Coming Home

It's strange being home again. The transition from the Camino to my 'real life' back here in Vancouver was abrupt, despite the two long days of travel and the 24 hours of sleeplessness. One moment I was in Santiago de Compostela, having dinner with new friends it felt like I'd known a lifetime and the next, I was getting back in touch with friends of a lifetime who I hadn't talked to in months.

My legs and feet are prone to stiffening up and cramping, restless, it seems, to get back to the hours of walking they'd become accustomed to. My body wants to sleep at inconvenient hours and the noise and busyness of what I used to think of as my peaceful life can make me long for the hours of relative solitude and quiet on the trail. Even while I was still walking, the bigger cities began to feel uncomfortable, like a continuous loud noise you can't get used to and can't wait to escape.

I've gone inside myself and seem to be having some trouble coming back out and being social. Which is strange, because before I left I was very busy and very social. I think I'm still processing everything and it's probably not a bad thing if I keep processing it, growing and changing as a result of what I've done. People told me, before I went, that the Camino would change my life. And it has, in ways I'm very thankful for. Walking it gave me a perspective I couldn't have found staying here and continuing on the way I always have. It also gave me the luxury of time - time to consider who I am, what I want, and what I believe in. Too often these big questions are put aside, consciously or unconsciously, until we find some time (which never actually happens, it seems).

On the Camino I remembered how good I feel being out in nature, watching the sun come up and paint the sky amazing colors, walking amongst the trees, breathing the air, listening to the birds, and feeling the wind stroke my face and play with my hair. I learned to let go, let things happen, open myself to new possibilities and to rejoice in being in the moment, whatever that moment brought. I recovered my faith in the world, in God, and in other people. Most of all, I recovered my faith in myself. Once you walk the Camino, you believe you can do anything. You don't believe it'll always be easy, because walking 800 kilometers isn't easy. But you learn that if you just keep moving, doing your part and putting one foot after the other, eventually you get there. And the places you go, the things you see, and the people you meet are more than reward enough for your effort. Getting there in the end is a bonus. Life, like the Camino, is about the journey, not the destination. And what a wonderful trip I am on!

I am lucky to have amazing people to share my journey with and I'm happy that I'm healthy enough to have come the way I have so far. Tonight, some of those amazing people will celebrate with me the gifts we've all been given. They will fill the room with music and the joy of living and we will try, one more time, to help those whose journeys may be cut short by cancer. From 6 to 9 pm, we'll be at the Yale hotel downtown (1300 Granville St, Vancouver). Come down and join us!

With a Little Help

When I started walking the Camino, I was thinking about myself. It all depended on me. Was I strong enough to walk with my pack and all my possessions on my back? Could I walk that far, for that long? Would my feet hold up under the strain? And what about my back? Could I find my way in another country and another language? More than once I thought I'd have to quit.

On the meseta, I thought it sounded like a good idea to walk on part of the old Camino - the Roman road. So much history, and I'd seen some portion of intact Roman road earlier on. The romance of it lured me. Turns out it was about 25 kilometers of walking with only one village en route, early on. And, instead of large flat stones leading off towards the horizon, it was dirt, with fist-sized round boulders unevenly distributed across its surface. My ankles and knees twisted constantly, barely keeping me walking upright. By the time I'd gone about 16 kilometers I was tired. By the time I went another 3 I was exhausted. I could barely walk and I was checking out the farmers' fields to see if I could put my sleeping bag down in them for the night. I really wasn't sure I could make it. It was hot and dry and I hadn't seen anyone else for quite a while. There weren't many others to begin with. Apparently most of the other pilgrims were smarter than I am and had taken the new route.

I sat by the side of the trail in the dirt (there was nowhere else) and cried. Then I pulled myself together and walked a bit further. My feet burned in my boots, chafing, despite the greasing I'd given them that morning. I stopped again and tried rubbing them with my anti-blister stick, planning how I'd book the next flight home. I was in intense pain and it was just too much.

A man came by and said something in a language I didn't recognize. Then he asked, in English, if I was alright. I lied and said I was. I should mention here that I am very bad at asking for help. And besides, he couldn't carry both our packs, so what point was there in telling the truth?

I am also apparently a very bad liar. Unconvinced, he stuck around, asking if I had enough sunscreen, then enough water. When he finally started walking again, I followed, though I couldn't keep up to his pace. He seemed to stop ahead frequently, to adjust his poles, his pack, or to take a picture. And he kept looking back to see if I was there. All the way to the next town and the alburgue, he watched over me from a distance. When I thanked him later, he said it was, "no problem".

Another time, only a few days from the finish, I hurried to the next big town where there was an ATM. I had about one day's worth of cash left and most of the small towns along the way don't have banks and don't take credit cards. Neither of my bank cards worked due, it later turned out, to some system-wide technical issues my bank was having. At the time though, it was the middle of the night back home and I had no idea why I couldn't get at my money. Alone and broke in Spain was not good. Panicked, I stood by the church, wondering what to do.

Some Spanish people I'd walked with a few times came by and invited me to join them. I told them I thought I'd have to stay and explained what had happened. I was afraid I'd have to stop walking the Camino, at least temporarily. My friends immediately insisted on lending me 50 euros, with more if I needed it. I walked with them and they bought me dinner, helped me contact my bank and send a message home from a town which consisted of only a bar and the alburgue. They got me a bed and breakfast and calmed my fears. All this after having only spent a few days walking with me and chatting. I was so touched at their trust and kindness and was very happy when I could repay them.

But my 'Camino angels' are not so unusual here. Everyone on this pilgrimage helps each other, relative strangers from dozens of countries who are unlikely to ever see each other again once the walk is over. I've watched people bathe and bandage someone's badly blistered feet, bind a stranger's sore knee using their own tensor bandage, share their food, provide a shoulder to cry on, loan out their phone, and give each other clothes.

The Camino reminds me that we all depend on one another and that you don't have to go through difficulties alone. A good lesson, I think, as I walked to raise funds for cancer patients who are at a time in their lives when they can definitely use a friend.

If you can, please donate to my Camino Against Cancer @ http://inspirehealth.ca/getinvolved/events/camino-against-cancer

Note: I finished my walk and arrived in Santiago de Compostela today!

Tomorrow It Begins!

Tomorrow morning, early, I will leave the pretty little walled town of St. Jean Pied de Port, France and begin walking, slowly, towards Santiago de Compostella, Spain. As some of you know, I`m about to start a pigrimage, walking 800K across Spain. It should take me a little over a month. I hope to see Spain on a different, more personal level, as well as to learn a bit more about myself and my relation to the rest of the world in the process.

Another major thing I hope to accomplish is to raise funds for InspireHealth, an innovative cancer care centre that, as well as working with conventional cancer treatments, encourages and empowers its clients to explore alternative complementary treatments. The people they work with hwve encouraging results. They also work in prevention and in accumulating the best research worldwide.

This is a personal issue for me because I lost my father to cancer a few years ago and because I know many others who had or are battling the disease.

Through asking everyone to sponsor my walk by supporting InspireHealth, I hope to be able to make a difference, however small, for those people who will fqce the challenges cancer brings, either for themselves or those they love. Please help if you can and donate online to http://inspirehealth.ca/getinvolved/events/camino-against-cancer.

To find out more about InspireHealth, go to http://inspirehealth.ca/.

To find out more about the Camino de Santiago route, see http://www.caminodesantiago.me.uk/.

And, to follow my journey, stay tuned to my blog here! You can subscribe using the link at the bottom left side of the page. The adventure is about to begin!

Waiting to Walk

After leaving Morocco, I spent several days in Barcelona, a wonderful, crazy place full of music, great food, and art of all kinds. Then I made my less than direct route to Pamplona and stayed there, waiting for the bus to Roncesvalles. I`d come down with the cold most of my tourmates had and thought perhaps I would skip starting across the French border, from St Jean Pied de Port. But I`d always imagined doing that tough first day and I felt let down with taking the "easy" way. As I waited in Pamplona, I met another solo woman traveler, an Italian Dr, as it turns out. We had a beer together, then rode the bus to Roncesvalles. She was going on to St Jean by taxi (the only choice from the Spanish side). And I decided to go with her. Either way, I needed a couple days R&R before I could take on the camino. So, the 2 of us, and 5 young men, shared the 27K taxi ride. It became so beautiful in the foothills of the Pyrennes, but all the while, I was thinking of the distance and wondering if I was crazy. Not just for doing this hard first day but just for thinking of walking 800K period. What had I been thinking!?

I think it`s good I have these few days resting here to calm down from the traveling I`ve been doing and to focus again on the reason for this part of my journey. It occured to me, way back in Morocco, riding down the highway in the tour bus, that somehow maybe I was still trying to save my dad, though he`s been gone a while now. But I think now I`m doing it to take back my power from the disease that took him, to live life to the fullest despite the fact that we don`t know when we`re going or how long we have. And to help others have that power too.

Just as my new friend, Daniella, prompted me to come all the way to St Jean, so this cold is giving me the time I need to prepare for the journey that is to come. They say, on the Camino, that what you need will be provided. I think perhaps it`s already started for me, though I won`t start walking for another day or so.

Thank you to all my wonderful friends and family who are there for me from so far away. I miss you all. And thank you to the people who have already donated to my cause to help find better ways to prevent and cure cancer in partnership with InspireHealth. If you want to help, or even to know more about InspireHealth, go to https://payment.csfm.com/donations/healing/index.php and select Camino Against Cancer.

And stay tuned for updates when I finally get to start walking! Thank you!

Christine

Camino Against Cancer

A couple of posts ago, I talked about my father and how I was about to undertake a huge physical challenge in his memory. I also talked about doing the right thing. For me, at this point in my life, 'the right thing' is to try to help people who are battling the disease that took Dad - cancer. I'm attaching a piece that will go out in the InspireHealth newsletter to announce my latest project. I leave in a few days to begin my epic journey. Follow its progress here if you like. And, if you can, please help me help others by following the links in the story below.

Happy travels!
Christine



From the first time I heard about the Camino de Santiago in Spain, I just knew I had to walk it. The funny thing was, when I told people what I was going to do, those who knew me didn’t seem surprised. In fact, I think I was more surprised than they were. As I started reading about the Camino and planning my trip, I realized once again how very lucky I am to be healthy enough to consider doing the pilgrimage. But, as I contemplated spending so much of my savings to go and walk across a country I knew nothing about, I began second-guessing myself. Was I being foolish? Maybe I should wait and do the Camino later.

Then I thought of my Dad. I remembered all the wonderful plans he and my mom had for what they would do ‘one day’, when the time was right. Only they never got to do those things. Cancer took my father from us before ‘one day’ ever came. And when he went, he took with him my belief that there would always be time for what I wanted to do later. I needed to walk the Camino now. I would do it for myself and for my father, for all the things he would never get to do, for all the unlived dreams that linger here like ghosts since he died.

Thinking about Dad made me think, too, about the others who have cancer and may never get to live their dreams. So gradually I realized I wanted to do something more. I thought I could ask people to sponsor my walk and give all the money to an organization that helps people with cancer. That would be a fitting legacy for Dad.

When I looked around at the wonderful groups here that work with cancer patients, one stood out in my mind. One stood out as giving people something more than information and support through their medical procedures. InspireHealth gave people hope. And hope is one thing my father desperately needed during his battle with the disease. InspireHealth gives patients back some control over their lives and the people who go there get encouraging results. Preliminary InspireHealth research shows that integrated care leads to better health outcomes, with some patients surviving up to three times longer. Through initiatives such as their LIFE program, InspireHealth is taking the lead in innovative healthcare service delivery. They are becoming a model for optimal cancer care, both in Canada and elsewhere. For these reasons and others, I chose InspireHealth. Now I hope you will choose to sponsor them through my walk. Together, maybe we can help others live long enough to do the things they dream.

Christine Grimard
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Christine Grimard is a BC writer who earns her living doing technical and business writing while also working on fiction and creative nonfiction projects. She loves travel and the outdoors, which both provide plenty of adventure and inspiration for her writing. She likes to challenge herself physically, which has led her to go dog-sledding in Greenland, enter snowshoe and trail-running races, and take up snowboarding and mountain biking even after the resiliency of youth has passed.

The latest challenge she's given herself is to walk the ancient Camino de Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage route in northern Spain. Beginning in September 2010, she will start her journey from the country's border with France and walk, approximately 800 kilometers west, to finish in Santiago about mid-October. Along the way, she will contemplate life and pay tribute to her father, whom she lost to cancer several years ago.

As a legacy for him, Christine is asking you to sponsor her walk by supporting InspireHealth - Vancouver, BC's innovative integrated cancer care treatment centre. She wants to raise a minimum of $1,600, roughly $2 per kilometer. By pledging your support to InspireHealth for Christine's walk, you can help ensure people with cancer have a chance to live their own adventures; and perhaps you will even help find a way to prevent the disease in the first place.

To Donate (Tax receipts issued for all donations of $25 or more)
Online: Go to https://payment.csfm.com/donations/healing/index.php. Select 'Camino Against Cancer' or write it in the box under 'Other'.
By Mail: Mail your donation to InspireHealth directly at Suite 200 – 1330 West 8th Avenue, Vancouver, BC V6H 4A6. Make sure to say it's for 'Camino Against Cancer' and include your full name and contact information for a receipt.

To find out more about Christine and the journey she's about to take, check out her blog at http://girlscribe.blogspot.com/.

To find out more about the great work InspireHealth is doing, see their website, http://www.inspirehealth.ca/.

Reflections on a life

Often lately, I find myself thinking about my Dad. It's been a few years now since we lost him. I still miss him. And I wonder if there wasn't something more that should have happened, some way we could have saved him. I remember vividly the telephone call I got at work that day. My mom and dad both on the line together, something that never happened. And something else new.

"Are you sitting down?", my mother asked. I remember the way my breath stopped in my chest, waiting. For what? For them to tell me it was all a joke and that everything was okay, the same as it was just seconds ago when I was thinking that my deadline for writing my pages was the most important thing in the world?

Instead, they told me that my Dad had been diagnosed with colon cancer and that it didn't look good. My Dad, sounding tearful, told me to look after my mother if something happened to him. I promised without knowing what it meant, without even thinking, still not believing anything could really happen. Not to my Dad, the man who could fix anything, the ever-present rock at the center of my universe who'd made me feel so safe I could do anything, go anywhere. He'd always been there if I needed him, not expecting anything in return except for me to do 'the right thing'.

It seems to me that over the next year I held my breath a lot, waiting. My father went through surgery and a horrific time in hospital - all his belongings were stolen and he had a terrible reaction to one of the drugs they gave him - only to find out the cancer had spread to his liver. He came home and prepared to die. For a while I was angry - with the hospital for what had happened to Dad there, with the doctors for not knowing beforehand that the cancer had spread and for not being able to do something, anything. I was even angry at my father, for having the disease at all. I was a child again, scared, my world out of control.

I am blessed because my Dad and I had the time and perspective to talk about things, to say the things we needed to say and to know how much we loved each other. But it was terrible to watch him give up hope, stop fighting, and let the cancer take him. In the end, he died at home, well-loved, and cared for by my amazing mother, helped by me, my sister, a wonderful cousin who'd lost her own father to the disease, and by a loving contingent of respite workers. He was only bed-ridden for a few days at the end, although he seemed to have shrunk to nothing in the meantime.

I've had other experiences with cancer - friends and family who've succumbed to it or, in a few miraculous cases, beaten it or lived with it well into old age. It is a specter that shadows my life because of heredity, our frenzied lifestyle, and the nature of our bodies. It is the monster in the closet or under the bed, waiting to pounce on any one of us when our guard is down. But people do survive, thrive, and become cancer-free. We are constantly learning - how to spot it, treat it, live with it, even how to prevent it. There is hope. And I believe that's where the difference lies between survival and surrender. Hope.

I wanted my father to do what I had seen him do before when things weren't fair in the world. Rise up and say no, this isn't right and I'm not having it. But in the end, he just couldn't. So I'm going to try to do it for him. Shortly, I will be starting a physical and spiritual journey of my own, traveling to Spain to do a pilgrimage. It'll be the biggest physical challenge I've ever given myself and I'm sure I'm going to love it and hate it and learn an incredible amount. But I'm also going to try to honor my father's memory and the memory of everyone who has left this world too soon because of cancer, as well as pay tribute to the people who are still here fighting. Of course I can't do it alone - I need lots of help. Stay tuned. I'll fill you in on the details soon.

Dad, I'm still trying to do the right thing. Because that's what you taught me. I love you.