What's the fascination with the camino? Day 9

Day 9, on the feast of the Assumption, Amber and I arrived in Santiago de Compostella, Spain. That same day, many miles away in my childhood church of St Francis of Assisi in San Antonio Texas, they prayed an intention for me as I head off to the novitiate. Though those distances are great enough already, I realized that within a week I would return to PEI, say goodbye to friends and family, and have already left for NY. Can so much change in a week? I have been so focused on the present journey that the near future is catching me by surprise. 

Amost there!!

Back in spain, on the hill as we climbed to the cathedral using the ancient steep route, the moral of my story came to me - why I came on the camino. So far it had been unclear, but I went in faith, open to learning what the way had to teach me. There were frivolous lessons along the path (though still true) about trust, intuition, and faith. But the big one, and I trusted there must be a big one, well the big one surprised me. On a trip about taking on extreme physical hardship, leaving for an extended period of time, and journeying on a pilgrimage as people have done for centuries, I learned moderation. 

Since the first day, I have jokingly called this trip: Camino Lite. In an 800km journey, I only did 191km. Where people normally carry their pack, I had mine taxi'd each day. People typically stay in hostels or Albergues without reservations, whereas I had private rooms booked. This Camino Lite was practice, a trial for the real thing when I would do it right. This was moderation, not the fully committed, jump into the deep-end of the pool approach that I generally have in life, and it took until the last day to see it. Ironically, I came into the trip hoping to learn to pace myself, to not do 30+ km each day, so I was seeking moderation without that label. 

(Stamps in my pilgrim passport proving I walked the camino)

My normal (or perhaps former) way of doing things is nearly manic. When I read a book, I finish it even if it's boring and bad, just in case it gets better. If I read the first book in a series or see a few episodes of a tv show, I have to consume them all. If I have been to 48 states, I need to go to all 50. I spent the last few years checking off many of the boxes on my ever growing list - 6 continents, 41 countries, all 50 states and 10 provinces, scuba dived in all the oceans. But the camino - I did less than 25%, and somehow, that's completely okay. I worried that coming here would make me want to immediately return for the full one, and my next 2 years are planned (with no camino in between). But what I really learned was moderation. 

One of my big fears with the next two years is wondering if I can really 'do normal' and have a regular schedule, every day waking at the same time, doing similar things, eating meals at the same time. My schedule for so many years has been inconsistent, filled with variety and completed at a near-manic pace. The next two years will require moderation and when my fears take over, that sounds like monotony. This trip has taught me that moderation may not be bad. 

I did in 9 days what I did on a bike in 2 days during the tip to tip on PEI. What could be done in 2 hours in a car. 191km wouldn't even have gotten me across PEI!! But that's okay. It was the journey and the taking it slow. I learned (by the blisters on my feet and hobbled swagger in my step), that I walked too far and put too much pressure on myself to be a tourist in the evenings, sometimes adding 10 miles to the day's journey. Because I immediately left the hotel after arriving to tourist without giving my soft feet a chance to breathe, the skin was too fresh for flip-flops and would tear and stretch easily. That made these last few days much harder. With moderation, I could have set a daily limit to include being a tourist and avoided pain by taking more breaks. Also if I had newer boots and hiking socks (rather than cotton) - that would have helped. 

Now with my new moderate take, I am surprised to notice what was once a burning desire to do the whole camino is now gone. I would still like return in the future, but it is no longer a need that must be immediately filled. Before, I justified this trip as camino lite, but perhaps this is my camino. In yoga, they tell you your practice changes each day. What pose you might have gotten into easily the day before might look much different today. This is my camino and this is good. I don't need to justify this as camino lite. 

(My certificate!!!)

The first day Amber joined me (day 5), we wandered into a church (as I often do to peek my head in and say a quick prayer), and there was a cleaner who pointed us up to the priest for a stamp in our book. What a great way to start the day, to meet our two-stamp quota! We saw the priest, exchanged words in our own languages, and as we were about to leave, he gave us a blessing. It was in spanish so I only caught a few words - journey, pilgrim, safe, but it was a powerful way to journey onwards, setting off together anew. 

(The church where we got a blessing)

I thought of the blessing when I arrived in Santiago. The front of the church is under construction so you can't put your hand below the statue where so many did before. There was a multi-hour line to hug a statue of Santiago from behind (which people do all through mass). We waited 40 minutes in a line that was closer to the DMV than the triumphant party I hoped awaited us to have our stamp book turned into a certificate. We returned for the pilgrim mass at 7:30 but were outside in line for the first half of mass, just trying to get in. But unlike the 3-ring circus that I sometimes feel in the holy sites with all the tourists, traditions, and impatience, here in Santiago I only saw people trying to connect to a religion that the media tells us is dying. I saw a mass so jam-packed with people that every seat and most walls were filled. I saw hope for our faith and our future. Rather than being sad I didn't get to perform the rituals, it was exciting that the restoration will ensure millions more people will be able to. People walked, biked, and drove hundreds of miles to be in that moment that I got to share with them. 

(Cathedral of Santiago)

So, what is the fascination with the camino? I could have walked 191 km on PEI and slept in my bed each night. Part of the adventure was the unknown, not knowing what the end looked like or what I was headed to, but trusting it. Being okay with not doing something completely and perfectly (not even getting to 200 km), from beginning to end. That's the moderation I learned. In a time when society demands all-or-nothing commitment, I feel graced to be one step closer to 'do normal'. 

 

(Finisterra day trip 'to the end of the world')

On a sillier note... we read that the mile markers end at 10km, so we took a picture with what we thought was the last one. It turns out there were many more. So we ignored them then tried to knock them over. This is the silliness that ensued....

Journeying days 5678 on the camino

Before I came on this trip, I heard the camino really begins once you leave Santiago and when you finish walking. I can't comment on that, but I can say that it feels as if the journey has barely begun, and I have only one day left. My heart dreads leaving this quest, similar to the complete and total 'yes-ness' that my whole body, mind, and spirit felt each year in Kenya. I am not ready to leave the camino. 

Since my last update, the journey has changed. Before it was filled with the silent abandon of my mind, feeling lost in thought (often followed by lost in body), having prayed for so many and realizing my prayers are so few. I was determined and committed to walking without break until the next hotel was found, appreciating views along the way, stopping for a photo, and chatting with those along the path, but always on the move. The days weren't long, but the wide open expanse of the nights felt like they needed to be filled, with mass, silent dinners and meandering through the sights of each town as a solo tourist. Travelling alone was great, but more for me than others (as I suspect my mom would agree - she may have said more prayers than me while I was alone). Often on the back paths, which were lined with stone walls and trees cascading over top, little ladies would wander by and say 'solo??', asking if I was travelling alone, with a mix of surprise, scorn, and (perhaps this is projection), a hint of wonder or admiration. 

Since Amber has arrived, it too has been great. There is less meandering around in the evenings, I eat more regularly instead of when the sporadic pangs of hunger hit as before, and I sleep more. Also the walks go much faster, filled with conversations and wonderings, reminiscing about our past trips to New Zealand, Peru, Hawaii, Alaska, Bali, Switzerland, and even Troyes (just in the last 3 years). We find the edges and cross-sections on the ideas where we differ and share perspectives on the topics where we agree. We discuss our hopes and possibilites for the future and talk through options for decisions currently waiting to be made. The walks go by too quickly in my opinion, though she might disagree. 

When we arrive at a hotel, we retrieve our bags and head to our room. On day 5 we took the stairs... though days 6, 7 and 8 have required hobbling to the elevator, regardless of which floor we are on. (Whenever alone in these evenings, I take the stairs, but definitely out of pride and a desire to save a bit of electricity, even if it takes minutes instead of seconds to get up to the 5th or 7th floors... but don't tell Amber). Then we collapse onto the beds, elevate our legs, and I assess my blisters. It may have been a bad idea to use my hiking boots as snow boots all winter, as the lining is nearly gone and the foam pretty destroyed by the salt.  Also, there's now a rip down the side of my well-used boot, the water-proofing super-power gone. Perhaps using them as running shoes in the spring was a bad idea as well... The blisters are fine in the morning and through the day, but if we stop for a meal at lunch as we often do, I suddenly walk crooked the last few kilometers. (Though I think Amber prefers this pace as her muscles and joints are getting worn in, just as mine were last week). 

Lunches are rare and you feel as a miracle occurred if you happen to be walking through a town big enough for a restaurant exactly between the hours of 1:30 and 3:30, as this means you get the privilege of lunch. If not, I tend to eat the fruit I carry, while others opt for the fresh meat and cheese sandwiches in the small cafe's. We realized if either of us drank coffee or smoked, we would take more breaks to enjoy the cafe's, but that is an unlikely habit to pick up on the camino, so we walk on by. Suppers start at 8:00, so if you miss lunch, it's a long day! Each meal takes two hours (lunch and dinner), so much of the day is spent sitting at a little cafe table, watching people go by, the trees sway in the breeze, birds fighting for bread, and waiters running at a break-neck pace. We have eaten many tapas: octopus, peppers, empanadas (stuffed cornbread), salads, more sardines, other fish, and a few french fries. Last night we had a vegetable paella that was wonderful and huge - cooked and served in a giant iron skillet. Each meal is accompanied by a light summer-y red table wine, sangria, or vinho con gas (a wine spritzer with ice). All of these are great! One night we enjoyed sushi and for old times - a sake bomb. 

The hotels have been nice, two and three stars that would in some ways be more like 4 stars at home (the location, interior design, and bathrooms), but in other ways they are more similar to a Motel 6, such as the sheets, bed, and warm air. One hotel was above a bar that put a patio in that day, and the villagers of the small town celebrated until 3:30 (or so Amber tells me - I was long out). We have gotten in most days for an early evening nap, so all is well. One hotel overlooked the river, hills, and mountains, with windows from ceiling to floor, so we watched the sun set (and did a few yoga poses to mark the occasion). That same hotel was in a town with a hot spring, so we got to soak in a nice warm, light sulpher-smelling bath during the evening. 

The last few nights, we stayed in Arcade, Pontrevedra, Caldas de Reis, and Padron, and weaved through many small towns in between. The houses have been large, flat, stucco, and with terra cotta rooves. The flowers are blooming, corns stalks are tall and ready to be harvested, some with full grown pumpkins peeking out, and grapes cover the vines. The landscape has changed from humid, breezy, lush, and coastal to dry, hot, stale, but still green - though the plants have changed to ferns and we pass fewer pine tree forests. The heat is in the 80's, but feels so hot that the geckos and occasional cactus are not out of place. I find my thoughts wander to old westerns, so the temperature must be affecting my subconscious as well. 

The nights are mostly quiet, with the excepection of Pontrevedra and the fantastic fiesta we stumbled upon. The feast of pilgrims was amazing! There were magicians, folk dancers, a full carnival with rides and carts where people make you fresh mojito. Woah. There was bulls and toreadors (40+ euros! - $60 CAD to go), and a peaceful anti rally. Pontrevedra was full of stone building and a historic center where the street seemed to climb up the buildings (everything was stone). We got to bed late that night, proud to have stayed up for the fireworks and taken in the festivities. The next morning we were definitely moving slow...

What I have learned so far from the camino:

-Sometimes you have to trust that the next arrow is coming. Even when you don't see one. Like in life, sometimes you just have to have faith you are on the right path and just keep swimming, as Dory would say. 

-However when that icky feeling that something is wrong gets too strong (whether that is your intuition or the holy spirit), you should turn back to check. I have found some intersections required me trying a few different streets and following each path for a ways before ultimately finding the right one. So many people think they need to find their ideal profession or purpose in life, but perhaps the purpose is the journey. It's going down the wrong road for a ways (taking a different university course, changing majors or jobs) before trying something else. 

-Sometimes it is hard and not fun. But by the end of the day when I am laying in bed, I forget how hot it was or the lack of breeze and remember that cute dog or the friendly fellow I got to say hello to. The good always outweighs the bad, especially if you are looking for it

-The path has been travelled by many, so I should trust the way of those who have gone before me, even recognizing that I stand on the shoulders of giants. The road I have been walking on for the last two days was originally paved by the Romans - the exact path! Roman road 19!! Millions of people have walked along, whether as pilgrims or visitors, and I need to recognize the wisdom and to trust that this is the way. Even when it seems the water is on the wrong side or I shouldn't go under this overpass, I need to trust the way is correct. 

-The scavenger hunt of directions that was given to me to explain when not to follow the arrows is confusing and often too vague to be helpful, but infused with local history and lore. The lesson in this is to know when to put it away and enjoy the view. Turn off the noise and stop worrying about what is coming from those who went before, and just enjoy the journey. 

-Don't forget to get a stamp. When you are anywhere interesting. Ask for a stamp for your passport at least twice a day. I have had to remember to do this each day (and not lose the passport along the way). There are few things in life that I do regularly, so this is good training and practice to help me remember, perhaps for praying for others, or preparation for the more structured life I am about to enter. Don't forget the stamp!! Once I get to Santiago I will happily hand over the burden of the passport and in return receive a certificate of completion, or participation, or something of the like. We will see. 

-St Roque (Roch) and Santiago (St James) are two different guys. Roque is the patron saint of leprosy and looks like a pilgrim, but was a pilgrim to Rome and helped cure lepers along the way before contracting it himself when a dog came and fed him bread each day to keep him alive, before he then walked to France and died as a suspected spy in prison. St James was James the Great, son of Zebedee, business partner of Peter, first martyr (killed by Herod in 44 AD), went to the Iberian peninsula (Spain) to christianize, so his body returned back to here and laid in Compostella (field of stars) after passing through the town of Padron (where the rock that the boat containing his body was tied to has been immortalized in a church). St James is often shown on a horse as Spaniards prayed to him for help when battling the muslim invaders. 2 different guys. 

Over the last few days (but not before), a few people inquired why I am doing the camino. I tell them I don't know. Hopefully by tomorrow, when I put my hand where so many others did in Santiago de Compostella beneath the statue of St James, and make my request, I will know, though I suspect it will be one of gratitude. We shall see.