The Pilgrimage

I haven't written here in awhile. I've generally been spending more time traveling with friends and less time traveling alone which has allotted less headspace for this type of writing. But I thought it high time to update you on the latest in a series of adventures, the Camino de Santiago.

One week ago I had no idea I'd be tackling a 100km walk across the vast Spanish countryside. But when I found out about this incredibly well-groomed, clearly-marked and heavily EU funded walking path called a "Camino" that retraces St. James' pilgrimage through the rural parts of Northwestern Spain, I quickly jumped at the opportunity. What's more is there's several different Caminos, some of which even start in France and make their way across Spain, all sharing the destination of Santiago. A traveler need only choose their starting point and their resting points along the way and they have the signs to guide them there.

The catch? Most people do this walk during the spring and summer months. And by most I mean almost everyone. It's the dead of winter here in Spain ("dead" being a strong term as it feels similar to Boston's late October weather) but I had all my wet weather hiking gear from the Patagonia treks and as all the trails are open year round I knew all I really needed to make it happen was an adventurous mindset. After consulting a few local friends on the best route to take and packing essentials, I jumped on a train on Monday morning with a small pack on my back and set out to walk 100 kilometers in four days.

What in particular drew me to the idea of walking the Camino? Well, the groomed paths meant I would be okay walking alone. And the older I get, the more I enjoy my time alone in nature and understand how sacred it is. What a gift in today's world to spend time in nature, with just your thoughts to tumble out in any way they choose. Life becomes simple as the list of needs is reduced from 40 at any given moment to three - eat, drink and find shelter. I also have been having a more difficult time feeling rooted and connected lately. Perhaps the months upon months of constantly moving around is finally taking its toll. I knew that taking meditative time in nature and particularly time in motion (look at this Libra processing through motion!) would help me feel grounded again and assist in bringing stillness to my recently frenzied thoughts. Lastly, the walking trails wind through tiny countryside towns and rural areas which means I'd be seeing parts of Spain I otherwise wouldn't.

I jumped on a train and a bus on Monday morning and touched down in Lugo, a historic town surrounded by a two kilometer Roman wall, the oldest in Europe. I was quite frazzled from the outset because I realized just how remote I was and had no idea where the trail started or where to pick up my "passport" (a small booklet that you get stamped at each place you stay as proof of your journey which serves to get you a discount at hostels along the way and ultimately a certificate of completion at the end of the journey). I really had jumped into this thing headfirst. And with it already being 12:30, I only had about six hours of daylight to make it to my first destination, which sat more than 23 kilometers away. After several botched verbal exchanges with locals, I procured my passport at the cathedral, found the trailhead and was on my way.

After thirty minutes on the trail, my anxieties were spurred by just how dead the trail was. It became startlingly clear to me that nearly everything along the way (bars, cafes, privately-run hostels) would be closed. The trail then took me out of the city along the river and into the countryside. Although still slightly apprehensive about the whole undertaking, I began to feel the assured alleviation of nature. I felt the adrenaline of an adventurer. I felt the purpose of an explorer. And I felt the embrace of the journey.

A few hours and many cows later, I was still several kilometers from my destination and with the sun looming close to the horizon, I became worried. In a tiny village on the outskirt of some remote mills, I found an open restroom. Inside I ran into a fellow pilgrim who told me this was the only place to sleep for the next several hours and I obviously decided to stay the night there. The only problem? I had no food...

I again felt the mercy and grace of the Camino when the pilgrim, who introduced herself as Charlotte, and her boyfriend Stefan, offered me a portion of their dinner. I truly had no idea there would be no way to get food along the trail and I told them I was forever indebted to them. As they were the only other people staying in the Alburgue (hostel) that night, I honestly don't know what I would have done without them. We became quick friends and they told me all about their travels so far and how they had started in Oviedo with a two week journey ahead of them. I consider that couple to be my guardian angels and without them sharing their food, who knows how I would have made it through the next leg of the journey. They even offered me an orange for breakfast. It's these moments of traveling that rejuvenate your faith in humankind.

I started on the trail the next morning at daybreak knowing that I had to keep moving if I were to reach my next destination before my body realized how hungry it was. I was feeling somewhat satiated from the orange and nuts I had scrounged. Two hours later the mood shifted when I came across an unfortunate sight - the next town that I had banked on for food, was completely shut down.

I took a moment, cursed under my breath and did the thing one does when one runs out of options. You tell yourself you do the only thing you can do in that moment, which is to just keep moving forward. Despite the relentless rain pelting my face that would persist throughout the remainder of the day and an outfit so wet that avoiding puddles no longer mattered, I put my head down and placed one foot in front of the other. At that very lowest moment, I heard a rustle in the roadside bushes and a small furry friend jumped out from behind a small thicket. He capered over to me, licked my arm and actually managed to bring a smile to my face. Although the town was totally deserted and there was not a person in sight, this little doggy shepherded me through the town. It was almost as if he were telling me to follow him, to just keep moving, to keep the faith and trust that I will reach the next destination.

My wet companion walked me to the edge of his town and, with the assuredness of one who knows they have accomplished their mission, briskly about-faced and skedaddled the other way. Inexplicably, and although light-headed from hunger and fatigue, I knew everything was going to be okay. I continued along my way, found a small spring from which to drink and made my way the two remaining hours to Melide where I found a thriving town and made myself a feast consisting of six eggs, a pack of bacon, a baguette, five carrots, four potatoes, a stalk of broccoli, a can of olives, a bag of cheese, a liter of milk and a bag of cookies. I felt human again.

After that period of wilderness testing, it was smooth sailing. The following day, the skies cleared and as I observed the sunrise from a hilltop cemetery on the outskirts of town, I knew the worst was now behind me. I was finally able to find my perfect walking pace, I folded my hands behind my back in the moving posture of deep contemplation and my thoughts unraveled into a grand tapestry of introspection and insight.

On the fourth day, with aching legs and the inability to walk down stairs one at a time like an able-bodied human (I suppose I had walked 2.5 marathons by this point), the grafitti-laden signposts along the trail encouraged me. I felt the history of the trail. I felt the thousands of pilgrims who had also made this journey. I felt like I had achieved something larger than myself.

When I finally arrived into Santiago and beheld the Cathedral tower alongside the faint sound of bouncing bagpipes, there was no grand celebration. The city gates did not open wide for me. Citizens did not bathe me in palm branches. There were no harald trumpeters. There was just the inward warmth of accomplishment setting deeply into my chest and the quiet adoration that comes with the completion of a trying journey.