Sunrises to Santiago: Searching for Purpose on the Camino de Santiago (2 page)

So
when did people start walking to Santiago de Compostela to pay their
respects? The first historical record of a pilgrimage happened in 950
when Bishop Gotescalco made the journey. This route became
increasingly popular among pilgrims in the twelfth and fourteenth
centuries. When the Holy Land was no longer accessible to Christians,
El Camino de Santiago became
the
pilgrimage for Christians.
Thousands upon thousands of people decided to make the pilgrimage
during the Middle Ages. Many simply walking out their front door,
beginning in Paris, Barcelona, Geneva, Granada, Sevilla and of course
St. Jean Pied-de-Port, and making their way to the incredible
cathedral in Santiago de Compostela where the relics of St. James
rest, and still remain to this day.
²

Today,
people walk this route for a number of reasons. Some religious and
others for personal growth. An adventure trekking across the north of
Spain sounded exactly like what I needed. An incurable wanderlust had
led me to the south of Spain after I had (once again) escaped the
monotony of an unfulfilling job back in the United States. The recent
celebration of my 30th birthday only amplified my angst. My least
favorite party question to be asked was,
“So,
what do you do?”

I
watched my friends and spouse becoming accomplished professionals. I
wondered why I couldn’t seem to get it together. I started to
wonder if I would ever work at a job I truly enjoyed and, by
extension, find my life
’
s
passion. I had already spent my 20s traveling and trying on hats that
never really fit. It was time for a change.

I am
not a deeply religious person but if pressed would define myself as
spiritual. I had high hopes that walking the Camino de Santiago and
communing with nature would also help answer the questions I needed
answered. Not only questions about my career but also deeper
questions that I had always pushed to the back of my mind. What is
the meaning of life? Why am I here? What is my purpose here on Earth?
A tall order, I know, but I decided that the
answers
to my questions were waiting for me somewhere in the north of Spain.

This
book chronicles a journey of personal growth on the Camino de
Santiago and an incredible adventure. From the physical high of
crossing the magnificent Pyrenees Mountains to the mind numbing
rhythm of walking through the summer heat of the
Meseta
. From
challenges like bed bugs and tendinitis to emotional scars that would
lead to elusive answers. The lessons were all around. Who knew
thousands of vivid colors greet each day before a Spanish sunrise? Or
that with a simple pencil, a kind man in Galicia could teach me
lessons about my own journey through life?

Did
I find the answers to all of my questions? Absolutely, but not in the
way I had planned. The answers to my questions came from the amazing
experiences and conversations I had with fellow pilgrims from all
over the world. My body suffered greatly. My mind was tested and my
spirit broken at times. This experience changed who I am, and I
decided to write it all down.

PART
ONE

THE WALKING STICK

I
cried everyday for the first

week
because the pain was incredible.

Kate,
Pilgrim from Seattle

Trail
Day 4

It
’
s
about the Way,

not
about the destination.

Anonymous,
Written on a Stone Near Estella

Trail
Day 5

It
is a homecoming of sorts but I couldn
’
t
feel farther away from home.
Pamplona
.
I spot the large black and white airport sign shining in the
afternoon sun. It looks as if it has been polished just for our
arrival. After a 20-hour day of travel, my brain is foggy, but we
manage to grab a cab. I am overjoyed to be back in Spain and quickly
practice my rusty Spanish with our taxi driver.
“¡Hola,
buenas!”
I
yell as we throw our packs in the back of the cab.

We
make our way to the hotel as I enthusiastically tell the driver,
“¡Mañana
vamos a empezar el Camino de Santiago!”
Tomorrow
we are going to begin the Camino de Santiago!
He looks at me with a big grin and says,
“I
know.”
I
guess our clothes and backpacks gave us away.

I
gaze out of the window, and my mind flashes back to two years earlier
as my wife Amy and I sat in our small apartment in Granada, Spain.
The memory still fresh and vivid in my mind. Tears streamed down her
face as she applied an ice pack to her fractured fibula, just above
the left ankle. Bitter disappointment filled the room. Our half
packed backpacks lay on the floor, and a guidebook for the Camino de
Santiago seemed to mock us from its place on the table. We were
supposed to leave that day to begin the Camino. The culmination and
end to our two year adventure of living in Spain. A night of dancing
after our goodbye party ended all of those grand plans when Amy quite
literally busted a move on the dance floor. I told her not to worry,
not quite believing it myself. We will get to go someday. Everything
happens for a reason.

“
We
are here!” T
he
cabdriver interrupts my daydream.

I
turn back to the cabdriver and offer a smile. He hands us our
backpacks and with true sincerity shakes my hand, looks me directly
in the eyes, and
says,
“Buen
Camino peregrinos,”
which
basically
means
happy
trails
or
have
a good walk
.
A
peregrino
is Spanish for
pilgrim
.

After
our overnight stay in Pamplona, we catch the bus to our chosen
starting point for this journey:
St.
Jean Pied-de-Port in France
.
By midafternoon, after a nausea-inducing bus ride over windy mountain
roads, Amy and I find ourselves at the beginning of a long planned
adventure three years in the making. The
Camino
Frances. Of the many routes to Santiago de Compostela, the Camino
Frances is by far the most famous and subsequently the most popular.
We hop
off the bus with a handful of Camino strangers and make our way to
the pilgrim
’
s
office to obtain our “pilgrim passports.”

These
official documents are required if you want to stay in the network of
albergues
(pronounced al-BEAR-gay) or pilgrim hostels that are found along the
Way. These simple budget accommodations are reserved for pilgrims
only and will provide us with a bed, a shower, a roof, and basic
necessities. The special passports could have also been ordered by
mail, but I am trying to approach this adventure without much
planning. The colorful stamps that you collect from the pilgrim
hostels each day will be the evidence you present upon arrival in
Santiago de Compostela to prove you have actually completed your
journey and thus receive your
Compostela
(certificate
of completion).

The
pilgri
m’s
office
is bustling with new arrivals eager to begin their journey. There is
a row of tables set up inside, each manned by a volunteer. I hear
four or five different languages being spoken at the same time, and
the electric feeling of excitement is palpable. Each volunteer shouts
out a language when she is finished helping a pilgrim and it is the
next person
’
s
turn:
“Frances!
Español! Eng
lish!”
We
make our way to the English table and take a seat. Each
passport
cost
s
2 euros
and is handed to us encased in a small plastic baggie.

“
For
the rain,” our helpful volunteer explains.
“But you are lucky because the weather forecast is calling for sun
tomorrow. Crossing the Pyrenees is best during sunny days. You will
love the views.
Do
you
have
somewhere to stay tonight?” She asks. I hadn’t even thought about
it, and my look gives me way. She quickly calls up an
albergue
in
town and books us two beds. Easy enough!

We
slowly make our way to the
albergue
through this small French town. The old stone buildings form walls on
either side of the cobble-stone streets, and a wide river runs
through the center of town. We take our time crossing over an old
stone bridge that connects both sides of the river. Brightly colored
flowers grow from planter boxes hanging under windowsills, and vines
crawl up some of the walls, easily finding anchors in the somehow
perfect cracks. Beyond the city center, the town is surrounded by
lush green hills and mountains. We both look around through the
rose-colored eyes of travelers, and big grins spread across our
faces. A woman wearing an apron steps out of her quaint little bakery
and waves, “Bonjour!”

We
finally find our albergue
and
are greeted by a cheery French woman with rosy cheeks and a charming
accent. She declare
s,
“I am the famous Amandine! Welcome! Breakfast will be ready at six
o’clock tomorrow morning. Now, I will show you your beds.”

Amandine
shows us to our room, which contains about 20 beds and leaves us to
choose. I leave my hat on my chosen bed next to a large window as a
sign it has been claimed. We grab our large Camino backpacks and
decide to go find some food before settling in for the night. The
famous Amandine stops us as we walk past the front door
.
“What are you doing with your bags?” s
he
asks in her thick French accent, clearly confused.

I
didn
’
t
see anywhere to lock them and
reply, “So no one takes them.”

She
laughs and orders us to march back upstairs and leave the bags.
“No
one will steal your packs peregrinos! You have a long way
to
walk, you shouldn’t be taking your backpacks with you to dinner.
They don’t need the calories as much as you do!”

We
grab a baguette and a
gateaux
for dessert from a small shop as the sun starts to go down. Taking a
seat outside near the small bridge in the city center, I am finally
relaxed enough to take in the scene. The
gateaux
,
a tart from the Basque region of France, is filled with pastry cream
and brandied cherries. A light buttery crust envelopes a perfectly
sweet, tart, and creamy center. It is absolutely delicious. The
golden rays of the setting sun cast long shadows over the
cobble-stone streets,
and
as we eat, we listen to the river below. A beautiful midsummer
European scene.