Author Archives: brunswick123

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About brunswick123

It is time to update my matter of fact and frankly rather boring 'about' description. I spent my working life in universities first as an academic and later as a Faculty Dean and finally a decade as University Vice-President moving steadily further from my humanities background to a commercial and staff management series of roles. University life surrounded by challenging young people and colleagues intelligent and curious [mostly!] was wonderful, but I decided in my fifties that I wanted to focus on my dream of 'being a writer'. I dreaded dying without at least trying to fulfil a childhood dream. So I spent the next five years learning to write fiction, so different to writing academic books! and supported myself working part time as a consultant with universities in Sweden, Spain, the Netherlands and England. Since 2007 I have spent half the year living in Europe and half in Australia and yes, I follow the sun. I do not 'do' winters. Now my time is devoted to writing and to my passion for travel, especially hiking for weeks at a time and usually alone. I am incredibly lucky. I want to connect with people with similar passions - writing, travelling, walking, pondering the big questions - and this is the purpose of this blog. Over the coming months I intend to work on my blog to make it more appealing and accessible. All comments and advice welcome.

When art becomes life and two worlds merge

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The editor told me that my novel draft is Gothic in many of its elements, so I guess I should have foreseen this eerie development.
My hero Tom dreams in Burgos of the woman who will be his lover.
In Burgos I dreamt also; but it was of a faceless pilgrim monk standing by the side of my bed and it was one of those curious waking dreams.
Tom walks the Meseta two days later from Castrojeriz to Fromista pursued by the threat of thunderstorms which did not eventuate.
Today I walked the Meseta from Castrojeriz to Fromista under the threat of thunderstorms which did not eventuate.
Coincidence?
Certainly. Yet in Gothic novels nothing is coincidental.
My question is: if life continues to follow art and one becomes the other, when do I meet my woman of mystery on the Camino?
Or must I meet instead the truly Gothic crazed pilgrim?
Let us see what tomorrow brings…

Today my characters met for the first time

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Nothing was said between them as they had their first encounter in a moment of high drama in the ancient Camino hamlet of Hontanas on the famous Meseta, where I passed by some hours ago.
The stage is set.
Where next will they meet?
Soon, very soon.

The attack of the Spanish mosquito

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I never saw it, I never heard it.
Then the spots appeared and the swelling down my right side, including my foot, this being a problem when I am hiking 6 hours per day.
I limp off to the pharmacist who confirms that it is an allergic reaction to a mosquito bite and is so impressed she calls her colleagues and encourages me to take off my shirt so they can peer and all agree it is a mosquito.
I had suspected a food allergy or maybe the industrial waste looking soap I had used at the last albergue, so this is actually a relief diagnosis.
I am given medication with strict instructions to stay out of the sun and to avoid alcohol.
Seriously???
I am walking the Camino in early summer and have no chance of keeping out of the sun; Tuesday onwards is the meseta and forecast high twenties every day with no shade.
And no alcohol? I compromised and had only one glass for the next two days.
Anyway, I have made it to Burgos, have met lovely people and have only a first world mozzie bite to complain about.
Such is life.
I only wish I had a photo of the mozzie who did it, splattered on a wall.

Grieving in their own ways

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Tom is on the Camino, walking and talking with his beloved Lucy and, spoiler alert, we soon learn that she died five years ago and that Tom, immersed still in his well of grief and longing, keeps her alive as his spiritual companion.
Tom is not crazy. He knows that Lucy is dead. He has chosen to manage his grief by keeping the memory of Lucy alive in his own way. She is his companion.
Anika, whom Tom has not yet met, has chosen to deal with a similar situation by grieving for a time and then burying it unresolved. Naturally such intense emotion will burst out in extraordinary ways and so it does with Anika. But that is far In the future.
We all live with memories of joy and sorrow, of regret and remorse. Some of us may turn these into ghosts, knowing that they are projections of us.
And yet may they have a life independent of us?
And this takes place on the Camino: what better place for such powerful forces to play out, a place steeped in memories and hopes and experiences of redemption, of miracles and of simple second chances.
Or pure good luck, which can happen anywhere.

Going the wrong way and finding the right way on the Camino

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A few days ago I ambled down to the village square and saw some people whom I had met earlier on the Camino and they invited me to join them for a drink.
The following conversation too place; I am the respondent.
Which route did you take today?
What do you mean?
The high or the low?
Um…
Well, what did you see?
It was remarkable, I saw no other pilgrims all day! Where were they all?
Was it steep?
Yes! It was lovely and so isolated.
Okay, so you took the high route which is much more difficult and we went the low way.
Oh! Well, it was beautiful.
Didn’t you see the directions at the turn?
Um…
At the roundabout?
No.
Long story cut short, I had missed the decision point and taken the perfect alternative and had a wonderful day. I would love to say this happened because I was lost in contemplation of the meaning of life or a deep literary problem, but it is untrue.
I feel sure this must be some metaphor for life.
Or pure serendipity, bless it.

Three tiny things which annoy me on the Camino

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I know I should be a better person. I am not.
These things should not touch me. They do.
First, mountain bikers and cyclists who speed down narrow paths with no warning until they shout “buen Camino” in your ear as they dash pass. How about ringing your bell or calling out first? Yes, this occurs all over the world wherever cyclists and walkers share the path and no doubt we annoy you too as we wander like a herd of cows. But …
Second, Walkers who, when they are fatigued, let their walking poles drag clattering on the ground making a peace-breaking racket through village or country. Pick them, Carry them, use them properly.
Third, Walkers carrying poles who decide to fossick in their bag or take off their jacket or look at their guide book and wave the poles backwards or forwards at 180 degree angles, imperilling anyone near them whilst they do it.
End of vent. Balance is restored. Just a bit of etiquette is all.
If this is all I can grumble about after 1200 km, well it isn’t much.
Let it go, I hear myself say.
I shall do better tomorrow.
Maybe.

Sanctuaries

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I am not a religious person and have little patience with “the church” as an institution. My pilgrimage walks of the last three years have been born of spiritual and literary yearnings, not from any religious motives as they would be commonly recognised.
And yet…
And yet I have found churches grand or small, famous or obscure, fine places of sanctuary from thunderstorms, rain, heat and as perfect for moments of reflection on what. I was doing wandering alone for 1,000 kilometres in foreign lands. Nothing new in this, but it reinforced for me the historical role of churches as places of sanctuary for all.
One day, struggling in heat and extreme humidity with no soul seen all day and no hint of shade and a blister forming, I dreamed (I cannot say prayed) for a place to sit out of the sun and protect my foot before real trouble set in. I came across a tiny chapel seemingly disused and amazingly (I cannot say miraculously) open and I sat and repaired my foot and pondered on what I was doing and why and after 30 minutes I was ready to plough on for the remaining 20 kilometres.
A small incident and a profound one for me which opened my mind and now I seek out these little places and reflect on those who have sat there before me.

Promises, promises, promises

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Tomorrow I shall be back on the path starting from Pamplona and I promise/hope to blog regularly and I promise/hope not to blog on those staples of what I eat, what the weather is like and whether the albergues are good or bad. We shall see! The objective is to walk with my fictional characters as they walk, meet, fall in love, separate, face death and numerous complications on and off the Camino over a period of two years. Now, they do not meet until after Burgos so there will be much preparatory time as we first follow our hero Tom.
See you on the Camino!

The Camino is not a race

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ImageI was reminded of this truism when a passing acquaintance sneeringly dismissed the Camino, saying ‘Oh yes I’ve done [sic] the Camino, it is just a bunch of people racing from one refuge to another to get a bunk for the night.’ It can be this and we have all seen those who appear determined to ‘do it’ as fast as possible; I met one woman who had walked from Geneva to Santiago and immediately turned around and was walking back, averaging 40 km per day with no pauses. It would be easy to say that this pace was blinding her to what was around her and that she was ‘missing the point’, but what was the point for her? A few hours in her company and it was apparent that she was experiencing a personal crisis and this was the best path for her to follow. The first time I walked part of the Camino, I knew my competitive nature well enough to be fearful that I would be one of those who did it at top speed and then wondered what all the fuss was about; so I forced myself to stop for a day every four or five days in a small town or village where there were no sights I would feel obliged to see, nothing I would feel compelled to experience for dread of the comment later ‘Oh, didn’t you go and -‘. Of course then I started to feel superior to those who did not do this and it took last year’s walk from Le Puy en Velay to Pamplona to help me see that this is pure ego and judgement. What does it matter how we walk the Camino? To state the obvious, we reach the same point via different paths and each path is equally valid, so let it go and just walk it as you want. If a driven and competitive creature like me can let it go, well then…

My fictional characters are walking because each has suffered great loss and sorrow and each is seeking forgiveness and most difficult, self-forgiveness. If others wish to do it as an adventure or as a bucket list tick, so be it.

 

 

a beautiful memory

I saw this sign in 2013 while walking the Chemin de Saint Jacques and I sat on the grass and absorbed its simplicity and strength and the power of the image. It was a small moment which has stayed with me and which meant more than many a grander monument. In a small way it captured the essence of the pilgrimage.