Embedded Files
27 July 2020
"ANWB Support Point Lyon, good afternoon!"
Dear Mr W,
After our telephone conversation this afternoon, I would just like to follow up with a few thoughts. When you called me you were in a state of anxiety, I understand that. You were driving around in circles in Montpellier, where it was probably 35 degrees just like here in Lyon, and you couldn’t find the hire car firm, and I heard the annoying polite voice of your GPS system consistently telling you to turn around. I knew you had driven 200 km to return the temporary hire car, to then go and pick up another hire car at a different location in Montpellier. The latter was necessary because you are on holiday in the south of France with your caravan, and you need a car with tow hook. I would like to know why you decided that, despite Mr Rutte advising everyone to not go abroad this Summer, it was a good idea to ignore that advice, and hook up the caravan and drive, not to Luxembourg or the Ardennes, no all the way to the south of France. Indeed, that was your decision, and you decided to accept the risks that belong to such decisions. And then it all went wrong didn’t it. Your car broke down, and it broke down badly. The ANWB towed your car to a garage for you, who were able to diagnose the problem. This took a few days and in the mean time we provided you with a hire car so you could enjoy your holiday awaiting the final diagnosis. And you didn’t have to pay for all that, what joy! But the diagnosis turned out to be bad. So bad, that the ANWB was able to offer you the service of transporting the car back to Holland, where your own garage (who serviced your car and let you drive all the way to France in it) would be able to do the repairs. All at our expense. And then what happened? You had to return the temporary hire car and exchange it for a big hire car with tow hook in Montpellier, it sounds easy doesn’t it? But it wasn’t, it was a bit stressful for you. So when I did my best to make sense of your dossier in our system, and I have to admit there were a lot of comments and a few times some miscommunications, you decided to lose your temper. You screamed in my ears so loud, that it brought shocked tears to my eyes. You were cursing, I could hear your blood pressure rising to dangerous heights. And did I detect some panic in your voice too? Even a choke like you were on the verge of tears yourself? You were lost in Montpellier, and now another - little but there it was - obstacle, another task to do had come up. You had to pick up another car at a different address. It was too much wasn’t it? I was shocked with your reaction. A colleague came to pat me on the back. I wasn’t so much emotional or hurt as plainly shocked that someone who I was trying to help, would curse and shout like that at me. I promised to call you back in a minute and - as I expected - you were a lot calmer. We agreed that I would make sure the second hire car company would stay open a bit later, so that you could return the first hire car and then go and pick up the second one, thank goodness also in Montpellier, we had arranged that beautifully I thought myself. We also agreed that I would add the address of your own garage in Holland to our system as the drop off point for your personal car, which was about to be transported. I found the garage, it did not exist in our database, I had to add it, like some kind of clandestine place. Again, you chose to use that garage yourself Mr W. I was glad that despite your dreadful rant I had been able to fulfil all the tasks that were necessary to make sure you could be on the road home by tomorrow. And your car too. I could see and feel your frustration, but will you please realise that you are talking to a person, who works for much less than the minimum wage and still tries to do their best to help you out of a situation that you wilfully brought yourself into? Why did you decide to go on this holiday? Because you wanted to have some sun on your face? Because your family was bugging you about it? I do not understand what has moved you, or anyone this Summer to go on holiday to France. The difficult situations that people get themselves into, and the surprise when their car abandons them, with the only plan B being to call the ANWB, where they moan and whine and treat us like we’re their parents and have to organise their lives for them, is astounding. Traveling is a risky thing, and your car may look plush, but it’s just a machine and many things can go wrong with it. And then what are you going to do? The ANWB is there to help you with the repair of your car and that’s it. No we don’t have our own garages with Dutch speaking mechanics, and no if you don’t speak French, it was your decision to go to this country, where our tout le monde parle francais! And yes if your camper breaks down, your life has broken down. Make a Plan B please! Have a nice trip home Mr W, I hope you will drive safely and that you will enjoy being back in the Netherlands, so you can relax.
19 Oct 2019
From Roncesvalles to Santiago, looking after pilgrims
I have had the experience of looking after pilgrims in Roncesvalles twice now, and I’ve written about it before. All those fresh pilgrims, from all over the world, starting their Camino often in St Jean Pied de Port, in France, climbing over the Pyrenees on their first day, and tumbling into the ancient monastery of Roncesvalles, to stay at the albergue with the Dutch volunteers. So many stories to listen to, advice to give, yoga to teach, and beds to clean and change; and chuckling at the stuff that new pilgrims realise they can shed after their first day walking with a pack on their back. It’s the beginning of change on this 800 km journey to Santiago.
And now I’m in Santiago de Compostela, in Galicia, and it is being its usual imperturbable self. It’s raining, the local stone buildings wet and grey, but somehow I love it. When I arrived, very weirdly on a plane, that typical energy met my feet as I stepped into the town. It adds a lightness to my step, like little wings attached to my ankles, it moves my heart and tells me that I need to walk again soon, and it always brings that silly happy smile on my face. As I walked through the medieval main street (I’m telling you it’s just like Diagon Alley!) and arrived at the plaza where the cathedral looms, my jaw dropped, as it was the first time I saw the facade and towers of this building in all their splendour without the scaffolding! I couldn’t stop this time, and continued through the main gateway to the Hospedario San Martin Pinario, a medieval monastery turned hostel, and if possible, my jaw dropped even further, it was so beautiful, with metre thick stone walls, high vaulted ceilings, a beautiful claustrum, and the quadrant where monks can walk and meditate. I went straight into the bar where my colleague for the next two weeks was waiting for me with a glass of wine. Bliss. I slept like a rose in my ‘cell’, with a view of the bell tower, in a comfy bed.
In the “Reception room of the Low Lands”, on the other extreme of the Camino, I am now at the end of the journey for most pilgrims. My job here is to provide people with coffee, tea, biscuits and a listening ear, just that. The difference between the starters and the finishers is striking, and what a wonderful difference!
On my first day, after I have done the rounds, and introduced myself to our neighbours in the French, the German, and the English speaking reception rooms, and then to the team of pilgrim office workers, who check and prepare the ‘compostelas’, the certificates that pilgrims earn for having walked the Way, I see our first guest arriving in our living room and within 5 minutes she is in tears. She had a lot to get off her chest and needed to pour out her heart. Later on I do nothing but translate a lovely poem from Dutch into English for two Americans and move them to tears. People keep finding us all day: Belgians, who cycled from Sevilla; two young guys who are so relaxed they didn’t even know you could get a certificate, but they walked happily from Porto to Santiago; a couple who walked all the way from the Netherlands; a girl who started alone in Holland and now brings along her Camino Family of four North American women. The mood is relaxed, everybody is cut loose from daily life and chores, reflective on life, their journey finished now, sharing what they’ve learned, tired but happy, and I hear lots of stories of amazing encounters, and wonderful adventures. I run around with the coffee, tea and - this goes down like a storm - the Dutch ‘pepernoten’ I’ve brought in my rucksack.
By five o’clock my head is on overload, and I’m glad we are closing the door for the day, hopping to avoid the puddles, on the wet, black and grey ancient cobbled streets to our apartment which will be home for the next two weeks.
"Completed is the path
Satisfied we are and
happy to now share
the almost unshare-able
Sharing is multiplying
Our happiness growing and
growing, inside and out."
6 October 2019
On the nightshift….
It just had to be. When the request came to work at the Gala Night of the National Dutch Film Festival, from 8pm until 4am, in the cloakroom, I felt this fit right into my exploration of the Dutch labour market, so I accepted.
I was a bit uncertain - did I really want to do this? - when I reported at the theatre entrance, but was ushered in straightaway by a friendly security guy, with no further questions. The words "I come from Randstad" [the temping agency] really open all doors. I wandered around for a bit in the foyer, which was full of expectation, but otherwise still empty. The ceremony of the 'Golden Calf' award, the highest film award in the world of Dutch film, was still in full swing. I was hired for the party after.
Two Randstad colleagues arrived for the same job. After a bit of asking around we found our line manager and received a backstage pass to go get our uniforms. I got a look behind the scenes in theatres. It was a labyrinth, with staff changing rooms full of people, celebrities on a couch, champagne, flowers, all in a buzz of energy.
Dressed as a City Theatre employee, in a black blouse with logo, and armed with earplugs, I went back up and missed the briefing. No one had told me there was one. I have worked at film festivals before and this kind of happy chaos is pretty standard. These events use a lot of volunteers, and they don't run professionally, but on enthusiasm and flexibility. "Happy chaos is fun, isn't it?!" a festival colleague shouted at me half way through the evening.
My colleague Ibra was a kind, middle-aged Moroccan, who spoke Dutch reasonably well. He had given up his own business in Groningen and had just moved to Utrecht. He had trouble with the routine of the cloakroom, had trouble putting the little number cards on the right hooks, but he did his best. Hans, a happy-go-lucky thirty-something, gave the impression to be still looking for his goal in life ("If only I was still 20", he sighed) and had a lot of experience in catering work. He worked hard and ran miles that evening.
The job wasn't difficult, but if you have to do it for eight hours, non-stop, without a minute break, not even to get a drink, all night long, and the cloakroom is choc-a-bloc with thick winter coats, all kinds of bags, huge heavy rucksacks, umbrellas and shoes, and there is just three people on duty, while that should have been at least six, it becomes quite a challenge. I was surprised how physically demanding the job was. The next day my body ached, with painful shoulders, arms and feet.
I noticed people love to have a chat with the cloakroom people. Most heard question: "Can I please have my bag for a moment, because these stiletto heels are killing me, just need to change them for my training shoes."
The golden calves were another item. Different film categories all had Golden Calves to award and almost all of them were dropped off at our counter by the winners. Who wants to go dancing with a heavy brass calf under their arm, right? And the world is so small when you are a Dutch celebrity, only famous in the Netherlands. I don't know who's who, after more than 25 years of overseas living, but I recognised some of them by their behaviour. They reacted surprised when I said they were welcome to drop off their calf but how were they going to remember which calf was theirs? "But my name is engraved on it!" they would exclaim. "Ok, so when you pick up your calf, please check the name so that you take the correct calf please?" Again, a surprised face. Didn't I know who they were?
I chatted with a nice guy, didn't know he had a calf too. It turned out to be a famous Dutch actor/director. Of course I had never heard of him, but I knew of his father, a very well-known actor. I apologised. "Sorry I've lived overseas for years, I have no clue who you are, but I do know your Dad." He didn't mind. He had just won a calf, so his day was made.
Halfway through the night, about 2am, and still just the three of us toiling away, I had a dip, a sudden deep desire to abandon the job, But I learnt on the Camino that you are capable of much more than you think, especially if you have no choice, so I gave myself a little mental lecture, about the commitment to my colleagues, and this exploration of work, and on I went. Running. Lifting. Carrying. How do I get that bloody heavy bag off this hook which is at shoulder height? Where is the calf of that beautiful lady and what is her name? Pulling, pushing, trying to get at coats and scarves, kilos of fabric packed closely together. Tripping over umbrellas. And smiling at the guests, here you are, have a nice evening. Most people were very friendly. Then there was the man in a tuxedo who subtly pressed a euro in my hand, with a face as if he had just given me 20 euros, expecting me to run extra fast for that.
Four am it was over. Cleaners started mopping the floors. The builders came in to pull down the stage and disco. The bar staff said they would continue to tidy up until at least six o'clock. We were allowed to go.
I survived it, and I have reconfirmed to myself that I am strong and stress resistant. Eight hours of physically heavy work, at the weekend, on the nightshift, without a break, and what did I earn? Just the minimum wage, no extra allowances at all. For me, by now, Holland has really lost the reputation of "social welfare state". #inburgerenineigenland
3 September 2019
Getting used to be being back in my home country
"Hi Marion! I hope you're having a nice first day at work!". A message on my phone. Roland of Youbahn. He is the guy I had just spoken to on the phone to find out why I had trouble downloading the Youbahn app. Would he have really sent this, or is it an automatic message?
This is just one of the many uncertainties in my current life. After 25 years of living and working abroad, I'm back in the Netherlands. I feel like a child, learning to walk. When I left, we still had a National Healthcare fund. It’s all privatised now. When I add that as a funny remark in a job interview, young people look at me non comprehending. Oh dear, I've grown old!
And what do you mean, job interview? The world of looking for and finding work turns out to be quite different from the one I left in 1995. I decide to throw myself into it energetically. I have to earn butter on my bread, and bread too, and with my experience and top-heavy CV that shouldn't be a problem. The first action I decide to take is to call the temporary employment agency. An immediate negative response is the result. They recommend to keep checking the website to see if there are any jobs going, and then to sign up for the job online. I was used to intake interviews, where the intermediary would like to see me to get acquainted and to discuss what kind of work was most suitable for me. So that has changed.
Through a jobs website (there are dozens of them, finding the forest - and suitable work - for the trees is quite a job) I ended up at Youbahn. What a name! U-Bahn is a kind of subway in Germany. Bahn sounds like 'job' in Dutch. U sound like You in English. The logic escapes me. Anyway, they work with an app, and it seems wonderful: you work for clients whenever you want, you plan yourself in, and you're an employee of Youbahn. This sounds promising and also familiar to me: the old-fashioned temporary employment agency model. So after some fiddling with downloading the app (I notice many websites in the Netherlands don't work perfectly, there are lots of issues with empty 404 links, bugs and un-downloadable apps) I'm done. A friendly lady from Youbahn calls to check that I understand what I'm doing. Yes, I think so. I'm going to work. The next day another friendly man from another, outsourced service, comes round to scan my passport. To make sure I don't open the door to mischievous people, I get sent a picture, with his name, and a GPS signal where he is exactly, so I see him parking in front of my flat on the dot. As soon as the passport has been scanned, my contract appears as an image on the scanner. I can hardly read it, but am asked for a digital signature. "Beware of the hourly rate", says the scan man. "I see it all the time, they put a standard hourly rate in the contract, but that has to be adjusted." I thank him for the tip.
Now it's a matter of looking at 'Available Shifts' and clicking on what seems like fun. I don't see much. They need packers. And booth builders, and lots of dishwashers. And a lot of hostesses, in nursing homes. It's not entirely clear who is being cared for, but I see I don't have to clean, and I do have to make sandwiches. It pays around 10 euros net per hour. It's within cycling distance of my house, so I click on the next shift, the next day.
When I check in at the reception of the home, I am welcomed very kindly, but also with surprise. Apparently everyone just walks in and out of here, without reporting. It turns out to be an old people's home with many demented patients. I walk through the corridors in search of my department. They don't have security here. Later on I understand that it is a bigger problem to keep the patients in, than intruders out.
Finally, after asking around, I find the 'living room' where I will be working. I am gratefully received by a tired-looking nurse, who quickly talks me through who gets what on the sarnies and what I have to watch out for with diabetes patients and people who can't eat independently (bibs!). The living room looks pretty cosy, with nice furniture, books, games, a large TV and a kitchen with all the amenities. The patients is a different story. I look around and see about six people hanging in huge wheelchairs. Some have their chin hanging on their chest, others are staring blankly ahead. A few have a somewhat brighter look in their eyes. They wear bland, faded clothes in indefinable colours and thick slippers. "Well, you'll be all right, it's good to have you here," says the nurse, before she gets out. Her shift is over. "Good afternoon", I try with some people. Thanks goodness, Mrs. Kaat reacts. She has bright eyes, but I know that doesn't mean anything. I suggest to make a cup of tea. She thinks that's a good idea. In the handbook, which is all I’ve got to find my way around these people, I find a list of drinks preferences. Mr. van Eik is diabetic, so just sweeteners, Mrs. van Olst takes sugar, and Mrs. Takstra drinks from a special cup with a spout. I do my best, but in the meantime Mrs. Kaat has become restless and starts shouting that Mrs. Takstra is stupid. I quickly give her a cup of tea, but she pushes it away with force, a good thing it doesn't fall over. I had put some cookies on the table to add a bit of fun, but Mrs. van Olst took them and crumbled them on her sweater, and made a terrible mess. Luckily Mrs. Takstra manages to grab the handles of the cup herself and gets a sip in her mouth. Suddenly Mr. van Eik shouts from his wheelchair: "I'm tired of that stupid face!" I look in his direction and see that a still of André Rieu's face has been on the TV screen all afternoon. After an hour and a half of this palaver, I get help. Annemarie comes to the rescue, an experienced, energetic carer and hostess. I let out a sigh of relief and feel like a sponge, I learn so much from her. We make sandwiches, put everyone at the table, Mr. TJ (he is 94 and blind, but not demented, that's good to know) does the “Our Father” prayer and then we all eat together. I am slowly feeding pieces of bread to Mrs. Takstra, and checking with the others that the butter they spread on their bread actually ends up there and not on the table or clothes. Between 6 and 7 pm, after the meal, the carers come to pick up the people one by one to put them to bed. It has to be early, there is a shortage of staff, only 2 carers are available to put 15 people to bed. I clean up, scrub the underside of the tables (all those demented, nervous fingers all day long), wipe the floor and then the shift is over. I love the cycle home, 10km through the forest, wind in my hair. Breathe! I find it incomprehensible that without a job interview, without any check on my suitability, I was allowed to work in this job. While the training for carers lasts 18 months! I don't see any other nice jobs on the app at all, so I sign up for a couple more days with the oldies.
I already feel experienced when I arrive for the afternoon shift a few days later. This time at the PG. I discover that this means Psychiatric Geriatrics and again I am surprised that I am allowed to work here, not hindered by any training or experience. The elderly people in this department suffer from dementia, and also often 'wander', so it is a closed department. These people are physically fit and much more social. Mrs. Velzen used to be a nurse and thinks that her help is still needed. She takes everyone's pulse, and frightens me for a moment, when she claims that Mrs. Staal, who is asleep, has no pulse, doesn't breathe anymore and therefore is not asleep, but probably dead. Mrs Bok enjoys being obstructive. "What do you mean: eat now? I don't have to eat now, do I? Maybe I don't want to have dinner with these people!" Every half hour I ask her if she is hungry. She hides behind her newspaper. "No, thank you!" Later I have to intervene when Mrs. Velzen has stolen Mrs. Jansen's walker. Mrs. Jansen is not demented herself, but assists her husband, who unfortunately has been hit by this disease. After some pushing and pulling and discussions around the vehicle, we can give it back to the rightful owner. Mrs. Staal finally wakes up, but when she's awake, she just screams loudly and cries. I wonder what this woman has been through in her life? The other patients become very restless and a bit annoyed. There is little sympathy. I notice that I can handle it, talk quietly to people, make eye contact, and discover that grabbing a hand, a short one-on-one conversation, often has a calming effect. A friendly lady says to me: "What's your real name?" I tell her and she says: "But how do you know my name?" I lie that there is a sticker on the back of her wheelchair, and don't tell her that I have a slightly better memory than she does. I learn that it is better to talk along with the patients, even if it is nonsense, than to correct them. At the end of my shift I go and have a look in the living room where I worked yesterday. Strange, I have to admit that I already feel a little attached to the people there. Mrs. Kaat is sitting quietly this time. She doesn't recognise me. But that's okay, in this job it’s the present that matters. If you can improve someone's well-being for a moment, it's all right. Because there is no past or future.
On the third day I work in an open department with a mix of patients. I meet a young colleague who has been accidentally ordered twice by HR. She works for a different employment agency, but we are both scheduled, and of course we're not going home! So we do the shift together. She is training to be a nurse, and claims that she has been working with the elderly for four years now. And yet I don't find her friendly to the people, not understanding, and I see that she is rubbing people up the wrong way, and even worse, is making them restless. She's young, 22, and I wonder why she's doing this job. She says it pays well. She wants to buy a car, she says, while looking at her 3cm long pink acrylic nails. Mrs. Van Papen keeps asking if we've already arrived in Zeist - she thinks we're on a cruise - and a moment later Mrs. Veen (104 years old) is delivered to our living room. She had walked away, and had been found at the bus stop, luckily just in time, before the bus arrived. I feed Mrs. van Halen a plate of porridge, the memories of feeding my own children when they were babies come to the surface. "And one more spoonful, well done!" My colleague doesn't get much into her, I take over and am proud that with patience I get almost a whole bowl of porridge into her. The predominant feeling I get from these services is sadness. What is the point of keeping these people alive? And imagine if this ever happens to me! All day with a diaper in a wheelchair. I have a lot of admiration for the permanent staff. They are kind to the people, patient, and do their job without nagging. It looks like half of the home is run by volunteers, there must be a huge shortage. I can see that in all the open shifts on my job app that most are for care homes. And they are not getting filled. I fear that this will only get worse in the future. #inburgerenineigenland
21 September 2018
Camino Frances, a year onwards
"Wilderness inside me, wildness, unlocked on the Camino. What does that mean? In touch with your raw self. Symptoms: not caring about make-up, hair or clothes anymore, peeing by the side of the road; not thinking about anything to do with life back home, careers, bank accounts, bother, bother. And: truly connect to nature. Connect to people. Peeling the onion's layers of culture, taboos and busy-ness, to see your real self, to see the world around you, so you can think about your purpose on earth."
I wrote this about a year ago, not long after I had finished the Camino. Recently I re-entered what feels like an "alternate universe". It felt like walking through the wall at platform 9 3/4 in Harry Potter. I was back on the Camino, but this time as hospitalera in one of the famous Spanish albergues, the monastery at Roncesvalles. Pilgrims - sometimes literally - tumble off the Pyrenees, after their first stage of 27 kilometres, into this ancient small community, that has housed pilgrims since the 11th century. People behave differently on the Camino, they talk with anyone, in any language, are helpful, interested in anyone, whether it's a Korean who only uses Google Translate to communicate, or an old American woman with two pink suitcases and her knitting sticking out of her rucksack. I for one, turn into a devout Catholic in this universe. Every night we brought a notice to the priest, Don Valentin, listing all the nationalities that had arrived that day, it was always more than 20, from Iceland to Indonesia, to Costa Rica to Latvia and Slovakia. All countries are called out in the pilgrims blessing at the end of the evening mass.
Roncesvalles is not big, it has one giant albergue (217 beds), 2 hotels, 2 restaurants, a conference centre in the old stone albergue that was used in the movie The Way, and that's it. The monastery consists of a church, a chapel, a bone house (hundreds of skulls and bones of pilgrims who died here through the ages), an antique Library, and the living quarters of the 4 priests that still reside here. The church bells ring the hours and for mass and life seems simple and beautiful, high up in the foothills of the Pyrenees at 960m.
Don Valentin is keen to connect with the hospitaleros and treated us to a tour of the bell tower, the old Library and the ancient albergue building. He insisted on pouring us a glass of Patxaran, the local alcoholic elixir, and made us drink two, so we arrived quite tipsy at lunch, where wine was waiting and then back to work! Or perhaps he made us drink more so we wouldn't notice the mouldy blue muffins he offered to go with it....
But there is another side to this coin: the reality of the lives of pilgrims and hospitaleros.... I embarked on this two-week stint of 'helping out', because I wanted to try out what it was like to be in the albergue and not on the move every day. I have learnt a lot! First of all, I don't think I have ever worked a job with such long hours and no days off for two weeks in a row! Early morning duty starts at 5.30am! At 6am all the doors need to be unlocked, and the pilgrims aroused from their slumber (Cat Stevens' Morning has broken went down well and produced sleepy smiles). 8am, the last pair of boots has finally been strapped on, rucksacks checked, jackets zipped up. Last questions answered. My favourite LOL questions were "Where should I go from here?" answered with "Well, where do you want to go?" or "Can I buy a map to show me how to get to Zubiri?" Just follow the yellow arrows, Buen Camino! A quick look at the table of items left behind, in other words the weight that has been shed is always fun. Jars of peanut butter, bags of coffee (there is coffee in Spain!), the knitting (yes, she left it behind!), make-up, neck cushions, lots of clothes, shoes, umbrellas, books, shampoo, tins of sardines (I would never leave that!), marijuana, you name it, they shed it. It's all part of liberating yourself from 'stuff' and get back to basics. After breakfast we clean 217 beds on 3 floors plus an annexe. Then coffee and some free time until 1pm, when it's time for lunch, and at 2pm the circus starts again, greeting new pilgrims. In two weeks our team of 8 have greeted and said farewell to 3083 pilgrims.
Our shift, in September, was super hard. Every day around 4pm we ran out of beds. And the pilgrims keep tumbling down the hill! We gently sit them down, let them take a breath and then break the bad news: there is no bed for you. But we'll call a taxi. Most of them comply willingly, accepting their fate, and the taxi drivers take them to a bed in the next villages. Sometimes there is real drama. No more beds, no more taxis, it's dark, and I am ashamed to say, that once we sent a couple from Slovakia out into the rain, when they had no idea where they were going to sleep. I still regret my lack of civil disobedience that night. Bad karma.
But there are so many stories, it's as if the good and the bad and the amazing are just vying for attention all the time. The story of Fabio and Julia! Julia left her wallet with everything in it, including her phone, on the wrong side of the Pyrenees. Fabio found it, phoned Julia's mother on her phone, and so we found Fabio in our albergue. I captured the reunion on film.
The sad story of Roberto.... Twenty years ago, when he was 18, he went on a cycling trip with his Dad in Argentina, his home country. His Dad became unwell, and had a heart attack. Roberto carried his Dad, slung on his back, for 3 kilometres to the nearest house, where they discovered he had died. Twenty years later Roberto decided to cycle the Camino. On his first day, the famous crossing of the Pyrenees, he encounters an emergency: a man walking with his son, has become unwell, and has lost consciousness. Roberto tries to apply CPR, but it's too late, by the time the emergency services arrived, the man has died. Roberto continues on to the albergue, where I met him to hear his story and cry with him about this terrible coincidence. After that, he cheered up, and continued on his bike, because the albergue was full by the time he got there.
Beautiful things! I taught a yoga class every day, designed for tired pilgrims. It was about stretching, but I tried to keep it light, make them laugh, let them relax, and just enjoy being there. It gave me huge joy to give back with yoga classes.
There was stress in the team too. The long hours and days tired us out, the draughty corridors gave us all a cold, and simply the fact that eight strangers were suddenly together practically 24 hours a day was a challenge. Some people fell out, and I have come away, not always impressed with the Dutch way of dealing with matters. Being direct and open is one thing, but that is not an excuse to be just plain blunt and rude, accuse people without offering solutions, or blame people when some self-soul-searching is in order.
Afterwards I decided to walk the Camino for 2 days. It was good to be on the road again, I met loads of lovely people, but it was not the same as the first time I walked this road. I had been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. I knew I could do it, although the walk from Zubiri to Pamplona totally exhausted me, due to the heat and me walking too fast. The Camino is no joke! Still, I feel I need a new horizon to walk into. The Via de la Plata is beckoning. Next year. And a renewed longing is kindled in me to run my own albergue. I don't ever again want to have to send a pilgrim away. "The Camino will provide" is the famous adagio and I will adhere to that.
PS. Hurray! I have just had confirmation that in October 2019 I will be living in Santiago de Compostela for 2 weeks, to work in the "Living room of the Low Lands" (Huiskamer der Lage Landen), welcoming pilgrims and listening to their stories. Inshallah.
9 March 2018
Bowled over 3/3
I can't believe what I am looking at! Is Joe serious? I think so... Respect! Huge stakes point into the sky, with all kinds of ropes, planks and beams swaying gently between them at different heights. We huddle together as it dawns on us what we have to do: the high ropes course! People's faces show their apprehension, and there's lots of nervous laughter as we fumble with the helmets, and strap ourselves into the safety harnesses. Some freak out, and there's hugs and encouraging words. Let's do this!
Three levels. I let go of my ego and take level 2, not level 3. The first steps into the air, at about 6 metres above the ground feel like falling into the 'void' that Joe talks about in his meditations, that total letting go. I can do it! I know I'm safe, I just let go. The hard part is finding your feet on those bloody beams that move in all directions, especially so that I end up in the splits all the time! My arms get tired... my inner thighs complain... I persist. I'm thinking: "This is going to hurt tomorrow." Someone in front of me wants to go down, she panics, I talk her into continuing, and she does. No choice really, as there are no ladders to go down on. The last stretch is the worst - a kind workshop mate reaches out to pull me up to the platform. But I hiss at him: "No, I need to do this alone!" Oh my, what was that? The sheer determination in my own voice surprises me. And, with what feels like superhuman effort, I do it! Big hugs on the platform and then I am allowed to zip line down. Wheeee!
We are all elated, we've done it, we have overcome our fears, Cereza rules! Dave finishes level 2 and I am in awe. Judy does it too! We are all bonded now. When we get back to Portaventura, we keep the secret: no one must know what they're in for. In retrospect I feel this afternoon was the turning point in my week with Joe. When we gather the next morning at 6am for our 'walking meditation', I know I have surrendered to the idea of embracing the unknown, meditating, turning myself into a new person, tapping into my internal loving intelligence and fulfilling the destiny that I felt on the camino, of being in this world to help others.
I let go. I dance with the crowd, with joy and abandon (two weeks later both my knees are still hurting!), I talk to strangers, hug anyone who wants a hug, meditate and try to 'step out of the way' (this is hard work, believe me!), to become no-body, no-thing, no-where, in no-time. Saturday we are up at 3am, meditating at 4am. Until 8.30am! What happened to linear time!? Saturday night we party, thank goodness the band stops at 11.30pm, because Sunday morning at 3am we're up again, meditating at 4am. And we're still dancing! I wonder what the hotel staff are thinking of this bunch of crazy people... :) Where does all this energy come from? Sunday afternoon I step out of the bubble, and drag my suitcase to the train station. Yes I am tired now.
On the way to the airport, I realise with surprise that I have completely lost my anxiety of flying. Just like that. --- I meditate every day now, it's not a quick fix, it takes patience, determination and love. I meet my Cereza team mates every week online. We explore healing those in need, with our loving intentions. Oh and remember Dave, with the spastic hand and leg? After finishing level 2, he went back to the course and completed level 3. Hero! (Some names have been changed for privacy reasons.)
2 March 2018
Bouleversé 2/3
The continuing story of Zen Librarian at a meditation workshop..... So there I was, in Salou, tearing myself away from a gorgeous beach - I could meditate there all day! - to head to the Portaventura fun park, for the workshop registration. I like being punctual and apparently so did 850 other people. The queue snaked through the lobby of the building and the room was full of happy chatter. Amazingly, the chatter was still happy after 3 hours! Perhaps because a previous life saw me as an event manager, my mood had sunk to icy levels by now... WTF was going on? Finally the desks opened, and I am welcomed to my team, Cereza, and greeted by Don, the team leader. He hands me a badge, and some workshop goodies. "El Camino Real" is printed on the meditation blanket. You have to be kidding me! Who had just walked the real camino? And it didn't take a week in a fun park in Salou! At 6.30pm the first session finally starts with an introduction by the man himself: Joe Dispenza. He looked fit, about my age, energetic, a man on a mission, and he speaks for an hour about the week's program, and that was it. Over a home-cooked dinner - I didn't know it would be my last of the week - and a glass of vino tinto, my Camino friend pointed out a bit sourly that today counted as a whole day of the 7 day workshop. Hmmm.
The next morning, up at 5am, 6 am I'm reporting for duty! The small fiche I receive at the door says "INTUITIVE" on it. Why? Is that me? The room is full of people dancing to "I got a feeling" and other upbeat songs. Multi-coloured lights are flashing over the crowd. I am not a morning person and sit down. Joe appears on stage and dances along with the crowd for a minute and then we all calm down a bit. We start with a lecture. The theme is our relation with our environment. We are victims of our environment and use it as an excuse to feel bad; we often blame other people in our life for our own unhappiness: parents, colleagues, siblings, ex-spouses, etc. To help ourselves, we need to take responsibility for our own happiness and 'do the work', says Joe. The work is to "sit in your discomfort", and get yourself into the present moment so that you can get beyond yourself. And then we meditate, and I am finally in my comfort zone. With beautiful music Joe guides us into "the void" where I become no-body, no-thing, no-where in no time. Then comes the announcement that the Cereza team will be the first to embark on 'The Challenge'. Joe presents it as something quite serious. We are getting special early lunch privileges and are waved off by the whole congregation with loud music and lots of cheering on. I am not scared. I am pretty fit, and he won't do anything scary, the group is too big and diverse for this. I enjoy my lunch and get on the bus. The others are not so sure, like Judy, who has severe anxiety issues, and Dave, who broke several neck vertebrae in an accident and can't move his left leg and arm. The nervous anticipation makes it feel a bit like a school trip. We listen to a special meditation on the 20-minute journey. Joe's voice urges us to find calmness, believe in ourselves, and breathe... I still am not cottoning on to what this is all about, until we step off the bus. Then I finally get a reality check. OMG, this is a real challenge! TO BE CONTINUED
17 February 2018
Bouleversé 1/3
Four months ago now, I finished walking the Camino Francès in Santiago de Compostela. My post camino blues has slowly but steadily turned into a profoundly happy memory as I am stepping gingerly back onto the Camino of Life, whatever that may be at the moment. I still have to make a start with that epic photo album! Not long after I returned to Luxembourg I met up with a yoga friend, who was raving about a meditation teacher called Joe Dispenza. She had attended one of his workshops, and had experienced similar camaraderies and deep friendships that I spoke about in relation to the Camino, not to mention the life-changing meditations. She used the word 'bouleversée' - bowled over. The name Dispenza rang a bell... Hadn't I heard that name on the Camino? I checked with the Camino mate I walked with for 3 weeks and he asked with indignation if I had not opened the link he had sent me to join him at the Joe Dispenza introduction workshop he was going to attend next week. Oops... no, because the wording in the banner reeked of self-help and I am severely allergic to that. It didn't help that Camino friend returned from the introduction workshop claiming he was a 'divine creator' and had 'changed his energy completely'. Oo-er. But he also said he felt 'bouleversé'. There was that word again, bowled over.... "Come with me to the Advanced Workshop!", Camino friend said. And my yoga friend assured me "It has changed my life, you go!". And something else was pulling, something deeper, I could not put my finger on it. I was getting curious. Did I want to be bowled over? I read some reviews of the man and his work, which were difficult to find. I think he has a team that scours the internet day and night, but I found some damning rants against Dispenza, calling him a pseudo-scientist and worse. Finally I decided I needed to see this for myself, and to go in as a very critical participating observer. "Go in without expectations", said my yoga friend. "Yay, we are going to be supernatural geniuses!", chirped Camino friend.
I arrived in Barcelona, on a wintry, bright, Sunday afternoon and found that most of the passengers on the airport shuttle bus to Portaventura in Salou were workshop delegates. The atmosphere was buoyant, everybody was chatting, the air full of anticipation, and I met a few people from my 'team', Cereza. Salou was at its loveliest, deserted by the hordes of Dutch tourists that frequent this little town in Summer, and on Monday morning I was crying with happiness, walking onto the beach. Note to self: I love the Mediterranean, must come and live here. TO BE CONTINUED....
29 October 2017
Post Camino Blues
The idea of culture shock is not alien to me. I have arrived in so many new countries in my life, and experienced culture shock personally over and over again. I have also observed other newcomers suffering, and for a while I even conducted a culture shock workshop for new colleagues, because recognising the symptoms is half the remedy for culture shock. 'Reverse culture shock' is what happens when, after a few years, sometimes many years, you return to your country of origin, and have to get used again to a regular life, without all the fun and dance and interesting cultural experiences. Many people struggle to settle in again, miss the 'expat' lifestyle a lot, and find it hard to re-connect with old friends, whose lives are so vastly different.
But knowing about something does not mean you can totally avoid getting it. I haven't been away for years, my Camino was only about 6 weeks, but there you are. Was it me who said I couldn't understand people who did the same Camino twice? That for me it was ticking the box and I would never do it again? Now I can understand those who return again and again or even decide to live on the Camino. I miss it every day very sorely, and am longing to be back on the Camino, or a Camino de Santiago! I am in love with my old hiking boots, and wore them today on a 24 km walk and felt so happy in them, even though they have holes in them now.
I miss the simplicity of life. Don't mistake this for an easy life. But the daily Camino routines opened up time and headspace to connect with others. I wish I could hold on to that! Get up at 6.30am, wash my face and brush teeth, no make-up, just some sunscreen and who cares what my hair looks like. Roll up the sleeping bag liner, pack towel. The ease of not having to choose what I am going to wear! I am already wearing the t-shirt for the day, and the choice of trousers is the clean pair. Fill the water bottle. Boots waiting on a rack by the door, I step outside, breathe in crisp, clean air, rucksack snugly wrapped around me: Buen Camino! Enjoying sunrise after sunrise, every morning a few minutes later, always amazing, as the stars fade and the sky turns every shade of pink and red, in the East and the West, before the sun turns it that typical deep blue of Southern Europe. Looking for that most essential thing on the camino, a bar. I never thought I'd be longing for a dry croissant or tortilla sandwich to go with my café americano in the morning. (After trying to live like a vegetarian for 3 days on the Camino I had to let go of that, as I was overdosing on eggs.) And then walk again, follow the yellow arrows. Make sure feet are ok. Enjoy the sunshine and the beautiful land. So simple. I made friends quickly, sometimes within minutes, sharing our deepest thoughts about ourselves and life. With hours every day to talk, laugh, joke, and cry, one step at a time, just keep walking. Arriving, find a bed (and a socket for the phone charger!), spread my sleeping bag liner, and have that well earned hot shower. Then wash clothes, write diary (I sometimes had trouble remembering where I had started my walk that morning, let alone where I had been yesterday!), meet more people over a glass of vino tinto, or a cerveza con limon, enjoy a communal meal at the albergue, or tapas and another glass of wine, and then lights out at 10pm, sleep. The last night I spent in a pilgrims' albergue, I woke up in the middle of the night, and sat up in my bunkbed (I always slept in the top bed), listening to the other pilgrims around me breathing, feeling their warmth, and I knew already then I would miss this, the togetherness, day and night.
All this makes me a bit melancholy, back in Luxembourg.... which results in sometimes slightly odd behaviour. I drink only Spanish wine now, use Spanish olive oil, eat pan con tomate for breakfast, while breaking records on my Duolingo Learn Spanish app, and I am totally on top of all the news on the Catalunya independence issue. There are worse things than craving Spanish food and knowing about current affairs, but what about the fact that I am spending hours and hours on my online Camino photo album? That Messenger is mostly used to talk to Camino friends, who are all posting Camino pictures on Facebook, that we then all LIKE or even LOVE. That I find it hard to talk to others about the Camino, because I don't know where to start when asked how it was. How can I explain the power, the magic, the connection? I need to work on my reverse culture shock, also known as Post Camino Blues.
There are some things that make me feel better. I was shocked on coming home about the amount of 'stuff' in my house. I have already thrown away bin liners of clothes and shoes and other stuff. This feels good. It creates space, in my wardrobe and cupboards, and in my head. I am also eternally grateful to my Camino soulmates (yes you two, you know who you are) for sharing their own feelings post-Camino, and being there for me, when I am down, or too much up! Without them my culture shock would have been a lot lonelier. Seeing other Camino friends on Facebook made me realise we are all going through this same process and that helps me too. I go for walks. I walked in the north of Luxembourg today. It was not the Camino, but the autumn colours were beautiful, and I noticed I had got out of practice, my legs were hurting and tired after 24 km, and that would have been a normal day on the Camino! Walking brings back the peace and calm of the Camino inside me, and helps to think clearly and positively about where I want to go now. I have given myself until the end of this year to have fun! In the next few months I am planning to hang out with lots of friends in Europe. I call it my Ryanair Camino! :) After that I have promised myself to move on, be present, make this world a better place, make other people happy. And of course there are serious plans to walk another Camino and even to go live and work on the Camino. I think it is important to dream, and who knows, sometimes dreams can be realised. The time to do things is NOW.
(with thanks to Nadine from nadinewalks.com)
18 October 2017
The journey never ends
So that blog did not really work! As soon as I started walking and settled in to life on the Camino, I realised writing a blog from my phone was definitely going in the too-hard-basket. Instead I decided to use Facebook to post the occasional picture and insight about all the amazing things that the Camino Frances is. When I have organised all my photos I may post an album.
I walked for 33 days, including two rest days, and covered 800 kilometres. That's the physical challenge. It went well. The Camino gives you what you need, not what you want, is what people say. I got my personal challenges, and learnt a lot about myself, about humility, about connecting with unexpected people, and about love and friendship. Being outside, in nature almost all day, every day, and life stripped down to the essentials of walking, one step at a time, finding a place to sleep, eating and washing clothes, I was able to tap into an awareness that is always there, but gets overwhelmed and hides in the busy-ness, complications and noise of modern life. I connected to nature and the whole world around me in a way I had only read about in yoga literature like the Upanishads. Especially the walk across the giant plateau, La Meseta, was wonderful. And there was magic everywhere! The Camino has an energy, that perhaps has built up through millions of footsteps that have gone before, for thousands of years. I developed profound friendships with other pilgrims within days, and we are still in touch now. I hope we will stay friends forever, cherishing our shared experience. And we had so much fun! There is time to talk, to joke, to be crazy, and to have a wonderful glass of Spanish wine with tapas! The Spanish know how to live, and have been so kind to me during the whole journey! I don't know how often I have heard "Buen Camino!", and every time it sends a little positive energy into the world.
For now, I am happy to be back, and slowly readjusting to life outside the Camino. The challenge that the Camino teaches is to take the lessons learnt about connecting with people, opening your heart to others, exercising mutual respect and universal love, away from the Camino into life. So far, so good.
27 August 2017
The journey has indeed begun...
Last week I posted the above sentence without thinking too much, not realising it was more true than I realised at the time... When I was in Holland last week I bought a beautiful pair of hiking boots, sturdy, waterproof, they just needed some practice and a walk through the Dutch polders would do the job. I thought. 16 kilometres later I was limping through the Dutch meadows, cursing endless lanes with no chance of shortcuts unless you jump over 2 metres of water, with two huge blisters on my right foot! Couldn't use the boots for at least 3 days and got stuck with a lingering blister injury between my toes. Don't ask me how you get a blister there, no idea. But the Summer activities went on relentlessly, so off to a family gathering in Yorkshire, UK. Woke up in the middle of the first night there with a roaring toothache! The unhappy crown that had been niggling for about two years, decided to play up a week and a half before the Camino start! The kind dentist who was able to schedule me for an emergency visit, had good and bad news... a small cavity was filled quickly and expertly, but the real problem was a dying and infected tooth --> root canal treatment needed! But when? And where?! I had two days in the UK left, after that 5 days in Holland and then 3 days in Luxembourg until departure. In a panic I called my dentist in Luxembourg and was told he is going on holiday one day after I get back to Luxembourg next week. I have an appointment scheduled, and we shall see if I have to delay the start of the walk. In the meantime the antibiotics that the Yorkshire dentist gave me have kicked in like a dream. No more worries about toothache. Apparently you really don't need nerves in your teeth, what a bad joke in design that was then! And the medicines may fix the blisters as well, who knows? And so tomorrow all my ex-colleagues are going back to work, and what am I doing? Horse riding with my daughter, and the Dutch weather forecast predicts glorious summer weather! Counting my blessings and while the nerves are building up for all that's coming to me in the next months, let alone the dentist's verdict on Wednesday, this journey is an adventure so far, and dealing with it! Inshallah!
26 July 2017
"Too much mental"
There's nothing like a 9-day yoga teacher training with David Swenson, to help you forget about the job you just quit and get rid of all the horror scenarios and anxieties about an impending Camino adventure. David is wise and funny, and studied for years with a very wise and funny man, Sri Pattabhi Jois, who taught Ashtanga yoga for about 70 years. Yoga students of mine may have heard me quote him: "Body not stiff. Mind stiff." David quoted him with: "too much mental". Jois has a totally down-to-earth approach to yoga and life: "Practice, practice, practice, and all will come to you." He didn't say it would all be good what was coming to you, but I was feeling a bit unmoored and needed some anchoring, which the practice provided. It was hard work, and I found 9 days of it a pretty daunting prospect, but by the 5th day my life had narrowed down so" much, that I was happily living in Copenhagen, and reporting for duty every morning at 8.30am for another day of practice, teaching and learning. Without a worry about past or future, I was present. At the 7-11 shop where I picked up my morning coffee they knew my face. Did I say 7-11? My first 7-11 corner shop experience was in the tiny village of Pak Chong in Thailand, 1995. It was the only shop in town that vaguely looked western, and we loved going into it, despite knowing it was not western at all. Sticky sweet buns with green bean goo in them, yoghurt cups with durian flavour and other crappy snacks, not to mention the useless toiletries, like 5 different colours and sizes of paper tissues. Back to 2017, the 7-11 in Copenhagen: paleo sandwiches, raw food, smoothies, wonderful coffee, and yes they also had donuts and crisps, but only hand cooked. Copenhagen! Hipster capital! It makes Portland's reputation fade into insignificance. In Copenhagen the hipsters walk the talk! I saw more young men with babies in slings on their belly or their backs, carrying kids on a 'bakfiets', or in a sporty buggy, than women! Add to that Christiania, a tiny hippy free-state; cool design (everything in Denmark is design), and the fabulous cycling options: the Danes cycle exactly as frequently and everywhere as the Dutch. I managed to rent a bike, pay for it, locate the nearest one, find it, unlock it and be off. That's all ok, but... all of these things with just my phone! The Louisiana Museum, half an hour up the road from Copenhagen offered R&R in the sunshine by the sea. Fortunately, they had a retrospective of Marina Abramovic with hands-on experiences. Squeezing yourself past two naked people with about 40cm space between them may not be such a big deal for Danish and Dutch people (I bet the Americans and Brits freaked out about that one), but "The Artist is Present" activity was less popular. I was led to sit opposite someone, a stranger, and we looked into each other's eyes for about 10 minutes. No speaking. It was wonderful and calming, and the magic was that we were communicating, but did not know where we were from, or which language each of us spoke. Still I felt close to her. 'Too much mental', just be present. Look. Walk. One foot in front of the other.
1 June 2017
Gear? What gear? Who needs gear?
I am not sure if I am in serious denial about undertaking this crazy walk, or whether I am correct, when I calmly tell people that if pilgrims in the Middle Ages could do this walk in sandals and a stick with knapsack over their shoulder, then surely I would not need to spend hundreds of euros on the right rucksack, walking sticks, water bottles, rain gear, merino t-shirts, wicked trousers (no not wicked cool, but wicked to absorb moisture) and glow in the dark laces, right? They didn't book their albergues ahead, did they? There is a nagging little doubt of daunt about this walk, which is perhaps what makes it all the more exciting. The Camino forum adds to the excitement, and not always in a positive way. A woman got flashed by a naked guy in a balaclava. Yikes! People die on the Camino. When I am in the right mood it is a wonderful philosophical idea, to walk The Way and allow life (and death) just to happen along it. When I freak out, I can not imagine ever walking calmly through a forest without looking over my shoulder every 20 metres... In many ways this will be an amazing challenge for me. A challenge to be fearless, but not reckless. A challenge to allow life to happen and take a chance, but not be flippant. Balance. So how am I going to respond when this balaclava guy jumps at me? Run? Laugh in his face? Ignore? Perhaps sit down and start meditating, remove myself from the scene. Or just stop thinking about these things and get on with life. Last four weeks at work, and it is very very easy. Tying up loose ends, preparing the handover, learning some new tech tools, and of course teaching my yoga class. I am already mentally saying farewell to this community, that for 5 years has been a comfortable yet often frustrating place to be, like an old pair of jeans, that wears thin in unacceptable places.... looking forward to a year without structure, but with freedom to be productive and engage in activities that are uplifting and rewarding.
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