The cool, green hills of Galicia leading up to Santiago de Compostela were a welcome change after the frying pan of the Meseta. I’ve been incredibly lucky with the weather and throughout the whole 42 days have had only one day of rain. When it came, just days from the end, it was such a novelty that I enjoyed the experience of sheltering under my previously virginal poncho, satisfied I hadn’t carried it in vain.
Since starting the Camino, I had been imagining what it would feel like to finally reach the end. In my mind, I’d anticipated an emotional outburst as the conquering hero staggered blistered but unbowed into the city. But when the moment came and I finally made my way through the Sunday crowds into the bustling square in front of the cathedral, it felt almost anticlimactic.
As with a good book, I was in a hurry to reach the end, but at the same time I didn’t want it to finish. The last few days had gone relatively smoothly, so much so that reaching the cathedral felt more like an administrative confirmation of success than a joyous outpouring of achievement. That probably says more about me than it does about the Camino.
After a quick lunch with a small welcoming committee that had come from the UK to greet me, I walked down to the office to present my Pilgrim’s Passport and convince the woman I was worthy of receiving my certificate. My credentials had been stamped at hotels and cafes along the route, proof I’d walked the whole way or had gone to absurd lengths to make it look like I had. Once I’d satisfied her of my endeavours, she handed me the certificate, which I gingerly rolled up into a cardboard tube. I then strolled back to an almost empty cathedral square and sat under a stone arch to think about what I’d just done.
For me, the Camino was not about religion, or even spirituality, but humanity. Here were people from all over the world stepping aside from their lives for a few weeks, all with a common purpose, and all trying to help each other to reach it. More than the scenery, the culture, the history and the physical accomplishment, it’s your fellow pilgrims who make the Camino so special. They’re close friends for a few days or hours before returning to their status as strangers.
So, thank you to everyone with whom I shared the path, including the women from Canberra, the priest from Cape Town, the doctor from the Czech Republic, the barely decipherable couple from Northern Ireland (it was worth the effort), the wounded political adviser from Melbourne, the electrical engineers from Shanghai and Slovakia, the publishers from Dublin and Chicago, the women from the UK and Taiwan (thanks for sharing your lunch), the cyclists from Luxembourg, the unicyclists from Missouri, the special needs teacher from East LA and the smattering of Kiwis, like me far from home.
It’s a journey in which I made friends easily through proximity and then lost them again through the tyranny of geography. I had deep conversations with people whose name I never learnt and whose company I am sadly unlikely ever to enjoy again. Where else could you meet and converse with such a diverse collection of humanity?
Personal drive
There are many reasons you might not do the Camino (health, budget, an aversion to fresh air), but nobody comes away from the experience unchanged. There is a direct connection to the past as you join a procession that has been snaking its way across Spain for over a millennium.
If you like the thought of the Camino, but are worried about fitness, there are many variables, the most important of which is your personal drive to do it. If you have that, you can work around most issues. For example, you may choose to do a lower daily mileage, have your pack transported, take a bus if required, or do less distance overall. I walked 800km, but 100km is the minimum required to be considered a pilgrim. Everyone has their own Camino.
Would I be one of the many people who return to do it again? If my health allows, then I just might. I feel a bit like the Canadian couple I met in the middle of their third Camino. I asked them at what point they decided they would do it again. They said when they had finished their first, they just felt relief that it was over and vowed never to return. Then a couple of months later, they couldn’t get it out of their minds and had to go again. And again. The Camino is not for everyone, but for some, it’s everything. They may have been lying, to me and themselves, but I never met anyone who regretted doing the walk.
Before I sign off, I’ll leave you with a couple of contrasting stories from my journey.
Even as a secular pilgrim (sometimes referred to as a “tourgrim”), I felt it my duty to follow centuries of precedent and visit what believers claim is the earthly remains of St James, held in a silver chest underneath the altar of the cathedral. However, I found the queue to enter the small chamber snaked all the way back around the cathedral. I sighed and turned away. After all, it was lunchtime.
I felt a nagging guilt at missing out on the final few metres to see St James, so the next morning, I returned at dawn to beat the queues. The famed Botafumeiro (a monstrous, swinging incense burner) was out of action and hanging limply from the ceiling. After my days on the trail, I knew how it felt. The narrow staircase leading down to the crypt was empty, so I ducked down the few steps to the cramped space below, where I found a couple of visiting priests praying and taking photos of each other in front of St James’ sarcophagus.
After a moment, they left, and suddenly there I was, alone in the crypt with the remains of the man who had started this whole thing off nearly 1200 years ago. Just me and St James. It was a poignant moment that to some would symbolise what the Camino is about. But while this collection of bones (of debated provenance) may be how it started, the Camino is about so much more today.
Several weeks earlier, I had met a woman struggling up a hill with an oversized pack on her back. I walked alongside her for a while to try to offer her some encouragement. She was from the southern US, and as we climbed, we chatted about home and careers, families and life. The usual Camino stuff. Then I asked her what had led her all the way to this sun-baked, rocky hill, somewhere in Spain. Without looking at me, she answered quietly, “Because all my life, everyone has told me that I would never do anything.”
I do hope she made it. I’m very thankful that I did.
