The First One

You've no doubt heard of doing an ABC tour of Europe, you know, Another Bloody Church or Another Bloody Castle.  Well, when you go on a long walk billed as a pilgrimage, you have to expect to encounter a church or two. Personally, I'd rather go on the castle tour.  Castles I can go into.  After all, they're just houses, right?  Okay, really really really big fancy houses, but houses nonetheless.  But churches?  I feel awkward going into churches. Feel like I shouldn't be there.  Like I don't belong.  Like I shouldn't be gawking and snapping pics.

So it wasn't until Day 9 of my trek that I finally went into my first church.  I'd spent a long day walking 32 km mostly alone.  I just couldn't bring myself to stop in some of the forlorn little towns I'd wandered through but for some reason when I walked into Redecilla del Camino (Pop. 150) it felt right.  I got my bed in the albergue then headed straight to the bar for a beer followed by a tour of the town.

This is looking one way up main street...

...and this is looking back the other way.

And that was pretty much it.  So it was either back to the bar or...

My first church.  It wasn't all looming and grand and intimidating.  And, miracle of miracles, the door was actually open.

What could be more inviting?
A simple wooden door...

...plank flooring and basic wooden pews.

And then this...

...and this...

...and this...

...and this...

I can count on one hand the churches I went into after Redecilla and still have a couple of fingers left over.  It certainly ruined me for anything that would come after.  In a place this small (did I mention the town has a population of 150?)...the gold, the opulence...it was all too much.

Definitely time to head back to familiar territory...

Book Reviews:  Can't really say I liked or disliked The Weight of Blood by Laura McHugh.  It was certainly highly readable but as mysteries go it lacked a lot of suspense.  And I'm almost embarrassed to admit this, but a mere two weeks after finishing, I can't really remember a lot about it.  That in itself does not bode well.

I don't like to read award winning books, they are usually too "literary" for my tastes.  So I kind of see what all the kerfuffle was about when the Pulitzer went to Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch.  The literary world slammed it for not being literary enough.  I can see that.  But OMG...after slogging through its 771 pages I can definitely pronounce it too literary for my tastes.  Yes, there was a story line.  But the endless pages of description -- at times doled out in small random disjointed bites, at times taking half a page in one long run on sentence -- spoiled just about any enjoyment I would have found in the reading.  Top that off with characters I didn't really care about.  Okay, Boris...I liked Boris.  But hey, at least I finished it. 

I Am Who I Am

I learn a lot about myself every time I travel.  I'm also learning a lot about myself now that it's my kid who's heading out to see the world.  And the number one thing I've learned is -- I'm a Control Freak.  Yup, big time.  And to be totally honest, deep down inside I think I always knew it.  Oh, it's been called other names, but let's just call it what it is.  I try to reign it in, but with the kid just days away from leaving for Australia, the freak is rearing its sometimes ugly head.  I thought maybe it was just a Mom thing, but looking back I realize I've been a freak a lot longer than I've been a mom.

When I was younger, the freak was disguised as organized.  My friends even dubbed me The Princess of Organization.  And they meant that in the best possible way.  When a control freak puts on her PofO tiara, things get done. Things they ultimately didn't have to worry about doing.  Yeah, who doesn't want to sit back while the freak takes cares of it.  Everyone could rest easy as we headed out on our weekend camping trips because they knew I wouldn't have forgotten a thing.

Fast forward to the married years.  Now the freak is disguised as responsible.  The budget was always balanced, the bills paid on time because I was in charge of the finances.  There's no way I could not be.  

But now, as I help the kid get ready for her trip, I realize the freak may have done her more harm than good.  She is more than content to sit back and let me find the best deal on travel medical insurance, research the hostels, drag her off to the travel agent.  The freak has to know if she's validated her Hostel International card (that the freak finally went out and picked up for her), if she's registered on line for the tour she's starting out with.  Has she figured out what she's packing yet?  Narrowed down her list of shoes?  Done a practice pack so she knows it all fits and isn't overweight?  No, no, and no are the answers to those questions.  It's enough to send a freak over the edge.

I'm trying hard to bite my tongue and not ask anymore.  Just tonight as she was heading out of town to spend the night with friends, I noticed she was still wearing her flip flops.  Sure it's been warm during the day but the nights are quite chilly.  Did she have another pair of shoes?  Uh, no.  Well, was she going to take another pair of shoes?  Then, realizing what I was doing, I put my hands up and zipped my lip.  What's the worst that can happen?  She'll get cold feet.

Frankly, I'll be glad when she's gone.  Far away on her own, out of the reach of the freak.  Because I know she'll be fine.  She'll be better than fine.  She'll blossom and grow and reach the height of her potential because the freak will no longer be there to take over.  She'll learn from her mistakes, more so because she was allowed to make the mistakes in the first place.  And in a year or so, when she finally comes back, I probably won't even recognize her anymore.

Hopefully she won't recognize me either.

Book Reviews:  Behind the Beautiful Forevers:  Life, Death and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity is a meticulously researched account of several families living in a Mumbai slum.  I continually had to remind myself that this was taking place in 2008, not decades earlier.  That people continue to live like this is unimaginable.  As someone who values honesty above all else, the rampant corruption that exists was the hardest part of the reading for me.  A real eye-opener.

Although The Garner Files is credited to James Garner and Jon Winokur, I doubt Garner actually wrote any of this.  More like an "as told to."  Poorly written and superficial.  The only interesting tidbit I gleaned about Garner's life is that he smoked marijuana for 50 years.  Huh, who knew?  And note to self:  Stick to autobiographies.  I prefer to read about someone's life through the filter of another set of eyes.