The Day Trip and The Meaning Of Life

My day trip.

Well, it got off to a dodgy start what with my snoozing away in ignorant bliss until my phone rang and my friend said, "I trust you didn't know the clocks went forward?". That's the trouble with being reclusive. You miss these things. It's my punishment for studying phonetics on a Saturday night instead of being sociable and thereby being exposed to important information, such as Spring happening and clocks changing and stuff. "Oh" I said. "Never mind" she said, which I thought was awfully generous. However, I got up and looked out of the window, and the brick wall opposite said "GO OUT AND DON'T STAY INSIDE" so I ran around, appeased the growing caffeine addiction (note to self, caffeine is really bad, change job to evening shift when you are awake naturally instead of having to take drugs in order to teach people at 8am which is painful for all concerned), packed a bag full of water, notebooks and phonetic symbols, inserted ear phones in my ears (good call) switched the mp3 player on and swung merrily out of the flat towards the train station which is a healthy 20 minute walk. The destination for today was Avila (pronounced Abila) and is one of the top places to visit in the Madrid region. However, it's an hour into Madrid and then another 90 minutes on another train so I wasn't about to waste any more time.

And that's when the comedy routine REALLY got into full swing. Mp3 player on random, changes tracks just as I sprint out of the front door and Vangelis' Chariots of Fire theme tune is heard loud and clear. I almost fell over laughing but didn't have time so I had to continue running like a mad woman to the world's most famous running theme tune (Or maybe Britain's, not sure) but as it was fairly early this morning my legs were utterly useless and it was like that nightmare where you just can't make your legs work.

Well, anyway, I caught the train, then the other train, and was exposed to exceptionally beautiful countryside complete with random white crosses looming in valleys and orange cows standing on cliff tops.

Avila is most famous for it's old town. And I mean OLD. There's a city wall and Cathedral that were built in the 11th century. And it's beautiful. In England we have York and its city wall and it's stunning. You can walk around that also. But this is just so OLD. The Cathedral was breathtaking - the attention to detail in the architecture is just incredible. The main square, Plaza de Santa Teresa (Square of Saint Teresa) is also beautiful and has a statue of St. Teresa. She lived in the 16th century, one of 10 chilidren and was raised by nuns after her mother's death. Her religious career began at the Carmelite convent where she was a nun for 27 years. She had a rare illness that rendered her paralysed for 3 years during which time she began to write. She went on to reform the Carmelite movement and found convents throughout Spain. She was an ascetic, but her appeal and her importance to the Counter-Reformation lay in the mystic sensuality of her experience of Christ. (As revealed in her autobiography, for years a best seller in Spain). As joint patron saint of Spain (together with Santiago, St James), she remains a central pilar in Spanish Catholicism, and school girls are brought into Avila by the bus load to experience first hand the life of the woman they are supposed to emulate. Hard roe to sow, methinks.

She's a major focus of religious pilgrimage, as is of course, Santiago, St James. It is El Camino de Santiago de Compostela (The way of St James of Compostela, field of stars) that I wish to follow as soon as time and money remotely allows. For more information on that, there are many websites, but for a first hand story, Paula Coelho's The Pilgrimage will give you lots of facts, amidst his incredible story.

Spanish Catholicism is a curious thing. Spain is still reacting very much to Franco. It's only 32 years since he died. The liberalism here is quite extreme and the political situation is that most of Spain is eager to have just a little more conversativism! From extreme to extreme - perhaps time for a little balance. But within all of this extremnity, religion is not forced upon you nor avoided. It is life, pure and simple, and the people seem quite joyful about it. The teenagers I teach are so joyful and happily explain how they feel about their faith (and in English as well as Spanish!!) and don't seem to feel under pressure to believe a certain thing. It comes from them. I read somewhere that real freedom can be born out of real discipline. Perhaps with the presence of the Catholic Church and Catholicism so very intrinsic in their lives, the Spanish then feel quite happy to be themselves and celebrate everything. And my oh my do they celebrate everything. Good for them, I say.

It's certainly not English Catholicism, that's for sure! But hey, what's in a name. I have an expance of religious aunties ranging from Christian to Catholic to something I can't remember the name of but she went in a pond (full baptism thing). It is always and forever the person and their faith - their approach. The Catholic one is the more open minded which is a-typical in my experience! I was brought up completely irreligiously and I'm always dipping in and out of theories and opinions and interpretations. It fascinates me. I studied the Philosophy of Religion (Western philosophy followed by Islam, which was quite a thing) at college and later delved into Eastern philosophy. I prefer the latter because it encourages a personal relationship with everyone and everything, whereas Western philosophy is so intellectual/academic it can be very exclusive. Do you therefore need to be intellectual to understand life? Quite the opposite in my experience!!

I have my own way of arriving at things. I feel like I've found the right path and I'm about to start the walk. I'm just doing up my shoe laces and hoping I brought enough water. But even if I haven't, I know it'll be alright. Buddha would say, "Roads are for journeys, not destinations". Takes the pressure off! Having stagnated for such a long time, playing it safe, I no longer care if it kills me. I'm supposed to live. And then I'm supposed to die. All the stuff in between will ultimately become stories, if anyone cares to tell them. So I'm going to make them good stories, with joy and woe, and perhaps for my grandchildren should such magic occur. If not, I have one hope - that just before I die, I can look back and chuckle. And as Jesus would have me believe, perhaps even afterwards.