Category: Soapbox

May 18th. Glasgow Scotland and Travel Fatigue

Posted on by Pete Schloss

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After a 6 hour journey from Belfast by bus, ferry, and back on bus, we have arrived in Scotland. We will be in Glasgow for two nights and then proceed by train north into the West Highlands where we will spend at least 4 nights in Fort William. We have already been told that the great weather that is predicted for the next week is an anomaly. Seems we are taking sunshine with us wherever we go.

This has been a rare day where we have turned on the news. Another school shooting in the States. It is eye opening to watch the Europe news and commentary. The word “again” was repeated throughout the presentation, highlighting the disfunction of a system that is frozen to inaction by money and the power of the NRA lobby. It is not hyperbole to say that the United States is seen as a morally broken nation. “Click”, news turned off, but not the reality it reports on this side of the ocean.

Tonight is the 56th night that we have been away from home… we are entering week 9 of this journey. It would be disingenuous of me to solicit sympathy for the small fissures of homesickness that we have begun to experience. We continue to enjoy each day, but there are moments that cause us pause.

Each day brings questions about the quality of tonight’s mattress, shower, and room. When will the next laundry opportunity occur? Will our clothing make it through the next 34 days without falling apart? We have eaten restaurant food for 8 solid weeks. What will be our first home cooked meal? Most of all, we miss family. Our smart phones and tablets can ring up our children with no more difficulty than a local call within the States. However no matter how “smart” the device, it can’t bridge the temporal reality of a 6 or 7 hour time difference. I’m really not complaining, just presenting another side of this experience.

Peace Everyone. Pete

May 13th. A Parting, and Mother’s Day.

Posted on by Pete Schloss

We bid farewell to Huw and Nina this morning. A lingering emptiness hovered over the rest of the day, tempered by the prospect of rejoining them for a November visit in Kansas City. Our friendship grew from their chance meeting with our youngest daughter 18 years ago in France. We were then “pen pals” for 5 year before meeting in person. We shared the excitement of London’s selection to host the 2012 Olympics and the following day we shared the horrors of being in the epicenter of 52 deaths at the hands of terrorists in London. They were present in Kansas City for the marriage of our son, Peter, and the college graduation of our daughter, Alexis. They have become an important part of the story of our family. Until we meet again…

It is Mother’s Day in the United States. Europe honors their Mothers at a different time of the year. I owe the gift of a happy childhood to 2 women, my mother and her mother. The 450 miles that separated my home from grandmother’s home in pre-interstate America meant that I only saw her once or twice a year. However, the quality of her presence was more important than the quantity of our time together. Her eyes and her smile radiated boundless love and pride in me. She died nearly 40 years ago but has been with me every day of my life.

My mother was the architect of my childhood. She held my hand in the best of times and she held me in the painful ones. She taught me how to grow into adulthood yet not outgrow childlike wonder that sparks the imagination and gives appreciation for the little things of life. Wishing her a happy day once each year seems so inadequate compared to the gift that she is to me every day of the year.

Christine has always been the star parent within our home. She raised our children to be the good parents that they are, and in the process taught me to be a better parent than I would otherwise have been. She continues as a source of great joy in the lives of our grandchildren.

Not all of us have had happy childhoods. Not all of us had good parents. Life is a lottery. Some of us pulled winning numbers and some of us did not. For the unlucky among us I hope that Mother’s Day can be a time to accept that there are things that can not be changed. That it is a day to find the courage to change the kind of person/parent that you are, and a day to find the wisdom to know the difference.

Peace Everyone. Pete

May 2nd. The Home Stretch.

Posted on by Pete Schloss

We are on the eve of our arrival in Santiago, 12 km away in the village of Teo. Our host is the Casa Parada Franco, a 400 year old farmstead and restaurant.

As in the last few nights, our “Camino” family has materialized. Tonight it includes our Canadian doppelgängers, Tom and Nancy, our Swiss friends Irene and Manuela, and a trio of men from Germany.

This Camino will end on day 14. Our past walk on the Way was 35 days long. Like flowers on the tundra, this Camino has managed to complete its life-cycle within the compressed time that the season has allowed. Nothing is missing.

I have found in Tom a kindred spirit who processes life in metaphors. I have been especially struck by one that he expressed yesterday. Tom reflected that each morning on the Camino he puts on the same backpack. Somedays it fits perfectly, yet on others it feels slightly unbalanced, a bit less than comfortable. Isn’t it the same with our jobs, relationships, life in general? Same backpack, job, family, life. Perhaps there is a lesson in learning that it is for us to adapt to the “backpacks of our lives”, and not expect them to adapt to us.

Tom is fond of looking at life each day in six words, not 5 not 7, but 6. As an example he shared, “Walking the Camino. I seek Tom”. Brilliant!

Pilgrimage is not the challenge of enduring discomfort and adversity. Rather, it is the challenge of learning to find release from the discomfort and adversity that has been confining one’s spirit.

My struggle is to let go. (6 words)

Peace Everyone. Pete

April 24th. Alone With My Thoughts. Solo to Ponte de Lima.

Posted on by Pete Schloss

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In prudent deference to the sunny and unseasonably hot weather (mid-80’s) I saw Christine off on a local bus to Ponte de Lima and walked the 18 km solo. It is a different experience for me, walking with her and solo… not better not worse, just different.

When we walk together, I talk, a lot. It’s stream of consciousness stuff, but having been married over 40 years means we often share the same “stream”. While it does qualify as a dialogue, I do most of the talking and she patiently listens, adding her valuable “2 cents” whenever she cares to.

As a solo walker I tend to turn inward and let the rhythm of my footfalls lull me into meditative contemplation. My feet have a destination, but my thoughts seem aimless. At times they are directed to the silly:

…Portugal like Spain is an eco conscious nation where the men’s toilet lights are frequently on motion timers… set for 30 year old bladders. Invariably I end up waving frantically with my “free hand” to re-trigger the lights back on! (Image thankfully omitted)

Then there are the more serious musings:

…What great nation in history has ever remained on the pinnacle of the world stage after surrendering to the siren song of xenophobia and isolationism?

We walk ever looking for the yellow arrows that give direction to the Camino. For the first couple of days this is intentional, but it becomes subconscious with the passage of time and distance. The active consideration of the markers returns to my attention when some inner voice says, “Hey, it’s been a while since you saw the last one.”

6 hours after Christine and I parted I near Ponte de Lima. We have communicated by text so I know that she has secured an upper room in an old Pensione that overlooks a town square that dates back to the time of the Romans. I see later that the room is timeworn but clean and comfortable. (I’m just timeworn, but a shower might put me on par with the room) S. Joan charges 35 euros (no breakfast) for the two of us.

I arrive in town, the mercury having gone north of 85 degrees F. Christine waits for me riverside at an outdoor cafe. Along with her smile she has bread, cheese, and a cold beer with my name on it.

Peace Everyone! Pete

PS. Christine has a well founded concern that our timetable to arrive in Santiago does not allow enough time to assure that she can walk the last 120 km. Therefore, we have transported ahead to Valenca at the northernmost point of the Camino before it enters Spain. This puts a day “in the bank” and gives us a safe margin of 9 days to cover the last 120 km.

April 6th. Tangier, Morocco. A Clash of Cultures

Posted on by Pete Schloss

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We are again on land with a day in Tangier. This is our first visit to Africa. Morocco is the only country in Africa with shores on the Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea. We are a scant 20 minutes south of Spain by high speed Ferry, which service runs hourly.

This is a place where cultures have clashed for millennia, each leaving a cumulative footprint. The Berbers are considered the indigenous people. Invaders have included the Phoenicians approximately 3,500 years ago, followed by the Carthaginians, Romans, Visigoths, Arabs, Portuguese, English, Spanish, and French. Morocco was a French colony during much of the 20th Century and most signage in Tangier is posted in Arabic and French.

We participated in a 3 hour guided walking tour of the Kasbah, formerly a walled fortress and now a bewildering maze of narrow winding walkways where multi-story buildings that date back hundreds of years seem to lean in on you from all sides. Most are residences in the upper levels, with the first floors presenting an array of shops themed for the needs of tourists and locals alike. Our tour included a visit to the Kasbah Museum, housed in the former palace that dates to the late 17th Century. Within the Kasbah is a Catholic Cathedral, a Jewish Synagog, and of course a number of Mosques, one of which dates to the 1200’s.

At the conclusion of the guided tour Christine and I continued wandering solo. We were seeking an authentic Moroccan restaurant frequented by locals rather than tourists. As we perused a map a young teenage boy approached us offering assistance. This was Anwar. He spoke excellent English and seemed nothing more than a Good Samaritan. He knew “just the place” and proceeded to lead us since he had “nothing else to do”. What we didn’t first perceive was that Anwar had made us his “thing to do”. We arrived at a fine restaurant after 30 minutes of following Anwar… who kept promising “its just ahead a little bit more”. It began to dawn on us that Anwar had designated himself as our hired guide, especially when he sat down to eat lunch with us!

The meal was wonderful, certainly authentic, and at 40 euros a bit pricey. We didn’t get tagged for Anwar’s meal, but we suspect that the restaurant comped it for him as he was responsible for bringing in paying customers (us). After lunch we did finally part ways, and I did “grease” Anwar’s palm.

I understand that his initial “help” is easily misunderstood. Our culture associates acts of kindness with the virtue of charity. Anwar has been raised to equate kindness with compensated service. Similarly, the vendors who incessantly approached us misconstrue our curiosity about an item or its price as a commitment to purchase, with only the final price to be agreed upon.

Where cultures clash, tempers may flair. It is not because someone was wrong and someone was right. It is just because each has failed to presume in favor of the best intentions of the other.

السلام الجميع (Alslam Aljmy… Peace Everyone!) Pete