This summer I was lucky enough to spend eight weeks in Spain. For 4 of those weeks I walked the Camino de Santiago, the medieval pilgrim’s route from Roncesvalles in the Pyrenees to Finisterre and the Atlantic Ocean. It proved to be a more life-changing trip than I had originally been hoping for. Whenever one embarks on an adventure there is the expectation and even the anticipation of being outside one’s comfort zone and of dealing with unforseen challenges. I knew that walking close to 1000 kilometers across an unknown country that speaks another language would be unforgettable.
My route kept me in northern Spain passing through Pamplona, Logrono, Burgos, Leon, Astorga, Santiago de Composella, and Finisterre.
This would be my longest backpacking trip. My time spent on the John Muir Trail was 18 days and 220 miles. I wasn’t too worried about my feet or my gear choices. I was mostly anxious over my lack of Spanish and uncertainty of the amount of English speakers I would meet.
After spending some time in Madrid with friends who now work there I made my way to Roncesvalles. I took a bus from Madrid to Pamplona and then another bus to Roncesvalles. This was my first test of my Spanish capabilities. I was barely able to order the proper bus ticket- something which I became quite good at by the end of the trip. Arriving in Roncesvalles I took in the pilgrim mass. The mass was beautiful, entirely sung in chant. I bedded down for the night without food and without speaking English all day. I had some butterflies in my stomach asking myself what I was doing halfway the world in a foreign country without anyone to talk to. Very few Americans walk the Camino, I met only 4 on the entire trip.
After waking up late- I was the last to leave- I got to walking. This was my comfort zone, what I knew I was good at. Later in the day I met an Irish girl which got me to calm down about the language barrier and enjoy myself. This was one of the toughest days- hot and long- and I wondered how I was going to fare being on the trail for so long. The trail meandered up and down hills through pasture, farms, and small towns. The Navarra Region was perhaps the most beautiful.
AM- day one
Navarra arcitecture
Things got quite hectic once I reached Pamplona. It was raining hard, the albergues were packed, dinner was expensive, and I was already quite accustomed to the tranquility of the countryside.
me in Pamplona
The first couple days out of Pamplona were great. My legs were still feeling fresh, no foot problems, rolling hills, and I was blissfully unaware I was spending money too fast on good food.
Puenta la Reina
I hiked into Logrono with a group of guys from England. They were a great group to eat and drink with in the evening but were absolute animals on the trail. They’d wake up hungover and speedwalk past everyone who woke up early, check in to the albergue early, and start drinking and eating all over again. It was great fun tagging along with these guys but it was killing me. My feet were falling apart from walking so fast, and my cigarette and alcohol intake was at a high since college. I was sad to see them go, but it was probably better for the whole ‘pilgrimage’ idea.
After this point I was getting into the routine. Wake up, pack, walk, cafe con leche, walk, lunch, walk, check into albergue, shower, nap, shop, smoke, eat, drink, talk, sleep, repeat. I was growing more peaceful and quiet. I walked almost entirely without my iPod, preferring my thoughts and silence. I was no longer afraid of my capabilities of interacting with people. I often walked around with a stupid smirk on my face because I realized that I had absolutely no reason in the world to not be happy. This was the most zen state of my life and it lasted for weeks.
Me looking very pilgrim-esque
A few of us out watching the sun set over the desert section.
The desert section into Burgos and up to Leon was brutally hot and dry. The trail was mais ou menos a straight line and flat which made for very boring and – days on the trail. Saddled up with water and food trudging to the next hole in the wall was not a highlight of the trip. The wet and cozy towns of the Pyrenees were a distant memory and a far cry from the sweat-box ghost towns in the desert.
look dry?
Eventually I made it to the Cruz de Ferro. This is an emotional high-point on the journey because of its tradition. Historically people would bring a rock from home and deposit it here as a symbol of leaving your sins behind. As a result, the cross occupies the top of a great mound of stones and other trinkets. Some people leave pictures of loved ones. Others who are trying to quit leave a pack of cigarettes. You will certainly earn atonement by the time you reach this point, just over one hundred fifty kilometers from Santiago. I, in my macho-ness, had chosen a rock near the beginning that weighed 2 pounds by my estimate. Since I had been lugging this thing I usually carried less water to balance it out. I was thrilled to finally be rid of it. I felt I was absolved from any wrongdoing at that point. This point represented a goal that I wasnt sure was reachable at the beginning when my feet were begging for mercy with every step and 20 kilometers seemed impossibly far on the rocky roads.
Triumph at the Cruz de Ferro
Pushing onward. I was so close to Santiago I could almost taste my victory dinner.
Me after acquiring a Boston Celtics tank-top from the hiker box
Finally we reached Santiago de Compostella. The Cathedral wasn’t the most beautiful but it was obviously an especially sweet day. So much hard work, pain, and fun had built up to this day with a great group of people. It was perfect.
Santiago represents the end for most pilgrims. Myself and maybe 10% of all pilgrims choose to continue to Finisterre, which was considered the end of the world in medieval times. I had the time, but mostly I liked the idea of walking to the ocean- walking until there was no more land to walk on- the end of the world. We finally made it to the Faro after three more days of beautiful walking to the ocean. These last days were the best. I had reached the goal of Santiago and had emerged from the crowds. Everyone on this leg was young, interesting, and full of life. I smoked great hash, drank good beer, talked with great people, and listened to great live music every night. It was magical. To reach the end was bittersweet.
The final waymarker: 0.00KM
The last tradition of pilgrim lore is to head to a special secluded beach and jump in the freezing water- a ritual and symbolic cleansing. It couldn’t have been a more picturesque day or beach.
Unfortunately this day turned out deadly. I wont go into the details as I’ve repeated this story too many times for my liking. Briefly, an Italian guy whom I had walked with drowned. Five of us were playing in the waves when we realized how strong the current was. We struggled to make it back. All but two made it to the sand just before the rocks. One of the two kept struggling and was mercifully thrown against the rocks and lived. Juilio was farthest out and tried to save his strength and hope for a life boat that came too late. Here he is 4 days before he departed:
Obviously this was not the way I imagined my Camino coming to an end. I went in one day from being on top of the world to being incredibly depressed. I took a few days at the headed back to Santiago in a funk. I didn’t know what was in store for me at this point. I had almost no money, no plans, and I was partially in shock. As luck would have it I met a girl name Jess. She’s and Auzzie who had also just finished the Camino. She invited me to go to the Sierra Nevada outside of Granada to house-sit for a friend of hers. I was in. The house was actually more a farm. For two weeks I helped tend to the farm including watering, weeding, digging, building. The chickens gave us eggs and the ground provided the rest (minus the copious amounts of wine). This was exactly the respite I needed- a farm in the mountains with two Auzzies, dog, and cat. No flushing toilet, no tv. Just backgammon, books, and work. I went entirely barefoot and vegan except for the eggs. scarcely wore a shirt as well. This kind of mountain living suited me.
Living the dream. Look at that beard!
All in all it was an excellent trip. I took a lot of time to ponder and I’m not sure what changed but I certainly consider myself wiser and thankful for every day I spent in Spain and in life. Everything about my experience was serendipitous. I thought a lot about god. I was doubtful she exists at the onset of my journey, and I still am. When things were great I thought they were divine, so naturally I have to accept the bad too. Mostly I just think the world is chaotic. As someone who is smarter than me said, “God’s only excuse is that he doesn’t exist.”
As you can see race-day check-in is at Furnace Creek (bar). We are then bussed to and fro the course. The bummer is we are forced to wait around in the cold at the start. No iPods are allowed at this race so there is supposed to be a good atmosphere on the trail with lots of encouragement from other runners. Aid stations are five miles apart so I think I can get away with just one hand-held water bottle. Its cool, but remember, its still dry.
someofthedharma 