of the water-filled ditch. Usually the fields are a bit easier just because the left-over vegetation from summer covers the mud.

It was easier, but there were stilll places where I was afraid the mud was going to suck my boots right off my feet.
Doesn't this just look like all kinds of fun? I'm sure Lucie and I didn't walk more than half a mile total. The good news is it was such hard walking that I worked up a sweat and feel like I got a good workout anyway. I think I'll stick with the paved path for awhile.

It Begins

I feel called to walk the Pilgrim's Path. I would like to begin in Le-Puy-en-Velay and walk at least to Cahors. In order to do this, I not only need to re-institute my daily walking habit, but also condition myself to walk much longer distances than I have in a long time. Since I live in a very rural area, walking around my neighborhood is where I'll start. But on rainy days and until the dirt/gravel roads dry up, it will be very difficult. So today Lucie and I checked out the Great Western bike/walking path that is part of the Iowa Natural Heritage Trail system. Those are my feet and shadow at the trail head. (This photo also serves the purpose of beginning my weekly assignment for Eyes of the Heart; we're supposed to create self-portraits using shadow, framing, reflection, or the self-timer on our cameras. I'm easing into this self-portrait thing...I detest having my picture taken!) Luce and I walked 3 miles in about an hour and 15 minutes...not a fast pace, but do-able for long distance walking. The path is marked at half-mile intervals so you can keep track of distance. It's nicely paved so this will be a great place to come on rainy,muddy days. The only drawback to it is that it's 15 miles one way from my house; not where I'll drive every day as I train.

Even if I'm not able to be a pilgrim, this walking is a win-win situation for us. Lucie gets a bit of exercise and so do I!

Walking in a Relaxed Manner

On Friday I spent some time with Dr. Mary Fraser who runs the Iowa Pastoral Care Counseling Center. Sponsored by the United Methodist Church, the Center offers pastoral care to clergy of any denomination and their families. She graciously agreed to talk with me as I search for 'what I want to do when I grow up.'  During the course of our conversation, we spoke about pilgrimage and I shared some of my experiences in France and how I profoundly I was impacted by them. She suggested a book by a Des Moines author, Joyce Rupp, called "Walk in a Relaxed Manner." Joyce, who is a Servite sister, walked the Spanish part of the Way to Santiago de Compostele with a retired priest in 2003 and wrote this book in response to her experiences being a pilgrim. I found the book at the local Cokesbury store and literally devoured it in a day! Next steps: I want to talk with this woman and others in Des Moines that have walked the pilgrim Way. And I want to walk the Way myself...the part in France that goes through Conques. I feel other things stirring with as well. Time will tell.

The  photo is the seal from Conques. The shells symbolize pilgrims; the yellow Y indicates that pilgrims enter the village on one path and can leave it on one of two different paths. It's on the driver's side door of Miz Red Belle where I can see it every time I get into or out of my car. Always reminded...

The Final Chapter?

I awoke to a blanket of fog covering the valley outside my window with just the very tops of the village houses peeking through it. I showered quickly and went down to breakfast which was much less formal than dinner the night before. Pilgrims wandered in as they awoke; I snagged a cup of coffee, two slices of baguette, and a little dish of yogurt. I heard the bells toll 7am and knew they would soon announce Morning Prayer at 7:30am, so I made my way to the Church. Back in my room afterwards, I stripped the bed and deposited the linen where I had been instructed, did a final check, and closed the door behind me. Dropping my key with a number of others in a basket by the front door, I left my pilgrim lodgings. The fog was beginning to lift as I walked up to my car. I was leaving, but I was determined to keep my pilgrim persona for a while longer. Was this the final chapter of the 'Pilgrim Imposter' story? I don't think so!

Part 7: Sing-a-Long!

I followed my fellow pilgrims over to the Church after dinner was completed. It was time for Compline and the daily 'Blessing of the Pilgrims' service. I tried to sit inconspicuously in a back pew, but everyone moved as close to the altar as they could, so I, too, chose a closer pew. As I tried to follow along, I was able to pick out only a few words I recognized. Pelegin, pilgrim, was sprinkled in every other sentence, so I knew this service was about and dedicated to the walkers. Several certificates were awarded. It wasn't until later I learned that 'compostelles' are given for walking a certain number of kilometers of the Path or for completing visits to certain churches. After the awards, designated pilgrims came forward and read a prayer in their native language; a half dozen in all. And yes, there was one American, a woman from Seeley Lake, Montana, who read in English. The service completed, the group moved en masse to the open area in the north transept, Mary's Chapel. Brother Jean-Daniel stepped to the piano, and we all sang a rousing  'Chant des pelegins de Compostelle' (Ultreia!) I say 'we' although I didn't have a clue what the words were...I just mouthed whatever and joined in the chorus. It was a stirring experience! The third verse and refrain had hardly stopped echoing off the walls when the group moved to the parvis in front of the Church. For the next half hour, we were entertained by the Brother's explanation of the famous typmanum.  Again I say 'we.' Those of us who didn't speak French could only assume that the Brother's talk was amusing as the French-speakers laughed frequently. Tourists gathered with us, and at 9:30pm, we all re-entered the Church for the evening 'Orgues et Illumines'; organ music with illumination of the upper ambulatory of the church. This is the only time anyone can mount the narrow stone stairs to that area. I paid my 5 euros and did the walk. It was amazing to listen to the huge pipe organ and walk around the spectacular columns and capitals. Each capital was carved in the different design. Peering over the railings, the candle-lit Church below was full of mystery. I ended the evening sitting in the back pew of the Church listening to Brother Jean-Daniel play "The House of the Rising Sun/Son" full volume, reverberating off the ancient stones of the Church walls. My 'pilgrim' heart sang with joy!

A long day filled with new experiences and new ways of looking at the world. I crawled into bed quite tired. My last thought as I drifted off to sleep....'I hope these pilgrims are quiet tonight.' I never heard a peep out of them!

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.