Posts Tagged With: travel

Too Much Information

Posted on August 14, 2019 by Pieter Stok

Festival Patronales in Estella, Spain

Hetty and I went into Estella for our day off. Hetty had noticed a week earlier that men dressed like men on horseback were going around chasing and hitting children with white bags that looked like slightly elongated balloons. While in a craft/leather shop in Estella we noticed that they were for sale. We inquired what they were made of. Was it leather or plastic? The shop keeper nodded ‘no’ quite vigorously and grasped his groin area dramatically. Looking both aghast and puzzled we wondered what he was on about. Then he added the word ‘toro’. The realisation hit us that these white ‘bags’ were made from bull scrotums (what is the plural?). There was some nervous hilarity as we left the shop. The remnants of running with the bulls I suppose.

All this is part of the Patronales festival which involves, bulls, dancing, giants and big heads – go figure.

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Glimpses of an albergue.

Posted on August 14, 2019 by Pieter Stok

Hetty and I are volunteering in an albergue – a hostel on the Camino to Santiago in Spain. I hope, in time, to give readers an idea of what that involves. At the moment I am still learning about all the expectations myself.

Currently the helpers in the albergue come from the US, Germany, Holland and Australia. They may stay for a few weeks or some, months. The tasks include cleaning rooms, washing sheets, feeding pilgrims and the team, registering arrivals and catering to the pilgrims needs as best we can.

Last night around the dining table we had people from France, Ireland and Italy. I am told many nations of the world pass through this little hostel. Most take part in the home cooked meal and enjoy the community atmosphere. If last night was representative, the conversation is lively.

Pilgrims are also invited to a meditation time to reflect on the journey they are taking. Most avail themselves of this as walking gives people a lot of time to think.

The hostel we are in is in a small village just outside Estella. There are about 50 people in this village with very few amenities so our albergue has to cater for quite a few needs the pilgrims may have, most of whom are very far from home.

I have included a few photos to give you an impression of the environs:

The albergue with the castle in the background

A medieval bath just before pilgrims arrive in the village

The local church

The medieval bath

The environs

The path

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A senorita, a Scot and a sheila

Posted on August 13, 2019 by Pieter Stok

The day started early. I was wide awake at 3 am and listened to the church bells strike the quarter hours. By 6am I had had breakfast, packed my bags and was ready to roll. I then made my way through a crowd of young people recovering from the night before. Is there no school or work in Spain? School returns in 4 weeks my informant tells me.

The metro plan had been worked out: how to put money on the Metro card, which station ,which direction, where to change… I got to my first leg of the journey when to my dismay there was a sign over my first changeover indicating that the station was closed for a makeover.

A travel card

Then an attractive young lady came over and indicated (spoke no English but was a whizz with Google translate) that she wanted to assist. When we had worked out a solution she asked where I came from. When I replied, I got a very English response, via Google Translate, “What about all the dangerous animals and insects?”

I assured her that as an expert surfer, crocodile hunter and bushman, I had never had a dangerous encounter. Finally, she was agog that man so young could have six daughters – all older than her. At that point I left the train.

The landscape north of Madrid is so reminiscent of Oz with its wheat fields and dryness. Bailed hay lies waiting in the fields. In the bus everybody was glued to their devices and nobody sat next to the old bloke so I had to entertain myself. We went over the Moron river which gave me some lame ideas for puns.

Just south of Logrono the scenery is quite rugged. Hills, valleys and forests predominate and every now and then you spy a herd of cattle in a little clearing. Closer to Logrono the rock formations and towering cliffs are especially spectacular and the bus took particular care around the numerous hairpin bends.

In Logrono I caught another bus for Urbiola, the closest bus stop to my final destination – Villamayor de Monjardin. On this journey I met a Scot who lives in France and had just finished a portion of the Camino. We spoke about Brexit, Boris and faith and he said that he was optimistic about the last, especially with the end of “Christendom”.

The view from my bedroom

At the bus stop my beloved was there to greet me and once again all was right with, my world, at least.

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Travel, time shifts, posterior and insides

Posted on August 12, 2019 by Pieter Stok

I love travel. I even like being in an aluminium tube 10 kilometres up in the air squashed in with 300 other people. But there are drawbacks. Airport security is one: intimate searches after which the only thing missing is a proposal of marriage. Then there is sitting on your derrière for 24 hours and not knowing which cheek to rest, the loss of sleep and time zone changes which lead to, I imagine, the closest I will ever get to a drug trip or drunkenness, and I shouldn’t forget the indescribable rumblings that airline food causes in one’s innards. But it beats 5 weeks of boredom on a crowded migrant ship in the 1950s.

If there are any tendencies toward depression it should be noted that leaving at 4pm from Melbourne has its dangers. You find that you are flying into the night and the night stays with you for the whole trip. The sun set over WA and resurfaced as we arrived at Madrid. It was a very long night.

The sun setting over Western Australia

Twenty four hours of discomfort and tiredness to be in my favourite country. Not a sacrifice!

Flying overseas without my wife, for the first time ever, I had interesting fellow passengers to cautiously sound out. (That could have been phrased better). The first was a young lady from the Ukraine who had spent 2 years studying in Box Hill. I didn’t know Box Hill could be so riveting. Anyway she loved her time in Oz and now had to travel back via Paris. The second leg had me next to two Spaniards from Burgos. One of our favourite cities so we hit it off. The lady had walked the Camino 9 times and they wanted to visit Australia. I didn’t mention the freezing temperatures Victoria had when I left.

As I am writing this at a cafe table in Madrid, the church bells are ringing but nobody bothers to listen to its invitation. Including me.

When I got off the plane I heeded my wife’s instructions re: the Metro but then I had to navigate the Sunday timetable. A fellow traveller, of Mexican appearance, also seemed puzzled. So we teamed up to confuse each other. In our adventures I learned many things. He comes from California and his dad was an immigrant to the US as a young man who later fought in Korea. He is a writer and teacher who has a book in the pipeline. His eyes lit up when I mentioned Steinbeck, because he did his major on him at Uni, and even spent time at UC Davis where my oldest daughter had also worked at as a post doc. We got to Sol in the centre of Madrid and I was sorry we had to part ways. I think we had discussed half of Steinbeck’s works by this stage! I did leave him with a question; how would Steinbeck have written about Trump’s America?

The Spanish are city wanderers. It is not unusual to see families, married couples and lovers wander the streets, particularly in the afternoon through to late evening, but Sunday must be peak wandering time.

Observing wanderers over a cafe americano and a croissant

Anyway, my hotel is about be ready for me and all I want is a shower and a sleep. Maybe later this afternoon I will continue to observe the Spanish wandering tradition.

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My Kind of Cruising

Posted on April 14, 2018 by Pieter Stok

I have never been a fan of ocean cruising. So for the first time, excepting ferry crossings and my five week trip to Australia, we are taking a 12 day cruise. It is not , however, what one of my fellow passengers called “Heidi-land.” I didn’t ask for a definition but I got his drift. He was describing the modern cruise ship.

Our boat was built in 1965 but there is no flashy aluminium or gold. There are no pools, evening entertainment, bingo, pokies and the rest. There is plenty of wood and brass. It is a working vessel that loads and unloads by crane. None of this fancy “roll on roll off.” There are no stabilisers so it gets quite a roll on the open ocean. Although you aren’t allowed in the wheel house you can stand next to it and get a captain’s eye view.

The MS Lofoten is the last ship of an era and everybody on board knows it and is enjoying this nod to the past. The added benefit is the passing parade of spectacular Norwegian scenery and the regular stops at towns and cities.

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Is this something for me?

Posted on April 11, 2018 by Pieter Stok

Written a few days ago.

You may be wondering to yourself, is walking the Camino and staying in Albergues something for me? Let me relate two in incidents.

Last night as I was lying in bed, awake, but with my eyes closed, Hetty witnessed the young woman in the bed next to me getting changed. Her back was facing me but I was oblivious. She then changed for bed, undressing to her g-string briefs. Hetty said the next morning that if my eyes had been open she would have leapt across me to protect my eyes.

The next day, as pilgrims were coming in from their day’s walk, a group of middle aged, portly Frenchmen came into our dorm. They insisted in walking around in their jocks with bellies spilling over. Or as one brother-in-law oft repeated, “there was a large veranda over the tool shed.” The two young women in the beds across from mine didn’t know where to look. Hetty was ready to throw up. One man didn’t get back into pants for ages. The young women fled well before that to save their eyesight.

The accomodation is cheap and there are great moments when you meet people and chat with them but there are also times when one’s sensitivities are pushed to the limit. For me, I would do it again even if my wife has to hurl herself over me to protect me.

Seminario Menor in Santiago but without the g-strings and bellies.

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Travelling with Grandkids … not really … well, really.

Posted on April 5, 2018 by Pieter Stok

This is the first time we have ever gone travelling as grandparents. In the past I have had to cool my heels outside postcard and souvenir shops. But a new dimension has entered our travels. Simply put it is, “Wouldn’t that be nice for T or B?”

Toys, clothes, games as well as postcards are now part of the roving eagle eye of my beloved. I will give you one example that will make you sob in your breakfast cereal. My wife sent T a postcard. This was duly posted in a Correos post box. “Now wouldn’t it be nice if we could find a toy Correos van for T?”

The local post offices didn’t have them. I thought if any place would have them it would be the main Correos in Madrid. So off we trekked this morning across the city to find the toy. Surprisingly it was there in a display cabinet. I don’t think they had ever sold one before because it took 4 people to work out where one was and how to sell it to us. But we have our toy van.

My feet are not thanking me for such adept thinking and insight. However, travelling with grandchildren adds a dimension to our travels that we have not had before.

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Another Day in Sevilla

Posted on April 1, 2018 by Pieter Stok

I remarked in my last blog how uncomfortable I felt watching the Semana Santa processions in Sevilla. A few years ago I watched similar processions in Santiago de Compostela and it struck me at the time that, although not to my taste or sensibilities, there was a strong presence of the gospel. The death and resurrection of Christ were clearly presented and the message in the Santiago Cathedral square on Easter Sunday was gospel straight from Scripture.

On this occasion I met a couple from the south of Holland in the Cathedral square in Sevilla and I related the contrast between my two experiences. They expressed a similar sentiment, however their alternate experience had been Córdoba. This couple were Catholic and thought the Sevilla processions were more about other things than the Christian faith in contrast to Córdoba.

That was a helpful reflection for me.

The other thing I did today was go into the Sevilla Cathedral and also walk up the Giralda tower, one I am told in which two horses abreast can be ridden to the top. It is a continuous ramp but hopefully the horses lose a bit of weight near the top as the ramp narrows a little. While I was waiting for the ticket office to open I encountered a retired couple from Denmark. He was also a Teacher – a history teacher at that. We were at the head of the queue. History is too important to be pushed to the back of the line by the great unwashed! We also chatted about history and my favourite Danish films and TV programs.

The tower started off as a minaret but was as with other buildings in Spain it was repurposed by the Christians after the Moors were conquered. It is now the bell tower of the Cathedral. The Cathedral itself is large but not as ostentatious as some. It has some famous art works – especially Murillo.

This evening we tried tapas and paella. Hetty did remove any pieces that had suction cups attached.

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A Week of Processions

Posted on March 30, 2018 by Pieter Stok

We are in Sevilla during Semana Santa or Holy Week. This entails incredible processions every day of the week. Some even starting at one in the morning. The locals are dressed to the nines and the tourists look like underdressed slobs – a description that is, in my case, accurate.

Holy Week processions are a sight to behold. Every church has a procession that includes a band, people dressed in robes reminiscent of the KKK and large statues carried by a number of men. Children carry crosses and we haven’t even got to the chains, bare feet and steel poles of the Friday procession. They process from their own church, go to the Cathedral and return to their home church. This is a logistical work of art that includes police, fence arrangers and chair ‘setter uppers’. It dominates the whole of the old city. Many of the well dressed people around town wear lapel pins that identify them with a particular church or society. There is an underlying sense of passionate competition between the groups.

What do I make of all this? It is a fabulous tourist attraction. National and international visitors flock to Sevilla. Bars make more now than at any other time of the year. However, Good Friday and Easter Sunday, are for me, at the heart of the Christian message. It is about Christ’s sacrifice for our total brokenness and his power over sin and death – again, for us. It is about reconciliation with God through His ‘agape’ self giving love.

I see glimpses of that in the theatre of the processions but I wonder if like so may religious traditions we make it more about us and what we want than God and what He has done. The festivities (I can’t think of a more appropriate word) has that secular and self obsessed air of Christmas.

I find myself in that uncomfortable position where I am intrigued and drawn in by the drama but deeply unsettled by its implied message.

The Giralda TowerThe Procession and milling crowds‘

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The Yo Yo Day

Posted on March 27, 2018 by Pieter Stok

The Yo Yo day:

From two Spanish ladies wrecking my sleep to a beautiful meal with my birthday wife.

The day started very early. Two Spanish ladies addicted to their cell phones were communicating with others and each other in the early hours of the morning as I was trying to sleep in a bunk only half a metre away. Then at 5 am with headlights attached they started packing up and leaving the Albergue. It was like trying to sleep in a disco as their lights strobed around the room. That was a downward plunge of the yo yo. Then at 7 am when all the civilised pilgrims decided to rise and shine I told them it was Hetty’s birthday when Hetty was out of the dorm. When she returned they all sang happy birthday to her. The yo yo was on the way up.

We started walking at 8 am and entered the next village a few kms away and there was a beautifully kept bar with a friendly host who served croissants, coffee and fresh orange juice. We reconnected with some of our fellow pilgrims. The yo yo was still going up. However we needed to catch the bus as Hetty’s knee was hurting badly. We walked 4 kms to the bus stop only to find out the timetable was out of date and the next one wasn’t coming for hours. Yo yo going down again. After a frustrating time trying to work out what to do a lady stopped at the bus stop and insisted we get in her car and she drove us to Burgos. All she asked was that we pray for her. Monty was her name. Yo yo flying up.

My head was still pounding from spending a night in an airless disco dorm and when we got to the Pensión I wasn’t in a mood for making decisions but we had to and a domestic situation ensued. Yo yo plunging.

After a big deep breath Hetty went to the doctor who said she had to rest the leg. Good to know. Contacts in Madrid said they would be happy to see us next week. Yo yo up.

After a nice rest we entered the bustling crowds of Burgos at 8:30 and went to a pizza restaurant for a birthday dinner. Yo yo very up.

To mix the metaphors “Some days are diamonds and some are coal”. Today we had them both but the diamonds shone more brightly. My wife tells me she is the diamond.

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