Three weeks ago I decided to re-grow my beard. This comes as no suprise to those who know me - most of the last mumble mumble years I've had one. Still, shaving has been for a while a rite of Spring, with bearding occuring in the Fall. So, here it is. What I've forgotten is what it's like to be around folks who don't know that. My recent consulting gig(s) have put me in the company of real strangers, and they don't know or understand that history.
Graduate school wasn't quite the same experience, even though there were more strangers present in the environment. Maybe it is because I was less invested in the opinions of many of my peers there - after all, having been through the process before, I am aware of how tenuous the connections with some of the students really are. Still.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Loose Change
Today I put up the Christmas tree. While I was in the attic, I cleaned up a few boxes and what not. That, in turn, led to moving around a few things, like an old dresser that we store up there. And that, gentle readers, led me to open the drawers of the dresser to see if anything was in there. And there was.... *treasure*.
A long time ago I began taking the change out of my pockets and putting it in a container. The first container was a piggy bank, of a sort, with a chain and a lock. Later, I just switched to a cup or a jar. Before Terre and I moved, I separated all of the quarters, nickels, and dimes into plastic bags. Those bags are what I found in the dresser drawer. What to do? Cash them in! I took them to a local Kroger's, which has one of those change counting devices. Fifteen minutes later... and I do mean at least 15 minutes, I had a voucher for $230. In the words of Napoleon, "Sweeeet!".
Nothing suceeds like success, so I went home, dug out my other change boxes, dumped them into another bag and went back. My total take for the day? Around $333.
Granted, I've known plenty of people who collected loose change. Heck, I met one guy who used to save over $1500 dollars a year that way. Still, I was suprised by the amount and delighted with the result.
A long time ago I began taking the change out of my pockets and putting it in a container. The first container was a piggy bank, of a sort, with a chain and a lock. Later, I just switched to a cup or a jar. Before Terre and I moved, I separated all of the quarters, nickels, and dimes into plastic bags. Those bags are what I found in the dresser drawer. What to do? Cash them in! I took them to a local Kroger's, which has one of those change counting devices. Fifteen minutes later... and I do mean at least 15 minutes, I had a voucher for $230. In the words of Napoleon, "Sweeeet!".
Nothing suceeds like success, so I went home, dug out my other change boxes, dumped them into another bag and went back. My total take for the day? Around $333.
Granted, I've known plenty of people who collected loose change. Heck, I met one guy who used to save over $1500 dollars a year that way. Still, I was suprised by the amount and delighted with the result.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Energy?
I've heard people talk about energy. Specifically, deriving energy from things, places, people I suppose. Emotions. Actions? I don't know what they mean, really, though I speculate, now and then, about it. Energy, to the engineer in me, has something to do with power, potential or expressed. It has do do with transformation, too. I'm not sure if that has anything to do with what others mean.
I know that I've places that have elated me (Santiago) or depressed me (Dachau), and that's a sort of power, or energy, that the place has. I think such places have an immediate effect (awe) and then a lingering effect, which might be some dilution of the experience, or perhaps even something created within us out of the experience, like conflict.
I think that some places have such a power to them. Most of the ones I can think of have a strong cultural meaning to them, and I wonder if they might have the same impact on someone from, say, China, as me. Of course, the places I'm thinking when I say that are more than locations. They are cities, or towns, or villages, and I think it is the humanity of the place that affects me. In particular, it is the art of the place, especially the architecture. Architecture seems to have an immediate ability to force the viewer to compare the space to something known, whether it is the interior of some gothic cathedral or a simple hut in India. Not that there is anything wrong with just accepting the beauty of a place, but when I see such places, I think of their age, the work that caused them to be created, the events that happened here. Perhaps buildings store up the power of events that made them. Or perhaps we analyize and give these places their power in respecting what they represent.
On the other hand, the natural world has its beauty, too. Seeing the Grand Canyon should affect anyone. It simply should, whether that reaction is disbelief, or amazement, or terror. Do we give these places their power? For some reason I am more certain that their power is universal - that anyone, from anywhere and anytime, would react to them.
Do we seek such places for their effect on us? Do we go to them expecting, demanding to be changed? Is the goal of the explorer to convince others to want to be changed? To be the first to be transformed by some new power?
I know that I've places that have elated me (Santiago) or depressed me (Dachau), and that's a sort of power, or energy, that the place has. I think such places have an immediate effect (awe) and then a lingering effect, which might be some dilution of the experience, or perhaps even something created within us out of the experience, like conflict.
I think that some places have such a power to them. Most of the ones I can think of have a strong cultural meaning to them, and I wonder if they might have the same impact on someone from, say, China, as me. Of course, the places I'm thinking when I say that are more than locations. They are cities, or towns, or villages, and I think it is the humanity of the place that affects me. In particular, it is the art of the place, especially the architecture. Architecture seems to have an immediate ability to force the viewer to compare the space to something known, whether it is the interior of some gothic cathedral or a simple hut in India. Not that there is anything wrong with just accepting the beauty of a place, but when I see such places, I think of their age, the work that caused them to be created, the events that happened here. Perhaps buildings store up the power of events that made them. Or perhaps we analyize and give these places their power in respecting what they represent.
On the other hand, the natural world has its beauty, too. Seeing the Grand Canyon should affect anyone. It simply should, whether that reaction is disbelief, or amazement, or terror. Do we give these places their power? For some reason I am more certain that their power is universal - that anyone, from anywhere and anytime, would react to them.
Do we seek such places for their effect on us? Do we go to them expecting, demanding to be changed? Is the goal of the explorer to convince others to want to be changed? To be the first to be transformed by some new power?
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
"..for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."
Hebrews 13:2 is an interesting verse, part of which I've quoted in the title. The verse says, "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." I don't know much about angels. I don't really understand the special status accorded them. I don't understand their power or ability, which is a very human way of looking at things, I suppose, and not at all in keeping with thoughts of the divine, or at least holy. Angels have been called messengers, or vice-versa. We have angels of mercy and angelic praise, as a hymn or two reminds us.
Yet, in spite of my disbelief in angels, or perhaps because of it, I've had two occasions where I felt so strongly that I was interacting with angels that it spooked me. The first time was over ten years ago. The second was recent - the morning of Christmas Eve, 2004.
Many years ago - such that I can't recall when, really, but, generally, let's say 12 years ago or so, I took a trip down to Atlanta from Memphis. I went down there to visit a couple of friends and to participate in the closing service of a weekend retreat. My visit was a surprise, which meant that I couldn't stay at the retreat center the night before. Instead, I sought a hotel room nearby. That was a mistake. You see, Atlanta was busy that weekend. There was a baseball game being played in town. There was a basketball exhibition game being played. And there was a gathering of students from nearly every black college and university in the country for their joint spring break. Atlanta was crowded. There were no rooms nearby.
So, I kept driving East, until I was well past my destination, well into unfamiliar territory, and finally somewhere near hotels/motels with rooms to let. I stopped, booked a room, ate dinner, and went to sleep.
In the morning, I woke early and decided to take a look around as I had several hours to kill. Folks who know me know that I don't eat breakfast. Folks who have traveled with me know that I do. That's one of my personal contradictions: I eat breakfast on the rode, but not at home. Breakfast, in this case, meant WaffleHouse, and unavoidable feature of practically every interstate interchange in Georgia. So, I found one, went in, and waited for a spot to sit down. Soon, a barstool became available, and I sat down.
Now, folks who know me also know that I'm generally not one for talking to strangers. Heck, I'm not much for talking, usually, though the right crowd sometimes can produce odd results. But, it so happened that the stool next to mine opened up shortly after I sat down, and a middle-aged black man sat down next to me, and we mumbled our respective "mornin'" to each other. He had a local paper, and so I went out on a limb and asked him if he know the reason for the crowds I'd run into, etc. He knew alright - some of his wife's college friends were in town because of it, and he'd had his fill of reunions and too many women in his house, and had decided to go out and catch breakfast and a little peace and quiet. We laughed about that and I commiserated (I have 3 sisters myself) and then shifted to the weather, the local sports, and events of the day. He finished breakfast before I did, and he paid, and then he got up to leave. That's when he turned around, looked at me squarely in the eye, and said, "You be careful out there today."
That was an odd remark, I thought, but well-intentioned, and so I thanked him, and we said our goodbyes. He left, and shortly after I left. I got in my car and decided to take a little drive around Atlanta.
I still can't tell you exactly where I went that day. I drove all over - and I took a few u-turns, getting off the interstate and getting back on, trying to stay in the general quadrant of my ultimate destination. At some point, though, I got lost, or at least out of sight of the signs that I wanted to see. [A useful working definition of lost, at least for me.] I took a few turns, and then I was in a very different place. Graffiti became prominent. Fences. Boards on windows, bars on doors. Gang symbols, sprayed on corners, cars, streets. The general signs of urban decay. Suddenly, I was a little nervous, and I got the distinct impression I was in an area of town that, in the wrong circumstances, could be dangerous.
I should explain how I traveled back then. I had a fairly small car with bucket seats up front. I would slide the passenger seat back as far as possible, which allowed a good-sized cooler to be placed in the floorboard. I would stock up on ice, cokes, sandwiches, cheese, apples - snacks for the road. It was very handy.
I should also explain that my little car had a few miles on it, and that some of those miles had been hard ones. I had driven from Memphis to Milwaukee in that little car, at a pretty good clip. I had driven from Memphis to Atlanta in a little under 5 hours. My car rebelled at such treatment in subtle ways; sometimes, for instance, the electric windows would stop working.
Here I was, then, lost in Atlanta, in a rough neighborhood by the looks of it.
I looked up and saw a guy walking down the sidewalk. In a few moments he would walk in front of my car. He was a young black man in his 20's. He looked tough. He had the right number of tattoo's to fulfil a gangster stereotype. And he was looking at my car. So, I did the what I thought I should do: I tried to roll my window up. Remember how I said my car misbehaved on occassion. That's what they call foreshadowing, because that's exactly what happened. My window refused to budge. My fingers were glued to the controls, and my eyes were glued to the fellow who was, by now, walking in front of my car, then a little to the left, a little more, almost to the corner, and then he stopped. And I got very nervous and to what this fellow was up to. He stopped, and then he turned around, looked at me, and started walking back. Over to my window. Next to my car. And then he leaned down, put his arm on the window, and said, "Hey man, you got a pepsi in that cooler?"
i've always been of the coke congregation, so I told him no. Then I told him I had a coke, and he asked for one, and I gave it to him. He stood up, wiped his brow, popped his coke top, took a sip, and leaned back down. He looked at me and said, "Say, what's a white boy like you doing here?" I waited a second, and then he continued, "You need to get out of here. You need to drive straight two blocks. Then you need to turn right. Then you need to keep driving."
I said, "Okay" and I waited for the light to change (again) and then I took off.
Perhaps you're wondering what this has to do with angels. Or, maybe you've jumped ahead and you're asking yourself, "Who is the angel?" Is it the first man who warns me, or is it the guy who helped me, or is it both? I don't know. I like to think both. I like to think the first was a messenger. Did my offer of a cold drink on a hot Atlanta day transform someone into an angel? That's silly, but be not forgetful to entertain strangers, even if they look like young black gangsters. In the bible, angels have men's names - Michael, Gabriel.... but we're not supposed to believe they are ordinary men. When I close my eyes, my angels have black faces. So be it. That was my first visitation. Real angels? Do you care?
Christmas Eve began early for me. About 4AM, I heard a familiar winter sound - the sound of wheels spinning on slick ice. My hearing is good, anyway, but there is something about the resonance of that sound that penetrates my skull. This was a persistent sound, or at least the sound of a persistent driver. After I little while, I was good and awake and I figured I might as well go out and see what was happening. That, thankfully, didn't take long: a young black soldier, on leave and back in Memphis, had swapped the ends of his car across the street from my neighbor's house, and had slid off into a small ditch. As I approached him, he was giving the accelerator everything he could, wheels spinning furiously, but to no avail.
I walked over and he rolled down his window, and I leaned in and said, "Son, you're pretty good and stuck." He laughed, and agreed. I asked the usual questions, "Have you driven on ice? What gear is your car in? Front-wheel drive?" and quickly figured out that he really didn't know what to do, didn't really want to leave his car (despite my offer to drive him to his destination) and that he really believed he might get his car lose. So, we rocked it back and forth for a while and other tricks all designed to free his trapped vehicle. Nothing doing.
After a while, I walked back over to my house, got my flat-bladed shovel, came back over, and started digging away some of the ice. I don't think I'll ever forget the nice, one-inch thick sheets that I split that day. Great big sections, long as your arm. Even after digging enough traction for one wheel, he still had another buried over halfway in mud. He spun his wheels for maybe a half hour more.
I had another bright idea, so I went back to the house, had my wife open the garage, and was going to grab some firewood to put under his muddy tire. That's when I heard voices. I looked back up the road and there was another guy standing in the middle of the street, talking to the young soldier. I decided to walk back down.
The new fellow had a thin jacket on and was talking loud enough to wake the neighbors, (or so I hoped, secretly). He looked at the car and laughed. He walked around it and shook his head. He told me none of the coke trucks had gone out the day before, the streets where so bad, and that this morning was even worse, slick as glass, and that he didn't see how anybody was getting around. We agreed that even a wrecker would have trouble on the perfect ice skating rink near the corner, and that the car was very stuck, and he said, "You know, firewood might do the trick", I walked back up to my house, and my wife opened the garage, and I got a couple of pieces wood to prop under the car wheels. As I was walking back to the street, though, I heard a different sound, and so I dropped the wood, walked further, and saw the car in the middle of the street, pointing the right direction. I walked on, and they explained that they had just, "rocked her free" and that he was ready to drive home. I told the solder to put his car in low and to "take it light on the accelerator" and wished him well. The soldier asked for my name, thanked me, wished me a Merry Christmas, and slowly took off down the street. The other fellow wished me a good night and started walking off as well. I turned around and started walking back to my house, cold, tired, but happy at the prospect of a little quiet. I was even happy that someone else had decided to stop by and help.
About halfway to my house, I stopped and thought, for the first time: what in the world is somebody doing, walking the streets at 5Am on a day like today? So, I ran/waddled back to the corner, and took a look around.... and saw nothing. Not a person in sight as far as the eye could see. I even said outloud, "Where did you go?"
Was the young man who stopped by an angel? To the driver he should have been, but maybe he didn't notice. I like to think he was, even if he was only pretending. Maybe the driver was the one entertaining, and he got an angel and me for free. Or maybe the driver was the angel, and two souls, awakened early, got a reminder of the giving nature of Christmas. I don't know. I wish both explanations could be true.
I do know that they say good things happen in threes. I'm hoping that it doesn't take 10 more years for me to be convinced.
Yet, in spite of my disbelief in angels, or perhaps because of it, I've had two occasions where I felt so strongly that I was interacting with angels that it spooked me. The first time was over ten years ago. The second was recent - the morning of Christmas Eve, 2004.
Many years ago - such that I can't recall when, really, but, generally, let's say 12 years ago or so, I took a trip down to Atlanta from Memphis. I went down there to visit a couple of friends and to participate in the closing service of a weekend retreat. My visit was a surprise, which meant that I couldn't stay at the retreat center the night before. Instead, I sought a hotel room nearby. That was a mistake. You see, Atlanta was busy that weekend. There was a baseball game being played in town. There was a basketball exhibition game being played. And there was a gathering of students from nearly every black college and university in the country for their joint spring break. Atlanta was crowded. There were no rooms nearby.
So, I kept driving East, until I was well past my destination, well into unfamiliar territory, and finally somewhere near hotels/motels with rooms to let. I stopped, booked a room, ate dinner, and went to sleep.
In the morning, I woke early and decided to take a look around as I had several hours to kill. Folks who know me know that I don't eat breakfast. Folks who have traveled with me know that I do. That's one of my personal contradictions: I eat breakfast on the rode, but not at home. Breakfast, in this case, meant WaffleHouse, and unavoidable feature of practically every interstate interchange in Georgia. So, I found one, went in, and waited for a spot to sit down. Soon, a barstool became available, and I sat down.
Now, folks who know me also know that I'm generally not one for talking to strangers. Heck, I'm not much for talking, usually, though the right crowd sometimes can produce odd results. But, it so happened that the stool next to mine opened up shortly after I sat down, and a middle-aged black man sat down next to me, and we mumbled our respective "mornin'" to each other. He had a local paper, and so I went out on a limb and asked him if he know the reason for the crowds I'd run into, etc. He knew alright - some of his wife's college friends were in town because of it, and he'd had his fill of reunions and too many women in his house, and had decided to go out and catch breakfast and a little peace and quiet. We laughed about that and I commiserated (I have 3 sisters myself) and then shifted to the weather, the local sports, and events of the day. He finished breakfast before I did, and he paid, and then he got up to leave. That's when he turned around, looked at me squarely in the eye, and said, "You be careful out there today."
That was an odd remark, I thought, but well-intentioned, and so I thanked him, and we said our goodbyes. He left, and shortly after I left. I got in my car and decided to take a little drive around Atlanta.
I still can't tell you exactly where I went that day. I drove all over - and I took a few u-turns, getting off the interstate and getting back on, trying to stay in the general quadrant of my ultimate destination. At some point, though, I got lost, or at least out of sight of the signs that I wanted to see. [A useful working definition of lost, at least for me.] I took a few turns, and then I was in a very different place. Graffiti became prominent. Fences. Boards on windows, bars on doors. Gang symbols, sprayed on corners, cars, streets. The general signs of urban decay. Suddenly, I was a little nervous, and I got the distinct impression I was in an area of town that, in the wrong circumstances, could be dangerous.
I should explain how I traveled back then. I had a fairly small car with bucket seats up front. I would slide the passenger seat back as far as possible, which allowed a good-sized cooler to be placed in the floorboard. I would stock up on ice, cokes, sandwiches, cheese, apples - snacks for the road. It was very handy.
I should also explain that my little car had a few miles on it, and that some of those miles had been hard ones. I had driven from Memphis to Milwaukee in that little car, at a pretty good clip. I had driven from Memphis to Atlanta in a little under 5 hours. My car rebelled at such treatment in subtle ways; sometimes, for instance, the electric windows would stop working.
Here I was, then, lost in Atlanta, in a rough neighborhood by the looks of it.
I looked up and saw a guy walking down the sidewalk. In a few moments he would walk in front of my car. He was a young black man in his 20's. He looked tough. He had the right number of tattoo's to fulfil a gangster stereotype. And he was looking at my car. So, I did the what I thought I should do: I tried to roll my window up. Remember how I said my car misbehaved on occassion. That's what they call foreshadowing, because that's exactly what happened. My window refused to budge. My fingers were glued to the controls, and my eyes were glued to the fellow who was, by now, walking in front of my car, then a little to the left, a little more, almost to the corner, and then he stopped. And I got very nervous and to what this fellow was up to. He stopped, and then he turned around, looked at me, and started walking back. Over to my window. Next to my car. And then he leaned down, put his arm on the window, and said, "Hey man, you got a pepsi in that cooler?"
i've always been of the coke congregation, so I told him no. Then I told him I had a coke, and he asked for one, and I gave it to him. He stood up, wiped his brow, popped his coke top, took a sip, and leaned back down. He looked at me and said, "Say, what's a white boy like you doing here?" I waited a second, and then he continued, "You need to get out of here. You need to drive straight two blocks. Then you need to turn right. Then you need to keep driving."
I said, "Okay" and I waited for the light to change (again) and then I took off.
Perhaps you're wondering what this has to do with angels. Or, maybe you've jumped ahead and you're asking yourself, "Who is the angel?" Is it the first man who warns me, or is it the guy who helped me, or is it both? I don't know. I like to think both. I like to think the first was a messenger. Did my offer of a cold drink on a hot Atlanta day transform someone into an angel? That's silly, but be not forgetful to entertain strangers, even if they look like young black gangsters. In the bible, angels have men's names - Michael, Gabriel.... but we're not supposed to believe they are ordinary men. When I close my eyes, my angels have black faces. So be it. That was my first visitation. Real angels? Do you care?
Christmas Eve began early for me. About 4AM, I heard a familiar winter sound - the sound of wheels spinning on slick ice. My hearing is good, anyway, but there is something about the resonance of that sound that penetrates my skull. This was a persistent sound, or at least the sound of a persistent driver. After I little while, I was good and awake and I figured I might as well go out and see what was happening. That, thankfully, didn't take long: a young black soldier, on leave and back in Memphis, had swapped the ends of his car across the street from my neighbor's house, and had slid off into a small ditch. As I approached him, he was giving the accelerator everything he could, wheels spinning furiously, but to no avail.
I walked over and he rolled down his window, and I leaned in and said, "Son, you're pretty good and stuck." He laughed, and agreed. I asked the usual questions, "Have you driven on ice? What gear is your car in? Front-wheel drive?" and quickly figured out that he really didn't know what to do, didn't really want to leave his car (despite my offer to drive him to his destination) and that he really believed he might get his car lose. So, we rocked it back and forth for a while and other tricks all designed to free his trapped vehicle. Nothing doing.
After a while, I walked back over to my house, got my flat-bladed shovel, came back over, and started digging away some of the ice. I don't think I'll ever forget the nice, one-inch thick sheets that I split that day. Great big sections, long as your arm. Even after digging enough traction for one wheel, he still had another buried over halfway in mud. He spun his wheels for maybe a half hour more.
I had another bright idea, so I went back to the house, had my wife open the garage, and was going to grab some firewood to put under his muddy tire. That's when I heard voices. I looked back up the road and there was another guy standing in the middle of the street, talking to the young soldier. I decided to walk back down.
The new fellow had a thin jacket on and was talking loud enough to wake the neighbors, (or so I hoped, secretly). He looked at the car and laughed. He walked around it and shook his head. He told me none of the coke trucks had gone out the day before, the streets where so bad, and that this morning was even worse, slick as glass, and that he didn't see how anybody was getting around. We agreed that even a wrecker would have trouble on the perfect ice skating rink near the corner, and that the car was very stuck, and he said, "You know, firewood might do the trick", I walked back up to my house, and my wife opened the garage, and I got a couple of pieces wood to prop under the car wheels. As I was walking back to the street, though, I heard a different sound, and so I dropped the wood, walked further, and saw the car in the middle of the street, pointing the right direction. I walked on, and they explained that they had just, "rocked her free" and that he was ready to drive home. I told the solder to put his car in low and to "take it light on the accelerator" and wished him well. The soldier asked for my name, thanked me, wished me a Merry Christmas, and slowly took off down the street. The other fellow wished me a good night and started walking off as well. I turned around and started walking back to my house, cold, tired, but happy at the prospect of a little quiet. I was even happy that someone else had decided to stop by and help.
About halfway to my house, I stopped and thought, for the first time: what in the world is somebody doing, walking the streets at 5Am on a day like today? So, I ran/waddled back to the corner, and took a look around.... and saw nothing. Not a person in sight as far as the eye could see. I even said outloud, "Where did you go?"
Was the young man who stopped by an angel? To the driver he should have been, but maybe he didn't notice. I like to think he was, even if he was only pretending. Maybe the driver was the one entertaining, and he got an angel and me for free. Or maybe the driver was the angel, and two souls, awakened early, got a reminder of the giving nature of Christmas. I don't know. I wish both explanations could be true.
I do know that they say good things happen in threes. I'm hoping that it doesn't take 10 more years for me to be convinced.
Saturday, May 22, 2004
Hello from Terre
Hello everyone. Thanks for all the thoughts and prayers being sent our way. Things are going well, and since Jim has hit most of the high points, I will only add a few thoughts.
We have both eaten pulpo, which is octopus in red vine. Don´t freak out mom. Jim liked it very much. My impression . . . it does NOT taste like chicken. The breads are fabulous, and French fries fried in olive oil accompany almost every meal.
We have seen some incredible countryside, we have seen beautiful birds that we have never seen before. Until a couple of days ago, there were storks (who have huge nests on rooftops) everywhere. The land we are in now, Galicia, looks like the shire in Lord of the Rings. It is truly breathtaking.
Everyone hug your washer and dryer daily and tell them how much you love them.
I love you all and miss you. We are well.
See you soon.
Terre
We have both eaten pulpo, which is octopus in red vine. Don´t freak out mom. Jim liked it very much. My impression . . . it does NOT taste like chicken. The breads are fabulous, and French fries fried in olive oil accompany almost every meal.
We have seen some incredible countryside, we have seen beautiful birds that we have never seen before. Until a couple of days ago, there were storks (who have huge nests on rooftops) everywhere. The land we are in now, Galicia, looks like the shire in Lord of the Rings. It is truly breathtaking.
Everyone hug your washer and dryer daily and tell them how much you love them.
I love you all and miss you. We are well.
See you soon.
Terre
On the road, again...
Just Waylon, Ramon and the boys.....
¡Hola! We are signing on from a cibercafe in Palas de Rei (population 2000: Salute!) We have walked in this morning from Ventas de Naron, where we stayed in a Refugio and ate next door at the Restaurant Labrador. (No, that was not on the menu). We were the 3rd and 4th in the queue and met a very nice couple (Manuel and Reme) from Barcelona and were joined by a fellow from the previous two days walk, Ramon. Manuel speaks excellent English and Reme/Ramon a little less so, so dinner was in Spanglish for our benefit.
The walk this morning was good, with rolling hills up and down small river valleys. Wonderful countryside covered in farms and stands of Eucalyptus, which they grow and harvest here. We passed a ´village´ of one house today.
We have stopped here for the day, found a nice hotel (25€ per day!), washed our clothes, eaten lunch, and walked around a bit. We have even bumped into old friends....
Tomorrow we hope to move on to Melide. From there we have mostly smaller towns until Santiago, so we will try to check in tomorrow and then perhaps Santiago. The 27th is our target for arriving into Santiago.
¡Hola! We are signing on from a cibercafe in Palas de Rei (population 2000: Salute!) We have walked in this morning from Ventas de Naron, where we stayed in a Refugio and ate next door at the Restaurant Labrador. (No, that was not on the menu). We were the 3rd and 4th in the queue and met a very nice couple (Manuel and Reme) from Barcelona and were joined by a fellow from the previous two days walk, Ramon. Manuel speaks excellent English and Reme/Ramon a little less so, so dinner was in Spanglish for our benefit.
The walk this morning was good, with rolling hills up and down small river valleys. Wonderful countryside covered in farms and stands of Eucalyptus, which they grow and harvest here. We passed a ´village´ of one house today.
We have stopped here for the day, found a nice hotel (25€ per day!), washed our clothes, eaten lunch, and walked around a bit. We have even bumped into old friends....
Tomorrow we hope to move on to Melide. From there we have mostly smaller towns until Santiago, so we will try to check in tomorrow and then perhaps Santiago. The 27th is our target for arriving into Santiago.
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Soul-searching, foot washing, Sarria
After dinner Terre and I assessed our foot situation and decided to book a train to Sarria. That´s considerably down the road, but still more than the 100 KM (62 miles) of walking required to obtain a certificate. Our train to Monte de Leon leaves in a couple of hours. We transfer there an hour later on a carriage to Sarria. We will arrive late, so we probably won´t get in the albergue/refugio there, but instead will book in a hostal or hotel. We worked out a rough 9 day walk from there to Santiago. After this message, I´ll be running some simulations to get 9 and 10 journey models.
[And yes, I am avoiding talking about how disappointed we both are, but we both agreed this is best.]
Aside from that, Astorga is very beatiful - small and compact, with lots of little alleys and side streets, squares for sitting around, and a fantastic cathedral.
[And yes, I am avoiding talking about how disappointed we both are, but we both agreed this is best.]
Aside from that, Astorga is very beatiful - small and compact, with lots of little alleys and side streets, squares for sitting around, and a fantastic cathedral.
Monday, May 17, 2004
Astorga
Quick update from a cyber cafe in Astorga.
We spent two nights in Leon after travelling something like 1 & 1/2 days.
Then we walked to Villadangos de Paramo, 13.5 miles for our first day. Not bad, and the refugio was nicer than I imagined. We have met many people on the walk, including Tasmanians, Kiwis, etc. So far, we are the only Americans. Others have told us we are the only Americans they have seen since France.
We spent two nights in Leon after travelling something like 1 & 1/2 days.
Then we walked to Villadangos de Paramo, 13.5 miles for our first day. Not bad, and the refugio was nicer than I imagined. We have met many people on the walk, including Tasmanians, Kiwis, etc. So far, we are the only Americans. Others have told us we are the only Americans they have seen since France.
Astorga
Today we walked to Astorga, 16.8 miles. Absolute murder. We made it to Hospital de Orbigo early and decided to push on. Very tough - the road was more like a dirt trail with river stones embedded in it. Unpleasant doesn´t begin to describe it. At the end of the day we met two new folks who walked us to the Albergue (municipal quasi refugio). Not a bad room and the shower had hot water - who can complain? But today has taken its toil and, at the very least we are extending the walk to 14 days instead of 13 to reduce the future walking day distances. Or, we may have to bail on walking and play tourist instead.
Saturday, May 15, 2004
The Pilgrims Depart
We took the pilgrims to the airport on Thursday morning. It's been two days since we've heard from them, so we think a dragon ate them somewhere in the Spanish countryside. Maybe it was a vegetarian dragon who thought that they were an exotic kind of squash, and so his stomach will be pumped by a friendly village doctor. We can only hope....
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
Loaded Packs
Somehow I don't think this is what Terre had in mind when I said, "With all my earthly goods I thee endow." Just for reference, Terre's is the one on the left that guys would call 'purple' (that is, eggplant), while mine is just plain blue.
Mine came out at about 20 lbs, while Terre's is slightly lighter.
It's 8 o'clock (2 AM London, 3AM Spain). Tomorrow starts early.
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
Camino planner
For those of you playing along at home, I've updated my Camino France Route Planner. I've used it to model the consequences of trying to walk a certain number of miles per day. [ Hey, different people handle stress in different ways. ]
EDITOR: currently offline.
EDITOR: currently offline.
At any rate, I wrote this little tool, which is now a primitive web app, to let me select starting locations (Leon, in our case), destinations (Santiago de Compostela), and what I facetiously refer to as 'maximum walking distances'. This toy then calculates a route, showing you the legs of the journey and attempting, if possible, to end each days' journey in less than the max. specified miles. Of course, not all towns have refugios, so my app is greedy.. it assumes you'll walk on til you hit a town with a place to stay. Which we will,, und ve vill like it.
193 miles into 13 days is 14.85 miles per day. Turns out, though, that you actually need to shoot for 15,3 miles in order to do the walk from Leon in 13 days. [Actually, I ran a set of models across a range of max distances to figure that out.
Like I said, stress, people, different. ]
Caveats apply. Not responsible for anything, don't trust my data, I have no idea what I'm doing, etc.
Monday, May 10, 2004
5 days
Yesterday was the 5 day mark til the trip. I laminated our strip maps and an overall map of the route. I don't think I'll take both - probably just the strip maps. I got them by printing off the route information from the wonderful Mundi Camino site.
Saturday, May 01, 2004
Jordan is eight!
Today is my niece is 8 years old! Well, sorta.... we celebrated it today, which is practically the same thing. Or maybe it just means that she can have two birthdays.
Unfortunately, it is raining, which means we won't be able to have nearly as much fun outdoors, but I'm sure we will still have a good time. We assemble at my sister's house this afternoon.
Unfortunately, it is raining, which means we won't be able to have nearly as much fun outdoors, but I'm sure we will still have a good time. We assemble at my sister's house this afternoon.
Less than two weeks
A little less than two weeks to go now til our walk. This past week, Jonathan Bennett came by and interviewed Terre and I for a brief blurb in the GSL bulletin. He hopes to do a longer article for the diocesan newsletter and a followup article when we return.
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
Things you think everyone knows
This morning I exchanged mail with Jon B., one of my old bosses, and at some point I explained I would be out of the country soon. There ought to be a name for the phenomena of thinking that a fact is well-known when it isn't. At this point, it seems like I've been talking about the camino for so long that I assume that most people know about it and know I'm going. And then I'm reminded that it's simply not true.
Monday, March 15, 2004
Liberty Lake
Terre and I walked 8.5 miles around Liberty Lake this past weekend, with packs. I carried 30 lbs. I learned two lessons:
We thought we were walking around a 2.5 mile path. Imagine our surprise and disappointment when we learned that it was only 1.7 miles. Still, it went well. No major issues, though our feet were a little tender after finishing.
- Know the distance around a course before you begin, and
- 30 lbs is heavy.
We thought we were walking around a 2.5 mile path. Imagine our surprise and disappointment when we learned that it was only 1.7 miles. Still, it went well. No major issues, though our feet were a little tender after finishing.
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