Heading to the airport

On Saturday we will be resuming our 4,000 km pilgrimage from Budapest to Santiago de Compostela. Last year we travelled the more than 2000 kms from Budapest to Arles, France. Gord made the entire way on foot and I walked and rode with my folding  bike “Grandma Friday”.

I often find myself feeling that I am not really making the journey legitimately because I have a bike. It’s certainly easier than walking every step. I have time to sit and read and draw when Gord is still hammering out the kilometres.  I  have decided that I must  stop this game of minimizing what I am doing. I can add up all the kilometres that I walked while pushing my bike, and over the course of six  months it adds up to  more than the distance of many walking Camino routes. I can reassure myself that a  4,000 kilometre bike trip is not insignificant, especially when you throw in passes over the Alps and the Pyrenees. All of these arguments, however, miss the point of why I am on this journey. 

I am learning how to spend time with myself. 

I’m trying to live each day with the reverence it deserves.  

I’m travelling across a continent with my eyes and heart open wide, hoping to connect with the people that I meet along the way.

I ‘m sharing a connection with everyone who is making this journey, has made this journey or will make this journey  some day in the future. 

I am a pilgrim and Life is Henro (the Japanese word for pilgrimage).

Or maybe I do it so that, like my friend Doris, we can have cake for breakfast.