The pinky toe has recovered a little bit now. Pilgrims meet new pilgrims all the time. The conversations begin in Spanish by stating a nationality to elicit where the pilgrim is from. For example, "Español? Francais? Inglés? Americano?" Once their nationality, or most importantly, their language has been revealed, you are free to converse (provided you know the language). Mostly I'm speaking Spanish (loads more than in Madrid), then English (but I'm the only English person I've met. English speakers have been Irish, Kiwi, Kenyan, American, Australian, Canadian or German (Haha!). After that I've been speaking some French. Then I've been learning some German, Dutch and Africaans. And Swahili. And Latin. And Basque. No wonder I'm tired. You'd think 16 miles a day would be enough to get you to sleep!
After learning where they're from, the conversation quickly shifts to discussing the state of one's feet. Then plasters, needles, ointments and passed around while several conflicting bits of advice are passed around. Cover it with a plaster, don't cover it - let it breathe, pop it, drain it, leave it, cut it off, see a doctor, rest your feet, keep going till it goes numb... etc etc.
Mostly, United Nations (this is what we call ourselves) spend the evening with their feet in a big bowl of cold water.
The practicality and physicality of the journey has now become normality. Now begins the second phase. The mind. The pilgrim's relationship with the Camino. What it takes away from you, what it gives you, what it teaches you and how it tests you. Sound a bit mystical? When I started this journey I didn't feel remotely spiritual about it, although that had been my approach and my reasons for attempting it. It was a case of practicality for several days. Smelly feet, pain, snoring, sun, rain, hostels, food, water. It quickly became a holiday. Then something changed. Of all the unexplained things I have experienced in my lifetime, none have been more frequent than on this road. Most pilgrims are in agreement. There's something funny going on here. Lots of people (especially the Germans it would seem) come to this journey for the physical challenge - a good trek. But they leave with much more.
As I child I wished that I would find Narnia in my wardrobe, or be whisked away to Oz in a tornado, and even as an adult I resent never getting my letter from Hogwarts. That sense of wonder. What happens with the Camino is that it's you, the road, and The Way. The Way is not just the path. It's what flows through you. You feel yourself doing things - find yourself doing things. As a child again. You wake early and any number of things can happen between then and nightfall. That kind of freedom. You give yourself up to destiny, if you like. Remember how long a day was when you were 7? Because you never knew what would happen day to day. The summers went on for years. An evening lasted a month. No responsibility. Every moment was new. Someone else took care of the details.
It is the same on the Camino. It's as if by travelling with yourself and carrying your life on you back and being totally responsible for yourself, you are then utterly free to be open to where life takes you - to trust that the world will look after you where you can't. Just you and your bag. And the total relinquishing of control. You trust the Camino to take care of the details.
I haven't felt like this since I was a child. Each day really is a new adventure. You start walking, and things happen. Conversations take place. Ideas arise. Magic happens. You can run and play and be in tune with the world. It's not expensive because provided you walk you have somewhere to a sleep. Food is cheap. Everything else is free. Hot water is luxury. Simple acts such a cleaning clothes and preparing food become exciting because there is food to eat and the facility to wash clothes. You live so basically, that everything becomes a wonder. And then you are free to go where your intuition guides you.
Tonight, I'm staying in León. Tomorrow is the beginning of a gradual climb to the highest point of the Camino at approx 1,700 meters. I will get to that point in about 4 days. This is the last major city before my destination. This may be my last blog for several days in that case. I've been staying in monasteries, castles, churches, caravans, huts, school rooms, and in villages with 20 inhabitants and no phone. Coming to a big city after such experiences is Hell. I wandered into traffic earlier because A) I was so tired, B) Spain doesn't always have curbs so it's not clear what's a road and C) I forgot traffic existed.
Fortunately the oncoming car was sufficiently noisy to give me plenty of time to scuttle in a doorway. It was also very cold today. I was therefore wearing all of my clothes at once and looking completely insane. I'd forgotten about that and wondered why the girl serving me a sandwich was looking at me as if I was the Loch Ness Monster. I found it quite funny. She never smiled but looked fairly frightened as if I was unpredictable and perhaps dangerous. I wonder if it will be even worse after the next two weeks. It really is like a time leap from 15 century to now.
Well. Must dash. I left so early the other day it was still dark, and I left a pair of trousers in the hostal because I couldn't see them. I now have a pair of shorts and a pair of light cotton 'fisherman's' trousers. That's it for the lower body. I have to therefore go shopping and buy warm trousers for the mountains. Long johns should do it. Maybe I'll wear them on my head and go back to visit the cafe girl to see how disturbed she gets.
There's something awfully liberating about being a total misfitting, bewildered freak. I love it.
I will be uploading my pictures in July (when I have the cable!). For now, I recommend this site. This is not fancy photography. This is what it is like. Incredible.
http://www.shinealight.com/write/camino/htmfiles/images.htm
Thursday, 14 June 2007
Sunday, 10 June 2007
Ow.
Friends, Romans and Countrymen.
I am having the time of my life. So far, I have walked about 150km, since last Monday. My pinky toe developed a blister which swelled to about 5 times the usual size of the toe. I had to drain it but the needle slipped. The thing exploded. Then a knight from the Order of St John (older than and surviving the Knights Templar, 12th century thing, and of St John's Ambulance fame) repaired it and poured disinfectant into the wound. That really f*cking hurt. He then tickled my foot to cheer me up and I cracked up laughing. I've taken photos of it so after this trip I'll be uploading the 'scenic route'.
The peregrinos (pilgrims) are like the walking wounded. Some of them have walked from Belgium, Paris and Denmark. There are bandages and plasters and anti-septic lotions left right and centre. We´ve all developed rather strange ways of walking.
The scenary is just breath taking. The albergues (hostals) are good fun. More or less 5 euros a night. The other day, my friends and I could not get into the main hostal. Consequently we were re-directed to a private hostal. We had to pay 12 euros but it included breakfast. A car arrived to drive us there because it was as off the beaten track as off the beaten track could be, and we'd already walked about 30km (20 miles) in 40 degree heat. We didn't know what to expect. Much to our pleasure, we ended up in a 16th century castle with real beds and a good food store. I cooked for the 5 of us and we all slept in real beds. It was incredible. Again, photos will follow.
My friends and I consist of the following. Simon the Kiwi, Dara the Irishman, Christian the German (also a doctor and rather useful) and Checkie from Kenya. Checkie has lived her whole life in Kenya, but in an English colony. She's a quentisential Englishwoman who also speaks swahili and lives in a tree house. She's 61, proficient at yoga and walks faster than me. The other day, during a stiff climb, she declared she would not stop for a rest until she found tea. These are my friends. We've discovered we enjoy each other's company and have spent the last few days together. The magic of the Camino truly is that you meet who you are supposed to meet. And I have.
The way is not flat. It was flat for some time today which was like a day off. But otherwise this is full on trekking up and down. We've braved heat and thunder storms so far. Coming up is the Masetta. It is a desert. For 30km a day more or less, there are no cafes, no water fountains and nothing but hot summer sun. It takes 3 days to cross the Masetta. I keep thinking of Lawrence of Arabia. Some people have been leaving before sun rise with torches to have a cool walk. It's strange - I feel like I'm on another planet and then I come to a town like this and everything is modern. Extraordinary.
There are several chapters I want to write, but I'm afraid I can't do that until I return to Madrid in early July. I'm writing in a note book. It's not just the expense of connecting to the internet, but the time I need to write. Now is not the time. I'm having some of the most incredible experiences of my life, and though I'm making notes, I'd be a fool to spend an hour on the internet when I have another world full of magic to be in.
Everyone should attempt this walk in their lifetime if possible. It is more than a walk. It's another reality. And it's good fun. It is usual to walk from 6am to 12noon more or less, check in at the hostal, shower, sleep, eat, do yoga and talk with amazing people. These people are motivated not by greed or materialism, but by a desire to connect with the world and its people. Most are healers of some kind. All are eager to help each other and do the best they can - be the best they can. If I could, I'd be walking this walk for the rest of my life.
I must go - it's 6pm. Dinner time. I've been getting up at sunrise (5am-5.30am) and trying to eat a substantial breakfast. We start walking at around 6am-6.30am. Lunch was at 9.20am today. I urinated in a vineyard so avoid Rioja 2007. I absolutely could not help it. There were no toilets for 10 miles. I flew along today - we finally found a cafe and downed some coffee. I also put on my mp3 player and listened to dance music to get my groove on as I didn't sleep too well last night because of the storm and a yappy dog which I wanted to kill. Madonna and caffeine sorted me out and after 2 hours my feet were numb so the pain couldn't hold me back. Super.
And now, it's time to find a meal which has the necessary nutrients for a pilgrim. Or a penguin as we call ourselves because we all walk like penguins in the evenings after a hard day's walk.
I don't have time to find out how to spell quintessential. That might be it. Let me know.
The next entry may not be for some time. Sorry, but I have a journey to make and extraordinary things to do before spending the rest of my life being normal again.
Ciao.
I am having the time of my life. So far, I have walked about 150km, since last Monday. My pinky toe developed a blister which swelled to about 5 times the usual size of the toe. I had to drain it but the needle slipped. The thing exploded. Then a knight from the Order of St John (older than and surviving the Knights Templar, 12th century thing, and of St John's Ambulance fame) repaired it and poured disinfectant into the wound. That really f*cking hurt. He then tickled my foot to cheer me up and I cracked up laughing. I've taken photos of it so after this trip I'll be uploading the 'scenic route'.
The peregrinos (pilgrims) are like the walking wounded. Some of them have walked from Belgium, Paris and Denmark. There are bandages and plasters and anti-septic lotions left right and centre. We´ve all developed rather strange ways of walking.
The scenary is just breath taking. The albergues (hostals) are good fun. More or less 5 euros a night. The other day, my friends and I could not get into the main hostal. Consequently we were re-directed to a private hostal. We had to pay 12 euros but it included breakfast. A car arrived to drive us there because it was as off the beaten track as off the beaten track could be, and we'd already walked about 30km (20 miles) in 40 degree heat. We didn't know what to expect. Much to our pleasure, we ended up in a 16th century castle with real beds and a good food store. I cooked for the 5 of us and we all slept in real beds. It was incredible. Again, photos will follow.
My friends and I consist of the following. Simon the Kiwi, Dara the Irishman, Christian the German (also a doctor and rather useful) and Checkie from Kenya. Checkie has lived her whole life in Kenya, but in an English colony. She's a quentisential Englishwoman who also speaks swahili and lives in a tree house. She's 61, proficient at yoga and walks faster than me. The other day, during a stiff climb, she declared she would not stop for a rest until she found tea. These are my friends. We've discovered we enjoy each other's company and have spent the last few days together. The magic of the Camino truly is that you meet who you are supposed to meet. And I have.
The way is not flat. It was flat for some time today which was like a day off. But otherwise this is full on trekking up and down. We've braved heat and thunder storms so far. Coming up is the Masetta. It is a desert. For 30km a day more or less, there are no cafes, no water fountains and nothing but hot summer sun. It takes 3 days to cross the Masetta. I keep thinking of Lawrence of Arabia. Some people have been leaving before sun rise with torches to have a cool walk. It's strange - I feel like I'm on another planet and then I come to a town like this and everything is modern. Extraordinary.
There are several chapters I want to write, but I'm afraid I can't do that until I return to Madrid in early July. I'm writing in a note book. It's not just the expense of connecting to the internet, but the time I need to write. Now is not the time. I'm having some of the most incredible experiences of my life, and though I'm making notes, I'd be a fool to spend an hour on the internet when I have another world full of magic to be in.
Everyone should attempt this walk in their lifetime if possible. It is more than a walk. It's another reality. And it's good fun. It is usual to walk from 6am to 12noon more or less, check in at the hostal, shower, sleep, eat, do yoga and talk with amazing people. These people are motivated not by greed or materialism, but by a desire to connect with the world and its people. Most are healers of some kind. All are eager to help each other and do the best they can - be the best they can. If I could, I'd be walking this walk for the rest of my life.
I must go - it's 6pm. Dinner time. I've been getting up at sunrise (5am-5.30am) and trying to eat a substantial breakfast. We start walking at around 6am-6.30am. Lunch was at 9.20am today. I urinated in a vineyard so avoid Rioja 2007. I absolutely could not help it. There were no toilets for 10 miles. I flew along today - we finally found a cafe and downed some coffee. I also put on my mp3 player and listened to dance music to get my groove on as I didn't sleep too well last night because of the storm and a yappy dog which I wanted to kill. Madonna and caffeine sorted me out and after 2 hours my feet were numb so the pain couldn't hold me back. Super.
And now, it's time to find a meal which has the necessary nutrients for a pilgrim. Or a penguin as we call ourselves because we all walk like penguins in the evenings after a hard day's walk.
I don't have time to find out how to spell quintessential. That might be it. Let me know.
The next entry may not be for some time. Sorry, but I have a journey to make and extraordinary things to do before spending the rest of my life being normal again.
Ciao.
Tuesday, 5 June 2007
Oh.My.God.
El Camino is more beautiful and wonderous than I could have imagined. I'm into my second day now. My feet hurt a little but on the whole my boots are fantastic! I keep a good pace which is great because I tend to arrive at the albergues nice and early to secure a bed for the night. You pay 5 euros for a night generally. Last night all the food was included.
I currently have two travelling companions. One Irish guy and one Kiwi. They're great fun. I've made a lot of friends at the albergues too. We all tend to meet more or less at the same hostal though there are a few to choose from. Everyone from everywhere is here.
The scenary today was stunning and should continue to be so. Yesterday was more of a city walk. It's not particularly flat so I should be damn fit by the end of this. It is usual to arrive at a hostal/aubergue around 2pm or 3pm, wash yourself and your clothes, hang them out to die, lie or sit down for a bit and then attempt to find food.
Last night I was in a room with 4 other women, one of which snored like a motorbike. The woman above her in the bunk kept rocking the bunk to wake her up and roll her over! It seemed to work.
I'm in the minority here - most people are young men (20s and early 30s) or mature women (50s and early 60s). Though today there seem to be more young women which is nice.
Must sign off now. It's 1 euro for 25 minutes of internet.
Ciao!
I currently have two travelling companions. One Irish guy and one Kiwi. They're great fun. I've made a lot of friends at the albergues too. We all tend to meet more or less at the same hostal though there are a few to choose from. Everyone from everywhere is here.
The scenary today was stunning and should continue to be so. Yesterday was more of a city walk. It's not particularly flat so I should be damn fit by the end of this. It is usual to arrive at a hostal/aubergue around 2pm or 3pm, wash yourself and your clothes, hang them out to die, lie or sit down for a bit and then attempt to find food.
Last night I was in a room with 4 other women, one of which snored like a motorbike. The woman above her in the bunk kept rocking the bunk to wake her up and roll her over! It seemed to work.
I'm in the minority here - most people are young men (20s and early 30s) or mature women (50s and early 60s). Though today there seem to be more young women which is nice.
Must sign off now. It's 1 euro for 25 minutes of internet.
Ciao!
Sunday, 3 June 2007
I hate Spanair
OK. I have my rucsack. I can get on with my walk. I can change my clothes. I can put after-sun on my face. Such luxury!
HOWEVER, the one thing that doesn't belong to me - on loan from my sister, is missing from my bag. A rolled up inflatable mattress. She said to me, "It's expensive though, so if you lose it, you'll have to replace it". It was strapped in so tightly, and the man at the airport strapped it in even tighter. But it's not here now. I phoned Spanair who said that they have the one reference number for my bag which I have, and any excess items are my problem. So they couldn't land which admittedly was the weather's fault, but they forgot to put my bag on the plane. I've had to pay for a place to stay tonight because I couldn't start walking thereby qualifying for cheap hostals. I missed the friend I was supposed to meet this morning to begin the walk. I didn't want to hold him up. And now they've lost my mattress. And instead of apologising (not one apology) she actually said it was my problem for not strapping it in securely and it would be impossible to look for it.
However, I forced her (at conversational gunpoint) to do something about the situation, and she put a message on the 'system' (why do I get the impression that the system is a post-it note) and gave me a phone number for the airport so I could check there. Yeah! With my pay-as-you-go phone which will soon run out of battery and has no charger will really cope well with an 'information line' which is only open at stupid o'clock and in Spanish.
If the albergues are very busy (which they could well be in June) then the only option is floor space. That's one problem. The other is I would rather lose anything of mine than of another person's. I will of course write to Spanair, but with Spanish bureaucracy the way it is I very much doubt they'll offer any kind of compensation. I will try though.
I know this is all meant to be about 'obstacles' and 'character testing'. Well, turns out I'm the kind of character who's going to bust some balls and demand justice!
With luck, they may trace it and be able to send it to me wherever I am. But that depends on the Spanish being efficient (haha) and my mobile staying alive until I make a friend who owns a nokia charger. I took the advice of a website and didn't bring a charger because everyone else has them and they're heavy. I just hope everyone else didn't take the same advice. Ha!
Well. I'll explain to my sister when the poor girl is out of hospital. She's having an operation tomorrow. Can't help but feel I'd be substantially more useful by being with her rather than by standing with my hands on my hips and glaring at my incomplete luggage.
Stupid trivial shit aside, I've had a lovely day. San Sebastian is beautiful. I walked for hours and broke in my shoes. I got sunburnt through the clouds. (In my defense, my suncream was in my backpack). The place where I'm staying is gorgeous and the señora has been exceptionally kind to me. Perhaps it's moments of aggravating cock-ups that best highlight the good in the world. Tomorrow I have to get the bus to Pamplona, go to the Archbishop's palace and get my 'credencial', (my pilgrim passport). Once I have that I start to walk due west. The one blessing with not having the mattress is the possibility I won't need it, and I'm therefore avoiding the extra weight. Spanair will still have to buy a new one, though.
Bastards.
Hmmm. Not a very pilgrimy thing to say. Oh well. Hopefully Jesus understands that even the very best of people can't help but get really pissed off when the airline loses their stuff. I still have my hiking pole (and yet that didn't escape from the bag!) so if anyone else irritates me, I'll beat them to death with it, and then carry on walking to receive 50% off my punishment.
Ha.
HOWEVER, the one thing that doesn't belong to me - on loan from my sister, is missing from my bag. A rolled up inflatable mattress. She said to me, "It's expensive though, so if you lose it, you'll have to replace it". It was strapped in so tightly, and the man at the airport strapped it in even tighter. But it's not here now. I phoned Spanair who said that they have the one reference number for my bag which I have, and any excess items are my problem. So they couldn't land which admittedly was the weather's fault, but they forgot to put my bag on the plane. I've had to pay for a place to stay tonight because I couldn't start walking thereby qualifying for cheap hostals. I missed the friend I was supposed to meet this morning to begin the walk. I didn't want to hold him up. And now they've lost my mattress. And instead of apologising (not one apology) she actually said it was my problem for not strapping it in securely and it would be impossible to look for it.
However, I forced her (at conversational gunpoint) to do something about the situation, and she put a message on the 'system' (why do I get the impression that the system is a post-it note) and gave me a phone number for the airport so I could check there. Yeah! With my pay-as-you-go phone which will soon run out of battery and has no charger will really cope well with an 'information line' which is only open at stupid o'clock and in Spanish.
If the albergues are very busy (which they could well be in June) then the only option is floor space. That's one problem. The other is I would rather lose anything of mine than of another person's. I will of course write to Spanair, but with Spanish bureaucracy the way it is I very much doubt they'll offer any kind of compensation. I will try though.
I know this is all meant to be about 'obstacles' and 'character testing'. Well, turns out I'm the kind of character who's going to bust some balls and demand justice!
With luck, they may trace it and be able to send it to me wherever I am. But that depends on the Spanish being efficient (haha) and my mobile staying alive until I make a friend who owns a nokia charger. I took the advice of a website and didn't bring a charger because everyone else has them and they're heavy. I just hope everyone else didn't take the same advice. Ha!
Well. I'll explain to my sister when the poor girl is out of hospital. She's having an operation tomorrow. Can't help but feel I'd be substantially more useful by being with her rather than by standing with my hands on my hips and glaring at my incomplete luggage.
Stupid trivial shit aside, I've had a lovely day. San Sebastian is beautiful. I walked for hours and broke in my shoes. I got sunburnt through the clouds. (In my defense, my suncream was in my backpack). The place where I'm staying is gorgeous and the señora has been exceptionally kind to me. Perhaps it's moments of aggravating cock-ups that best highlight the good in the world. Tomorrow I have to get the bus to Pamplona, go to the Archbishop's palace and get my 'credencial', (my pilgrim passport). Once I have that I start to walk due west. The one blessing with not having the mattress is the possibility I won't need it, and I'm therefore avoiding the extra weight. Spanair will still have to buy a new one, though.
Bastards.
Hmmm. Not a very pilgrimy thing to say. Oh well. Hopefully Jesus understands that even the very best of people can't help but get really pissed off when the airline loses their stuff. I still have my hiking pole (and yet that didn't escape from the bag!) so if anyone else irritates me, I'll beat them to death with it, and then carry on walking to receive 50% off my punishment.
Ha.
Little by Little
Apparently my luggage is in Madrid, taking up salsa dancing no doubt. Spanair said they 'hope' to put it on the next flight which is this evening and should arrive at San Sebastian airport at 8pm, more or less. That's as good a guarantee as you get in Spain! So I have to spend the day here and another night. The Señora who runs this B&B has been very kind and understands my plight. She's putting me up for another night but on her sofa (no room at the inn). It's warm and dry so I'm happy. If all goes to plan, I can start El Camino tomorrow.
Due to logistical problems such as being delayed and having to pay for 'real' accommodation instead of staying at an Albergue (which you can only do if you've walked that day) I will now start the walk in Pamplona. If I try to get to Roncevalles by the time I get there it will be too late to start walking so I'd have to pay again for a place to stay and then start the walk on Tuesday morning. So I'm going with the flow.
For now, I'm going to the beach in San Sebastian to sit under the grey clouds and ponder. I just had my breakfast here, included in the price. Fried bread and green tea. Must be a Basque thing!
I found the following article when browsing for information and thought that anyone following my adventure may find it interesting.
Bye for now from cloudy, inefficient Spain.
Solo in Spain
Each new year brings time to reflect on one's life. ROCCO ROSSI did just that when he went to Spain after hisday job required him to fire 150 people. Exchanging thefast track for the Camino trail, he set outon a 32-day-long walk along this well-trodden spiritual path.
Special to The Globe and Mail
January 4, 2003
SANTIAGO, SPAIN -- My name is Rocco and I'm a recovering capitalist.
It has been ten months since I last cashed in an option; a year since I last fired an employee to "enhance shareholder value"; and 11 months since I sold the company to "crystallize" that value.
It should have been a banner day -- I had turned a company around that was headed for bankruptcy, saved many jobs, put some money in my pocket, and garnered more offers to do the same for other firms. Along the way, however, two offices had to be closed and more than 150 good people had to be let go. That had been hard, and I was physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausted.
There are as many motivations for travel as there are possible destinations: adventure, relaxation, exploration, curiosity, fleeing winter, fleeing humidity or simply fleeing all these and more in an endless variety of combinations and permutations. I needed time and solitude to re-examine my priorities. I was on the fast track to becoming Rocco "Chainsaw" Rossi, restructuring guy, and that clearly wasn't making me happy.
In school I had always prided myself on how high my marks were, and post-school I had simply replaced the race for high marks with the race for more money as the symbol of success and achievement. Now I found myself troubled by the values of the experience I had just gone through. No, we weren't Enron or WorldCom, and I wasn't enriching myself by illegal means. But was this the best way for me to be true to myself? Socrates said that "the unexamined life is not worth living," and it had been too long since I had undertaken any meaningful examination. I turned to the remedy that has always saved me in difficult times -- I went for a walk.
This walk, however, lasted 32 days and covered almost 900 kilometres in Spain, much of it following a medieval pilgrimage route known as the Camino Francés, or French Road. Since the middle of the ninth century, millions of pilgrims have travelled this route from the French border to the northwestern Spanish city of Santiago de Compostela -- the site of the purported tomb of St. James the Apostle. Traditionally, they came for a host of reasons, ranging from the intercession of the martyred Apostle, to atonement for past sins, to giving thanks for a blessing already received. All of those motivations still exist, but in our more secular world, adventure and tourism have been added.
I read about the pilgrimage five years before I actually went, and was intrigued by the opportunity for solitude, physical challenge and learning. Carving out a month to undertake it, however, didn't seem possible during a period when I was looking to maximize wealth creation and prove what a driven guy I was. If "lunch is for wimps," as Gordon Gekko says in Oliver Stone's movie Wall Street, then just think who I'd be if I took a month-long vacation. But being between jobs and facing a crisis of values gave me the push to go this past July. I was very much a lapsed Catholic, and I left with no hope of personal intercession, but there was enough residue from my early religious training to feed a dim notion that I would be atoning for laying off all those people while I went searching for myself.
In an average year, 40,000 people undertake some portion of the Camino by foot, bicycle, horseback or car. In Holy or Jubilee years when St. James' Day, July 25, falls on a Sunday, there is a special indulgence available from the Catholic Church, and 10 times the usual number will travel to Santiago. There is no one starting point. Historically, non-Spanish European pilgrims began in Arles, LePuy, Vezeley or Paris, but today many begin in St. Jean Pied-De-Port, just inside the French border with Spain. Spaniards have traditionally begun at Roncesvalles. Just inside the Spanish border with France, the town was made famous in The Song of Roland as the place where Charlemagne's retreating rear guard led by his champion and friend, Roland, was destroyed. The church, however, provides a certificate of completion, or Compostela, to any pilgrim who walks at least 100 kilometres or cycles at least 200 kilometres of the route, and so many choose starting points well inside Spain.
I started in Pamplona, 50 kilometres west of Roncesvalles, because there is a convenient airport with frequent connections from Madrid and because all the major pilgrim routes coming from the rest of Europe meet and become one just to the west of Pamplona. It is far cheaper, and almost as convenient, to simply buy a return ticket to Madrid and use Spain's terrific bus system to get to and from cities and towns along the Camino. In a wonderful modern manifestation of church and state interaction, pilgrims who obtain their Compostela are entitled to a significant discount on any Iberia flight out of Santiago.
The first task upon arriving in Spain is to obtain a pilgrim's passport, or credencial. This grants entry into the monasteries and hostels, or albergues,along the way that offer shelter for the night and the occasional meal. I got mine at the Archbishop's palace in Pamplona for the princely sum of one euro. They are also generally available in the hostels in the larger towns along the Camino. Each of the hostelsand many tourist attractions will stamp your credencial. This becomes a wonderful souvenir of the trip and provides a record with which to qualify for the Compostela when you get to Santiago. Having obtained my credencial, I started walking west.
Pamplona is a beautiful city dating back to its Roman founding (its name is derived from its origin as "Pompey's city"), but the timing was wrong for me. The city was in the middle of preparations for the annual Festival of San Fermin, which features the famous running of the bulls and non-stop revelry, and that was the last thing I wanted. I felt lonely in the dancing, singing crowd. But just a couple of kilometres away, walking on a gravel path through wheat fields, I was soon revelling in solitude and my own thoughts.
I found myself meditating on many themes. The most persistent was the human attachment to material things. If you are like me, you accumulate stuff: clothes, shoes, posters, books, furniture. Forced to carry everything you own on your back while walking 30 to 40 kilometres each day under a hot sun focuses your mind on the essentials. Each new day on the Camino brought a reassessment of what could be given or thrown away. One fellow I met had broken off the handle of his hairbrush to save the weight. But it is not only about reducing physical weight -- it becomes about deciding what is enough, and distributing the surplus to your fellow pilgrims. In the kitchen of one of the albergues above a cache of food was a handwritten poster that in eight languages encouraged pilgrims to "take what you need and contribute what you can."
Meeting people along the Camino was a revelation. I spent most of my time walking alone, but I would always meet people at night at the hostels and the conversation was as nourishing as the food that everyone shared. There was little small talk. This was all the more remarkable because it was a veritable Tower of Babel situation where most used hand gestures and an amalgam of languages to get their points across. Sharing the same road, you very quickly get to an intimate discussion of why you're on the Camino.
Early on I met Jess, a Spaniard who had spent the last 10 years of his life working for a foundation in Malaga that focuses on at-risk youth recovering from addictions, depression and violence in the home. "I woke up one morning and found that I had nothing left to give," he explained. "I sold what little I had and started out on the Camino to clear my head and replenish my heart."
Barbara, an American mother and former songwriter whose children had now all gone away to college was there "to rekindle my musical voice"; Luiz, a Brazilian musician, would only say cryptically that he was there by necessity. Peter, a 74-year-old Belgian who was walking the Camino for the third time, had this to say:
"I had to come this time because the other times I came on the Camino, I came to ask God for something. This time I ask only for the strength to complete the pilgrimage. I have been married to the same wonderful woman for 50 years. We have had eight children and 24 grandchildren, and I have had a successful career in banking. I came this time simply to give thanks for the wonderful life I have been blessed with."
We all had our own reasons going into the walk, but there is no question that the walk itself added to and altered them also. The most common addition happens virtually every time a villager gives you directions or fills your water bottle. "No need to thank me," they say. "When you get to Santiago, pray for me -- my name is Gloria or Paco or . . ."
All pilgrims become surrogates for these kind people and, religious or not, it is hard not to say a prayer for them when you reach Santiago. The walk spawned many resolutions. I would cull my "stuff" and think twice before buying anything new; I would sell my Mercedes SUV and buy a smaller, more fuel-efficient car; I would incorporate more exercise into every day; I would reintroduce religion into my life; and I would never, ever do another restructuring project regardless of the money offered.
There is nothing intrinsically wrong with being a businessman, but if I return to business, and that is still an open question, then the opportunity has to be about growing a company with people I share values with and with a product or service I value. Having reached those conclusions, I was given a magnificent gift by the Camino on Day 28.
I had been to Santiago, had gone on another 90 kilometres to Finisterre and was now walking down the Costa da Morte. My intended destination was the beach resort town of Louro, where I planned to spend two days on the beach eating, drinking and generally letting my feet and body recover before returning by bus to Santiago to take a plane home.
Ahead of me was a small boy of about 10 or 12 who was banging away at the side of the road with a hoe. When I reached him I said, "Good morning. How are you doing," in my best Spanish.
He looked up at me and grunted. His face was somewhat distorted and it was clear that he was mentally disabled in some way. He looked me up and down, dropped his hoe and grabbed my walking stick.
I had bought the walking stick on my first day in Spain and it had been with me for almost 900 kilometres. Two days before, in Finisterre, following tradition, I had burned my hiking clothes to symbolize the birth of "the new man" at the end of the pilgrimage. Several of the other pilgrims had burned their walking sticks as well. I couldn't bring myself to do it because I had become attached to it and wanted to bring it back to my father, who loves to carve wood, as a present.
Instinct took over and I wrestled with the boy for the stick. It took all my strength to pry his fingers loose. Just as I was about to win it dawned on me: What was I doing? I stopped struggling, put his hands back on the stick and said, "Regalo por tigo."(Present for you.)
The boy was justifiably confused. He looked at the stick and then at me for a few moments, and suddenly he smiled. "Por tigo,"(for you) I said one last time as tears filled my eyes, and I knew then that my pilgrimage was done.
That smile was the Camino's ultimate gift to me -- it was my reward for learning that it is not about getting the highest marks or most money. I took it as a sign that my atonement had been accepted. Even for the non-religious, it is impossible to walk in the footsteps of the millions who have trudged, bled, prayed, laughed and cried along this route for over 1,000 years, and to see the monuments that have been inspired by that faith, and not be moved.
It is impossible to be exposed to the openness and generosity of your fellow pilgrims and the native Spaniards along the way and not be inspired to introduce more of that behaviour into your own pilgrimage through life. It is impossible to cover several hundred kilometres on foot and not to recognize the power of taking single steps or lighting one candle. It is said that the tourist simply visits the Camino, but the pilgrim is visited by it. The same can be said of all travel. All it takes is an open mind and some comfortable walking shoes.
Due to logistical problems such as being delayed and having to pay for 'real' accommodation instead of staying at an Albergue (which you can only do if you've walked that day) I will now start the walk in Pamplona. If I try to get to Roncevalles by the time I get there it will be too late to start walking so I'd have to pay again for a place to stay and then start the walk on Tuesday morning. So I'm going with the flow.
For now, I'm going to the beach in San Sebastian to sit under the grey clouds and ponder. I just had my breakfast here, included in the price. Fried bread and green tea. Must be a Basque thing!
I found the following article when browsing for information and thought that anyone following my adventure may find it interesting.
Bye for now from cloudy, inefficient Spain.
Solo in Spain
Each new year brings time to reflect on one's life. ROCCO ROSSI did just that when he went to Spain after hisday job required him to fire 150 people. Exchanging thefast track for the Camino trail, he set outon a 32-day-long walk along this well-trodden spiritual path.
Special to The Globe and Mail
January 4, 2003
SANTIAGO, SPAIN -- My name is Rocco and I'm a recovering capitalist.
It has been ten months since I last cashed in an option; a year since I last fired an employee to "enhance shareholder value"; and 11 months since I sold the company to "crystallize" that value.
It should have been a banner day -- I had turned a company around that was headed for bankruptcy, saved many jobs, put some money in my pocket, and garnered more offers to do the same for other firms. Along the way, however, two offices had to be closed and more than 150 good people had to be let go. That had been hard, and I was physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausted.
There are as many motivations for travel as there are possible destinations: adventure, relaxation, exploration, curiosity, fleeing winter, fleeing humidity or simply fleeing all these and more in an endless variety of combinations and permutations. I needed time and solitude to re-examine my priorities. I was on the fast track to becoming Rocco "Chainsaw" Rossi, restructuring guy, and that clearly wasn't making me happy.
In school I had always prided myself on how high my marks were, and post-school I had simply replaced the race for high marks with the race for more money as the symbol of success and achievement. Now I found myself troubled by the values of the experience I had just gone through. No, we weren't Enron or WorldCom, and I wasn't enriching myself by illegal means. But was this the best way for me to be true to myself? Socrates said that "the unexamined life is not worth living," and it had been too long since I had undertaken any meaningful examination. I turned to the remedy that has always saved me in difficult times -- I went for a walk.
This walk, however, lasted 32 days and covered almost 900 kilometres in Spain, much of it following a medieval pilgrimage route known as the Camino Francés, or French Road. Since the middle of the ninth century, millions of pilgrims have travelled this route from the French border to the northwestern Spanish city of Santiago de Compostela -- the site of the purported tomb of St. James the Apostle. Traditionally, they came for a host of reasons, ranging from the intercession of the martyred Apostle, to atonement for past sins, to giving thanks for a blessing already received. All of those motivations still exist, but in our more secular world, adventure and tourism have been added.
I read about the pilgrimage five years before I actually went, and was intrigued by the opportunity for solitude, physical challenge and learning. Carving out a month to undertake it, however, didn't seem possible during a period when I was looking to maximize wealth creation and prove what a driven guy I was. If "lunch is for wimps," as Gordon Gekko says in Oliver Stone's movie Wall Street, then just think who I'd be if I took a month-long vacation. But being between jobs and facing a crisis of values gave me the push to go this past July. I was very much a lapsed Catholic, and I left with no hope of personal intercession, but there was enough residue from my early religious training to feed a dim notion that I would be atoning for laying off all those people while I went searching for myself.
In an average year, 40,000 people undertake some portion of the Camino by foot, bicycle, horseback or car. In Holy or Jubilee years when St. James' Day, July 25, falls on a Sunday, there is a special indulgence available from the Catholic Church, and 10 times the usual number will travel to Santiago. There is no one starting point. Historically, non-Spanish European pilgrims began in Arles, LePuy, Vezeley or Paris, but today many begin in St. Jean Pied-De-Port, just inside the French border with Spain. Spaniards have traditionally begun at Roncesvalles. Just inside the Spanish border with France, the town was made famous in The Song of Roland as the place where Charlemagne's retreating rear guard led by his champion and friend, Roland, was destroyed. The church, however, provides a certificate of completion, or Compostela, to any pilgrim who walks at least 100 kilometres or cycles at least 200 kilometres of the route, and so many choose starting points well inside Spain.
I started in Pamplona, 50 kilometres west of Roncesvalles, because there is a convenient airport with frequent connections from Madrid and because all the major pilgrim routes coming from the rest of Europe meet and become one just to the west of Pamplona. It is far cheaper, and almost as convenient, to simply buy a return ticket to Madrid and use Spain's terrific bus system to get to and from cities and towns along the Camino. In a wonderful modern manifestation of church and state interaction, pilgrims who obtain their Compostela are entitled to a significant discount on any Iberia flight out of Santiago.
The first task upon arriving in Spain is to obtain a pilgrim's passport, or credencial. This grants entry into the monasteries and hostels, or albergues,along the way that offer shelter for the night and the occasional meal. I got mine at the Archbishop's palace in Pamplona for the princely sum of one euro. They are also generally available in the hostels in the larger towns along the Camino. Each of the hostelsand many tourist attractions will stamp your credencial. This becomes a wonderful souvenir of the trip and provides a record with which to qualify for the Compostela when you get to Santiago. Having obtained my credencial, I started walking west.
Pamplona is a beautiful city dating back to its Roman founding (its name is derived from its origin as "Pompey's city"), but the timing was wrong for me. The city was in the middle of preparations for the annual Festival of San Fermin, which features the famous running of the bulls and non-stop revelry, and that was the last thing I wanted. I felt lonely in the dancing, singing crowd. But just a couple of kilometres away, walking on a gravel path through wheat fields, I was soon revelling in solitude and my own thoughts.
I found myself meditating on many themes. The most persistent was the human attachment to material things. If you are like me, you accumulate stuff: clothes, shoes, posters, books, furniture. Forced to carry everything you own on your back while walking 30 to 40 kilometres each day under a hot sun focuses your mind on the essentials. Each new day on the Camino brought a reassessment of what could be given or thrown away. One fellow I met had broken off the handle of his hairbrush to save the weight. But it is not only about reducing physical weight -- it becomes about deciding what is enough, and distributing the surplus to your fellow pilgrims. In the kitchen of one of the albergues above a cache of food was a handwritten poster that in eight languages encouraged pilgrims to "take what you need and contribute what you can."
Meeting people along the Camino was a revelation. I spent most of my time walking alone, but I would always meet people at night at the hostels and the conversation was as nourishing as the food that everyone shared. There was little small talk. This was all the more remarkable because it was a veritable Tower of Babel situation where most used hand gestures and an amalgam of languages to get their points across. Sharing the same road, you very quickly get to an intimate discussion of why you're on the Camino.
Early on I met Jess, a Spaniard who had spent the last 10 years of his life working for a foundation in Malaga that focuses on at-risk youth recovering from addictions, depression and violence in the home. "I woke up one morning and found that I had nothing left to give," he explained. "I sold what little I had and started out on the Camino to clear my head and replenish my heart."
Barbara, an American mother and former songwriter whose children had now all gone away to college was there "to rekindle my musical voice"; Luiz, a Brazilian musician, would only say cryptically that he was there by necessity. Peter, a 74-year-old Belgian who was walking the Camino for the third time, had this to say:
"I had to come this time because the other times I came on the Camino, I came to ask God for something. This time I ask only for the strength to complete the pilgrimage. I have been married to the same wonderful woman for 50 years. We have had eight children and 24 grandchildren, and I have had a successful career in banking. I came this time simply to give thanks for the wonderful life I have been blessed with."
We all had our own reasons going into the walk, but there is no question that the walk itself added to and altered them also. The most common addition happens virtually every time a villager gives you directions or fills your water bottle. "No need to thank me," they say. "When you get to Santiago, pray for me -- my name is Gloria or Paco or . . ."
All pilgrims become surrogates for these kind people and, religious or not, it is hard not to say a prayer for them when you reach Santiago. The walk spawned many resolutions. I would cull my "stuff" and think twice before buying anything new; I would sell my Mercedes SUV and buy a smaller, more fuel-efficient car; I would incorporate more exercise into every day; I would reintroduce religion into my life; and I would never, ever do another restructuring project regardless of the money offered.
There is nothing intrinsically wrong with being a businessman, but if I return to business, and that is still an open question, then the opportunity has to be about growing a company with people I share values with and with a product or service I value. Having reached those conclusions, I was given a magnificent gift by the Camino on Day 28.
I had been to Santiago, had gone on another 90 kilometres to Finisterre and was now walking down the Costa da Morte. My intended destination was the beach resort town of Louro, where I planned to spend two days on the beach eating, drinking and generally letting my feet and body recover before returning by bus to Santiago to take a plane home.
Ahead of me was a small boy of about 10 or 12 who was banging away at the side of the road with a hoe. When I reached him I said, "Good morning. How are you doing," in my best Spanish.
He looked up at me and grunted. His face was somewhat distorted and it was clear that he was mentally disabled in some way. He looked me up and down, dropped his hoe and grabbed my walking stick.
I had bought the walking stick on my first day in Spain and it had been with me for almost 900 kilometres. Two days before, in Finisterre, following tradition, I had burned my hiking clothes to symbolize the birth of "the new man" at the end of the pilgrimage. Several of the other pilgrims had burned their walking sticks as well. I couldn't bring myself to do it because I had become attached to it and wanted to bring it back to my father, who loves to carve wood, as a present.
Instinct took over and I wrestled with the boy for the stick. It took all my strength to pry his fingers loose. Just as I was about to win it dawned on me: What was I doing? I stopped struggling, put his hands back on the stick and said, "Regalo por tigo."(Present for you.)
The boy was justifiably confused. He looked at the stick and then at me for a few moments, and suddenly he smiled. "Por tigo,"(for you) I said one last time as tears filled my eyes, and I knew then that my pilgrimage was done.
That smile was the Camino's ultimate gift to me -- it was my reward for learning that it is not about getting the highest marks or most money. I took it as a sign that my atonement had been accepted. Even for the non-religious, it is impossible to walk in the footsteps of the millions who have trudged, bled, prayed, laughed and cried along this route for over 1,000 years, and to see the monuments that have been inspired by that faith, and not be moved.
It is impossible to be exposed to the openness and generosity of your fellow pilgrims and the native Spaniards along the way and not be inspired to introduce more of that behaviour into your own pilgrimage through life. It is impossible to cover several hundred kilometres on foot and not to recognize the power of taking single steps or lighting one candle. It is said that the tourist simply visits the Camino, but the pilgrim is visited by it. The same can be said of all travel. All it takes is an open mind and some comfortable walking shoes.
Saturday, 2 June 2007
Bumpy Start
I´m in a B&B in San Sebastian. Free internet access provided you are nice to the Spanish Momma.
The ever-so-easy and cheap half hour flight from Madrid to San Sebastian turned into a nightmare due to terrible weather. We nearly crashed into the airport - after a few bumps we suddenly pulled up dramatically and everyone started freaking out. It was an aborted landing because the pilot just couldn´t see basically. Fortunately he didn´t hit the control tower. So then we were re-routed to Bilbao were there was less cloud. But it´s some distance away!
We all shuffled off the plane to collect our luggage.
Ha ha ha ha ha.
5 of us never got it. Including me. I reported my rucksac (my new rucksac with all my trekking stuff, books, clothes, etc) missing and with the rest of the manifest filed on to a bus bound for San Sebastian.
We eventually arrived at 11am (3 hours later than planned) after a winding journey through pretty mountains, hitting the hostile weather, and were dumped unceremoniously at a bus station. The tourist booth was closed. Bloody Spanish work ethic.
Now, I´d worked out that I would arrive at San Sebastian airport and go to the tourist shop to sort out where I would be staying, etc (I tried booking last night but everywhere was full so I thought I´d try my luck). However, obviously that didn´t happen. So there I was at a bus stop in the middle of a city where written directions are in Basque, in the pouring rain (and my rain gear is missing with the rest of my kit). I walked into a hotel and they told me they were full. I began to despair and walked back to the bus stop. Fortunately for me, I wasn´t alone in this.
God Bless America. I´ve met up with a lovely group of Americans who saved my neck. As luck would have it, 2 of them had booked a tripple room for the sake of privacy, but they have taken me in. They´re also rather pleasant company.
So now, it is still pouring with rain and it´s rather cold. I have my handbag and what I´m wearing, and all I can do is wait for Spanair to call and tell me where my luggage went. I hope it´s having a nice time. Perhaps it went to the south coast.
There are 3 of us in the same boat - though at least I´m wearing warm clothes. These guys are in flip flops and shorts and t-shirts. It´s appalling weather and all the locals were laughing at them. I promptly bought a water-proof poncho which is bright yellow.
I´m staying right near the beach. If only it would stop raining, I could enjoy it. You´d think Spain in June would be nicer!
Well, this is the first day of my adventure. If my stuff doesn´t turn up, apart from being rather devasted as it has a great deal of valuable possessions (both sentimental and plain expensive), I will have no choice but to go back to Madrid tomorrow. However, I have my luggage tag so I´m staying positive and hopefully my backpack, perhaps currently sipping sangria in Malaga, will find its way back to me soon.
Bloomin´rotten start, but as the nice man next to me in the queue at the lost luggage desk said when I told him I was starting El Camino de Santiago, "Your first obstacle".
I know where I´d like to stick an obstacle. Spanair will pay!!!
The ever-so-easy and cheap half hour flight from Madrid to San Sebastian turned into a nightmare due to terrible weather. We nearly crashed into the airport - after a few bumps we suddenly pulled up dramatically and everyone started freaking out. It was an aborted landing because the pilot just couldn´t see basically. Fortunately he didn´t hit the control tower. So then we were re-routed to Bilbao were there was less cloud. But it´s some distance away!
We all shuffled off the plane to collect our luggage.
Ha ha ha ha ha.
5 of us never got it. Including me. I reported my rucksac (my new rucksac with all my trekking stuff, books, clothes, etc) missing and with the rest of the manifest filed on to a bus bound for San Sebastian.
We eventually arrived at 11am (3 hours later than planned) after a winding journey through pretty mountains, hitting the hostile weather, and were dumped unceremoniously at a bus station. The tourist booth was closed. Bloody Spanish work ethic.
Now, I´d worked out that I would arrive at San Sebastian airport and go to the tourist shop to sort out where I would be staying, etc (I tried booking last night but everywhere was full so I thought I´d try my luck). However, obviously that didn´t happen. So there I was at a bus stop in the middle of a city where written directions are in Basque, in the pouring rain (and my rain gear is missing with the rest of my kit). I walked into a hotel and they told me they were full. I began to despair and walked back to the bus stop. Fortunately for me, I wasn´t alone in this.
God Bless America. I´ve met up with a lovely group of Americans who saved my neck. As luck would have it, 2 of them had booked a tripple room for the sake of privacy, but they have taken me in. They´re also rather pleasant company.
So now, it is still pouring with rain and it´s rather cold. I have my handbag and what I´m wearing, and all I can do is wait for Spanair to call and tell me where my luggage went. I hope it´s having a nice time. Perhaps it went to the south coast.
There are 3 of us in the same boat - though at least I´m wearing warm clothes. These guys are in flip flops and shorts and t-shirts. It´s appalling weather and all the locals were laughing at them. I promptly bought a water-proof poncho which is bright yellow.
I´m staying right near the beach. If only it would stop raining, I could enjoy it. You´d think Spain in June would be nicer!
Well, this is the first day of my adventure. If my stuff doesn´t turn up, apart from being rather devasted as it has a great deal of valuable possessions (both sentimental and plain expensive), I will have no choice but to go back to Madrid tomorrow. However, I have my luggage tag so I´m staying positive and hopefully my backpack, perhaps currently sipping sangria in Malaga, will find its way back to me soon.
Bloomin´rotten start, but as the nice man next to me in the queue at the lost luggage desk said when I told him I was starting El Camino de Santiago, "Your first obstacle".
I know where I´d like to stick an obstacle. Spanair will pay!!!
Friday, 1 June 2007
To Begin at The Beginning
It is 11pm on Friday 1st June. Tomorrow morning, very early, I fly to San Sebastian in Northern Spain to catch a train to my starting point for The Way of St James, or El Camino de Santiago. I am about to walk approximately 750km until I reach 'the end of the world', or Finisterre in Spanish.
This should take me about a month. During that time I will be keeping notes of my experiences and learning how to sleep through the noise of 300 sleeping/snoring pilgrims. There is internet access at most of the accommodation, though it will cost me so I can't update this blog too frequently.
I therefore recommend to anyone reading to check once a week. Then hopefully you won't be disappointed.
So, in about 7 hours, I will leave Alcala de Henares with very little idea of when I will return. All I know is I'd better hurry up and pack, take out the rubbish, clean the flat and get some sleep. I have a long day tomorrow and I've no idea where I'm going to sleep tomorrow night.
Bring it on.
This should take me about a month. During that time I will be keeping notes of my experiences and learning how to sleep through the noise of 300 sleeping/snoring pilgrims. There is internet access at most of the accommodation, though it will cost me so I can't update this blog too frequently.
I therefore recommend to anyone reading to check once a week. Then hopefully you won't be disappointed.
So, in about 7 hours, I will leave Alcala de Henares with very little idea of when I will return. All I know is I'd better hurry up and pack, take out the rubbish, clean the flat and get some sleep. I have a long day tomorrow and I've no idea where I'm going to sleep tomorrow night.
Bring it on.
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