The Journey Begins

I remember flying from Stansted in the UK to Biarritz in France and recognising other travellers as fellow pilgrims. Each one dressed in walking gear and hiking boots, collecting a full backpack from the baggage carousel, the slight look of apprehension was a clear giveaway.

The bus journey from the airport to Bayonne Station gave me a rusty opportunity to practice schoolgirl French. On arrival, I purchased a train ticket for the onward journey to St. Jean Pied du Port and a cheese baguette for dinner. A few hours later, sitting opposite pilgrim passengers in the carriage, smiles of acknowledgment combined with the shyness of new friends.

Pilgrim or Sheep?

Disembarking from the train into the tiny town of St. Jean I looked habitually around for transport and then thought to myself, ‘You’re a pilgrim now. It’s time to walk!’ I commenced up the slight hill, following the other pilgrims like a loyal sheep and arrived at the wall of the town. Left or right I wondered? It was time to tune into my inner compass and I cautiously strolled left.

Reaching the Pilgrim’s Office a few hundred metres later, I signed the register and received my Credencial in return – the Pilgrim’s Passport that entitled me to stay in Pilgrim’s accommodation along the way. There were blank pages ready to be stamped at each night’s stop as a record of my journey to Santiago de Compostella. I chose a scallop shell from the basket, the ancient symbol of the Camino, tied it to my pack and stepped back into the cobbled street, now initiated into the walk.

Four Legged Friend

The Albergue or ‘refuge’ I had planned to stay at was already full and I found an available bed at a place nearby. I was surprised to see a large dog tied up to the bunk bed below my allocation. The dog was making unsettling noises as I started to unpack and I contemplated the night ahead… Animal whimpering through the night keeping me awake, when I needed to have a good nights rest in preparation for an early start on the first day of my walk.

The landlady was unimpressed when ten minutes after checking into the refuge I decided to check out. She graciously returned my euro’s, ‘Didn’t I realise it was basic accommodation along the way? What do you expect?’ I imagined her saying – the translation more through feeling than literal understanding. ‘Yes basic is fine,’ I replied silently to myself, ‘I just didn’t expect four legged pilgrims as well, especially ones that sound more nervous than I am about crossing the Pyrenees and walking from one side of Spain to the other.’

I returned to the Pilgrim’s Office and realised it was now so late in the day that accommodation options were limited. There was room in a car with a mother and daughter trio from Canada and so I found myself slightly out of town, blowing the budget on the first night in a homely place offering dinner, bed and breakfast and sharing a comfortable twin room.

Reasons for Walking

The homemade meal of pate, paella and port was a stylish way to commence the Camino and I appreciated the luxury of a hot shower and a canine free space to sleep. During dinner, one of the daughters asked why I was travelling alone and I responded with surprise to the question, ‘Why not?’ At that stage in my life it felt like the most natural choice in the world. It was ultimately a journey within myself, a healing journey, an adventure of the spirit.

I discovered later on that the mother had always wanted to walk the Camino with her husband. He had recently passed away unexpectedly and the daughters suggested they walk together instead. At times when we crossed paths during the walk I could feel her grief and loneliness. I felt touched by the family walking together in mutual support, planning to meet up with the third daughter and grandson further into the journey. I connected with a deep sense of gratitude that my Camino was about to begin and that it felt like the perfect time in my life to undertake the journey.

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Just after 8am I sat in a café near the albergue with a soothing hot chocolate, waiting for the pharmacy to open. My body was shaking and I felt teary with emotion. I hadn’t expected a problem with my wellbeing that might stop me from completing the walk.

My feet had been hot and throbbing the night before, jerking up in the air of their own accord like a jumping jack. I tried using pressure points to soothe the pain and resorted to nurofen instead.

A Change of Plan

Alex, the Spanish pilgrim I’d met yesterday, had slept in a bunk near mine and looked at my feet as I was getting ready that morning. He gave me a bandage and said, “That’s bad, you need to go to the pharmacy.” My left heel was a mass of weeping skin that needed dressing and protection and made it difficult to put my boots on.

I’d thought my boots were ok for the walk and didn’t know whether to continue with the walk that day. I really wanted to reach Santiago and felt deep in my soul I could do it, it was important that I reached my goal. I wasn’t exactly sure why, I just couldn’t give up the symbolism of the pilgrimage.

The day before I’d walked for six hours and Milo had covered the same distance in three! My natural walking speed had been humbled to a slower pace. I struggled to find the deeper meaning in this and pondered the words of the American mythologist, Joseph Campbell;

“We must be willing to get rid of the life we have planned
So as to have the life that is waiting for us
The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come.”

Advice from the Farmacia

I was all packed and ready to hit the road early but decided to ask the pharmacist for advice first. I wanted to keep going and didn’t know how quickly my feet would heal if I stopped anyway. I was determined not to be one of the pilgrims who had to pull out.

I entered the farmacia and asked the lady hopefully, “Habla usted inglés?”
She shook her head, called her companion to help and I explained my probably familiar predicament.
She listened attentively and then asked, “Where did you begin walking?”
“St. Jean,” I replied.
“Ah, That’s a lot of climbing.”
I nodded in agreement as I looked through the extra first aid items she recommended.
“When you walk downhill the skin rubs on the boot,” she explained. “It will heal in a few days.”
I felt reassured and thanked her for the advice as I made my purchase, stepping back into the streets of Pamplona with renewed optimism. I would reach Santiago!

Music and Light

I sat on the steps of the cathedral, feeling much brighter and heard the sound of the organ playing inside. I felt drawn to the music and sat on a wooden pew at the back.

Although I hadn’t been in a church for a long time it somehow felt safe and almost familiar. A few older people sat in the front rows. The cathedral was lit warmly with enormous chandeliers lowered from the high ceiling. The vast space filled with song during the short weekday service and tears of emotion streamed down my face.

The red and blue stained glass windows were vivid in colour and I gazed on the morning light streaming through brightly. As I got up to leave I decided to light a candle. One euro for a single light bulb representing a traditional candle, lined up in rows, a modern day version of an ancient ritual.

An elderly gentleman indicated he was locking the door and I nodded, “Si.” Unsure of the next words he spoke, I looked at him quizzically. He made a stamp-like motion and I understood that to mean the credential, the pilgrim’s passport for the walk. He led me into a small side room where an old lady stamped my passport and offered me a holy card with a simple blessing. I tucked it carefully inside my guide book.

The Hemingway Connection

I decided to stay in Pamplona for the day and changed out of my rigid boots into softer shoes that gave my feet instant relief. Realising that I didn’t need to keep to the schedule in the guidebook gave me a great sense of freedom and I surrendered to the unexpected delay. It felt good to rest and I felt blessed to be in Pamplona with time to explore instead of continuing my walk through the city with barely a glance. There is so much history and culture to experience throughout Spain, it hadn’t occured to me stop so early on in the walk. There is definitely a greater intelligence in play than mine!

I traced the route of the Running of the Bulls, Encierro, which takes place during the San Fermin Festival each July. At one stage along the narrow, cobbled streets of the city it overlaps with the route of the Camino. Ernest Hemingway, the American writer, made the festival famous through his book, “The Sun also Rises” and I sat quietly in the Café Iruna where a life sized statue of Hemingway props up the bar. I wrote notes in my little moleskine, ‘the legendary notebook of Hemingway and Chatwin’ and enjoyed a few plates of tapas and a glass of rioja.

Topography

Nearby, in the Information Centre on the Plaza del San Francisco there is a topographical map of Navarre displayed on the wall, which shows the peaks of the Pyrenees and the route of the Camino.

I wanted to reach up and trace my finger along the contours of Roncesvalles through to Zubiri, Larrosoana and Pamplona, the way I watched my father’s elderly aunt gently trace her finger across lines of Braille as a child, gaining her understanding of the world through touch rather than sight. It gave me a new appreciation of the route so far and I felt gentle and tender within myself.

On Reflection

There is a catholic aspect to the pilgrimage of course yet it transcends that, just as perhaps the ritual transcends the church service. The Camino is so much more than a long walk. It still feels beyond words. Is it the power of belief in something greater than myself? It felt too early for me to understand the significance, yet I could feel it more deeply than any other journey I’d undertaken.

The cathedral was simply a beautiful place of stillness that allowed me to connect more deeply with myself. I was in Spain, walking the Camino, and I felt determined to to be fully present for the whole experience. Nature, for me, provides an even greater place of stillness and today living in Findhorn there are constant reminders living within a spiritual community that the inner place of peace and stillness is ever accessible. Sometimes it’s just as simple as letting go and surrendering to what is.

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The Mystery of Sleep

The third day was a shorter stage of just 15 km according to my guide book. I estimated that would take me about five hours, walking an average pace of 3km an hour. There were a few ascents, only 300 metres or so, which seemed like a breeze after day one.

I’d gone to bed the night before about 9:15pm and hours later lay awake wondering, ‘What on earth is the secret to falling asleep?’ After so much physical exertion I thought I’d fall asleep easily. Instead I lay wide awake, reassuring myself, ‘OK, I may not be asleep but I’m still resting my body’ as I listened to the sound of snoring in the mixed dorm shared with five other pilgrims.

I thought the best thing I could do was make the most of the healing time and let the air dry the broken skin on my heels. It was too hot to be inside the silk sheet and I just had the sleeping bag wrapped around me a little. I appreciated the fresh sheets and pillowcase on the bed, the last few nights it had just been a row of plain mattresses in the dorms.

The simple things in life became more noticeable when much had been stripped away to leave the bare essentials. I felt happy with a refreshing shower at the end of the day, (preferably warm otherwise it was very quick), something to eat and a safe place to rest.

Two Paths

On the second day of the walk, the words of the poet Robert Frost came to mind, ‘Two paths diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less travelled by.‘

That day there were three paths. The middle path had a very clear Camino sign and so I followed that one. Perhaps the most travelled route. Yet although many people walk the Camino, 2008 figures count 125,000 pilgrims, perhaps it is a less travelled route in the grand scheme of life?

During the day it started to rain lightly. I was well prepared for all weather, with a rain cover over my pack and wearing a poncho that covered the pack too. With teenage memories of a wet and miserable weekend hiking in Snowdonia in Wales, I was taking no chances on my sleeping bag getting wet. It was packed in it’s own waterproof bag inside my pack – just to make sure!

Multi Lingual Conversation

It rained more as I entered the forest. A lovely gentleman ahead held the gate open for me saying, “Servicio” with a smile. I wasn’t sure which language to respond in and simply smiled back. We began talking in French until I mentioned I was English. “Oh let’s speak in English then,” he replied, mentioning he was Italian, a true Roman from Rome.

The Flow of Life

It was quite a leisurely start to the day despite my good intentions of an early start. After breakfast our host drove us back into town from the bed and breakfast.  The Pilgrims Guidebook said that it was a long first day and it was important to buy food supplies for the journey as there were few places for refreshments en route, however the supermarche didn’t open until 9am.

I finally left St. Jean Pied du Port at 9:30am. So to be honest I wasn’t really well prepared in advance and in hindsight it’s the one day when it’s really important to leave early. Yet I felt relaxed and content to go with the flow. I was still in the bliss of ignorance as to the demands of the walk!

I soon fell into the rhythm of walking through the quiet countryside. The sun felt softly warm on my skin as I spoke my first words into the voice recorder, ‘I believe we’re on our own journey in life and yet we’re never alone.’

I was surprised when I listened to these words for the first time, a few months later. Where had this insight come from and what did it really mean? Was I trying to say that spirit is always with us, guiding us, if we’re simply willing to slow down and listen? A year and a half later I still didn’t fully understand and asked my teacher of Vedanta, an ancient tradition of self-knowledge.

He explained alone – all one – that we are all inter connected in a non-dual reality. I hadn’t yet discovered Vedanta at the time of my walk and now two years later I continue to explore this understanding.

Around the Corner

The Camino beautifully symbolises the nature of life, that a mystery is around every corner. The path just kept unfolding in it’s own perfect way, strengthening my trust in the future with every step.

I’d been meeting pilgrims all day. There were enough just slightly ahead and enough slightly behind to reassure me that I wasn’t alone. I began to recognise the familiar faces of fellow pilgrims sharing the path.

I enjoyed the peace and solitude of walking at my own natural rhythm and the opening line of Desiderata came to mind;

‘Go placidly amid the noise and the haste and remember what peace there may be in silence.’