Day 15. Samurai girl. Manresa

First thing I did when we arrived was to look for the girl I saw when I walked this city intensively in the virtual world (Google streetview) in early June this year. And there she was. In paint. In real.

Day 15. Repetition. Cacis Forn de la Calc - Manresa

The rain started somewhere in the night and didn´t stop. The land could use it so we only complained a little while we dismantled and packed our wet tents. Like most mornings, especially while camping, it all took a bit longer than expected and miraculously just before we were ready to head off the last drops fell down. I lingered a bit, it was such a beautiful place and there had been so little time to wander around yesterday. All over the land around the lime ovens, installations made out of natural materials were slowly changing shape, falling apart, decomposing, growing into something else. I hadn´t had a chance to talk to the people running the art centre yet but now there was, or maybe there wasn´t because I was supposed to walk but I took it anyway. 

It was 10.30 when I left, walking the last bit of yesterday´s walk in return. Nothing looked the same though. Colours were darker and dimmer, the sounds were different, the smell of the burned vegetation in the part of the forest that had recently burned down due to a forest fire smelled far more intense than it did yesterday. What was most shocking though was that the Montserrat mountains had disappeared completely. Not a single peak was visible. Our goal was nowhere to be seen.

Snails everywhere.

In Navarcles I had a double deja-vu. I sat on the same bench I sat on yesterday and stared at the water. No fishermen on the opposite side today, only a young man who looked as if his girlfriend had just left him and he didn´t know what to do. He stood on the riverbank like a salt statue, staring at the water just like me. A runner passed me, singing loudly. He ran across the bridge, passed the immobilized young man on the other side and disappeared out of sight. I checked my map, ate some figs. A runner passed me, singing loudly. He ran across the bridge, passed the immobilized young man on the other side and disappeared out of sight. I walked off before he would do his third round. A completely new road lay ahead after Navarcles.

The path followed the river Seu. Lush vegetation, bamboo bushes and big trees. Confetti on the trail in the middle of nowhere, who had been celebrating what here? A convent with closed doors, cameras checking if I wasn’t trying to get in. A big conference complex in front of it, with the photo of the founder on the wall of what once was a big factory, hence the name la Fábrica. I made a stop next to a young birch wih dead leaves. My hand almost fitted around its bark.

Walking up, out of the valley, I saw some glimpses of Montserrat again. The noise of the highway, that must have started somewhere barely audible and had quickly gotten louder, took over the sound of the water. I crossed a big road and civilisation was back. Allotment gardens, houses, a quite messy environment, dogs barking.
I entered Manresa at what I could only imagine to be the ugliest part of the city. Factories, warehouses, gigantic fastfood restaurants, big parking areas. No beauty without ugliness. And I bet loads of people loved hanging around here and didn’t spend one second wondering about the aesthetics of this place.

Into the center, across a metal bridge. Through a big door into a beautiful spacious hallway. Up the stairs, into the apartment. On the sofa. I had arrived. We had. Again.

Day 14. Clouds, salt, wool, wonder. Torres de Fals - CACIS Forn de la Calc

The sky looked like a thick grey blanket but in the far distance orange sunrays pierced through it. I had slept under a layer of plastic on an improvised bed of hay behind the two towers. The camp on the other side was still quiet, some people were waking up slowly. I decided to walk ahead and make the most of the day. Fig breakfast on the road, beautiful views of the mountains we had already walked through behind of me. Two huge black dogs running as fast as they could through a field into the forest. Montserrat was clearly visible today but looked so unreal with the dramatic clouds hovering above it.
The small mountain inbetween me and Manresa was a bit of a climb but nothing compared to the mountains we had encountered in our first days. I followed the red and white of the long distance walking trail and spend some time on the top looking at the shiny city at my feet.
A sign told me I was walking on a Camí de la Sal, via salinaria, an old salt road. It was a hot day, I was sweating. Salt.
I carried the last oak tree through the Carrer de les Alzines, the Oak Road into Sant Joan de Vilatorrada. The magic of coffee, the ugliest church I had seen so far, the beauty of old abandoned factory buildings, a gravel road leading through fields and fenced properties, fruit trees everywhere. Two thirsty men asked me if I knew where they could find water and I explained them where the nearest stream was.
The northern outskirts of Manresa. Big highways and of course the yellow M. I had spotted it on trash aside the road earlier already. Funny to see a MacDonalds again. I ate plums and grapes and apples and figs instead, still walking on the old salt road that led me past the Parc de l’Aguila. A big lake, I thought about swimming but it wasn’t allowed.
The industrial area of Sant Fruitós de Bages was defenitely the ugliest place I’d seen in a long time. It is interesting to walk through those areas though and enjoy all the crazy visual distraction. Nobody was walking. People drove their cars up to the doors of the megastores and plunged in to buy more things to stuff their houses with.
Navarcles. A lovely old bridge crossing the river, imprints of dog feet in the concrete, houses built on the edge of a natural stone wall. A lovely river walk, still under a grey sky.
After Navarcles the landscape was open again. Black trees and fields were the sad remains of a forest fire that had raged close to here not so long ago. The saddest sight. Montserrat was in my back now, the goal for today was a small detour but a worthwhile one. El Forns de la Calc, the lime stone ovens, now turned into the artist residency CACiS, with a focus on land art, ecology and performance.

When I stopped for a final break, the rest of the group passed me in cars. They hadn’t made it all the way. I followed in their tire tracks and found them 15 minutes later in complete silence on the mount covering and surrounding the two ovens. Everybody was staring down into the pit that functioned as a chimney in the old days. At the bottom a woman was lying in a huge nest made out of sheep wool. One of our group members entered the nest and spent what seemed to be a small eternity in her embrace. They were radiating happiness.

There was a beautiful energy in the air and I wandered around a little before pitching my tent. Remains of installations made out of natural materials were decomposing, changing shape and function. In the forest big red ladders made out of branches stood against tree trunks, other trees seemed to be growing through red wooden chairs, built in a similar way as the ladders were.
It was already turning dark.

We settled in and gathered around the long dinner table outside of the stone building. A feast meal had been prepared for us, there was wine, there were stories, lots of laughter and gleaming faces. We were tired and clean (showers!) and in good company. Life can be so easy from time to time.

For a moment I felt sad about having to leave tomorrow morning early already. It was a magic place and it asked for your time and attention. But what's the use of  worrying about being somewhere else in the future when you only exist now?

Day 12. Footstep dreams in paradise. Salo

The group is changing all the time, getting bigger and smaller and bigger again. People leave and new people join, people return or promise to return and will in the last days. Every day there are goodbyes and welcomes. Some people skip a day here and there and drive with our transport car, some people just join for a day, but there are still a few people who walked the complete route so far.

Not that it matters we don´t all walk the same distance. It isn´t about who walks most or fastest. The route is made of all our communal footsteps, every walk is just as valuable and is part of the bigger whole.

Today is the first time in 12 days we don't have to get up around 7 or even earlier. We are staying at camping el Paradis where there is a swimming pool and a restaurant. We sleep our way into the morning, we dream of walking. When we wake up and go for a swim we are asked if we want to eat paella. Some questions are easy. When I walk into the restaurant to order a cold beer just before lunch, the two women cooking ask me to come into the kitchen and they proudly show me the paella in process. My Spanish is suddenly fluent. A big pile of the same water creatures we saw swimming in the aquamarine lake we swam in earlier this week is waiting to decorate the beautiful dish.

But first Jordi gives us a talk about cooperatives. I embroider honeycombs on my suit while listening, trying to translate the language I don´t understand into lines and patterns that might catch the meaning. The afternoon flies by. I wouldn't mind hanging around the pool all day but there is some walking to be done still. At 6 we gather, when the day is at its hottest, and walk to the astronomical observatory. 14 kilometers, more than 3 hours, the air is heavy, it is humid.

The sky, which has been clear most days, is covered in clouds now. It is a bad day to look at the stars. We arrive in the dark, accompanied by a dog (another one) who decided to join us somewhere halfway. It start to rain.

Inside the observatory we bump into the sun. It looks like an enormous yellow beach ball. The man who shows us around has a halo of enthusiasm around him. He starts a projection and we are being sucked into galaxies.

He takes us up, opens the roof, the telescope is impressive but can’t show us more than the naked eye can today. I sit outside and stare at the dark shape in the far distance. Montserrat.

We drive back by car. Big hare are caught in the beams of the car lights.El Paradis is wet and dark. We sleep and dream of stars.

Day 11. A new day. Santuari d´el Miracle

 

And the sun rose behind the Santuari d´el Miracle. No miracle, just beauty. Silence, only broken by the churchbells earlier at 7. A small oak tree was planted. A miracle might be needed there. It suffered during the 10 day walk but hopefully the energy and love of all the people carrying this small tree through the mountains will give it strength.

Another walk today, to Paradise. Camping Cal Paradis. But for now paradise is here. In a cup of coffee on a silent Sunday morning. In taking some time to write. In being slow while the group is already on the road.

Day 10. In search of silence. Solsona - Santuari d´el Miracle

I didn´t read the book that was on the table of my cell. But I looked at the landscape from my window. I carried a small oak tree on my back into the church of the monastery, where in the middle of the huge glittering altar piece a big oak tree starred, the one that marked the disappearance (yes, disappearance, not appearance strangely enough) of the Holy Virgin two young shepherd boys had seen here more than 500 years ago. It was the miracle the monastery, or maybe the location, got it´s name from. The oak didn´t survive and the monks have been trying to replant an oak tree at the same location but until now they haven´t succeeded.

 

My tree sat beside me on the wooden benches of the small chapel where the monks sang the Vespers. I didn´t read the book I got handed out there either. I embroidered small stitches on the back of my suit jacket.

Afterwards we enjoyed a simple and tasty dinner at the Casa d´Espiritualitat. It was announced as a silent dinner but nobody was silent. Somehow it is hard for people to be silent, even at a place like this.

We retrieved to our cells, it was silent there but when I opened my window the outside world entered. The restaurant that is part of the complex hosted a big group of people and almost until midnight loud voices could be heard.

And of course there is never complete silence. When the voices died out and everybody had gone to sleep, the crickets took over. A lovely sound always.

I read my own book. The Very Lowly. A Meditation on Francis of Assisi, by Christian Bobin: "We live in cities, in professions and occupations, in families. But the place we live in is not really a place like that. The place we really live in is not the one in which we hope - without knowing what we are hoping for - the one in which we sing without understanding what makes us sing .... The nature of the cricket is to love its song and take so much pleasure in it that it does not look for food and dies singing."

Day 9. Solsona

Soundwalk, improvised performance and exploring Solsona with chairs.