Nadir to Zenith

Today was a test of endurance. It rained and it was foggy all day long. It rained the kind of rain that makes you want to sit in bed all day long and just read, knowing that tomorrow will be better and that everything can wait until then. It was the kind of fog that hides the world to your left and right until you can imagine that you’re walking on top of a mountain, with sheer drops around you. The kind of fog which clings to your body and slitheres underneath your clothes until any dry spots preserved from the rain by the raincoat become damp and join in with the general feeling of discomfort. I walked in this weather for more than 33 kilometers across almost 8 hours. I can’t really describe in mere words what it’s like doing this while carrying a massive backpack on my back as well. If I were to try, “pain” and “discomfort” would be used a lot.

There was nothing to distract me. Caught in the mist with just hints of the landscape beyond and the rhythmic beat of my and my friend’s footsteps, I was trapped in my own mind. I could not focus on thinking about anything in particular either so in the end, I just allowed my mind to wonder. At first I started reliving books I’ve read. Being one of the characters again or seeing how the story unfolds in front of my mind’s eyes. However, after a while, I started creating scenarios in my mind, as I sometimes unwillingly do when trying to go to sleep. These scenarios though were variations of past events. What was and could have been, twisted beyond my control to somehow have unfortunate endings and annoy me in the present. This reminds me actually. I cannot remember having any dreams at all since I’ve started walking El Camino. This is unusual for me. Maybe it’s the deep sleep that comes with intense physical exhaustion. Or maybe the abrupt and fragmented awakenings don’t allow me to remember having them. I know I haven’t talked about the journey a lot so far, but today, this was the journey. A lot of rain, fog and the inside of my mind. I’m too tired to write more.

Back on the road. Back with a bottle of white wine at my side, this time in the Spanish town of Negreira. There’s a guy next to me right now doing the same thing I am only in pen and paper format. I assume that his approach is more romantic, but I feel that it’s more ephemeral. I write this blog primarily for myself, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs that my imperfect memory can later follow back to the moments I’m living right now. If I were to do it “old style”, not only would I be unable to share any of my experiences, but, with my handwriting, I would be unable to understand what I wrote within a few a few short months. Still, when I see the fervor with which this guy is writing, almost ripping the paper, I feel that anything I might have to say pales in comparison. Good. He’s gone. On the bright side, few things bring random strangers together like uncomfortable bunk beds and a nice looking common room.

Leaving Santiago felt right somehow. I am now a traveler again. The road now takes me through more farmland and it has suddenly become much lonelier. Whereas before I met dozens of pilgrims every day, today, there were only four. It’s a different kind of journey and I’m not sure if I prefer it. Two years ago, I had fantasies of spending months at a time in a log cabin, with only the bare necessities and surrounded by really good books. I’m still sure I could spend years like this, just reading, but strangely I find myself enjoying the company of other people more and more. I have unexpectedly become less of a misanthrope. I wonder how I’ll see the world a couple of years from now.

Inflexible personality.

I write now from the secondary entrance of the Hotel Parador of Santiago de Compostela. The building which now houses the hotel was first opened, more than 500 years ago, as a hospital mainly for the pilgrims coming to the city. Upon showing their compostelas, the certificates attesting that they have completed the pilgrimage, pilgrims received free treatment and accommodation for up to three days. When the building was bought by the hotel chain and it became the luxury hotel that it is today, an agreement was reached stipulating that the hotel, in order to honor tradition, would continue to offer free meals to pilgrims, breakfast, lunch and dinner to the first 10 pilgrims that show up. Nowadays it is rarely used by those really in need, but it has become a tourist attraction. I am now queuing here with my friend, two Americans, two French speaking Canadians and a couple of people whose nationalities I cannot yet determine. A Swedish guy just arrived. With pilgrims coming here every day, this has become a pilgrimage location as much as the cathedral itself. The main reason I am here is because I really want to see the building from the inside. I like getting into places where I should not be.

Today I explored Santiago and rested a bit before moving on to the next part of my journey. With narrow streets and public gardens, with both flowers and vegetables, strewn across the place, it has its moments of beauty. However, I somehow felt better on the road, from small town to even smaller town. I felt more welcomed there. As my friend rightly said, there we were travelers. Here, we’re tourists. And with so many tourists around, the place has become very commercial, everywhere someone wanting to sell something to you. On the road I was just welcomed and offered a place to rest. I was amazed to find out that this city, the capital of the autonomous province of Galicia was founded because of the numerous pilgrims streaming here. How can a city survive without a sustainable economic advantage, I wondered. Apparently, the income brought by pilgrims transformed the place, as times changed, into a city heavily reliant on tourism. Even the ceremony I witnessed yesterday, in the cathedral, apparently only happens on special days, when certain saints are celebrated, or when certain visitors make generous donations. I checked. No major saint was celebrated yesterday.

Back in the magical albergue Aquario, where I’m spending the night in a much better environment than last night, my cynicism has all but evaporated. After being picked up by a doorman of the Parador hotel and led to a kitchen, I received my food on a tray and proceeded to a small dining room at the back of the building. The food consisted of a strange soup, with some sort of leaves in it and a decent tortilla. There were also two bottles of wine for the ten people there. What really turned my attitude around however was the company. Eventually the group consisted of two American women, two French speaking Canadians, a man and a woman, two Austrian women living in South Tyrol, in Italy, a Swedish guy, a woman from Holland and me and my friend. If you took me and him out, the age average in the room was about 65. During the dinner, I brought up the big question nagging me. Taking a delicate approach, I asked the people there why were they doing the Camino. One of the American women, a balet teacher from Houston, said that she will be 60 in a few months and wanted to accomplish this before she is officially old. Other stories were about challenging oneself, finding inner peace or getting in touch with the spiritual self. The one that impressed me though, was the Dutch woman. She said that now (she seemed quite old) she is all alone and she firstly wanted to prove to herself that she can still manage it. Secondly however, she knew that she would need help along the way. So she was here in order to learn how to accept that help. As she got older, she would need more and more assistance and, in a society where everything has a price she wanted to remind herself that there are still good people out there. She told me that she has accomplished her goals. She met more kindness than she could have imagined and she learned how to accept a kind gesture without feeling guilty and needing to offer something in return. Looking at myself, this is a lesson that I did not even know I do not know and have to learn. It made me feel humble but also good about myself. The journey is not over as long as there are things to be learned. And my journey, judging from how little I know so far, is only just beginning.

Eventually my turn came to tell the reasons for doing El Camino. I said that I wanted to see Spain more than as a tourist, but as part of something bigger than myself. I said that I will soon be starting a job in a tough and competitive corporate environment and that I want to stay who I am and not let it change me. And last but not least, I’m hoping that the journey will help me forget someone. Have I accomplished it, I was asked. Well, there’s still a lot of Spain for me to see.

Today I reached Santiago. The sun was hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds and the occasional drops of rain mixed with the tears of pilgrims seeing the sign welcoming them to Santiago. I timed my arrival in order to be here for the mass, or liturgy, ceremony, which began as I entered the, truly impressive, Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela.

The ceremony itself was interesting for more than once reason. Firstly, although not a religious person, I never saw a church so full of people, perhaps only during the Easter orthodox ceremonies. Secondly, it was conducted by six priests, three Spanish and three guests, one Italian and two English. Secondly, the nationalities of yesterday’s pilgrims were mentioned, probably in an attempt to draw attention to how diverse a crowd the pilgrimage attracts. Announcements however, were made in Spanish, Italian and German. Strangely no English. Third, and probably most important, when the priests and their helpers finished swinging a massive urn with aromatic smoke coming from it, I believe the exact term is censer, across the church, a roar of applause and occasional whistling took over most of the crowd. This tells me that most of the people in the audience, many tourists, but quite a few pilgrims as well, have attended a religious ceremony on even fewer occasions than I have. And this raises the same question again. If not religion, than what drives these people forward in their pilgrimage?

Moving on from the serious and pondering thoughts of this post, I’m now sitting in an albergue, on a paper sheet, drinking something very similar to Bailey’s. You see, my pilgrimage amigo and I have developed a kind of tradition. Every evening, one of us “is a good friend” and buys some alcohol. While I mainly stick to a bottle of white wine, he likes to experiment. As such, tonight, the poison of choice tastes something life vodka mixed with chocolate milk. He also bought some soup which he had to throw away. We still don’t know what it was but it definitely wasn’t soup. And right now he’s pondering upon his little finger, from the right foot, which he fears might have to be amputated. Overreacting, of course. He’s days away from that. We decided not to take the compostela, the certificate attesting that one has completed the pilgrimage, today. It was raining and we were tired. Tomorrow will be a better day to officially become pilgrims and to plan the second stage of our journey.

So far I have successfully strayed towards smaller albergues, with rooms of 6-12 people. However, I now find myself in a huge, 120 places one, surrounded by a much larger assortment of random people than before. In the kitchen, people are getting drunk, singing and celebrating, as today is the penultimate day of the pilgrimage. Tomorrow we reach Santiago. It’s amazing how a bunch of strangers, seemingly connected by only one thing can form a bond so quickly. The alcohol helps too. Someone just pulled a guitar from somewhere. I just came from the kitchen myself, where I had a (surprisingly) successful conversation with a French speaking Canadian old lady. She engaged me in the conversation, probably due to the fact that I had a bottle of white wine accompanying my dinner. You see, I most likely stumbled upon one of the secret codes that civilised people use to signal to each other.

Despite being tired, it’s hard not to get caught up in the excitement that everyone is feeling about the ever closer Santiago. Some people finish one pilgrimage and immediately start another, others do one every year. I don’t know if I would do it again. Maybe I would do all of it by bike with a few friends. Or perhaps one day, if I ever have children I would do it with them, should they want to accompany me on such an adventure. When I was a kid I used to travel with my parents across the country every year. We took the car, plotted a route and drove on our own pilgrimage. I have fond memories of my childhood and I know that I’m one of the lucky ones, to have such amazing parents.

I diverge. This series of posts should be about El Camino de Santiago. And still I find myself unable to focus on today’s journey. Maybe because it’s been slightly uneventful. Or maybe this whole reflection thing is starting to work. You see, without distractions, without internet, music, groups of friends, schedules, things to take care of, when you leave all of it behind and it’s just you and the road, the mind starts to stray towards the important and the easily ignored. First I learned how to appreciate my feet. Now I’m thinking about my parents. Who knows, maybe by the end of this adventure I’ll learn how to be grateful for many many things I take for granted every day of my life.

Ebony and Ivory.

Today was a long day. I walked for more than 30 kilometres – around 7 hours. The last couple of hours were really intense, the pace increased, making sure that there would still be an albergue with available beds waiting for us at the end of the day. The path led through hilly forests, as before, but with the wonderful addition of flooded areas, recognisable from a distance, from the mating calls of hundreds of competitive frogs. Fortunately, stones were strategically placed for hoping from one to another over the watery obstacles. I was also lucky enough to find a fairy circle today on the road. Made from poured rock salt with flowers scattered along its length, it made for a nice change from the beautiful, but already familiar Spanish landscape.

There’s a part of my journey that I haven’t touched upon so far. I kept it on a somewhat superficial level but, with Santiago looming, I feel the need to address it. With every hour travelled, more and more pilgrims seem to be on the road. Each of these people has a reason, has a story. The walking is hard. I may have joked about it before, but if I’m barely able to move my legs at the end of the day, imagine how hard it must be for the dozens of 60 year old men and women I passed on the road. Also, I’ve been doing this for four days. I’ve met people traveling for more than 30. There was the half Scottish, half German guy who saved two years worth of holiday to do it. There were the three Texans, grandfather, father and son, trying to deal with grandpa’s knee injury. There was this really old-looking petite East-Asian woman, with a massive backpack, which I wanted to offer to carry myself, if not for the determined look on her face, telling me that such an offer would have offended her. I don’t know their stories and I probably never will. But thinking about them made me reflect upon myself. Why am I doing this? The challenge is part of it. Discovering Spain is another part. But I could have accomplished these elsewhere. I’ll have to ponder upon it some more.

In the meantime, Santiago is getting closer and closer. In some people’s eyes you see nostalgia, as the end of their journey is now in sight and normal life must resume soon. They’re the ones who slow down. In other people you see eagerness as the end of their challenge is near and they are bound to succeed, unlike so many others who gave up along the way. They’re the ones who speed up. Others still seem not to even notice that they should soon stop walking. They seem lost inside themselves, probably fighting until the last kilometer, if not beyond, with whatever demons drove them here in the first place.

As I drink the last drops of a bottle of wine, I notice that the intense pain in my legs has turned to a rather pleasant tingling. This is good. I have developed a rather close relationship with my feet in the past couple of days. Every evening I massage them, I tend to the numerous sore and bloody spots and I tell them sweet lies which promise that tomorrow will be better. They have slowly become the most important part of my body and I’m finally starting to appreciate how much I rely on them and how fragile they really are. I guess the next step is giving them proper names.

The six hours traveled today were mostly through beatiful forests with narrow trails and fields with proper roads, but offering no cover from the scorching sun. I now get why many pilgrims choose to start traveling at 6 AM. Until 10 AM, this time of the year at least, Spain is shrouded in fog. When the fog rises and the sun takes over, the chill quickly transforms into pilgrim-melting heat. Besides the friend I’m doing the pilgrimage with, I expected it to be a solitary affair, just me and the road. Far from it. There are hundreds of pilgrims and some are constantly in sight, in front of you, looking back, behind you, blindingly following when you make a wrong turn, or right beside you, sharing the, sometimes very interesting, story of their lives.

I eventually arrived in Palas de Rei and, as in Portomarin, was lucky enough to get one of the few beds left in an albergue. I’m sure that all are fully booked after 4 PM. Once I checked in, prepared and subsequently ate a massive chicken salad which would have easily fed four people, I went outside wanting to read a bit in the sun. I didn’t read, but I had a really nice conversation with an Irish couple. We mostly complained about how much our feet hurt.

El Camino claims another victim.

After waking up in Sarria, the real journey started. With a backpack now weighting around 10 kilograms, a pain du chocolat in my stomach, a carefree mind and an eager spirit, I started trekking towards the next waypoint, Portomarin. The journey was amazing, taking us through forests, fields and villages, constantly meeting and occasionally chatting with other pilgrims, always with a friendly “Buen Camino” greeting. The way is well marked, with yellow arrows at every intersection and with other albergues offering opportunities to rest doing the way.

I learned some very important lessons today. 1. Never underestimate the importance of a few, cleverly picked cereal bars. 2. You cannot walk long distances in flip flops, slippers, or any other summery footwear, no matter how hot it is outside. 3. Wear sunscreen. Often. And wear a light colored hat. Otherwise the sun will make sure you never finish your journey. 4. And probably most important – when you see a herd of cows ahead on a narrow road, wait and check if the full herd is assembled before marching on. Otherwise you find yourself trapped between two equally large herds quickly converging into one, who could not care less that some non-cows, in this case humans, are trapped in the middle, in a sea of cows, flies and manure.

I learned the second and the fourth lesson the hard way. After walking for 6 hours and covering 24 kilometres through all kinds of terrain, under a burning sun, I eventually reached Portomarin, proceeded to check in in another albergue, bought a massive amount of food which disappeared unsurprisingly fast and acquired that wonder of modern hiking technology, the walking stick, I am now in a moderately comfortable bed, ready for total collapse.

Laura, I would have waited for you there.

I now write from an “albergue” in the Spanish town of Portomarin next to a kitchen where 5 French pilgrims are having a wonderful argument about whether to skip dinner or eat it as it is, dry and dreary, having been unable to locate white wine in this town. I would go and say bon apetit, but I fear that my legs, having finally propelled me to my bed in the top bunk, will refuse to get me safely down again. How I ended up in this sorry state, well, I’m getting there.

I arrived safely in Santiago and spent the day shopping for a few essentials that I could not bring in a piece of cabin luggage. Advice for anyone seeking to undertake el Camino. Pack light – really 2,3 t-shirts and any special bits of sportswear – like thermal tops. As you arrive in Santiago, if you have a couple of hours, there is a shopping centre with a Primark, an H&M, a Carrefour and other useful shops – buy stuff from the journey when you get here. Also, all the albergues, the special hostels for pilgrims offer the opportunity to wash (by hand usually) and dry your clothes. Use it, don’t plan your pack with the idea that you’ll carry dirty clothes and wash at the end. Anyway, after exploring Santiago a bit and buying the “Credencial del Peregrino”, the special pilgrim’s passport which gets you access to the albergues and which has to be stamped along the way, I headed for the bus to Sarria, the place where the pilgrimage, the part I’m doing at least, starts. At around 9.30 PM, with the sun on my back, I arrived at an albergue, considerably better equipped than I expected, where I received my first official pilgrim stamp.