Sunrises to Santiago: Searching for Purpose on the Camino de Santiago (8 page)

Once
again, this is exactly what I needed to hear. The Camino de Santiago
so far has been a metaphor for life. You focus on getting to Santiago
de Compostela with every step you take, to that perfect job, perfect
house, perfect whatever, and you forget to enjoy the journey and path
that leads you there. I don
’
t
cry but I am definitely moved. This message is so simple. Enjoy life.
Do that and everything else falls into place.

I
seem to have a particular knack for doing the opposite. A special
skill in ruining the present moment in pursuit of a distant goal. I
think back to my time on the Travel Channel. This was an amazing
opportunity to travel the world for free. The show had five hosts,
and all of us had a different take on each city that we would visit.
My take was food and music, so it was my job to discover the unique
foods and music that made each location special. Our season focused
on the Pacific Rim, and we traveled through Australia, New Zealand,
and parts of Asia.

This
was an absolute dream job. When I received the phone call from the
show
’
s producers that I had in
fact landed the gig, I screamed like a six-year-old girl. I was
elated at first but soon my mind took over and started to dream of
more, of what this might lead to. I thought that if this went well, I
could actually do this for a career. My baseball type obsession
creeped in as I became focused on what might be next.

After
our first three weeks of filming, we made our way to film episode
four in Darwin, Australia. I had worked particularly hard, with the
help of the producers, to set up a day with a famous Aboriginal
Australian actor. He took me by boat to a beach that was important to
his ancestors and, going with the food theme, took me stingray spear
fishing.

We
waded out into the turquoise waters of the ocean, and I followed his
lead, looking for stingrays, ready to chuck my spear if I saw signs
of life. He was doing the same. Hours passed, the camera guy stopped
filming and eventually, with nothing to show for our efforts, we
returned to the beach. Everyone was disappointed, and we scrambled to
make something out of the scene.

His
friends were invited, and they played the didgeridoo on the beach
using the music to tell incredible stories of their people
’s
past. An amazing day. Unfortunately, all I was focused on was how
poorly this might play out on TV. I was obsessed with my hosting
ability and if I had said the right thing. I asked the editors,
producers, and anyone who would listen if I was doing OK. How could I
improve? I wanted badly for this to continue and I could see the end
of the show drawing near. Again, I was so focused on what was next,
using this as a stepping stone to bigger and better things, that I
failed to fully experience an incredible secluded beach, with a kind
Aboriginal man, sharing incredible music. This continued throughout
the filming of the show, four months of anxiety, when I should have
just relaxed and enjoyed the incredible ride.

We
continue through more small villages, always guided by the yellow
arrows and Camino shell tiles that mark the path. The heat is getting
almost unbearable as we enter the afternoon hours.
These
villages become deserted during siesta, and the only people you see
are fellow pilgrims. We start to climb a hill, and my left knee
begins to burn. Almost as if they are having a conversation, my right
knee chimes in with an equally intense pain as I begin to lean more
and more heavily on
D
o
lores
.

There
is no official start date for the Camino de Santiago. You can begin
on any day, at any time, 365 days a year. I chose the month of June
because of crowds and weather. The most popular time, aka the most
crowded trails, is during August.
¹
August is also one of the hottest months in this area of Spain, and
today’s heat makes me glad I didn
’
t
choose August.

As
we continue to trudge along beneath the midday summer sun, many
pilgrims pass and say buen Camino before speeding on. Then a man whom
I would only see once says something to me that will stick with me
all the way to Santiago de Compostela. He catches up to me on the
trail and surveys my slow pace, my sweaty face, my increasingly
shaggy beard. He mutters, “Hola, que tal?”
Hi,
how
’
s
it goin?

“
Bien
y tu?” I respond.
Fine
and you?

We
agree it is too hot today. He glances ahead and sees a giant patch of
shade. “Hay sombra,” he says as he looks me in the eyes.
There
is shade.

He
glances down at my knee and says, “Siempre hay que ver el
positivo.”
You
always have to see the positive.
He
then walks ahead without saying another word. I stop and smile again.
The Camino is full of small lessons today.

The
end of the day proves to be brutal. My body is incredibly weak, and
Estella, our destination, seems like a mirage that will never come.
With every step, I feel like the tendon in my right knee will snap,
and the heat has swollen my left knee to a disturbing size and shape.
The trail is full of small hills, followed by painful descents. Up
down, up down, up down. My knee brace keeps slipping to my shin
because of the sweat coming out of my pores. The blisters forming on
my hands, from leaning on Dolores, are raw and swelling with the heat
pulsing through my body. I drag my carcass forward, willing it to
carry on. Amy and I don
’
t speak
for hours. We simply take a break after every bend in the trail, when
our disappointment at not seeing Estella forces us to sit and rest. I
feel like our water bottles: empty.

When
we finally make it to Estella, I collapse in a chair of the first
albergue we see. Absorbed in my own misery, I don
’
t
notice the concerned look on the hospitalera
’
s
face. Amy does the talking, in Spanish, while I stare at the floor.
“She thinks you might die,” Amy jokes when the hospitalera leaves
to retrieve keys.

“
Haha,”
I sarcastically reply.

“
Keep
it up, she feels sorry for us so she is giving us a private room for
the same price as the bunks in the main room!” she says. “She
told me there is no way you could climb into a top bunk!”

“
Sadly
that is probably true,” I reply.

Our
private room is more like a cubicle with tall walls which don
’
t
quite reach the ceiling. We do have a door which provides some
privacy as we are situated in the middle of a giant room full of
beds. I am not complaining. The cost is only 5 euros per person, one
of our cheapest nights thus far.

After
getting settled, we go to the closest restaurant to eat because it
is, well, closest. I am surprised by an amazing bowl of
gaz
pacho
,
a
cold Spanish tomato soup blended with garlic and vinegar.
This followed by a Spanish feast fit for a king. Food always lightens
my mood.

“
I
miss Spain,” Amy says between slurps of refreshing soup.

“
What
do you mean?” I reply. “We are here right now.”

“
Should
we move back? It is so simple here. Good food, good people and a more
laid back way of life,” she explains, fully aware this will not
happen anytime soon for us. “I just miss so much about Spain.
Waiters ignore you, you can eat a meal for hours, chain restaurants
don’t really exist, you don
’
t
need a car, siesta, the numerous holidays, Flamenco shows, the cheap
wine, Europe being our playground and sunsets overlooking the
Alhambra in Granada listening to hippies play the guitar.”

“
We
did that for two years, and it was awesome. Remember how much we
missed the States though? The grass is always greener,” I slop up
the gazpacho with a thick slice of fresh bread. “When you were
ahead of me on the trail today, a man told me that you always have to
look at the positive. Don
’
t
forget how much you love Denver.”

“
But
working 50 and 60 hour weeks is stupid!” Amy continues.

“
Don
’
t
forget traffic! Oh, how I hate traffic. At least we have jobs,” I
say, not quite believing myself. “And hey, don
’
t
forget how awesome it is that you have the entire summer off!”

Back
in the albergue, I rub pain cream on both knees and take more pills.
Maybe tonight we will sleep. What an incredible day full of life
lessons. This, I think,
this
is what I came here for. I certainly need to focus less on the hot
sun and more on the shade. I can’t wait to see what adventures
tomorrow brings.

Trail
Days 6—8

“
Here it is!” I yell back to
Amy. We both set down our packs to read the sign mounted on a large
stone wall.

“
¡PEREGRINO!
Si quieres llegar a Santiago con fuerza y vitalidad, de este gran
vino echa un trago y brinda por la Felicidad.” PILGRIM!
If
you want to arrive in Santiago with strength and vitality, take a
swig of this great wine and toast to happiness.

“
Sounds
good to me,” Amy walks up to the large fountain. We have arrived at
the
Fuente
del Vino
.
A fountain of wine! Set up by winery Bodegas Irache, pulling the
handle on
La
Fuente
dispenses wine instead of water! As the sign says, pilgrims who drink
from the fountain will gain strength that will help them on the Way.
We grab a drink. Who cares if it is ten in the morning! I use my
small Camino shell as a tiny make shift cup and take a sip of wine.

A
sense of hope grows within me today with each step. I feel lucky to
not have any new physical issues.
Yes,
the knees still hurt, but at least they
’
re
not getting worse. We continue to meet fascinating people from all
walks of life. A couple from Texas who walks parts of the Camino
every summer, two Australian guys on their
annual
worldly adventure
,
a
nd
again
we see the burly Austrian Santa Claus. I try to
glean
small daily life lessons from them all, remembering what The
Barista
told me a few days ago. Everyone has something to teach you. Many a
conversation turn to physical ailments as most pilgrims have
something wrong with their bodies.

I
have noticed that most are struggling with blisters. Some with over a
dozen blisters between their two feet. I sit and watch a pilgrim poke
a particularly bulbous blister with a needle and gingerly pull a line
of thread through.
“
So
it can drain,
”
she
says. I wince with her in pain as she continues her treatment.

I
think of the man we saw on our first day, walking barefoot and wonder
how his feet are doing. This pilgrim is wearing sturdy hiking boots,
and I have started to notice a trend. Hiking boots equal blisters. I
elected trail running shoes over the less flexible hiking boots and
am beginning to think I made the right
decision.
So far my blister count is zero, and I have soft city boy feet. Apart
from Amy
’
s
blister on the first day, she has had no new blisters thus far.