Walking for Peace Photo-story 18 (Albania)

Our time in Serbia and Montenegro was brief, with surprisingly little contact with the people, the highlight being an unforgettable conversation with a Serbian sailor who would remind me not to paint all Serbians with the same brush. My fears would be unwarranted here, but put to the test in neighbouring Albania.

From Italy to Serbia, we were warned about the dangers of walking in Albania. With the fall of communism, violence and corruption were rampant, and poverty was high. Walking through there, I felt as if I had been transported to a third-world country, with refuse littering the fields and children running barefoot in it, accompanied by scrawny-looking dogs. Young and old alike begged us for money. Compared to them, we must have appeared the wealthy tourists. 

On more than one occasion, we were offered lifts, but they couldn’t understand why we insisted on walking since, to them, only the poorest of the poor walked. We saw opulent wealth standing in shocking contrast to the pervasive poverty. I felt more confused and off-balance than ever, while Alberto, appeared to be at his best, more confident in himself than I had ever seen him, all of which all of which served to deflate, rather than lift, me all of which served to deflate, rather than lift, meserved to deflate, rather than lift, me. Every little thing bothered me; I felt assaulted on every level, and found myself responding in irritation, even anger, and retreating further inwards.

Despite some wonderful experiences, with people dedicated to helping this impoverished country, Albania was my personal low-point, the place where I allowed my fears to define my experience. I felt that I had failed my walk for peace, and the message I was carrying. 

Still, as I crossed the border into Macedonia, I couldn’t help but take one last glance and say “falemenderit”, thank you.

Walking for Peace Photo-Story 17 (Joined by Pilgrims in Dubrovnik)

We were coming to the end of our Croatian experience, and I felt pangs of sadness at the thought of leaving. Croatia, like Italy, had become comfortable. I had become accustomed to the people and the land. They had embraced us and our message, and thus woven a web of protection that accompanied us wherever we went. I was now reluctant to leave that security, and once again walk in the unknown. 

Despite my intention not to be influenced by the judgments of others, I found myself doing exactly that. Stories of the atrocities committed by Serbians against their Croatian neighbours kept replaying themselves in my mind, making me less than enthusiastic about walking there. 

In the picture above, we are leaving Dubrovnik, accompanied by a group of women (and one man!) who had heard about our walk and wanted to support our efforts. They had also surprised us with a generous donation that they raised in their local church. 

Although the day was damp, our enthusiasm was not. Their beautiful voices rang out in prayer, sending shivers down my spine and, at the same time, calming my anxious heart – reassurance from the heavens that all would be well. 

On April 11, 2002, we entered the country of Serbia and Montenegro, about to experience for ourselves whether all we had heard was indeed true.

Walking for Peace Photo-Story 16 (Reunited with Alberto)

Alberto in Medugorje

It was a time of great transformation for both of us. Aside from my unexpected illness, I felt compelled to return to Lebanon to visit a dying family member. I had no way of reaching Alberto to let him know of my decision, and prayed that he would wait for me in Medugorje, Bosnia and Herzegovina, where we had planned to meet. 

He had called me once, upon his arrival there, but the phone number he gave me always went unanswered. 

Needing to follow my own signs, I allowed a magical web of synchronicities to lead me to Lebanon, and then later, to bring me back to my walk. 

Every day, I desperately called that phone number; finally, on the eve of my arrival in Medugorje, a woman answered. Alberto was still there. 

Our reunion was joyous, and filled with our many tales of adventure. I spoke of the many human angels who had helped me, while he shared the many experiences that could only be described as miraculous and magical. 

This photo was taken in the main plaza of Medugorje, just as I was about to see him for the first time since our forty-day separation.

Walking for Peace Photo-story 15 (Angels in Croatia)

It started as a simple rash under my arms, but it grew into protrusions the size of golf balls. I battled two nights of fever and chills, popping ibuprofen like candy. The receptionist at the hostel where I was staying recognized me from the newspaper article and, more importantly, spoke English. She arranged for me to see a physician, who also miraculously spoke English. She explained that my lymph nodes were inflamed, and that it was a serious infection that most likely needed surgery to drain. She prescribed antibiotics, telling me she didn’t think they would work. 

In my despair, I thought of returning to Canada for the surgery. Until Fra Ante called to check in on me. Simply hearing his voice made me weep and, through my tears, I tried to explain what was happening. “Not to worry,” he assured me. “I will take care of it.” 

Within an hour, I received a phone call from a woman who spoke English informing me that her doctor son would see me the next day; and that a priest, Fra Drago Ljevar, living near my hostel, would pick me up to take me to the hospital. I couldn’t stop sobbing for the gratitude that I felt at that moment. 

Fra Drago not only took me to see the doctor, and also a surgeon, but opened his home to me as if I were a member of his family. One of the nuns (pictured in the middle), Sister Dolores, kept repeating “moja draga Monika”, words that I finally understood to mean “my dear Mony”. She made me cookies and reminded me to take my medicine. Sister Eloisia (on the left) helped me with whatever else I needed. I felt as if I had come home.

In the end, the infection cleared up with antibiotics (and a lot of meditation!). 

This experience would stand out as proof that, in my darkest hour, I was never alone, and that angels appear in many forms. Thank you, my beautiful Croatian angels.

Walking for Peace Photo-story 14 (Privileged Pilgrim Credencial)

During my stay at the Capuchin monastery in Karlobag recovering from blisters and challenging walking conditions (rain, mountains, no rest stops), I thought of Alberto often and wondered how he was doing walking alone. I knew that he had little money, and that a man knocking on a door seeking help was perhaps less likely to receive it than a woman doing so, or even a couple. I was worried for him.

Alberto had stopped at Karlobag and had told them about me, and so they were expecting me. I was treated with love and kindness beyond compare. I had my own room with a bed, bed sheets and a hot shower! And of course, warm meals in abundance. For a pilgrim, it was pure luxury! Fra Ante Logara, the monastery’s Superior, had given Alberto the names of people he knew along the way who would help, and sent him with his blessings.

He did the same for me, and added a most precious gift: a letter of introduction explaining who I was and my walk for peace. I was overwhelmed with gratitude. This letter would become my pilgrim credential, and I would collect the stamps of all the monasteries and places where I would stop along the way. I would use it all the way to Greece. Huala, Fra Ante, thank you!

Walking for Peace Photo-Story 13 (Publicity in Croatia)

A big part of our journey involved us following signs or omens that we felt were guiding us in a certain direction. We allowed the Way to lead us, rather than over-planning each day and rushing to arrive. 

But when Alberto told me that he had been receiving signs for him to continue alone, I felt nervous. I was suffering with terrible blisters and could not walk at the speed that required us to arrive to Medugorje (in Bosnia and Herzegovina), purported site of the apparition of the Mary of Peace, for the 25^th of the month, when she would deliver her monthly message of peace. I knew I couldn’t make it; so we agreed to separate, thinking it would only be for a few days. 

I never would have imagined that we would be apart for forty days. 

In the article above, Alberto is caught off-guard by a journalist wanting to interview him along the side of the road, while I, a few days later, gave another interview during my stay at the Capuchin monastery in Karlobag. Its Superior, Fra Anta Logara, would become my angel not only in Croatia but for the duration of our walk to Jerusalem.

Walking for Peace Photo-Story 12 (Croatian experience begins)

Although in this photo the visibility is quite good, a constant thick fog accompanied us those first days in Croatia. 

From what we could see, the Croatian coastline was spectacular, but not easy to walk, with rocky mountains rising to our left, and the deep blue waters of the Adriatic Sea accompanying us on the right. 

With the help of the only person we had met who spoke some English, we were able to translate “Walking to Jerusalem for Peace” into Croatian. We couldn’t properly pronounce the words, but hoped our intentions would be understood. 

I was nervous entering a country recovering from civil war, and worried about how we, and our message, would be received. Adding to my tension were Alberto’s latest dreams involving schools of magic and beings from other worlds, which were putting me on edge and, in the thick fog that surrounded us, made everything feel more eerie. Some of his dreams even seemed premonitory, hinting at the possibility of us separating. 

In this new land of unknowns, I hoped that dream would never become a reality.