Recently I’ve had what seems to be a flurry of people asking
me about my experience hiking the Camino de Santiago. Since I’ve been meaning
to write down a little summary of my experience ever since I finished the walk
almost a year ago, this seems like a good time to get them written out while
memory still serves and as it seems others are making plans for their own
journeys.
I hiked the Camino del Norte, a path that stretches from the
Spanish/French border in Basque country and snakes the Northern Spanish
coastline before turning southward toward Santiago. It is the longest of the
Spanish Caminos and the toughest in terms of terrain. I admit I chose it
entirely because I wanted views of the sea, which are even more plentiful than
the guidebook said. There are multiple times in the first two weeks when you
have the ocean to your right and a series of snow covered mountains to your
left.
If my insights and experiences are helpful, that’s
wonderful, but I have a deep aversion to thinking my experiences are universal,
so take from it what you will.
Quick Details:
Time of year: February-March (solidly the OFF season) If you were hoping to see almost no one, this is a great time to go. After meeting two fellow pilgrims the 4th night of my journey, we maybe saw 10 pilgrims in total for the next 21 days. And because of that, don't expect many albergues to be open, and many of the coastal services, like ferries are closed.
Route: Camino del Norte, starting in Bayonne, France and
ending in Santiago, Spain
Number of travelers: solo initially
Total days: 35 days, skipped seven sections in total because I had to get to Santiago to catch a flight.
Age: 35
Gender: Female
Citizenship: USA
On Purpose
I had spent a month at a rustic
spiritual retreat in Switzerland and a number of people there had done part or
all of the Camino, which is how I learned of it. Having taken off a second year
to travel and study for my LSATs (I know, what a spoiled asshole, but if it
makes you feel better, I worked really hard and scrimped to save up money to
travel for a year, which turned into two due to online consulting I was able to
do while abroad) I found myself with time and my thoughts kept turning to the Camino.
The Camino was an exciting prospect
to me for a few reasons. 1) I love long walks. I’m the type who, wherever I
live, likes to take meandering 5-10 mile walks to take in the city at foot
speed. 2) I love being alone. Indeed, ever since I found myself relating
strongly to the Julianne Moore character in The Hours who abandons her family
to move to Canada to be alone and read, I’ve accepted that I need a lot of time
by myself to be a tolerable human being.
3) I love spiritual reflection and meditation, but am easily distracted
and had been yearning for a chance to get away for some hardcore meditation.
To anchor you in my spiritual
geography, I guess I’m generally a Christian protestant. I attend a fantastic
Presbyterian church when I’m in the San Diego area, but living abroad in Asia,
where you kind of have to take what you can get, effectively robbed me of any
strong denominational affiliation. My favorite spiritual writers are any of the
Renovare crew: Dallas Willard, Eugene Peterson, Richard Foster, and then Henri
Nouwen, Teresa of Avila, Martin Luther King, C.S. Lewis, George MacDonald,
Soren Kierkegaard, early Philip Yancey, early mystics, Tolstoy, and Dostoevsky.
Richard Foster is fond
of spiritual disciplines and general suffering for spiritual benefit and I was
also annoyingly intrigued by what he might mean and what sort of potential
blessing and benefit might be in store if I undertook some epic pilgrimage. So
I definitely had Christian spiritual purposes in mind, but it comes into play
that I do not actually believe in certain of the blessings one might have in
mind if they were strictly Catholic. I don’t believe in saintly blessings and I
actually believe that I can confess to and commune with God at any time with no
intermediary.
Lacking solid Catholic goals meant that
my purposes were somewhat vague, but generally prolonged spiritual communion in
beautiful scenery with a dash of adventure was what I intended.
On Expectation and
Results
Expectation and result did
not exactly match up, but all for the best in my case. I think this is actually
a pretty common refrain amongst pilgrims after they finish their journey, but
I’m so hesitant to assume that my experience will be similar to anyone else’s
that I echo what people told me beforehand, which was, “just go.” Maybe it will
be just as you expect, maybe it won’t…but worthwhile either way.
I
expected beforehand that the journey would be one of really intense and
ecstatic spiritual engagement. I expected profound solitude. I expected reverie
in nature. I expected to work through my future goals and to take stock of my
life to see if I was headed in a good direction, asking myself questions like,
“Do I still really want to go to law school?”, “Do I ever want to have
children?”, “Are there any particular amends I need to make?” My expectations
were lofty. I expected to become physically stronger and thinner, to ponder
societal injustice over glasses of red wine after feeling pleasant exhaustion,
to read at least 5 books.
The reality of my Camino was
that I was, let’s say, a tad overoptimistic in how easy it would be to tackle
the Camino del Norte in the offseason. I am skeptical of seasonality, I think
it’s a delusion that stems from being a Californian. I think my physical
reality was a little more treacherous than what I’ve heard from people on the
Camino Frances, but certain essentials are the same.
Solitude
So in
my days prepping for the Camino, I would take long 10-12 mile walks and hikes a few times a week and think, “this is so refreshing and exhilarating, I cannot
WAIT to do this for a whole month.” What I was not accounting for was that
these moments of solitude, that were such a refreshing change of pace, were
taking place in the midst of a full and familiar life. I got done with my walk,
got in my car or went into my warm, known house and often met up with friends
or family. The Camino, however, is not known. (I’m sure doing it a second time
brings out an entirely different crop of greatness and revelation, but I can’t
speak to it.) My thoughts on the Camino were constantly peppered with “sweet
Jesus, where is that yellow arrow? I hope I’m going the right way and do not
end up sleeping on the street in the rain…”
I was
not able to account for full days of solitude and navigation. Full days of
solitude were different, lonelier and more frightening, than a few hours per
day of solitude. This was not a bad thing, it gave me a lot of respect for the
desert mothers and fathers I was reading about on my kindle at night, and is
its own sort of revelation. This experience was certainly heightened by the
fact that it was offseason and offseason on a less traveled Camino (I, I took
the path less traveled by…sounds so much more romantic when Frost says it than
when you are stranded in some strange town in the rainy dark.) I literally ran
into no other pilgrims on my first 4 days of the Camino and all the albergues
were closed in France and Spain. The first open albergue I encountered was the
hostel in San Sebastian. That means I had been sleeping in comfort, but it was
comparatively quite expensive and involved a lot more uncertainty at the end of
the day when I was incredibly tired, trying, with my super basic Spanish phone
plan to find a safe place to stay not far from the Way. (As far as ongoing
blessings, I experienced the inordinate kindness of strangers in both France
and Spain. I am a woman’s woman, and the women I asked for directions nearly
always walked with me where I was going and made sure I was taken care of.)
So, for the most part I was literally in my own head, alone,
for the first four straight days. It turns out my head is not a silent,
peaceful place. The distraction I blamed on my phone and social media was
lessened for sure, but my thoughts were also loud and random. I listened to
music, to books on tape, to Spanish lessons, to my own breathing. Often I just
focused on direction, but random observations, mostly mundane but sometimes
profound, would flit in and out of my head. I got kind of sick of each of these
activities.
Nature
I expected to experience a lot of reverie in nature. While
the views were often incredible, I wished I had given myself more time to savor
them. I’ve heard that the Frances has some nice views, but that the act of the
walk and the churches are more the attraction. The Norte has the natural
beauty, but I didn’t have time to really soak it in because I always had
somewhere I needed to get to before dark and being unsure of the upcoming
terrain, didn’t want to get stuck on a hillside in the dark. If I were to do
the Norte again, I would give myself a truly luxuriant amount of time and would
try, to whatever extent possible, to allow myself to stay in more albergues at
closer intervals. It became abundantly clear to me that I was going to learn
lessons from the physical exhaustion I experienced, but that they weren’t
really necessary. We ended up being so exhausted at day’s end and so concerned
about getting clean, warm, and tending to our blisters, sore muscles, and feet that
we often didn’t have time to sit and record our daily thoughts and reflections.
(In the end there are lessons in that as well, but I’d be interested in what comes
of a more relaxed journey.)
That said, the more I walked, the more impossible it was for
me to ignore my smallness. As part of a legacy of thousands to come before and
thousands who would tread the same ground, I found my perspective being, well,
I would say “righted” or certainly anchored in a grander scheme. Thinking of
all those thousands of people and staring at the same ocean and the same
mountains they did hundreds of years earlier, made me focus not on the purpose
of my own life, necessarily, but the purpose of all life or the purpose of any
life. Those thoughts lingered and returned more than any of my specific
concerns, which just seemed like the right order anyway.
Physicality
I did end up becoming stronger, and indeed also lost weight,
but happily that concern, which I find to be such a cancerous obsession in my
own life and in American society in general, faded to a murmur as more
primitive concerns became primary. I became incredibly thankful for the ability
of my body to even take this journey, and it seemed ridiculous that I’ve spent
so much time finding fault with it.
Intensity
I was traveling with someone for whom, until the pain of the average 1800 foot inclines and declines became apparent, it was very difficult to vary from the official route. I started out with a certain perfectionist strain as well, and felt very self-righteous about going the long way. The longer I walked, the stupider that seemed. Was walking 16 miles instead of 13 really going to inculcate any incredible wisdom? In my opinion, no. It seemed like unnecessarily subjecting myself to injury and the wildness of the winter nature. Pavement might not be pretty, but if it was a safer route and shorter, I always took it. My companion nicknamed me captain shortcut. He changed his tune after a bad, wet day when 3 blisters formed and ripped off and caused serious crippling pain. There probably is a sense of accomplishment from doing every step of the exact route, but I assume it depends on what you're trying to get out of it. (or send me a message in the comment section if there is some obvious virtue in it that I don't see, since I don't really believe in perfection.)
Spirituality
I also made a list of all my friends and loved
ones and designated people to pray for, and it was a lovely secret to pray for
their wellbeing without them knowing.
I was seriously disappointed that
so many of the churches and chapels were closed along the Way. I found myself
being pissed off at a Catholic church that would have spent so much money
building incredible cathedrals, to the undoubted detriment of the poor at the
time, and then close them off. It was immature. What I really was to see
the pretty cathedrals and pray inside them. But early on it re-occurred to me
that I was a freaking Protestant and believed God was everywhere and I could
commune with God any time I wanted. And so I did. But I did deeply appreciate
the feeling of legacy I got from praying in Cathedrals along the way when I was
lucky enough to be able to do so.
I can’t speak for anyone else but on a nearly daily basis I
would ponder what a weird thing I was doing. Why did I think walking for a long
time was a good idea? Why did anyone ever think it was a good idea? Why did I think
God somehow appreciated physical suffering? Why was I intentionally putting
myself in daily, compounding pain? I don’t have any great conclusions, but for
whatever reason, I found the aftereffects of suffering in this safe manner, to
be incredibly productive and rewarding.
Summary on
expectation and results
What I expected was to come to
grips with some specific questions I had about my life, and what resulted was much
more general. I ended my Camino and immediately noticed I had a marked increase
in patience. I assume that is something that only really happens due to the
long, mundane nature of the walk and the fact that I couldn’t force it. If I
tried to force myself to go faster, I would injure myself. I came to understand
that I would get somewhere when I would get there. And I had a strong belief
that I would, in fact, get there.
I also found myself with a deep
gratitude for nearly everything. Certainly every modern convenience. Hot water,
cars, buses, electricity, Wi-Fi, the kindness of strangers, the time and effort
my friends and family take to keep in touch; I was taking nothing for granted,
I was so thankful for everything. It reminded me of the line in T.S. Eliot’s
Little Gidding “And the end of all our exploring/will be to arrive where we
started/And know the place for the first time.”
I would
say the other really phenomenal change I experienced was a renewed sensitivity
to emotion and other creatures. I find it difficult to cry, I am unsure as to
why that is, but it just is. Whether it was some hormonal change from so much
daily activity or so much time spent thinking and being at the mercy of nature,
the elements, and the kindness of others, the result was that I returned home
with a sense of peace of place that allowed me to be less selfish and engage
more fully with others, including having more sympathy for the human condition.
I’m not even going to try to pretend that this condition
didn’t fade, but I do think that some has stuck, and even the memory of those
good changes is enough to get me into a better head space.
On Pacing and
Scheduling
People are very different and you
really just have to know yourself. As far as daily walking pace, my companion
walked faster than I did, but he liked to pause for long lunch breaks. I am one
for slow, constant movement. When I stop, I don’t really want to get going
again...because it hurts! So my pace was slow and I tended to eat as I kept
walking, getting sandwiches from taverns and stopping only long enough to swig
down my coffee with Bailey’s and get some water. My big stop of the day was for
dinner and, on days when we walked separately, we typically arrived within half
an hour of each other, the first to arrive being tasked with finding the
tourist office to see if there was an albergue open and/or get Camino stamps.
We were a little bit handicapped in
our daily plans because so many albergues and hotels were closed—one day I had
to walk 25 miles because the albergue that typically broke up the walk at the midpoint
was closed. That saved me a day…yaaaay. I hurt so badly. So so badly. In fact, teh last blog post I wrote was the day after that day.
Here's a link--spoiler alert, it involves a coffee-drinking dog.
I would have scheduled more rest
days. I believe I took 3 rest days along the route and each of them felt soooo
luxurious. I think when it really dawned on me that this whole pilgrimage was
self-imposed and that it was for my own edification, it seemed hilarious that I
had hemmed myself in with such rigid dates. In my defense, I wasn’t sure that I
was going to find the journey profitable at all and was trying, on the front
end, to hedge my bets, so that if I quit after, say, a week, I wouldn’t be
stuck in Spain doing nothing for 6 weeks. I had heard from someone who did the
Camino Frances that the scenery could be really ugly, and I didn’t want to
spend 4 weeks walking amongst dry, brown ugliness. In hindsight I don’t think
that would be an issue on any Camino.
On Companions
Part of my intention for the Camino
was to have time alone. So when I met my first two fellow pilgrims I was afraid
I might end up spending too much time with them and that I might miss out on
some of the profound insights I, optimistically, assumed were imminent. Again,
I can only speak to our unique circumstances on a little-traveled route in the
offseason, but I ended up really treasuring my companions. I also found that,
since none of us had chosen to do that route at that time because we wanted
constant company, it was pretty easy to either overtly say we wanted to hike alone
that day, or to trail off and indicate that we would catch up. We formed a
little trio. One of our companions was with us for about a week before taking a
day or two off in Bilbao, and then my other companion and I were together for a
solid 21 days. I think we would both say that the best experiences were days
when we mostly walked apart (maybe we started or finished together—lots of
singing and trivia!) but then we reconvened in the evening to debrief,
commiserate, find accommodations, and dress each other’s daily wounds. There
were also some pretty critical times when the Way was not well-marked and we
could help guide each other through. I, for example, got lost in a forest, and
my companion stopped, dropped a pin in What’s App, and stayed put while I made
my way to him.
If and when I do another Camino,
while I might not actively try to find a companion, I would have no problem
going with someone who expressed interest because there is so much time in the
day to be alone that I found a companion helpful and comforting rather than
annoying. It is also possible that it was because we had very complimentary
personalities, but it reminded me of the best parts of relationship—sharing,
supporting, encouraging. Indeed, if I hadn’t had a companion, I might not have
made it as many days and as long as I did. The expectation that someone knew
me, knew I was on the path, and expected me to arrive, was actually an integral
motivator at certain times. That insight was also profound when I applied it in
the context of spiritual relationship.
On Sustenance
The food in Northern Spain is
delicious for a day or two, but it becomes abundantly clear after a day or two
that, at least during the low season, the one or two little bars that are open
will be serving you some combination of cheese, chorizo, potato, egg, some
shrimp if you’re lucky, and bread. At one point, in a larger town, I paid the
equivalent of a full day’s food budget just to have a salad.
Wine is delicious, but heavy. Since
Spain is relatively cheap, I usually just had wine at dinners, though may I say
that when in pain, a glass or two of wine can really take the edge off of an interminably
long uphill section. Also, if you're a coffee addict like myself, a coffee with Baileys costs about 3 dollars. it would really be a sin NOT to get one at every stop.
On Language
I love learning languages, have spent time in Costa Rica and Guatemala trying to learn Spanish, and have no shame, so I broke out my terrible Spanish on just about anyone who would listen.
On Things—What to
Take
One of the most exhilarating things
on the Camino is the act of throwing things away. I never knew how little I
needed to subsist until I had to carry it all on my back. I cull belongings pretty regularly and the Camino just made me even more ruthless in not attaching myself to crap possessions! And since I would
never want to rob anyone of the delight of sending things home or leaving
things at various hostels and albergues and feeling the subsequent relief in your shoulders and back as your pack lightens, I will instead tell you what I
couldn’t do without.
- My Camelbak bladder. I bought it in Bilbao and
it was worth its weight in gold. I had been carrying water bottles, which was
pure nonsense.
- A tiny sleeping bag. Worth the extra money—get the
lightest, smallest thing you can find. They really aren’t more than like 80
bucks, and especially if you hike the Camino anywhere near the winter
season—the albergues don’t really have heat nor do the monasteries along the
way. They do usually have blankets, but they are cheap and often made of rough
wool.
- A cheap phone plan that works in Europe. I
bought mine while I was touring around Seville before starting the Camino. You
can get a chip and refill it at the convenience store in most towns. Calling ahead
to discover whether albergues are open and then finding hotels and using data
plan to find restaurants saved us a lot of headaches.
- Guidebook. I got the electronic version of The
Northern Caminos and, while I was making notes the whole time about improvements
I would have made, it was absolutely invaluable in helping navigate the Camino
del Norte.
- Rain gear. If you go in winter, you must get
rain gear, unless you have absolutely no time limit. I got a crazy huge poncho
and backpack cover. The bonus is that tromping through the rain and puddles
brings a childlike glee…at first.
- Hiking boots and soft shoes. From what I hear,
this is specific to the Camino del Norte, but there were a number of dirt roads
that were really wet and muddy and which required serious grip. (at one point I
had to dig my boots out of a mud puddle with my hand. fun story…afterward) But
then these were sometimes uncomfortable on long stretches of paved road, which
is when a light pair of highly cushioned walking shoes would have been awesome. A really self-righteous and judgy French guy that walked with us for two days as we crossed into Guernica had some French leather supertough lace-up army boots he got at a surplus store and that he had waterproofed and swore by. Assuming the boots themselves don't turn you into an ass, might be worth looking into. His feet looked dry, to my great annoyance, From what I hear from others, on the Camino Frances you really need the soft
walking shoes and not so much the hiking shoes. It adds weight to have the two
pairs, (and probably flip-flops or shower shoes for communal showering, but
necessary on this path)
- Toe socks--I was all posh and asked my relatives for injinjis. they may look ridiculous, but I had far fewer blisters than my companions.
- Advil. Pain, so much good pain. dull it. you have somewhere to get to!
On Finishing
So, when the journey is the destination (possibly not the
case for Catholics?), it turns out that the finish can seem a little arbitrary.
Like, well, I had to stop at some point, so here we are. It was a little underwhelming
at first. Santiago is just the designated end, but the result is what has been
working itself out along the way, with every step. I stayed two days in
Santiago, and ideally might have stayed for one more just to soak it all in…and
heal. It is really delightful to go to the pilgrim office to get the
compostela, to attend the pilgrim’s mass, and then to suddenly have no
destination and realize you are creating your own new destinations, both
physically and metaphorically. For me it felt like life was reopening in front
of me.
My friend Beth once wrote a poem about a song that Louis Armstrong wrote for the Queen of England, a recording, a unique miracle of audio that got lost in an airplane crash. She said that, when asked about it, Louis answered, "There are other miracles, there are other dreams" which is a refrain I think of often when I am about to embark on something and might be a little sad that, once accomplished, I won't have that thing to look forward to anymore. There are other dreams.