The Golden Orbs

“Once upon a long, long time ago

there was a jellyfish with a big hairy belly button.

He went to the shopping mall to have a pedicure

There he met a policeman and he said:

nice underwear, very fetching!

Mmmm...he murmured, licking his lips,

"I can't believe this is happening to me."

But in fact, it really was. And the world agreed.”

I cannot claim that the little story above is mine except for two lines. Let me introduce you to my co-creators, the Golden Orbs:

Junko, reflexologist, energetic cooking aficionado and soon to become expert, a massage therapist and healer in various modalities - dances to her own rhythms and time

Ananda, film-maker, spiritual seeker, lives on a house boat, Junko’s partner, meticulous and punctual

Andrew, river conservationist, softly spoken, gentle in nature - a contemplative

Parul, town planner, bubbly and full of energy with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes

Joel, committed high school geography teacher looking for a career change in goat and walnut farming, avid traveller and photographer, Parul’s partner in mischief

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I had no idea what I was in for.  I had met Parul more than a year ago in London at Junko’s.  Junko and I went to the same primary school in Tokyo and had reignited a friendship in the last ten years.  As I was making plans earlier this year to head to the UK again, Junko sent me an email inviting me to join her, Parul and her friends for a week in a cabin in Norway.  I had never been to Norway and a cabin on an island sounded idyllic.  It seemed a long way away and a good idea.

As the weeks passed and on more than one occasion I started to wonder if a week in a cabin in a remote area of Norway with people I didn’t really know was such a good idea. I like my own company,  I crave for peace and quiet and I am not a group person.  

I then received another email from Junko saying she had bought the flights.  It looked like I was now committed and I learned that there would be at least 6 of us, perhaps more.  The cabin could house ten.  I didn’t know there would only be one bathroom.

By the time my Norway trip came around, I had spent ten days in Ireland, five weeks in London spinning my wheels trying to find a place to live, and a week in Galicia in Spain at the time of the Santiago train crash.   So in spite of my trepidation about my fellow cabin crew I was ready for the holiday - with regular meals, not on Spanish time.

Junko, Ananda and I flew in to Stavanger where we were picked up by Parul.  Stavanger is an oil city, the airport full of cars where people had left their them to commute to the offshore oil rigs.  The air was cool and fresh and I was greeted by a sense of space.    The streets were wide with little traffic, the houses were clean, neat and tidy and lakes dotted the landscape.  I could breathe.

We arrived at Parul’s where we were greeted by her parents and the remainder of our crew, Andrew and Joel.  As we gathered around mango lassi in a Norwegian style conservatory, Parul’s father enlightened us on the wisdom of Krisha Murti and what the mind was not.  Parul’s mother fed us dhal, saffron rice, raita and salad to sustain us on our journey to Korshamn, a small island off the south coast of Norway.  

We packed the stationwagon full with our luggage and supplies of food that had been brought from London and sourced from Parul’s kitchen.  We had been warned that Norway would be expensive - we discovered that red peppers were about $5 (AUD) dollars each.   Stuffed red peppers were not going to be on the menu.    

We, barring Andrew, got in the car to start what should have been a two to three hour journey.  Andrew was going by coach as we couldn't all fit in the car.    

Five and a half hours later, admittedly with some tourist stops, we finally arrived on a tiny island accessible only by one road that led from the bridge connecting to the mainland.  

It was nearly 10 pm.  It was still light but only just.  We arrived at what we thought was our cabin - the instructions had been to look for a brown house with white blinds.  We found one and it looked delightful -  right on the water with a private jetty, a beautiful garden, a BBQ, a living room that opened out onto a large deck and the interior through the window looked nicely furnished.  But as hard as we looked, we couldn’t find the key.  It was not under the grill, where it was meant to be.  Andrew would soon be arriving and we had to pick him up, 15 km back on the road we had come.  

Joel offered to look further up the road to see if there were any other brown houses with white blinds.  He returned saying that there was  one more house but it didn’t look all that inviting so it couldn’t be the right one.  This beautiful house on the water had to be ours!

But as more time passed, it was quickly getting darker and colder and a slight panic set in.  We couldn’t get into our house.  Andrew needed to be picked up and ‘dinner time’ had long gone and in fact it was soon time for bed according to my watch.  

In the meantime, Ananda had decided to check the uninviting house once more.  To our relief and dismay, he found the key.

This was to become the start of what turned out to be a super week, with already the various personalities emerging.  

A week that consisted of gingerly swims amongst massive jellyfish,

(Photo doesn't do justice to the size of the jellyfish)

adventures with ticks (the victims - the two lovebirds), 

Tick Haven

canoe trips involving nude swimming by some, boating expeditions where fish could be caught in a matter of minutes, 

a much anticipated beer on the pier that unfortunately didn’t eventuate (the pub had closed), 

hand made sushi rolls and fresh sashimi, beautifully filleted by Ananda, 

beetroot veggie burger fights where Parul and Joel’s faces  were nicely covered in pink gunk, 

hikes up sheep trails in thick gorse bush, a sound and light show where thunder and lightning lit up the Norwegian night, and belly laughs that went all night as we spun tales to amuse ourselves with perhaps the unconscious desire to milk all the fun and joy that could be had out of each day.

By the end of the week, we had come to be known as the Golden Orbs, which originally had been used as a description for a particular effect in a photograph, which quickly got bandied around to refer to all manner of things, more often than not with a hint of the naughty, including our good selves.

The End

......and another by the Golden Orbs......

In a moment of unguarded pessimism he removed his long-johns and offered his body to the majestic amoeba displaying their beautiful colours under the gentle ocean waves. They were gentle  and kind and life was wonderful. Then something bizarre happened. BANG! A loud noise  and suddenly in a cloud of stale smoke there appeared a scrawny man holding 2 canoes and a large  potato cake around his neck which he began eating until he stopped because  he was so guilty that no one else was interested in the jellyfish. He wanted to make them feel happier.

  

Revisiting Santiago

I did not expect to be back on the Camino so soon.  Although this time, it was not for the purpose of walking.   I was invited to spend a week with a friend who lives in Lugo, an hour away from Santiago de Compostela.  Santiago of the field of stars known because of the quartz in a nearby hill, the Pico Sacro, that sparkles when lit in the dark.  

She and her colleague were going to Santiago for the festival of St James to receive a medal presented by the Archicofradia and to film the light and firework show on the 24th of July. They also wanted me to see their photographic exhibition at the Paradores Hotel, where my photo hung.  I had met Susan and German while walking the Camino two years ago.  They hailed me and asked if I wanted to participate in their Camino project.  I obliged.  They were creating a visual register of pilgrims walking past German’s ancestral farmhouse in Vilei.

So here I was again in Spain, and on the way from Madrid to Lugo at one of the rest stops, I stepped out of the coach to breathe in the air, which struck me because it was so familiar.  It was good to be back.  

I had left London at 7.30 am and the bus finally pulled up at the bus terminal in Lugo 14 hours later. The city is the only one in the world surrounded by a still intact Roman wall.  It is a nice place, with a river flowing through it surrounded by the Galician countryside.  Not very big, but big enough to feel one was still in civilisation with access to conveniences normally found in a city.

I had a few days to become acquainted with Lugo and some of the surrounding area.  We drove an hour north to Cathedral Beach, known for its stone arches that resemble those of a cathedral, we swam in a bay with crystal clear water of 20 degrees C - perfect for swimming.  We had tapas and beer in tiny fishing villages.  We went shopping at the local markets and had a pedicure in Lugo’s only beauty salon and run by a beautiful Columbian woman.  

On the 24th of July, we set off early for Santiago.  Based on previous years, Susan warned me that the city would be packed with pilgrims, visitors and locals who had come to be part of the festival, so much so  that we would not be able to drive through the city  But to our surprise, it was quiet.  There were not many people, even fewer than when I had arrived in October of 2011, long past the main tourist season.  Pepe, the owner of Obeiro, Susan’s favourite wine bar, spoke of the reduced numbers of pilgrims choosing to stay once they arrived.  Many left the same day.    

We made our way to the Paradores Hotel, one of many belonging to a chain of four star hotels run by the Spanish government.  In a previous lifetime, they had all been beautiful historic buildings of importance - often religious.  In one of the courtyards, in the interior of the hotel, hung German’s photos of pilgrims, printed on enormous sheets of weatherproof canvas, suspended on chains.   There was one of a pilgrim on horseback, one of a man who had travelled by bicycle, a picture of a couple in their 80s and the woman had arrived wearing a skirt - not the usual clothing of a pilgrim.  Another photo was that of a young couple - an Australian woman and a Spanish man who had met on the Camino, fallen in love and were still together.  I was impressed.  And then there was me, my image bigger than my real size.  I had forgotten how brown I had become after having walked almost 700km by this point.  There I was with my backpack that was almost as big as me, holding onto my walking poles.  As a friend told me later, it didn’t look like me.  

We then went to our hotel, situated a few kilometers from the city centre, where we lunched and freshened up.  At 5.30 pm we returned to the Cathedral of St James for the mass where Susan and German, amongst others, would be presented a medal to honour their work promoting the Camino.  It was a medal conferred by a group known as the Archicofradia.  The Archicofradia is the organisation commissioned by the monarchs of Spain and inaugurated in 1499 to build a hospital for pilgrims. It was to be “a Confraternity ordered and instituted, of both sexes, from whichever province or nation, in any part of the world”. Build and run a hospital it did in the building which is now the Parador, the Hostal los Reyes Catolicos. In modern times this religious organisation supports projects to help pilgrims and to encourage pilgrims to be of service to other pilgrims. - quoted from http://johnniewalker-santiago.blogspot.dk/2012/07/opportunity-to-meet-reflect-and-pray-in.html

We had VIP seats, right in front of the priest where we had the best view of the Botafumeiro, a swinging metal container in which incense is burned.  I had seen this before but it was amazing to be so close.  One would surely die, if hit in the head by the incense holder as it came flying at high speed from on high through the Cathedral.  

The mass ended with the medal ceremony.  Perhaps thirty or so people including a dozen teenagers were presented with a medal - on one side was an engraving of St James and on the other the red Knights’ Templar Cross.  

After the mass we made our way back to the Paradores.  The hotel was hosting a very expensive dinner in celebration o the feast day and the dinner guests would then sit on the terrace to view the light and fireworks show at midnight.  We were not dining at this expensive dinner, but Susan and German had a spot on the terrace where they would film the spectacle.  

We had a few hours to kill as we waited.  We had some food at the bar and took in the ambience. 

At about 10.30, Susan received a text from a friend asking her if we had heard.  Heard what, was the question.

We discovered then of the tragedy that had hit Santiago, on the eve of the feast day of St James.  Many pilgrims would have walked the Camino to arrive at this special time.  The dinner guests were still eating their expensive meal.  We learned that scores had died just outside of the city when the high speed train from Madrid derailed and carriages were strewn in all directions, some landing on top of others.  The final death toll came close to 80.  

The entire festival program that was to span a number of days was cancelled.  We were all in shock.  It was a surreal feeling to be so close to the tragedy that it was palpable in the air and yet to be thankfully, unscathed.  Eventually some time after midnight, Susan and I left the hotel to look for a taxi.  We ended up circling the old part of the city unable to find one and returned once again to the Paradores.  The crowds that previously had filled the enormous square in front of the Cathedral had disappeared.  It was no longer the Santiago I remembered from two years ago.  The city had started mourning her losses.   Later when we returned to our hotel, we were to find out that the the phones had not stopped ringing with people requesting bookings who must now make the journey to Santiago to attend to loved ones who were injured or dead.