I really thought we were living in the 21st century.
I know that there is still a huge pay gap between men and women and I know that men are still more likely to be promoted than women in many spheres but still it’s the 21st century so things should be getting better. Sometimes things get a bit confused. There was the case of the police male voice choir that was criticised, and I think eventually closed down, because it did not meet equality standards. I think the clue lies in the name. Maybe they just need to organise a female voice choir to even things up. Otherwise it’s rather a case of cutting off your nose to spite your face.
However, things like that are 21st century problems, an attempt to redress the balance.
Definitely not a backwards step to older and stranger ideas.
So, yes, I thought we were living in the 21st century.
And then I read about witches.
Yes, witches, and not some kind of New Age witchcraft thing either.
In the last decade United Nations officials have reported a rise in women killed for witchcraft across the globe. In India the problem is particularly well-documented, with older women targeted as scapegoats or as a pretext for seizing their lands and good. in Saudi Arabia, women have been convicted of witchcraft in the courts, and in Ghana they have been exiled to so-called “witch camps”, an injustice portrayed in an award winning film, “I am not a witch”.
Okay, you might say, that’s India and Saudi Arabia and Ghana. Faraway places with different ideas about things, different belief systems.
And then you discover that in the United States, a Gallup pole found that 21% of people believed in witches.
Well, I said to myself, that’s the United States, where there are still a lot of fervent believers who take the bible as, well, gospel truth! But surely things are different in the UK. And then I remembered Victoria Climbié and I found this: “The first ever Government statistics on the issue showed that witchcraft and possession were linked to almost 1,500 potential abuse cases across the UK in a single year but the figure is thought to be an underestimate.”
Which brings me to exorcism.
Apparently there have been increased requests for exorcism to be carried out in Italy, and also in France. So the Vatican is doing something about it. “The church is particularly alarmed over the uneven skills of some of its current exorcists and worried about priests who are no longer willing to learn the techniques.”
If I were a young priest in training, I think I might not want to learn how to do exorcism either. Even staunch believers accept that antibiotics, unknown when the Gospels were written, work better than prayer alone.
There are some voices of reason:
“People are in need of a prayer, a blessing, liberation, healing, and, fortunately, not necessarily exorcism. The fact is that people sometimes feel bad and there is no place where they can go to be heard out. There are fewer priests, so there is less time to talk with people. The health care reform has led doctors to adhere to time limits during patient appointments, and they also do not have time to listen to people. We are responsible for what happens to us. But how much easier it is to find an external reason — the devil is to blame for everything. This removes our own responsibility.”
But I was disturbed to read that the Vatican formally recognized the International Association of Exorcists in 2014. Surely that gives exorcism 21st century credibility.
Apparently a week-long course on exorcism will be held in April at the Pontifical Athenaeum Regina Apostolorum, a Catholic educational institute in Rome.
It is to be hoped that they discuss the likelihood of people being possessed (!!!!), the whole idea of a need for exorcism and don’t just talk about refining techniques to ensure it’s done properly!
Sunday, 8 April 2018
Saturday, 7 April 2018
Rain. Antisocial actions. Lost and found.
I went running this morning under a largely blue sky: bits of cloud here and there but definite attempts by the sun to break through properly. So I just put on a light windproof/showerproof jacket and set off hatless and gloveless. By the time I was halfway round my route the cloud had moved in and thickened. I stopped off at the Co-op to buy the paper. By the time I came out of the shop it was spitting with rain. By the time I was half way home it was properly raining. I found myself tying a plastic carrier bag round my hair to keep it dry! Such elegance!
Since then I have been nowhere, but have stayed in and read the newspaper.
Howard Jacobson was writing about antisemitism, talking about changing attitudes over his lifetime. One interesting thing he reported was about having been spat at in the street in Clapham, south London, some time in the late 1980s. What surprised him was that the perpetrator was a woman. Instead of a feeling of physical danger, he said he felt sadness. “i am a mother’s boy and expect a woman to nurture, not abuse me. My sadness encompassed both of us. It was as though, un the act of aspersing me, she was violating her own nature.” And I find myself wondering if that reaction is a generational thing - Mr Jacobson is just a few years older than I am - for I still find it more shocking to hear a woman swear or behave violently. Do my children have the same reaction? I must ask them.
In another section of the paper, a columnist wrote about “stealing” stuff from hotel rooms. Mostly she was talking about freebies: toiletries and the like. I know people who regularly collect the shower gel and stuff like that from hotel rooms. A small way of making up for the price of the room. We have done so ourselves and have a collection of little tubes of shower gel in the bathroom, ostensibly for visitors but mostly because the hoarder in me hates throwing stuff away. Nobody ever seems to use them. The only thing I keep nowadays are shower-caps, which visitors do ask for. The columnist, however, admits to stealing slippers and taking the battery out of the TV remote. “I’m not as bad as others,” she declares, “I’ve never taken a robe, or any of the furniture or appliances. Not yet anyway.”
We once were questioned about a cushion which went missing from our hotel room. Fortunately I was able to explain that Phil had taken it down to the chess tournament room and forgotten to bring it back. By her time we remembered and went to fetch it, the wretched thing had disappeared. We have been back there since and have been more careful!
Here’s a story of a man in Frankfurt who forgot where his car was parked and eventually reported it stolen. It was never found until twenty years later when an industrial building was being demolished and the car was discovered in the garage. Ideally, the story should have a fairytale ending of the now 76 year old getting in the car and driving off into the sunset. Or maybe not as there could be some outstanding carpark fees to pay, but, no, it was not to be; the car was unusable and had to be scrapped.
I once lost mine, temporarily I am glad to say, in central Manchester. I had parked the car on a side street off Deansgate. Back then you could still find parking spots where you did not have to pay. Off I went to whatever meeting I was attending. A couple of hours later I walked up and down every side street hunting for my vehicle. There was no way I could report it stolen as I simply did not know which street I had left it on. Just before panic set in, I was reunited with my trusty, and unstolen, car. Phew, what a relief!
Something to finish with. As the discussion of the Skripal poisoning continues I have a couple of questions. First of all, if it was administered via the door handle of their house, why did it not take effect until after they had eaten until after they had eaten? And just how “deadly” was the deadly nerve agent if both Skripals are now recovering? And will we ever really know what happened?
Since then I have been nowhere, but have stayed in and read the newspaper.
Howard Jacobson was writing about antisemitism, talking about changing attitudes over his lifetime. One interesting thing he reported was about having been spat at in the street in Clapham, south London, some time in the late 1980s. What surprised him was that the perpetrator was a woman. Instead of a feeling of physical danger, he said he felt sadness. “i am a mother’s boy and expect a woman to nurture, not abuse me. My sadness encompassed both of us. It was as though, un the act of aspersing me, she was violating her own nature.” And I find myself wondering if that reaction is a generational thing - Mr Jacobson is just a few years older than I am - for I still find it more shocking to hear a woman swear or behave violently. Do my children have the same reaction? I must ask them.
In another section of the paper, a columnist wrote about “stealing” stuff from hotel rooms. Mostly she was talking about freebies: toiletries and the like. I know people who regularly collect the shower gel and stuff like that from hotel rooms. A small way of making up for the price of the room. We have done so ourselves and have a collection of little tubes of shower gel in the bathroom, ostensibly for visitors but mostly because the hoarder in me hates throwing stuff away. Nobody ever seems to use them. The only thing I keep nowadays are shower-caps, which visitors do ask for. The columnist, however, admits to stealing slippers and taking the battery out of the TV remote. “I’m not as bad as others,” she declares, “I’ve never taken a robe, or any of the furniture or appliances. Not yet anyway.”
We once were questioned about a cushion which went missing from our hotel room. Fortunately I was able to explain that Phil had taken it down to the chess tournament room and forgotten to bring it back. By her time we remembered and went to fetch it, the wretched thing had disappeared. We have been back there since and have been more careful!
Here’s a story of a man in Frankfurt who forgot where his car was parked and eventually reported it stolen. It was never found until twenty years later when an industrial building was being demolished and the car was discovered in the garage. Ideally, the story should have a fairytale ending of the now 76 year old getting in the car and driving off into the sunset. Or maybe not as there could be some outstanding carpark fees to pay, but, no, it was not to be; the car was unusable and had to be scrapped.
I once lost mine, temporarily I am glad to say, in central Manchester. I had parked the car on a side street off Deansgate. Back then you could still find parking spots where you did not have to pay. Off I went to whatever meeting I was attending. A couple of hours later I walked up and down every side street hunting for my vehicle. There was no way I could report it stolen as I simply did not know which street I had left it on. Just before panic set in, I was reunited with my trusty, and unstolen, car. Phew, what a relief!
Something to finish with. As the discussion of the Skripal poisoning continues I have a couple of questions. First of all, if it was administered via the door handle of their house, why did it not take effect until after they had eaten until after they had eaten? And just how “deadly” was the deadly nerve agent if both Skripals are now recovering? And will we ever really know what happened?
Friday, 6 April 2018
Life imitating art!
So Boris Johnson lied. Well, maybe not so much lied as made assumptions and decided that his assumptions were the truth. How amazing to be so confident that you can feel sure that what you think happened must be correct. So confident that you can tell the world that that is so. This is the confidence you get from a good education, I suppose!
If it all leads to another cold war, well, that’s how it goes.
Rather like a spy story!
And then we have bits of London turning into Baltimore, USA, the parts of Baltimore that we see depicted in “The Wire”. For I am sure there are parts of Baltimore that are perfectly and not at all dangerous to live in. In fact, if I remember rightly, many of Ann Tyler’s excellent novels are set in Baltimore and it seems to be a very nice, ordinary place. Anyway, London has seen 50 killings this year so far and it’s only April 6th! Not at all unlike the gangland, drug-selling Baltimore from the TV series.
Getting into the realms of science fiction we have already had the first driverless car fatal accident. A driverless car somewhere in the United States failed to register a cyclist, I think it was, and went on its way into a collision with the cyclist. The robots taking their revenge perhaps?
I read that NASA has a project in hand to replace the “rovers” which up to now have carried out remote exploration on far way planets with robotic bees. The plan is to produce swarms of micro-bits, called Marsbees, studded with sensors and able to move quickly over the surface of Mars collecting data.
We keep on hearing that bees are endangered. Numbers are dropping and, according to some, the worst case scenario is that when the bees have died out, humankind is doomed. It’s not the lack of honey that is the problem. That would really only affect Pooh-bear-types like my husband, who uses honey instead of sugar, and our eldest granddaughter, who still loves honey and banana sandwiches! NASA has two teams of researchers working to design a robotic bee that can fly on Mars. No, the problem is the pollination work done by bees.
And so lots of scientific agencies are busily working on robot bees which could be programmed to do the job. In fact, Walmart has already filed a patent on robotic bees to pollinate crops. Cynics are already saying this is because Walmart want to have control of food production as well as distribution. Who knows!
I do, however, know that there was an episode of the very dark sci-fi series “Black Mirror” where someone hacked into the robot bees and reprogrammed them to carry out a revenge plan for him.
Be careful what you wish for and what you say. Fact is stranger than fiction and may come back to bit you in the end.
If it all leads to another cold war, well, that’s how it goes.
Rather like a spy story!
And then we have bits of London turning into Baltimore, USA, the parts of Baltimore that we see depicted in “The Wire”. For I am sure there are parts of Baltimore that are perfectly and not at all dangerous to live in. In fact, if I remember rightly, many of Ann Tyler’s excellent novels are set in Baltimore and it seems to be a very nice, ordinary place. Anyway, London has seen 50 killings this year so far and it’s only April 6th! Not at all unlike the gangland, drug-selling Baltimore from the TV series.
Getting into the realms of science fiction we have already had the first driverless car fatal accident. A driverless car somewhere in the United States failed to register a cyclist, I think it was, and went on its way into a collision with the cyclist. The robots taking their revenge perhaps?
I read that NASA has a project in hand to replace the “rovers” which up to now have carried out remote exploration on far way planets with robotic bees. The plan is to produce swarms of micro-bits, called Marsbees, studded with sensors and able to move quickly over the surface of Mars collecting data.
We keep on hearing that bees are endangered. Numbers are dropping and, according to some, the worst case scenario is that when the bees have died out, humankind is doomed. It’s not the lack of honey that is the problem. That would really only affect Pooh-bear-types like my husband, who uses honey instead of sugar, and our eldest granddaughter, who still loves honey and banana sandwiches! NASA has two teams of researchers working to design a robotic bee that can fly on Mars. No, the problem is the pollination work done by bees.
And so lots of scientific agencies are busily working on robot bees which could be programmed to do the job. In fact, Walmart has already filed a patent on robotic bees to pollinate crops. Cynics are already saying this is because Walmart want to have control of food production as well as distribution. Who knows!
I do, however, know that there was an episode of the very dark sci-fi series “Black Mirror” where someone hacked into the robot bees and reprogrammed them to carry out a revenge plan for him.
Be careful what you wish for and what you say. Fact is stranger than fiction and may come back to bit you in the end.
Thursday, 5 April 2018
Weather, washing, visits and buses!
Apparently we are due for a heatwave this weekend. Temperatures as high as 18 degrees are forecast, a temperature that in some parts of the world is still considered to be quite wintery. But then, everything is relative.
The weather app on my phone, by way of a contrast, forecasts rain for our area for the weekend. So I suppose that as usual the weather forecast for Britain really only means the Southeast. We shall see!
Today has been a good start to a patch of fine weather - blue sky and sunshine from the word go. However, in view of my phone app’s predictions I am not planning any picnics for the next few days.
So what have I done with today’s fine weather? Well, what every north of England housewife does: wash everything that is not neatly folded away in a cupboard. You can’t waste a good washing day after all.
Halfway through my washing and cleaning spree we were interrupted by the arrival of someone we have not seen for a fair few years: a young man who used to play chess for Phil’s teams and incidentally supplemented his pocket money by babysitting for us. I refer to him as a young man but, considering that the babies he used to sit will be 40 and 38 this year, I suppose he cannot be so very young. Mind you, compared to us he is a veritable spring chicken. Everything is relative, once again.
So we gave him tea and biscuits and caught up on news. He and Phil swapped stories about backache and vitamin deficiencies. All good stuff. And we criticised the education system in depth (despite having primary school teachers as parents and therefore knowing how hard teachers work, he has become a teacher) and proved to our own satisfaction that we could sort it all out in a much better fashion.
I have moaned a good deal over the years about our local bus services. We have spoken to local counsellors about the problem and have even had communication with our MP. Now it seems that we are about to have a new service, specifically for our village and our closest neighbouring villages. The following claim has been made: “The timetable has been scheduled to coincide with rail services at Greenfield station into Manchester, connecting with the last train in from the city centre. Perfect for your daily commute or some evening shopping.”
Ambitious stuff! I wait with bated breath!
The weather app on my phone, by way of a contrast, forecasts rain for our area for the weekend. So I suppose that as usual the weather forecast for Britain really only means the Southeast. We shall see!
Today has been a good start to a patch of fine weather - blue sky and sunshine from the word go. However, in view of my phone app’s predictions I am not planning any picnics for the next few days.
So what have I done with today’s fine weather? Well, what every north of England housewife does: wash everything that is not neatly folded away in a cupboard. You can’t waste a good washing day after all.
Halfway through my washing and cleaning spree we were interrupted by the arrival of someone we have not seen for a fair few years: a young man who used to play chess for Phil’s teams and incidentally supplemented his pocket money by babysitting for us. I refer to him as a young man but, considering that the babies he used to sit will be 40 and 38 this year, I suppose he cannot be so very young. Mind you, compared to us he is a veritable spring chicken. Everything is relative, once again.
So we gave him tea and biscuits and caught up on news. He and Phil swapped stories about backache and vitamin deficiencies. All good stuff. And we criticised the education system in depth (despite having primary school teachers as parents and therefore knowing how hard teachers work, he has become a teacher) and proved to our own satisfaction that we could sort it all out in a much better fashion.
I have moaned a good deal over the years about our local bus services. We have spoken to local counsellors about the problem and have even had communication with our MP. Now it seems that we are about to have a new service, specifically for our village and our closest neighbouring villages. The following claim has been made: “The timetable has been scheduled to coincide with rail services at Greenfield station into Manchester, connecting with the last train in from the city centre. Perfect for your daily commute or some evening shopping.”
Ambitious stuff! I wait with bated breath!
Wednesday, 4 April 2018
Some thoughts about plastic.
Here are some statistics about plastic:
My daughter has proudly shown me food storage containers, now often just called tupperware (with a small t to differentiate it from actual Tupperware, the stuff that was sold, and maybe still is, by party plan - I remember my mother hosting Tupperware parties!), made from bamboo instead of plastic.
She and her partner and children also use toothbrushes made from bamboo.
But she still uses those handy resealable plastic bags.
She has tried to avoid too many plastic toys for her latest offspring - wooden baby toys are so much more pleasing - but how do you avoid Lego and Playmobil, high quality, imagination- stimulating playthings?
I found myself wondering yesterday about vegans and plastic. What do they do for footwear? It always seemed acceptable to wear imitation leather shoes and carry imitation leather bags - pleather, as my daughter calls it. But presumably this has a high proportion of plastic and an eco-conscious vegan should be avoiding plastic if possible. Cloth bags are an easy substitute for leather ones but shoes are more difficult. Maybe they should all wear espadrilles: rope soles made from good old hemp and cloth uppers.
I keep hearing reports of people who make their own shampoo - it comes in a bar like soap - and even their own deodorant. The latter sounds quite horrid, made with bicarbonate of soda and other ingredients. All this to avoid using plastics.
There are some lengths to which I will not go. And I suspect that most people’s lives are too busy to spend time making their own shampoo and deodorant. No doubt someone will make a small but ecological fortune marketing such products, in suitable biodegradable packaging.
In the meantime we can take up “plogging”: jogging while picking up litter. Oxford Dictionaries explains plogging’s Swedish derivation, from “either plocka upp (pick up) or plocka skräp (pick up litter) and jogga (jog)”. We often pick up litter while walking but around here I fear you would not get much jogging done as you would have to stop every few yards to pick up other people’s mess.
Still, the idea is good and the word is pleasing.
- Time it takes for a styrofoam cup to biodegrade - 50 years.
- Number of plastic bottles sold globally in 2016 - 480 billion.
- Amount of recyclable plastic most families throw away each year - 40 k
- Weight in tonnes of plastic waste that will be in landfills or the natural environment by 2050, if current trends continue - 12 billion.
- Tonnes of plastic generated annually in the UK - 5 million.
My daughter has proudly shown me food storage containers, now often just called tupperware (with a small t to differentiate it from actual Tupperware, the stuff that was sold, and maybe still is, by party plan - I remember my mother hosting Tupperware parties!), made from bamboo instead of plastic.
She and her partner and children also use toothbrushes made from bamboo.
But she still uses those handy resealable plastic bags.
She has tried to avoid too many plastic toys for her latest offspring - wooden baby toys are so much more pleasing - but how do you avoid Lego and Playmobil, high quality, imagination- stimulating playthings?
I found myself wondering yesterday about vegans and plastic. What do they do for footwear? It always seemed acceptable to wear imitation leather shoes and carry imitation leather bags - pleather, as my daughter calls it. But presumably this has a high proportion of plastic and an eco-conscious vegan should be avoiding plastic if possible. Cloth bags are an easy substitute for leather ones but shoes are more difficult. Maybe they should all wear espadrilles: rope soles made from good old hemp and cloth uppers.
I keep hearing reports of people who make their own shampoo - it comes in a bar like soap - and even their own deodorant. The latter sounds quite horrid, made with bicarbonate of soda and other ingredients. All this to avoid using plastics.
There are some lengths to which I will not go. And I suspect that most people’s lives are too busy to spend time making their own shampoo and deodorant. No doubt someone will make a small but ecological fortune marketing such products, in suitable biodegradable packaging.
In the meantime we can take up “plogging”: jogging while picking up litter. Oxford Dictionaries explains plogging’s Swedish derivation, from “either plocka upp (pick up) or plocka skräp (pick up litter) and jogga (jog)”. We often pick up litter while walking but around here I fear you would not get much jogging done as you would have to stop every few yards to pick up other people’s mess.
Still, the idea is good and the word is pleasing.
Monday, 2 April 2018
Celebrating religion and dietary terminology!
So that’s Easter out of the way.
Well, not quite in the Uk because we still have Easter Monday to contend with. And Easter Monday this year is cold and bleak with snow and/or rain all over the place. I looked out at the snow-covered pavements and the sleety rain - not even gentle enough to be called snizzle this morning - and decided that a run was out of the question.
Here is a link to pictures of Easter celebrations in various parts of the world. I particularly like the description of a procession in Granada:
“The procession of the Risen Holy Child, a Spanish tradition, sees about 150 people light 10,000 firecrackers to celebrate the resurrection of Christ on Easter Sunday.”
You have to admire the Spanish for combining religious celebrations with an element of fiesta. In Santiago de Compostela on the eve of the feast of Saint James the set off a massive firework display on the front of the cathedral at midnight. It’s an amazing sight! But a firework display is one thing and firecrackers, the crashing, banging essential of so many non-religious fiestas, is something else again.
Only in Spain!
Yesterday’s paper was going on a lot about veganism. Here are some odd facts:
I am a former (long ago now) macrobiotic vegetarian and now more or less a pescatarian, with a bit of chicken-eating thrown in there. I am a little wary of anything too extreme. Trying to find a term that fits my current eating habits I came across a couple of interesting bits of information:-
Some people call “pescatarians” “pescetarians” or even “piscatarians”, depending on the etymology you choose to work by. Then there are the really picky etymologists:
Well, not quite in the Uk because we still have Easter Monday to contend with. And Easter Monday this year is cold and bleak with snow and/or rain all over the place. I looked out at the snow-covered pavements and the sleety rain - not even gentle enough to be called snizzle this morning - and decided that a run was out of the question.
Here is a link to pictures of Easter celebrations in various parts of the world. I particularly like the description of a procession in Granada:
“The procession of the Risen Holy Child, a Spanish tradition, sees about 150 people light 10,000 firecrackers to celebrate the resurrection of Christ on Easter Sunday.”
You have to admire the Spanish for combining religious celebrations with an element of fiesta. In Santiago de Compostela on the eve of the feast of Saint James the set off a massive firework display on the front of the cathedral at midnight. It’s an amazing sight! But a firework display is one thing and firecrackers, the crashing, banging essential of so many non-religious fiestas, is something else again.
Only in Spain!
Yesterday’s paper was going on a lot about veganism. Here are some odd facts:
- The term “vegan” was coined by a woodwork teacher in 1944, Donald Watson. Here’s some information about him, his obituary: he died at 95.
- Terms he rejected included “dairyban”, “vitan” and “benevore”.
- There has been a 350% rise in the number of vegans in Britain from 2006 to 2016.
- 60% of the 168,000 people who took part in Veganuary in 2018 were under 35.
- Even Jeremy Corbyn has done his bit for veganism; vegetarian for 50 years he has piblicly expressed admiration for vegan friends.
- Veganism is now linked to a thirst for justice.
I am a former (long ago now) macrobiotic vegetarian and now more or less a pescatarian, with a bit of chicken-eating thrown in there. I am a little wary of anything too extreme. Trying to find a term that fits my current eating habits I came across a couple of interesting bits of information:-
- The difference between vegetarian, vegan, and other diets The word vegetarian sprouted up in 1839. Fruitarian ("a person who lives on fruit") ripened by 1893. In 1944, vegetarians who consume no animal or dairy products began calling themselves vegans. Then, in 1993, those who eat fish but no other meat chose pesce, the Italian word for "fish," to create the designation pescatarian. In that same year, meatatarian was served up as a word for those whose diet largely includes meat; that word is rare, however, and is usually used in informal and humorous ways, making it the type of fare not included in our dictionaries. Another fairly recent dietary word is flexitarian, a person who follows a mostly vegetarian diet but occasionally eats meat or fish.Are Pescetarians the Same as Semi-Vegetarians or Flexitarians? Not really, but sort of. A "semi-vegetarian" -or a "flexitarian"- is someone who eats a mostly vegetarian diet, occasionally supplemented by meat, though there's no real agreed upon definition of how often one can eat meat and still call themselves a semi-vegetarian or a flexitarian: Once a day? Once a week? Once a month? Pescetarians are not restricted to "occasional" fish and may eat fish as little or as frequently as they prefer.
Some people call “pescatarians” “pescetarians” or even “piscatarians”, depending on the etymology you choose to work by. Then there are the really picky etymologists:
- Pescatarian: surely that means an eater of peaches. Pescetarian would be pronounced pessetarian, since c before e is almost uniformly soft in English words of Latin origin. Sounds like something rude. Of course it is pescetariano in Italian. The Italian word for fish is pesce, with soft c. But pesca with a hard c is a peach. Piscatarian is a modern coining. So to some extent spell it how you like and see what catches on. But if you want a hard C it makes sense to place an A after the C, because c before e is almost uniformly soft e.
Sunday, 1 April 2018
Processions and pilgrimages.
Easter Sunday. I read that a church somewhere ordered some posters to put outside today inviting people in to celebrate the resurrection. Unfortunately the printers omitted one important letter and delivered banners which read “Chris is risen”. It’s just as well that someone noticed in time.
The year that we spent the Easter weekend in Salamanca I witnessed the “reencuentro”, the moment when the risen Christ meets the Virgin Mary, in the square below the balcony of our pensión. It’s very cleverly done. The statue of the Virgin comes into the square from one side and the statue of Christ Resurrected from the other. The floats are, of course, carried by men from the various cofradías. As the statues approach each other the men at the front of each float bend their knees so that the Christ and Mary appear to bow to each other in greeting. It must take some practice.
The following morning we set off from our pensión to walk to Salamanca railway station, en route for Mérida and then further south to visit my sister. On the way to the station we stopped for breakfast in a cafe and picked up the local paper. There was a photo of the “reencuentro”. Behind the statues you could clearly see the building with our pensión on its first floor. And on the balcony of the pensión there I was! Fame at last!
The friend I lunched with last week talked a lot about her experience of doing the Camino de Santiago, not from a religious but definitely a spiritual point of view. The BBC has had a bunch of celebrities walking the Camino. One of my sources said they complained about having to go over mountains to get from France onto Spain. This may be one of the reasons I decided not to watch the series.
Fewer people seem to believe in the religious side of it but the numbers of people who find a kind of peace walking the camino are said to increasingly greatly. The British Pilgrimage Trust is apparently getting in on the act, promoting what is described as a mini pilgrimage. They want to re-establish The Old Way, an ancient pilgrimage route which was rediscovered from Britain’s oldest road map. The whole route is 217 miles from Southampton to Canterbury and they say it takes about two weeks to walk it. The last three days go from Ham Street to Canterbury Cathedral, going through ancient woodlands, past a medieval castle, a bit of what used to be the shoreline in ancient Saxon times but which is now miles inland. There are holy wells and incongruously a safari park. I bet ancient pilgrims did not see lions and the like.
As regards the spiritual peace, I sometimes think any long walk, away from the beaten track and away from the stresses of everyday life, will provide it. And although much is made of the community of the pilgrimage, I thoroughly enjoy the solitude of good long walk, letting my thoughts wander where they will.
The year that we spent the Easter weekend in Salamanca I witnessed the “reencuentro”, the moment when the risen Christ meets the Virgin Mary, in the square below the balcony of our pensión. It’s very cleverly done. The statue of the Virgin comes into the square from one side and the statue of Christ Resurrected from the other. The floats are, of course, carried by men from the various cofradías. As the statues approach each other the men at the front of each float bend their knees so that the Christ and Mary appear to bow to each other in greeting. It must take some practice.
The following morning we set off from our pensión to walk to Salamanca railway station, en route for Mérida and then further south to visit my sister. On the way to the station we stopped for breakfast in a cafe and picked up the local paper. There was a photo of the “reencuentro”. Behind the statues you could clearly see the building with our pensión on its first floor. And on the balcony of the pensión there I was! Fame at last!
The friend I lunched with last week talked a lot about her experience of doing the Camino de Santiago, not from a religious but definitely a spiritual point of view. The BBC has had a bunch of celebrities walking the Camino. One of my sources said they complained about having to go over mountains to get from France onto Spain. This may be one of the reasons I decided not to watch the series.
Fewer people seem to believe in the religious side of it but the numbers of people who find a kind of peace walking the camino are said to increasingly greatly. The British Pilgrimage Trust is apparently getting in on the act, promoting what is described as a mini pilgrimage. They want to re-establish The Old Way, an ancient pilgrimage route which was rediscovered from Britain’s oldest road map. The whole route is 217 miles from Southampton to Canterbury and they say it takes about two weeks to walk it. The last three days go from Ham Street to Canterbury Cathedral, going through ancient woodlands, past a medieval castle, a bit of what used to be the shoreline in ancient Saxon times but which is now miles inland. There are holy wells and incongruously a safari park. I bet ancient pilgrims did not see lions and the like.
As regards the spiritual peace, I sometimes think any long walk, away from the beaten track and away from the stresses of everyday life, will provide it. And although much is made of the community of the pilgrimage, I thoroughly enjoy the solitude of good long walk, letting my thoughts wander where they will.
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