Calm on the Camino
It’s not about the destination but about the journey, as Anne Sheridan discovers while walking the holy route in Spain
ONE of the greatest gifts is learning to sit with yourself, a friend once said. But there are times in life when sitting with yourself can be the hardest thing to do. What if it was possible for restless souls with racing minds to be present while being on the move? It turns out there is a way. For generations, the Camino de Santiago, the path of discovery for mind, body and soul through one simple exercise – walking – has become a rite of passage.
Throughout history, it has held religious connotations and the road-less-travelled has become more populated. But that doesn’t diminish the importance of this very unique journey, even for the many non-practising Catholics who literally walk among us.
In truth, we were all there for a reason, though sometimes that reason wasn’t even fully known to ourselves.
For some, it was the hope of mending a broken heart, of letting a little light in to heal wounds old and new.
There were those caught between two worlds – a past they tried to hang on to and a future they weren’t yet sure was theirs.
Some hoped for an epiphany; others merely wanted to lose a few pounds. Actually, we all hoped for a little bit of the latter.
As I arrived at the airport in Santiago, as a lone traveller about to join a group with the Irish company, Follow The Camino, I had many visions – and a few fears – of what may lie ahead. The coming week would bring six days of walking – varying from three hours to over six hours a day, or approximately 20km – to complete the famous last 120km of the Camino on the Frances route, or the French Way.
There were imaginings that it would be a great adventure and a cathartic cleanse, similar to the film, The
Way, in which Martin Sheen walks the Camino in memory of his late son.
There in front of me at the airport were two fabulous blondes, who met more than 30 years ago in the Playboy Mansion in Los Angeles and have been best friends ever since.
Following the first introductions to a largely American group, my new walking buddies, I could only think: ‘This is going to be The Way meets Sideways.’
There was Bridget, an Irish-American nurse, who had spent years looking after others in an intensive care ward in the States and came here to care for herself.
There were nerves, of course, not helped by those who delighted telling you in advance of how all their friend’s toenails fell out after walking the Camino. Some had undertaken weeks of training; others simply showed up, hoping their knees wouldn’t let them down.
The legend that is the Camino – weighted in history since the Middle Ages – and what it represents, perhaps also played on our mind.
Eventually, all paths spreading out from Portugal, France, Spain lead to the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela in Galicia in northwestern Spain, where tradition has it that the remains of St James are buried.
Along the way, the destination for pilgrims (pelegrinos) is marked with a series of simple yellow arrows and the scallop shell, symbolic of the Camino and carrying its own fabled legends, all centred on survival, rebirth and hope.
The night before we set off from Sarria, words of wisdom, applicable for life itself, unwittingly rolled off the tongue of our guide Francisco, from Barcelona.
‘If you find yourself at a fork in the road not knowing which direction to take, don’t worry; you will eventually find your way back to the right path,’ he soothed.
If anyone was really struggling, there was also the option of a taxi, he advised.
And apparently, it’s not uncommon for some walkers to decide they have reached their own limit for that day, jump in a cab and head to a spa before the friends arrive at the hotel for dinner.
Whatever we chose to do, he had one warning: ‘If you race to your destination, you will miss the whole point. It’s not about the time it takes you to complete it... It’s about the experience. Don’t expect the Camino to deliver to you; it’s your journey and you will get from it what you put in.’
We set off on day one to walk 22.4km from Sarria to Portomarin, aware that it would be the secondlongest day of walking on our trip.
Already, against Franco’s advice, we were thinking in numbers, rather than the experience, purely to determine if we’d be able to keep going.
To our surprise, we all found that we were, in fact, physically capable of much more walking than we could have imagined. The days appeared to roll into one, taking in the charming villages of Portomarin, Palas de Rei, Melide, Arzua and A Rua, before finally arriving at the promised land, the magnetic city of Santiago.
The beauty of the Camino is not just the scenery – the rows and rows of fields of sweetcorn, the lush, green countryside, and vastness of its plains – it’s the simplicity of the journey. It’s just you, your backpack and the open road.
All you have to do each and every day is walk, and with that simple task comes great freedom.
You may remember the sight and smell of all the pine and eucalyptus forests you walk through, the abbeys and churches in its medieval villages – and the really comfy bed on the day you most need it.
But they will all be overshadowed by the people you meet and the stories you hear on the journey.
Such as the Dundalk man who lamented Kerry’s loss in the All-Ireland with me on the trail (before the replay!) and the couple in their 70s from New Zealand who had found love late in life and decided to walk all the way from Paris.
The name Santiago de Compostela is partly derived from a shooting star (stela) and it is full of shooting star moments if you are open to receiving them. It isn’t just a physical test, but a mental one. It’s about
I HAD MANY VISIONS – AND A FEW FEARS – OF WHAT LAY AHEAD
ALL THE ROUTES ARE DOTTED WITH CAFÉS AND BARS
learning to listen to our body – stopping to take breaks and enjoying whatever replenishment your heart may desire.
Thankfully, all the routes on our trail are dotted with little bars and cafes every couple of kilometres, so there was never a danger of going hungry, thirsty or weary for too long. It’s about switching off your phone and purely enjoying the silence of walking under nature’s canopy.
There is a comfort to be found in the solitude, and on occasion, the only sound you will hear is the rustle of the wind through the leaves.
Should you choose, the only two words you may hear each day are ‘Buen Camino’ – a wish of a good journey from fellow walkers as they pass by.
Then, when you have had enough of your own company, you can catch up with the others, and invariably discuss how the blisters and backs are holding up over plates of fried, salty padron peppers, creamy croquettes and plates of prawns.
Apart from invigorating the mind and body, the Camino can also pack an emotional punch.
Before we set off, Franco advised us to pick up a stone, carry it in our backpack and leave it in Santiago, as a symbol of whatever crosses in life we may be able to leave behind. The journey also teaches you to learn what you really need to carry in life to survive.
Backpacks are often filled with seemingly essential items on the off-chance they might be needed.
At the end of each day, I made a habit of removing another item, lightening the load for the day ahead and learning what really was essential and what was not.
As the journey neared an end, we didn’t look at the road markings highlighting how few kilometres we had left to go with joy, but with amazement of how far we had travelled.
There was also a degree of sadness. The wine-filled evenings of getting to know a group of admirable women and their life stories had drawn to a close.
After the trip, our fellow pilgrim Bridget would write: ‘I took a chance and went out on my own for the first time in my life. It was really hard for me to make this decision since for most of my life I was used to always having my husband by my side.
‘Eighteen months ago, at 59, he died a very tragic and unexpected death. Meeting you guys and laughing for the first time in a long time was awesome. It gave me the confidence to go out there and enjoy my life again.’
The blisters never came, my toenails did not fall out and save for a few bloody socks, we had all made it in one piece.
I looked at my dusty boots in the hotel the final morning, wishing there were many more miles left to traverse, that the journey was not an end.
The evening before, I placed the small rock I had carried in the main square, Plaza del Obradoiro, in front of the cathedral.
The elusive epiphany may not strike at the precise moment you hope, but I left feeling immeasurably lighter in ways I did not expect.