Pilgrimage across Spain
Linda Jones and daughter Olivia Phillipson began the Camino de Santiago in May 2016. Their journey, entirely by foot, lasted just more than six weeks. Britt Mann reports.
Facing a trek of 800km across Europe, Olivia Phillipson and her mother let scallop shells guide the way. There are no maps for the Camino de Santiago, the catchall term for the ancient trails tread by hundreds of thousands of pilgrims every year. All the routes lead to a common destination: the shrine of St James the Great, in the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain.
Phillipson is not religious. But when her mother, Linda Jones, had a feeling the two should undertake the trek together, she agreed.
‘‘She just said, ‘It’s 800km across Spain’,’’ Phillipson recalls. ’’I was like, ‘Oh, OK’.’’
Jones had watched a documentary, Six Ways to Santiago, which had convinced her the feat could be achieved by ordinary people.
Phillipson says the reactions of friends and family to their plan were mostly positive, with the caveat: ‘‘I could never do that.’’
Then living in Sydney, she quit her job at the blogging company where she’d worked for the past year. Jones had been working as a relief teacher in Christchurch. She sold her Burnside house about six months prior to flying out.
The trip needed little planning. There was no travel agency package to purchase, no tour to book or guide to hire.
‘‘The one thing you probably should do, which I didn’t, is train,’’ Phillipson says, with a chuckle.
The duo had decided on the Camino’s most popular route, beginning in Saint-Jean-Pied-dePort at the foot of the Pyrenean mountains in southwest France.
They arrived in May, springtime on the continent. Phillipson’s 55-litre pack contained carefully researched items, included on their multipurpose merits. Makeup was blacklisted, as was conditioner.
When she woke up on the first day of the journey, the 25-year-old was ready to walk. ‘‘I just wanted some head-clearing time, so I was really ready, but also totally unaware of what it was going to be like,’’ she says.
‘‘It was like pushing a rock uphill in Sydney, it’s so expensive and such a busy lifestyle, that I don’t think I was quite aware of how ready I was to leave, until I left.’’
The first day involved a steep hike over the Pyrenean mountains, bedding down for the night 8km in. It was, Phillipson says, a ‘‘bit of a shock to the lungs’’.
Their bodies soon became accustomed to the exercise, bar a few blisters. Over the next six weeks, the duo would walk for up to eight or nine hours a day – about 34km – through rolling hills and forests, tiny villages and bigger cities, and plains alive with vines, olives, wheat, and wildflowers.
The trail is marked by scallop shells, painted on tiles on concrete markers and embossed in the pavement. Yellow arrows, too, haphazardly spray painted by the trailside, guide the way.
The shells are prevalent on the shores in Galicia, the final destination for Camino pilgrims, and over time have become steeped in mythology. Pilgrims wear it on their person to identify themselves.
Days began about 6am, when the sleeping bags would be packed away, teeth would be brushed, walking clothes would be donned. The pair then went in search of a breakfast, and a coffee, sometimes walking two towns over to find a place that would serve them before mid-morning.
Along the way, mother and daughter would chat to others heading to Santiago. Invariably, the question would arise: ‘‘Why are you walking?’’
Phillipson says while some didn’t want to discuss their reasons, plenty did. ’’It’s such a huge mix, some people are literally just walking it because their friend asked them to, and other people have lost everything and they’re walking it to find some peace.’’
Some of those on the trail had lost children, others were undertaking the Camino for their 18th time. An 80-year-old Spaniard was on his 18th pilgrimage to Santiago – he had the dates the details of his previous conquests printed on a card his daughter had made.
Another man, barely able to walk, was completing the trip on crutches. Phillipson recalls the bruises up his arms. ’’It made you realise that, if you’re able bodied, you’re more than capable of doing it.’’
Phillipson and her mum would finish each day’s walk mid or late afternoon, checking into one of the dozens of albergues dotted along the way.
Albergues – hostels reserved for pilgrims – cost anything from a donation to about 12 euros a night. Some would supply a meal, and hammocks for weary hikers. Others offered no meal, or perhaps a serving of bedbugs.
Whichever they chose, the doors were locked and lights turned out before midnight. Unlike a Topdeck of Contiki, there was only so much merrymaking that could go on after dark. ‘‘There are no nightclubs.’’
Wandering through villages in northern Spain whose ancient cultures remained largely unchanged allowed Phillipson a glimpse into medieval, and even pagan, Europe. It also gave insight into the depths of the Catholic faith.
Phillipson recalls believers from Spain, Germany, Canada and South Korea among those on the trek, which is historically considered one of the most important Christian pilgrimages, in addition to those to Rome and Jerusalem.
Phillipson said the experience didn’t ignite religious fervour in her, but it did pique an interest in Christian history and tradition. ’’It was kind of humbling to see how ... devoted people can be to it.’’
Speaking by Skype from Italy three weeks after finishing the trek, Phillipson counted swollen ankles and a few epiphanies among her souvenirs. For her, the trek was an exercise in introversion.
‘‘I guess you can’t really escape yourself when you’re just walking,’’ she says.
‘‘You have to think about stuff that you’ve been either shelving or ignoring, which is easy in everyday life.’’