A Million Steps (12 page)

Day 14

Gratitude

I woke with a strange but comforting thought. I had been in Spain for just a little more than two weeks, but it felt like I had never lived in another place. At this mid-point on my Camino journey, I recognized a pattern similar to my version of mid-life in the U.S. I repeated a daily routine without much thought or variance.

Aside from established routines, however, my daily experiences were vastly different than those at home. The mixture of meeting new people, getting physical exercise, finding beauty in nature, appreciating the simplest things in life, and living with a tiny pack full of clothes was transforming me into another person. Weeding out all the thoughts that had previously cluttered my mind made me much more open to new experiences. I had never lived with so little and been so content.

My new gloves were the bomb and really helped to warm my fingers on this cool morning. After about 10 minutes of walking, I came to a roundabout on a road and had trouble finding the path. I decided to wait for reinforcements to make a group decision. Moments later I met two wonderful women from Canada. These best friends live in Ontario and work full time as volunteers at a local food bank. I enjoyed spending time with them, but there was no harmony in our pace, so our relationship was not long lasting.

Five kilometers out from Sahagún, I came upon a surprise in the route. The Camino actually split into two parts. One was the Camino Francés and the other was the Roman road. They reunited in a few days, but this was a new experience. My guidebook indicated that the Roman road was a bit less traveled, so I ventured down that path. One man walked ahead of me. Almost everyone else continued on the Camino Francés.

On the new path, the sunrise suddenly frosted the golden fields of cut barley. They looked like an endless array of tiny amber rods against the brown earth. The captivating landscapes compelled me to take another 15 photographs.

At one point, I caught up with the man ahead of me. His name was Dennis, from Scotland. Our initial conversation was very brief. I remember him saying “It sure is a nice day for a walk.” For the next hour or two, we played leapfrog, passing each other after rest and food stops. We were rarely out of sight but did not walk together. We later became friends and agreed that our mutual enjoyment of that morning’s solitude established the foundation of our relationship.

During one stretch, I began thinking about how unique this experience is for every person who takes the plunge and walks the Camino. Here were two grown men walking on the same trail, in identical weather, at almost the same time, yet our minds were probably on different planets.

Over a period of 1,300 years, over two million people have ventured down this sacred path. One million did it during the Middle Ages, seeking religious enlightenment. Another million have walked as modern pilgrims, for spiritual or religious affirmation, to challenge the physical body, or to digest life’s joys and traumas.

My Camino companions and I, ages 2 to 82, came from all corners of the world. Our bodies were fit, fat, short, tall, and many different colors. We all carried a different outlook on our existence and a custom set of emotional luggage. We all had different experiences. Every one of our journeys was also unique and could not be replicated.

My first-day trek across the French Pyrenees illustrated those differences. That perfect day of blue sky, rolling clouds, and lush hills will be forever imprinted in a special place in my mind. That was September 14, 2012. The pilgrims who crossed the identical physical path 24 hours earlier were subjected to complete fog and rain that limited visibility to less than five feet. Mud made the steep hills treacherous and almost impassible. How would the pilgrims walking that day view their first ray of sun, I wondered? Would rain that bothered me be like a drop to them? Did their immediate experience with adversity take the edge off future events?

Later that morning, I spent time with a man named Miguel from Brazil. He walked with a limp and had some serious trouble with blisters. Eventually, the conversation focused on his loving wife and daughter. He told me that being away from his daughter was the hardest part of each day on the Camino. When I asked her name, a tear came to his eye and he answered “Helena.” He paused, then added: “It is time we no talk about this no more.” His physical pain, although obvious, was completely overshadowed by his emotional pain. We parted ways at the next village as I was in need of some food.

Since this portion of the trail was much less traveled, there was not the usual bar/café at the entrance to the village. I had walked over 13 kilometers (8 miles) without food and was ready for some nourishment in Calzada de los Hermanillos. I had to ask a local man for directions to a restaurant. He laughed and sent me to a small store.

I entered the tiny tienda and had to duck my head to avoid a concussion. A very short man with a smile that could light up Broadway owned the store. Since I was deep in the village, a full four blocks from the Camino, not another pilgrim was in sight. I bought a hunk of bread, an apple, a banana, a mystery sweet, and an almond cookie. Before paying, I had a sudden need to use a bathroom.

Being a kind and gracious host, the man took me to his personal residence. His home was down the hall and connected to the building that housed the store. I sat down and did my business. A moment of panic struck me as there was no toilet paper in the room. Three loud knocks on the door just about gave me a heart attack. I tried to communicate with my best Spanish by saying, “un momento, por favor.” Without warning, the door opened about six inches wide and an arm popped in and dropped a roll of paper. The hand disappeared as quickly as it appeared. I laughed and realized that once again, the Camino had taught me that things just have a nice way of working out. Back at the store, I took his picture as we shared a laugh.

I carried my little sack of food outside and found a nice place on the sidewalk to maximize my sun exposure. I took off my shoes and sat directly on the concrete with my back resting on a corrugated tin wall. The streets were completely deserted and the only noise was an occasional barking dog or crowing rooster. I slowly savored my lunch under these ideal conditions. The almond cookie and the warm sun put a glow on this most spectacular day. I enjoyed this simple meal more than any other previous dining experience in Spain.

About an hour down the trail, a stranger approached me with a big smile and vigorously shook my hand.

“Do you remember me?” he asked. “I was hoping to see you again! You helped me a few days ago. I was down and you put some wind in my sails. I felt bad about not thanking you, but I was dead tired and on the verge of a breakdown.”

It took me a few seconds to place the event. Several days prior, while walking down a hill, I had come upon this man sitting on a rock, examining a blister on his foot, looking extremely tired and frustrated. I asked if he needed a Compeed patch. He accepted my gift with a grunt and not a word of gratitude. I walked away resenting that my help had gone unacknowledged. Seeing him in this new context reminded me that I can never know what another person is experiencing. This understanding instilled in me a desire to lose my interest in interpreting the actions of others.

Toward the end of the day, I saw a vista on the horizon that seemed to be out of place. In the distance an artful display of clouds covered a large mountain range. It looked like the flatness of the Meseta was about to become history.

My final destination for the day was a village named Reliegos. I checked into Albergue Gil, located next to Bar Elvis, a Camino landmark. The exterior of the bar is painted a bright aqua blue. The menu, along with motivational sayings and miscellaneous drawings, is carelessly scrawled across the large blue walls. I enjoyed a big cup of café con leche and a double caramel magnum ice cream treat. The owner was as bright and colorful as her establishment. I could not have picked a better place to be at that moment.

The room at Gil was perfect, with only three sets of bunks and a nice shared bathroom. I took the last bottom bunk, and the top three remained empty for the night. On the Camino, this was an albergue jackpot! It really was amazing how the simplest things could provide so much happiness and gratitude.

I shared the room with Judith and Annie. Both were childhood friends from Hungary, but Judith now lived in the UK. Over a great meal of lentil soup, huevos (eggs), and fritatas, we talked about income disparity throughout the world. I was amazed to learn that Hungarian doctors and teachers are each paid a low and equal wage. Both women indicated that most of the higher quality professionals leave the country in search of a better economic status. Not much is produced there, and inflation is growing at an alarming rate. Annie was completely flabbergasted when I explained how much income some normal Americans make on a monthly basis.

Again, I was full of gratitude. I knew then that I wanted to take this feeling home with me.

Day 15

Lives of Service

I slept like a champ and woke up feeling good. The morning was not as kind to Annie, who had some type of stomach flu. She decided to stay at Gil for another day. I started walking toward León around seven o’clock. The silent solitude of the dark morning mesmerized me. The only indication of another person was a tiny headlamp glow creeping up behind me.

I had not been walking for very long before meeting an aged replica of Sting named Steve. I asked him where he was going and he responded, “Wherever I can make the most difference.” There was no time lapse to make the decision that this was not a normal encounter.

Turns out, Steve had lived in a city located about a three-hour drive from my home in Idaho. At age 60, he terminated his house lease, gave away his stuff, and landed in Spain to walk the Camino. He had no plan to return to the United States. He wanted to dedicate the rest of his life to helping other people. He had already done charity work in Africa, India, and Romania. He told me a chilling story about meeting an elderly Jewish woman on a train in Bucharest. She had survived Auschwitz and held no hard feelings toward her captors. Her heartfelt message was that carrying hate and harboring ill feelings serves not a single useful purpose in anyone’s life. This simple and brief encounter changed his life. After the Camino, he planned to travel to Egypt to visit friends who had been involved with the 2011 protests in Tahrir Square.

Steve reminded me of a man who had been my first inspiration for walking the Camino. Scaughdt and I met at an annual event called “Ride Idaho.” It’s a weeklong group road bike ride with about 300 participants. On my initial ride in 2008, Scaughdt was a volunteer who stood out from the crowd. His attitude was always positive and he seemed to be constantly happy––genuinely happy. On the third day of the trip, I approached him and asked if he had time to tell me his story. The next day, we sat down for a chat that changed my life.

He explained that he has devoted his life to helping other people and that those actions allow him to cultivate an inner peace that bursts through his outer self. “I go to where I am called and provide service to anyone who asks,” he said. “If there is no pressing need, I find someone to help. There is always a way to serve others.”

He told me about a woman named Peace Pilgrim, who had inspired him. This extraordinary woman walked back and forth across the United States from 1953 to 1981. Her total distance exceeded 25,000 miles, and she was penniless the entire time. Scaughdt had decided to emulate her lifestyle by living without any form of money. No credit card, not a nickel in his pocket, no savings account, and no retirement account. I was amazed and perplexed and afraid of the concept, yet envious of the implications of his choice. It was hard to imagine living with faith that there is no need to have money and then complement it by spending time helping other people.

He told me that after the ride, he was planning to visit Spain with his mother and walk 500 miles on the Camino de Santiago. I had never heard of this walk and had some serious questions about this man’s sanity. Still, I was drawn to him.

After the trip, I invited Scaughdt to stay at my home for about a week. I was able to watch and learn as he went about his daily endeavors to help other people. During that time, he found his way to an animal shelter and cared for strays in the afternoon. On another day, we both visited a local senior center where he gave a speech about his lifestyle to some aging residents. At one point, he quietly did some unsolicited yard work at my neighbor’s house. Every action in his life centered on helping other people while expecting nothing in return. His seemingly permanent smile gave evidence to his personal happiness and illustrated the benefits of such a lifestyle.

I always knew of this concept, but he provided the example to connect the dots. He gave me a personal introduction to one of the secrets to inner peace.

For the years that followed, I knew that I would one day walk the Camino but did not have a firm plan for the timing. Toward the end of August 2012, I made the decision to walk and sent Scaughdt an email with the exciting news. “I am thrilled that you are making the trek,” he replied, “but be aware that this is not your decision.… The Camino decided it was time for you to be there.” At the time, it seemed odd. Now I feel that the Camino did put my life on a new path. Three weeks later I was in St. Jean.

On day 15 with Steve, our conversation brought up memories of another bicycle trip I took in 2006. On that solo trip, I rode my bike 2,000 miles over six weeks through nine European countries. It was another life-changing trip, but I encountered quite a bit of adversity along the way—lots of problems with wind, mechanics, and communications. On the Camino, I told Steve, everything just seemed to work in my favor. Prior to that exchange, I had never even given the slightest thought to the previous trip.

Steve suggested that the positive and negative energy we extend has a direct correlation to what we receive. It really hit me like a large stone to the forehead. It provoked some serious introspection into my past and current life. On the bike trip, I had expectations and let adversity easily upset me. On the Camino, I had zero expectations and was able to let go of adversity and forget it.

After walking together for about six kilometers we stopped for breakfast in Mansilla de las Mulas. Steve was actually traveling with a woman named Mary Beth. He walked alone in the mornings to enjoy the solitude. He always had breakfast at the next village and patiently waited for their daily reunion. We selected an ideal little breakfast nook. The toast was delightful, the setting unique, and the warmth refreshing. After eating, I wrote in my journal, anxious to capture the previous hours while they were fresh in my head.

I wrote for about a half hour and decided to return to the road. Within five minutes, I was once again traveling with my blond friend, Eugina, from Greece. She did not look good and was nursing the terrible residual effects from too much cabernet wine. Blistered feet gave her further difficulties. During one break, she showed me the soles of her feet. Like the aftermath of a car wreck, we always look but regret the vision. After the rest, we parted ways but did not waste time saying goodbye.

On this day, the Camino ran very near a busy highway with lots of traffic leading to the city of León. A few bridge crossings really tested the nerves, but for the most part the elevated road could not be seen from our parallel path. I began to wonder about the proximity to other people. Here I was, on the trip of a lifetime walking down a cool path while loving life and nature. Ten yards away, cars flew down a highway in a hurry to get to who-knows-where for who-knows-what reason. I cannot imagine that most of the drivers even knew the trail existed, let alone that people like me were currently going through a life-changing experience. It sure added a new dimension to the idea of being so close yet so far away.

Steve and Mary Beth crossed my path, and we spent the rest of the afternoon together en route to León, the last big city along the road to Santiago. Once again, I planned to get a nice hotel and take a day of rest to explore the area. When we arrived at the edge of town, Steve and Mary Beth took a detour to the first albergue while I started my search for a hotel.

With all of the peace and solitude of the Camino, being in a city was quite a different experience. The noise of the cars, the commerce, and the crowded streets really overwhelmed the calmed senses. I had a natural tendency toward introversion along the trail. The reminders of daily life in a city rudely interrupted this quiet state of being.

For the first time on the entire Camino, I lost my little yellow arrows. Since I could see the large cathedral in the town center, there was no reason to panic, but the simplicity of following the markers was no longer present. Instead of hanging around people with smiles and backpacks, I was instead surrounded by local Spaniards who were busy going through the motions of daily life. Even though I walked alone for at least 80% of the time, to be completely separated from the group did not give me a feeling of comfort. I tried to get a room at a few hotels, but like Burgos, they were all booked. Standing on a busy street in a busy town and not knowing a single person, I felt a sense of loneliness. I looked down a side street and saw a lone pilgrim who appeared to be lost. I felt a need to rescue him and help find the albergue. I also immediately scrapped my plan to stay in a hotel. I needed to be with my people!

Together, we navigated our way to Albergue Santa María de Carbajal, which is run by the Benedictine nuns. They charged five Euros for the night and an extra eight Euros to wash and dry a single load of laundry. It was the first time that I experienced separate quarters for men and women. Prior to this time, everything was completely co-ed. No formal restriction prevented daytime visits throughout the facility, but the nuns wanted us separated when the lights were out. This place had 144 beds spread throughout four dormitories. My room had at least 60 beds and set a new standard for being cramped into a small space.

Bunks are a fact of life on the Camino and an integral part of the overall experience. While there is always someone above or below, the “aisle” between bunks usually allows for a bit of separation. Not at this place. The nuns separated boys from girls, but not the beds. The bunks were arranged in pods two wide and three deep for a cluster of 12 beds. In other words, someone slept above me, and my bed touched the mattress on the left. The man in the bed next to me was a former Navy Seal from Arizona. Probably not a good idea to kick him in the middle of the night.

After taking a relaxing hot shower, I took all of my clothes to the hospitalero, paid my eight Euros, and began to imagine the luxury of having my entire wardrobe washed in an actual washing machine. The thought was pure heaven. Wearing my remaining two articles of clothes, gym shorts and windbreaker, I descended the stairs toward the courtyard.

I planned to write in my journal, soak up the sun, and wait for my clothes to be cleaned by the big machine. While enjoying this relaxing time, I began to see a stream of friends. Had I stayed in a hotel, I would have completely missed seeing so many old acquaintances. Throughout the afternoon, I saw Toby, Joseph, Mateo, Pasqual, Eugina, Steve, Mary Beth, Judith, Sun Eh, Morgues, Kasper, Nicole, Massimo, and Mom. The Camino told me to be with my people and they were bountiful. I cannot remember another “homecoming” event where I saw so many old friends in one location. There was no randomness in these random meetings. After this day, I never saw half of these people again, including Massimo and Mom.

After retrieving my clothes, I decided to venture into town for some snacks and sightseeing. This town was bustling with people and offered lots of interesting places to visit. The main cathedral was built on a site that was home to Roman baths in the second century. Eight hundred years later, it became a palace for King Ordoño, who successfully defended the region from Arab invaders. Today, the Christian Gothic church is known for its more than 1,800 square meters of stained glass.

After a bit of ice cream, I ventured back toward the albergue. A stage was set up for some type of live concert that evening. A lone man provided afternoon entertainment for a crowd of about 25 people. It amazed me that more did not stop to hear him because the surrounding area was swarming with people. In my previous life, the one that had ended 15 days before, I probably would have walked by, too. This man played a variety of instruments, none of which I had ever seen or heard, for at least an hour. I could not understand a single word, but his melodies and tone filled my heart with joy. Glancing at a placard, I discovered that the very unique building near my seat was the Casa de los Botines designed by Antoni Gaudi, one of the most famous architects in the world. Just another average day on this average adventure.

Back at the albergue, I saw Steve and Mary Beth. They asked me to join them to attend the nuns singing Vespers at the convent chapel. We sat in pews running perpendicular to the four rows of nuns. The 16 nuns looked like motionless mannequins until the bells rang at seven o’clock. Precisely at that time, they all came to life, reached for their choir books, and began a chilling chant. Throughout the hour, the nuns charmed my ears with miraculous notes.

The chanting nuns and my encounter with Steve took my thoughts to charity and poverty.

Back in Boise, one of my favorite volunteer activities is working with a group named Friends in Action (FIA). This group matches volunteers with seniors who need a little help remaining independent in their own homes. The opportunities to serve include rides to the doctor, light housework, grocery shopping, yard maintenance, and basic friendship. I enjoyed meeting and helping many people, but one became a dear friend.

The organization sent me a weekly e-mail with a list of people and a short description of the need. One lady, Margo, was always on the list and required transportation to a local facility for chemotherapy. This seemed a bit heavy compared to a more routine amble through Wal-Mart with an aging granny. After seeing her name for months, I decided to expand my comfort zone and take her to Mountain States Tumor Institute for treatment.