I don’t have a bucket list per se, but I have a mental list of things I would like to do. As I mentioned in The Walking Man Walks, completing the ancient pilgrimage, the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, is one of those things. It is also known as the Way of St. James because this pilgrimage leads to the tomb of the apostle St. James and has been traveled for well over 1,000 years. Although today, many people walk this path for health, fitness, or social reasons instead of spiritual. The most popular route is known as Camino Frances since it originates in the Pyrenees Mountain range in the south of France. This path is just over 500 miles long and the one featured in the popular Martin Sheen movie (directed by his son) The Way.
I have read five or six books on this journey and with each one I have felt a stronger pull towards Spain. In 2023 we had the privilege of hosting a friend’s daughter as an exchange student. These friends are from Paris and when it was time for her to go back home, I gallantly volunteered to chaperone and deliver her to her home. What a guy, I know. The ulterior motive was that it would bring me closer to the Camino and my opportunity to walk it. However, since it was November, the hotels along the French route were already closing.
The good news was that the second most popular route, known as the Portuguese Route, was still open. This originates in Porto and meanders up the western coasts of both Portugal and Spain. Since I was still working at the time and not back to full health, I could only manage to walk a week’s worth or about 100 kilometers. I made the arrangements and after a few days in Paris visiting with the family, I was off to Spain.
The traditional way of making this pilgrimage is to carry all of your belongings on your back, stopping along the way in hostels, also known as albergues. These communal accommodations are first come, first served and loaded with an array of pilgrims. Having read all of those books, I was fully aware of the usual accommodations. You may find yourself trying to sleep on a cot nose to toes with a Dutch pilgrim who snores, in a room with dozens of other pilgrims. There may only be one bathroom for all personal hygiene.
I know this about me (and if you know me, you know it as well) I am too old and too soft for those arrangements. In my recovery, I have learned that sleep is the most important element for my health and energy levels. I need my own space, my own bed and my own bathroom. After all, I am not in my twenties anymore, and with age comes privileges.
A friend from my wife’s law school has done portions of the Camino and recommended a travel company out of Ireland to make all the arrangements. This company will secure hotel accommodation each night, plot your itinerary, and transport your luggage between towns, with certain conditions. These conditions include that the bag must be in the lobby by no later than 8 AM, and it cannot exceed 35 lbs.
In the days leading up to my journey, I developed a bit of a sore throat. I promptly dismissed this as dry air from the plane or some other minor irritant. This would prove to be an erroneous assumption, but more on that later.
I had studied the route I would be on and focused my attention on these tiny little towns along the western coast of Spain. I had studied the weather and knew that rain was likely for much of the journey, so I planned accordingly with a nice raincoat, backpack cover, waterproof hiking shoes, and quick dry pants. What I failed to consider was that western Spain gets high winds and the rains are relentless off the coast, especially in the late Autumn.
I managed to find the cathedral in my originating city so that I could ascertain my pilgrim’s passport and first stamp. The passport is only to prove that you walked the entire way, and a pilgrim needs to get a stamp in each town they pass through as proof of travel. They are not necessary, unless you want to get your Compostela, which is a formal certification issued by the Cathedral in Santiago. Oh yes, please.
Day one I boldly marched out of my hotel in the city center of an urban area, seeking any sign leading me to the way. Spotting a young man with a large backpack, I desperately tried to match his pace and casually introduce myself. I figured he knew where he was going. I had practiced my Spanish and was prepared to use it as much as possible. At a busy traffic circle, I caught up to him and spoke my kindergarten level Spanish, he had trouble understanding me since he was French and worked in Portugal. We settled on speaking English.
We traveled together and within a short time discovered that we were lost. One of the ways we knew this was because there were no more signs pointing the way, the other was because a large Spanish man was yelling from his window three stories above us in words we could not understand. He was trying to communicate how far out of the way we were and pointed in the proper direction. Eventually we used my friend’s phone and my battery to get access to a map for long enough to get close. There was only a four-lane highway, a considerably steep hill/mountain, and a private neighborhood in our way.
Did I mention that it was raining? We navigated further up the hill and into the confines of this affluent neighborhood where we could finally see the path at the top of the hill. There was no official way to meet the path. The only way at this point was to walk all the way back down to undue what we just did and find a street which would lead us to the path or hop the fence, trespass across someone’s yard, and scramble up the mud hill which we now faced. In my mind, I made my decision, and I decided that as much as I enjoyed the company of Julian, I would part ways with him and scramble up the mud slope if he was uncomfortable trespassing.
I scampered like a squirrel being chased by a dog in a manner which belied my age and agility until I reached the path and turned around to see if Julian made the same decision. I cheered for him and welcomed him to the Camino. We embraced and began our journey together. I had just made my first friend.