The Way

The peace and tranquillity of being outdoors, far away from civilisation is soul cleansing and such is the case as you spend time trekking along the Camino de Santiago or The Way of St James.

The Camino is an ancient Catholic pilgrimage in the north of Spain. The main route is usually from the South of France from the town of San Sebastian, nestled in the French Pyrenees and heads west to the awe-inspiring cathedral in the historic town of Santiago de Compostela, close to the Atlantic Ocean on the west coast of Spain. Nowadays a variety of routes can lead you to the cathedral and some pegrenos opt to continue their voyage and go further, catching a glimpse of the mighty Atlantic Ocean.

Everyone’s Camino starts in a different place and everyone’s reason for walking the Camino is as individual as the characters you stumble upon. I met several people who had left their homes months ago, all with the personal aim of landing up in Santiago de Compostela. A couple had spent months cycling from Sweden using different modes of transport to carry them and their hardy bicycles ever nearer, as did a retired wine grower from the North of Italy and an Austrian I met in Santiago, having left in the midst of winter and pedalled the entire way.

The most common way to tackle the Camino is the century old tried and tested hike, but nowadays you can also cycle it or mount a trusty steed to carry you to Santiago, the frowned upon version of driving it is also an option. You carry all your own gear, so packing intelligently and light are essential but stopping for food is a sociable way to meet people.

We had descended on Leon as this was the vibrant hub of all the main transport stops, staying the night before our travels would begin. Home of the most intricate stained glass cathedral in the world, Leon had an inviting European old town feel to it. Soaking up each dappled ray of light that fell from the magnificent centuries old windows was breath-taking and hours ticked by as we slowly circumnavigated the interior.

Cathedrals were the original albergues that housed pegrenos on their epic trail to Santiago; they used to travel from village to village, spending the nights in a house of God. Now-a-days it is totally different experience with a variety of accommodation options in some villages, although the reasoning for forging onwards still remains the same.

For us, we started at arguably the best spot, in the village of Astorga. We spent some time at the Catedral de Santa María de Astorga, admiring yet another feat of Spanish architecture. Time marched on encouraging us to hunt for the pilgrims’ friend, the yellow arrow or sign which would immediately point us in the right direction and continue to guide us to Santiago.

On departing, the horizon glistened with snow-capped peaks, but the weather was a contrasting gloriously warm spring day, the Europeans claiming this spring weather to be a heat wave.

When you are marching forward over a smorgasbord of terrain, for long stretches you have only the chirping birds and sound of your pounding feet hitting the gravel as company. Occasionally you would hear a Buen Camino which would jolt you back to reality as a cyclist would whiz past. This was the greeting and well-wishing or honoured code between pilgrims.

The landscape was ever changing, you would determinedly climb Tour De France like hills, or cruise through lavender lined level dusty paths or amble down steep rocky inclines, but all of it offered the most inspiring breath taking scenery. Some sections you would trudge along tar roads or wander along lush vegetation with a gargling stream flowing next to you or saunter beneath these huge viaducts that soared high above you carrying fast paced vehicles to their destinations. Your surroundings constantly changed, keeping the expedition refreshing and interesting.

Each day, as I looked at the horizon, the dominating whiteness on the mountains decreased and in its place a palette of changing colours, an artist’s dream. I would pause, imagining paths obstructed with easels as painters captured the glorious spring colours as they emerged after their hibernation.

Each town or village that you meandered through had its own feel. We passed derelict villages with ancient stone buildings all slowly crumbling to the ground. On one day we passed two villages, the first situated on a steep winding hill, this village had six inhabitants who had set up shop purely to support the passing pilgrims, offering food and liquid refreshments. The second was in a state of disrepair, two chaps were up on a step ladder weaving leaves together creating shade high above us. They had a pole with a number of large towns being pointed to, the little pointers giving you a rough guide to the distance to each of these places,  Paris 1,000km, New York many more. These two chaps were admirably breathing life back into this place, not having any running water and only recently connecting up to electricity. Observing the surrounds, it looked like the house that they were working on was the only habitable place in the village, with tumbled down stone buildings littering the surrounds.

The highlight for me would have to be the Monastery built in the 6^th Century, having spent the night in Hospital, a few days out from Sarria, at this stage I was travelling with Marc from Belgium and Gary from America. Gary insisted we stop in at the Benedictine Monastery of San Xuliam de Samos in the village of Samos and we managed to catch the tail end of the service.

Sitting at the back we followed all the prompts from the small congregation, standing or kneeling. The priest beautifully sang through a list of saints and then concluded the service. This was the biggest Western Monastery in the world according to Gary. What was really quirky about this town was at the entrance to the town, a small single pump petrol station rescued passing vehicles from dehydration. Towering over the petrol station was the enormous walls of the monastery, and as a car pulled into the bay, a monk wandered out to help.

Another memorable moment was the Iron Cross on the summit of Monte Irago, the cross soars high above a cairn of pebbles, each one individually laid by a pilgrim. The mound of pebbles each represent a wish, a dream, a problem, a failure or a secret and it is Camino tradition to pause here tossing your pebble onto the pile, releasing your burden. Regardless of what people tell you, tossing the stone onto this pile representing so much to so many is completely emotional.

The Camino charges your batteries in so many ways, you hopefully find answers to the questions that were being asked at the beginning of the voyage, and you are invigorated by nature – some people having spent six weeks or longer having the honour of being a pegreno. Everyone prefers to be by themselves, after all, for the majority of pegrenos this is a solo trip and have the joy of travelling at their own pace but you meet some truly humble people. The conversations are intense, somehow missing all the flimsy small talk that we all begin with. 

I caught a train to Santiago, having the fortune of staying one night in this dazzling place. I dumped my bags and wandered across in search of the Cathedral. I glided over cobbled small roads and eventually made the discovery. I entered into the square and was struck by the immense overpowering beauty of the cathedral. I sat for ages, gazing up at the magnitude of the church spirals, the windows, the guardians and statues looking down on the square, taking in as much of the details as I could. I then strolled to a nearby outdoor cafe, relishing a Spanish black rice paella and then made my way back to the cathedral to see it in all its beauty showered by lights at night.

The next day, I went back but this time to soak up the atmosphere. I sat observing the pilgrims as they entered the square. Some punched the air in absolute achievement, some collapsed in a heap sobbing, and others successfully embraced their new found friends. The air was charged with a mixture of emotion as a wonderful journey ended and also began.

The Camino, every moment of it is special, every moment of it is treasured. It is an odyssey where you discover so much about yourself, Buen Camino!