Blaming it on Martin Sheen!
Later this week, we are headed on another hiking trip beginning in northern Portugal and ending in the western part of Spain. While excited about getting away, it was not my first choice of places to visit, but it was chosen as a result of marital compromise. That’s why the success or failure of our trip all falls on the shoulders of Martin Sheen.
I have never met Mr. Sheen, and in fact, my usual thoughts of him almost always bring me wistfully to his years as Commander-in-Chief, Jeb Bartlett, on “The West Wing.” But it is not this role that has led us to our imminent journey. It is his 2010 movie, “The Way,”which is the story of a father who takes a 800 kilometer journey from the Pyrenees in France to the town of Santiago de Compostelo in Western Spain to take a journey that his son was never able to accomplish. Known as “The Camino,” it is supposedly the path that Saint James took in his quest to spread Christianity to the Iberian Peninsula. Apparently, thousands of pilgrims take this journey every year. I think I should say up front that I will not be one of them.
About five years ago, Bob and I sat and watched Martin Sheen and his journey of acceptance, reconciliation, grief, redemption and friendship. I thought it was a lovely movie, but Bob bought the whole thing hook, line and sinker. The credits hadn’t even ended and my husband was ready to go to L.L. Bean for camping supplies. Like Sheen, he said he was “Going to do it.” Having not even liked camping as a Girl Scout, I had no desire to trek across Spain to follow the path of a Saint for whom I couldn’t even guess his religious “claim to fame.” Was he an apostle? After Peter and “Doubting Thomas,” my knowledge of “the 12” gets a bit thin. Fortunately, the Camino, when done right, takes two to three months, and my husband’s work schedule threw a big wrench in the whole idea.
But now he is semi-retired and has time to plan.
When I realized that this idea wasn’t going away any time soon, I made my own journey to Barnes & Noble to buy Bob a book on this trip he was hell-bent on taking. After one quick perusal, that book was the nail in the coffin for me because the first chapter was on “bed bugs.” The book describes that besides having the “luxury” of carrying a tent and all your possessions on your back for 800 kilometers, you have the option of staying in hostels that may or may not have bed bugs. I consider myself an equal-opportunity bed bug checker. One star, five star, I am not getting in any hotel bed without a thorough inspection of every nook and cranny of the mattress. Bob is not so exacting. That’s when I knew we had to come up with a vacation compromise.
And so while “our journey” will end like Martin Sheen’s, at the town of Santiago de Compostela, St. James’ final resting place, we are taking a less strenuous “road,” that doesn’t take three months or include large backpacks, tents and bed bugs. Five days of hiking, beautiful scenery, good food and nice hotels (I’ll be checking for bed bugs, nonetheless), and we are hoping that that is enough to have had the “pilgrim experience.” If not, Bob says he’s heading to the Pyrenees next year. I’ll miss him.
By the way, St. James was one of “ the 12.” I Googled it.
I have never met Mr. Sheen, and in fact, my usual thoughts of him almost always bring me wistfully to his years as Commander-in-Chief, Jeb Bartlett, on “The West Wing.” But it is not this role that has led us to our imminent journey. It is his 2010 movie, “The Way,”which is the story of a father who takes a 800 kilometer journey from the Pyrenees in France to the town of Santiago de Compostelo in Western Spain to take a journey that his son was never able to accomplish. Known as “The Camino,” it is supposedly the path that Saint James took in his quest to spread Christianity to the Iberian Peninsula. Apparently, thousands of pilgrims take this journey every year. I think I should say up front that I will not be one of them.
About five years ago, Bob and I sat and watched Martin Sheen and his journey of acceptance, reconciliation, grief, redemption and friendship. I thought it was a lovely movie, but Bob bought the whole thing hook, line and sinker. The credits hadn’t even ended and my husband was ready to go to L.L. Bean for camping supplies. Like Sheen, he said he was “Going to do it.” Having not even liked camping as a Girl Scout, I had no desire to trek across Spain to follow the path of a Saint for whom I couldn’t even guess his religious “claim to fame.” Was he an apostle? After Peter and “Doubting Thomas,” my knowledge of “the 12” gets a bit thin. Fortunately, the Camino, when done right, takes two to three months, and my husband’s work schedule threw a big wrench in the whole idea.
But now he is semi-retired and has time to plan.
When I realized that this idea wasn’t going away any time soon, I made my own journey to Barnes & Noble to buy Bob a book on this trip he was hell-bent on taking. After one quick perusal, that book was the nail in the coffin for me because the first chapter was on “bed bugs.” The book describes that besides having the “luxury” of carrying a tent and all your possessions on your back for 800 kilometers, you have the option of staying in hostels that may or may not have bed bugs. I consider myself an equal-opportunity bed bug checker. One star, five star, I am not getting in any hotel bed without a thorough inspection of every nook and cranny of the mattress. Bob is not so exacting. That’s when I knew we had to come up with a vacation compromise.
And so while “our journey” will end like Martin Sheen’s, at the town of Santiago de Compostela, St. James’ final resting place, we are taking a less strenuous “road,” that doesn’t take three months or include large backpacks, tents and bed bugs. Five days of hiking, beautiful scenery, good food and nice hotels (I’ll be checking for bed bugs, nonetheless), and we are hoping that that is enough to have had the “pilgrim experience.” If not, Bob says he’s heading to the Pyrenees next year. I’ll miss him.
By the way, St. James was one of “ the 12.” I Googled it.
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