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caseylyoung · 5 years

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A Stroll Across Spain

The Camino de Santiago is a long walk. It can be different lengths, depending on where you start, but it always ends in the same place, Santiago de Compostela, Spain. For me it was nearly 500 miles, from Saint Jean Pied-de-Port, France, over the Pyrenees into Spain, and across northern Spain to Santiago de Compostela.

This is a pilgrimage that people have done for centuries. Historically the idea has been to start where you live and walk to Santiago de Compostela. I met people who started in their hometown in Europe, from as far away as Poland. This well-worn path passes through cities, towns and villages as well as over some long stretches of isolated trails.

Every day is different. You occasionally find yourself in large, well-known towns like Pamplona, Logroño, Burgos or León. You pass through interesting smaller towns such as Estella, Santo Domingo de Calzada, Carrión de los Condes, and Astorga. Then there are the many small villages that seem very dependant on the dollars spent by the thousands of people traversing this route each year. On most days you walk through at least a few towns. You rarely need to worry about finding a place to grab a bite or refill your water bottle, or finding a clean bathroom.

So, why do all these people walk the trails leading to Santiago de Compostela? This is a popular topic of conversation among those doing it. The questions posed to me most often were, why are so many Americans are choosing to do this walk, and of course, why did I?

Why Walk the Camino de Santiago?

My guidebook suggests reflecting on your purpose before embarking on this journey to be able to assess whether you achieved your goals when you are done. It also suggests choosing a theme for the journey.

Historically, this is a religious pilgrimage to the burial place of Saint James, a disciple of Jesus and the patron saint of Spain, but my guidebook offers various reasons people embark on this pilgrimage. Some seek healing, penance, or answer to prayer as the ancient pilgrims. Others seek forgiveness, direction, or peace. Thankfulness may be a theme chosen by people If in a good place.

I couldn’t pick just one. I think the reason the pull was so strong for me is to heal from the trauma of my wife’s unexpected death in July, 2017. I am certainly seeking peace and direction since I have been flailing around ever since Patti died, not able to confidently make decisions about the direction I should steer my life now.

I also find myself being very thankful about some things, especially my wonderful daughters, who have long been my rocks of stability. This has been particularly comforting and valuable the last few years. I am also thankful for Peggy Sue, the remarkably compatible woman I met while working in Glacier National Park the summer of 2018, who even more remarkably resides in my hometown in Tennessee over 2,000 miles away from where we met. I am also thankful for my pension income, giving me a level of income security in retirement that is all too rare these days.

I thought I would benefit from this long walk, thinking about these things without distraction, without expectations, being open to new thoughts and experiences along the way. I have fleeting thoughts about how I might use my time, skills and experience, but tend to quickly dismiss them after having uncomfortable emotional reactions. I hoped that with some concentrated time and focus, with less distraction, I may be able to sort these things out.

The Walk Begins

My first day of hiking, from Saint Jean Pied-de-Ped to Orisson, was marvelous. It was challenging because of the steep climb up into the Pyrenees, but it was well worth the effort. Tackling this section was a last minute decision after concluding I had probably trained sufficiently. I was in just-good-enough shape from my training, as long as I rested whenever I felt the need.

I am so glad I did not skip the Pyrenees. The views as you climb are amazing. I overheard a woman comment while gazing at the view, "And people wonder why we do these things."

"Yes,'' I quipped, “we could be sitting at home on the couch watching TV."

"Exactly," she responded.

The night at Orisson was a treat, especially the dinner. I counted about 60 people at long communal tables in the dining room, all chattering with people also embarking on this adventure. I sat at the head of a table next to two interesting couples traveling together, one from Dublin, Ireland, and the other from Norwich, England. They own a vacation home together in Southern Spain, where they met. The gentleman from Norwich knew all about nearby Snetterton Heath, the Royal Air Force Station where my Dad was based in World War II.

After dinner we were all asked to stand and give our name, where we are from, and why we are doing the Camino. It seemed most were dealing with some significant issue or transition and hoped to gain some insight or clarity. I began to feel that I was in the right place.

Some people were very specific about the issues they were dealing with, while others, including me, were more obtuse. I am not sure what held me back. The exercise did get me thinking more about my “why” and how I should have summarized it in that kind of setting. This is what I came up with:

"My wife died unexpectedly a couple years ago. I am pretty much through the 'Woe is me' part of the grieving process, and I am on to the 'so now what am I going to do’ part. I hope walking 800 kilometers through Spain will help me figure it out.”

I used this elevator speech a lot the next six weeks.

Early Lessons

I enjoyed the second day even more than the first. Splitting the traditional first day, from Saint Jean Pied-de-Port to Roncesvalles, into two days was the right decision for me. Not only did I get to experience that wonderful night in Orisson, but I was fresh enough to enjoy the spectacular scenery on the second day. I had anticipated this day for a long time and it didn't disappoint.

I went a little beyond Roncesvalles, to Burguete, where I stayed in a room by myself in Hostal Burguete. It was a refreshing change after experiencing multiple roommates the first two nights. Yes, you certainly get to know people that way, which is great, but I am just not as relaxed when sleeping in a room full of people. I decided that sleeping in dormitory-style housing would be the exception, not the rule, for the balance of the trip.

The next day I got a late start. I figured it was going to be a much easier day so I wasn't concerned. Dinner came with my room, and I discovered that if you order wine with dinner they give you an entire bottle, even if you are a solo diner. I decided I was up to the challenge since the next day was going to be relatively easy. Unfortunately, it wasn't.

I walked through some very pleasant sections, enchanted forests and cute little towns. But there were also steep sections on rocky trails that were not easy to navigate. I walked slowly so I wouldn't turn an ankle or something worse, getting to Zubriri in seven hours feeling beat up.

The worst part, though, is that there was no bed in or around Zubiri. I gathered from my pre-trip research that I only needed to book the first two nights, and thereafter a room, or at least a bed, could easily be found. Not the case, I discovered. I quickly decided to get a taxi to Pamplona, where I found a room online, and decided to start booking accomodations a day or two ahead.

Camino Strategies

When I arrived in Saint Jean Pied-de-Port, I immediately visited the “Pilgrim Office” to obtain my “Credencial del Peregrino.” This allows you to stay in inexpensive albergues along the route, as well as prove that you have traversed the distance required to receive a Compostela in Santiago. Accomodations and other businesses stamp the “Credencial” on request, creating a record of the path you have traveled.

I was also given other helpful information and advice, including a list of the albergues that do not accept reservations. The subtle message, I later came to understand, was that if you get up early, walk fast, and end your day early, you are likely to have a bed that night.

In the good old days, when the Camino was less crowded, finding a bed at the end of the day was not an issue. Some insist that the only way to really experience the Camino is leave each morning not knowing where you will end the day, having confidence that “the Camino will provide.” My confidence was shaken early.

I recall sitting at breakfast in Burguete, seeing hordes of people quickly streaming past the window and thinking, “I really have no interest in joining the bed-chasing rat race.” This was continually reinforced during my walk.

I recall a brief conversation on the trail with a fast-moving gentleman who told me that he started walking each day well before sunlight, walking with a headlamp for what he estimated was a quarter of his walking time. He said this was necessary to get a bed since he did not book ahead. He even pointed out a head injury he sustained in the dark. Why anyone would walk in the dark I don’t understand, but many do.

I found it amusing how opinionated some people are about how this journey ought to be done. The options range from people who carry everything they will need in a backpack, staying in inexpensive dormitory-style housing that is never pre-booked, to people who pay big money to a tour company to bus them to the start of interesting sections, arrange high-end lodging in private rooms, and transport their luggage to the next town in which they will be sleeping. There are companies that will do any or all of these support services.

My tentative strategy was to carry everything I needed in my 34-liter Ospry backpack so I would have the option to stay anywhere I chose at the end of the day. I liked the idea of having flexibility, especially since I really had no idea how far I would want to walk each day. I developed a tentative schedule based on walking about 20 kilometers a day, but was aware that might be too much, or even too little as I got stronger over time.

After the rude discovery that a bed may not always be available I started booking ahead, necessitating that I make a decision how far I would walk the next day or two. This worked fine, as I could assess each night how I was feeling, the terrain I would traverse the next day or two, and make a decision based on these factors and my accomodation options.

Some mornings I left not knowing where I would sleep that night, but it always worked out after Zubiri. Once I found a room by overhearing it was the last one available in the establishment where I was taking a break. Another day I assessed how I felt at a lunch break, decided I could walk further than planned, and ended up walking nearly 20 miles to a place I booked at my lunch break.

Finding Community Experiences

While I was not fond of sleeping in a roomful of people, and mostly avoided it after the first two nights, I knew I was missing what I thought was a valuable opportunity to get to know others at the community meals common in dormitory-style albergues. Consequently I decided to seek out establishments where I could sleep in my own room, but where there were community style meals. These did turn out to be my most enjoyable stays.

In Albergue Bideluze, in Castildelgado, I had a private room and an excellent, home-cooked dinner with a Spaniard and several Germans. I was the only native English speaker at the dinner table. My presence resulted in the others kindly practicing their English so I could be part of the conversation. The German gentleman sitting next to me had worked in Knoxville for three months and had visited the nearby town where I now live. I saw him several times again on the trail, including once when he stood at a restaurant window waving until he got my attention.

I stayed at Albergue San Pelayo in Villarente, after walking nearly 20 miles, my longest day. The dinner bell sounded promptly at 7 pm and all the guests filed into the dining room. An excellent home cooked meal was served to the diverse group of guests, along with plenty of wine. The people sitting around me were from Venice, Barcellona, and France.

When dinner was finished I planned to head to my room, but the hostess got my attention, handed me another glass of wine, and signaled that I should head to the living room area to visit with the guests, something I would not normally do. I obliged and ended up having a wonderful conversation with a German and Californian who were walking together and a young lady from Australia. On my last day, walking into Santiago, I ran into the German and Californian again.

My most enjoyable stay was on my 69th birthday, at Molino Galochas, a Casa Rural in Villavante. Mercedes, the hostess, was most gracious, making me a birthday cake to go along with the best dinner I had on the Camino. I shared it with a small group that included an Australian who was walking the Camino by himself before meeting his wife in Paris, and a French couple who had walked the Camino many times and stayed at Molino Galochas each time, including once on the gentleman's birthday.

The Australian told a story of encountering a man who he took for a panhandling bum, but then discovered he had an interesting story. The disheveled man had thrust an old newspaper clipping into the Australian's hands that was obviously about him. Between the article and a later Google search, the Australian discovered this man had been a professor of philosophy at a Spanish university. Apparently something terrible happened to one of his students about ten years ago and he had been walking 1000 kilometers a year ever since. This led to a discussion about how first impressions can be very wrong, and how the Camino infrastructure and culture, with available free lodging and a strong community spirit, could be a real magnet for people who have hit the skids in life.

Other than the special occasions when I could sleep in my own room while enjoying community meals, my approach to the Camino was to engage people during the daytime, while on the trail, and to rest and keep to myself at the end of the day. Others did the opposite, walking alone and engaging with others after the day's walk was finished. I didn't look for people to walk and talk with, but it happened enough naturally to give me valuable interactions which I would then contemplate during those times I walked alone. I liked the balance.

My strategy, as it evolved, worked well for me, but others pursued other strategies that worked best for them. This adventure can be experienced in many ways. The key, I think, is to know yourself and why you are doing this walk and figure out what you need to do to get the most out of it.

An International Journey

It doesn’t take long to discover that this is truly an international journey. It started in France and was primarily through Spain, but the people walking the Camino are from all over the world.

Lots of Ameicans are on the Camino, probably due to the Martin Sheen movie, “The Way.” At least that is what I told others who asked me why they were encountering so many Americans. The other nationalities I found most common were Germans, Canadians, British, and Koreans.

I asked a German why so many Germans do the Camino and she told me about a comedian, Hape Kerkeling, who wrote a popular book, “I’m Off: Losing and Finding Myself on the Camino de Santiago.” He also has comedy routines for each section, and she was listening to them as she completed each one. Another German, while acknowledging the popular comedian, suggested there were also other reasons: the good weather, proximity, low cost, and the popularity of walking vacations among Germans.

Asked the same question, a Korean told me about a popular television show about a Korean albergue on the Camino de Santiago in which some well known Korean personalities starred.

Clearly, though, it is not just these prompts that motivate people to undertake a Camino adventure. I met people from many other nations as well. I encountered lots of people from English speaking countries, including from England, Canada, Ireland, Australia, and New Zealand. I fortunately discovered that English is truly the international language when I met people from non-English speaking countries.

It was rare that you could not communicate in English with people who were walking, whether they were from Germany, Korea, France, Italy, Spain, Belgium, Romania, Norway, Japan, China, or anywhere else in the world. Some basic Spanish is helpful in dealing with local businesses, especially in smaller towns, but English speakers are very fortunate in this environment.

Life on the Camino

While there are many approaches to the Camino, everyone experiences the same trail, with the same support infrastructure and culture that has been created over the years. Everyone on this journey is traveling to Santiago de Compostela, mostly on foot, so the major activity is walking along the trail for 4-8 hours each day.

The norm is to get up early, no later than 7 a.m, maybe have a little breakfast, and be on the trail no later than 8 a.m. In the dormitory-style housing there is often a requirement that you vacate the premises no later than 8 a.m. because the next day’s guests will start arriving by noon. To take advantage of the most comfortable walking weather, people are normally on the road early in any case.

Interaction with others on this journey is an important part of the experience, but one which people accomplish in different ways. I intuitively felt that I didn’t want to join or create a “Camino family.” Like many others, I came alone for a reason. I wanted to have a long think about some issues and group dynamics would be distracting. Consequently, even if I had a great conversation with someone staying at the same establishment, I always avoided starting the day walking with anyone.

I found the chance encounters on the trail to be most valuable. I tended to walk for a morning or afternoon with someone and exhaust what we had to share in that time. Then I would spend time walking alone thinking about what I had learned until I found myself in another interesting conversation. I am sure I would not have had the rich diversity of conversations with people from all over the world had I glommed onto a person or group.

I am sure it was not a coincidence that I tended to talk with others who had also come to do this journey by themselves. It seemed we were all there for the same general purpose. Something had happened in our lives that necessitated a long, hard think about our next steps in life.

For me it was the unexpected death of my wife, Patti. For others it was a retirement, a divorce or difficulties at work. One young, very bright Romanian woman had just finished college in London and was very frustrated that she didn’t see a career path yet. A San Francisco man my age had been restructured out of a tech job and had been traveling in Europe for six months thinking about what to do next, and didn’t seem inclined to head back home any time soon.

People are much more willing to talk about personal issues in this environment, with people who are also struggling and who they will likely never again see in their lives.

I had a wonderful conversation with a young German woman I encountered on my way to Los Arcos one day. She was sitting on the side of the road, obviously hurting. I stopped to see if I could help. She told me her knee hurt but she would be OK, so I continued on my way. But before long, I turned around to see her coming up behind me. We walked the rest of the way to Los Arcos together. I learned a lot from her and, as I later discovered, she gave me way too much credit for helping her that day. Apparently she just needed someone to walk and talk with to take her mind off the pain.

At one point we started talking about the lessons we would take back home from the Camino. We riffed about how if, at home, we got up every morning, walked 20-25 kilometers around town, trying to engage others in conversations about the personal issues we were dealing with, we would soon be locked up in jail or a mental institution. We had a good laugh, but it really crystalized for me the value of this very unique environment. I was happy to see her a few more times and learn that she had finished a week before I did.

One California woman I walked with for an afternoon found the value of walking alone the hard way. She planned to come alone, but after posting her plans on Facebook a former male work colleague begged her to let him join. She did, and found that he was very controlling, preventing her from interacting with others. They had split up temporarily the day I met her, and the following day she planned to make the split permanent.

A German woman I walked with for a morning had a very different experience. I asked whether she hiked much at home, and she told me not much lately because her husband was not physically able to join her anymore. She then volunteered, with a big smile, that he suggested that maybe she could go ahead to the Camino without him, and within a month, she did.

The person with the most similar experience to mine was another young German woman who, seven years ago, woke to find her fiance dead from a heart condition. While she was only in her late 30s, she had been through this shock, a failed rebound relationship, and was in another one that she has high hopes will succeed. We had a lot to talk about. I was pleased to see her again my last day in Finisterra before heading home.

Patti on the Camino

I have been thinking, on and off, about walking the Camino de Santiago since seeing “The Way” in 2011. It just seemed like a cool thing to do, though it didn’t seem practical until recently.

I started thinking about it seriously after talking with my current partner, Peggy Sue, who had seen “The Way” when we were both working in Glacier National Park. She too was intrigued, as everyone seems to be after watching that movie, but concluded that she was not ready for the physical challenge. I decided to get in good enough shape to walk the Camino by the Fall of 2019, so I would have the option to do it then or the following Spring. Peggy Sue encouraged me to go ahead and tackle it in the Fall while she was planning to work in one of the National Parks.

The thought of placing a rock at Cruz de Ferro pushed me into going ahead and booking a flight to Spain. The tradition is to leave a rock brought from home in order to relieve your burdens. It has been over two years since I woke to find Patti dead, but I still often feel I am sleepwalking through life. I keep moving and doing new things, but the pall still exists. It often seems inertia is the driving force in my life, and I want to feel more in control of my destiny. If laying rock at Cruz de Ferro might help get me there, I thought it would be worth a 500 mile walk.

I brought Patti with me on this trip not only by bringing a special rock from home, but by pinning to my hat Patti’s thumbprint in sterling silver. My daughter was married a few months after Patti died, and she urged me to order the silver thumbprint so Patti could be at her wedding.

The rock I left at Cruz de Ferro was one painted by Patti’s Aunt Judy, a picture of Winnie-the-Pooh. At Patti’s funeral service, I concluded my remarks by saying that I was trying to hold on to the words of a wise bear named Pooh, who once said, “How lucky I am to have something that makes goodbye so hard.”

Leaving that rock brought a rush of emotions. I repeated Pooh’s words a few times and finally walked up and left the rock at the top of the hill. Walking down the other side to continue my journey I did feel lighter.

As I thought about why this could be, I concluded that the first time I uttered Pooh’s words, shortly after Patti’s death, I knew that this was the right sentiment, but I wasn’t feeling lucky. I was feeling crushed. After more than two years, saying it again as part of this ritual, I was starting to believe the words. As I walked down the hill that day I began to feel that I could go home now, that the purpose of my walk was not to reach Santiago de Compostela, but to leave that rock.

Patti showed up one more time. As I was heading up to bed at one of the dormitory-style albergues, a song came on the speaker in the deserted living room area that startled me. It was an instrumental version of Leonord Cohn’s “Hallelujah,” a song played at Patti’s funeral service, one that she had specifically requested. I stopped, sat down and wept.

The following day I stopped at a small church to get one of the two stamps you need each day in the last 100 kilometers. The same song, “Hallelujah,” was playing in the church. After getting my stamp, I lit a candle for Patti, sat down and tried to maintain my composure. Before I knew it, a priest had started a service, which I sat through with a few others.

The Final 100 Kilometers

Sarria is the traditional starting point for those aiming to walk just the minimum 100 kilometers to be eligible for a Compestela. As I approached Sarria, conversations with others who had started in France often turned to how crowded and different it would be for this last stretch. Some clearly looked down on those doing just the minimum distance.

I looked forward to this last section. More people just starting out would presumably create a different energy and vibe. I saw no reason to disparage people who started in Sarria. People have limitations, limitations of time, limitations of ability. Anyone willing to spend a week walking any distance should be encouraged, not disparaged.

I enjoyed the last 100 kilometers mostly because of the people I met, particularly a Korean woman and her mother and a fascinating lady from Belgium.

I met the Koreans in Sarria. We arrived at a small hostel about the same time and jointly figured out how to communicate to our Spanish speaking hostess by telephone that we were waiting at the front door. After we checked in I didn’t see them again until the next morning. My leg was in pain when I dragged myself into Sarria, so I prioritized getting my leg in shape to walk the next day over small talk with the other guests. I started to think I was going to need to come back to walk the final 100 kilometers, but by morning I was ready to try walking again.

I ran into someone from Montana I had encountered a few days before and tried to walk at her blistering pace for a while, but when I saw the Koreans I excused myself and began walking at their slower pace. The younger Korean spoke English; her mother did not, but she smiled and nodded quite a bit.

I have not previously spent any time talking with anyone from Korea. I love listening to people from other countries, learning about their interests, culture and concerns. The most interesting thing I learned about Koreans is their very real, intense hatred of the Japanese, clearly emanating from the historic conflicts between the countries.

When I told her my next trip would probably be to Japan, she started an intense lobbying campaign to talk me out of it: The Japanese are horrible, cruel people; Japan is dangerous because of the nuclear reactor accident; they feed radioactive rice to tourists; there are much better places to go in Asia, particularly Thailand, but I should visit Korea first, because if I first go to Thailand I will never leave.

I saw the Koreans a few times in the last week, including on my last day in Santiago before heading to the coast. As we were having dinner, the young Korean expressed alarm that I hadn’t gone in the Cathedral, hugged the statue of Saint James and made wishes, as is the custom. She looked at her watch, noted it was open another two hours, and we scurried over to get it done. I didn’t think she would understand that I was done with this trip at Cruz de Ferro.

I met the Belgian lady shortly after starting out one morning. We found ourselves walking next to one another and she asked if I spoke English. We ended up walking and talking the whole day and part of the next one. She had come to walk the Camino with a group of disabled persons from Belgium. She explained that a disabled man in Belgium had walked the Camino several years ago and now organizes these trips for others.

I asked how she hooked up with that group, which I assumed she was supporting. She gently corrected me, making clear that she had some issues. I couldn’t tell until she grew too tired to continue at one point.

I learned a lot about life in Belgium for a person who depends on their social safety net. She is a very talented artist, active in the Buddhist community, part of the sandwich generation trying to care for her son and Mom, and a longtime AA member. We had a lot to talk about.

She gave me the most valuable piece of advice I got on this journey, which she received at a Buddhist retreat. She had traveled a long distance for this retreat and wanted to get as much as she could out of it. She asked the leader what books she should read to learn more about the subject. He said, “Don’t read too many books. Read yourself.”

The Spanish Coast

I planned to walk to the Spanish coast after completing the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, but rain was forecast for the days I planned this walk. I had no interest in walking in the cold and rain as I experienced on my final day’s walk into Santiago. The weather was nearly ideal for most of my walk, so that last day was quite a shock.

I looked forward to walking to the coast, starting to smell and then see the ocean. But I know I would have been miserable after four days in the cold and rain. I’d built a two week cushion into my trip in case of injury or bad weather, and only used a couple days. So while I had more days to sit around Santiago and wait for the rain to stop, I didn’t have the patience. I was ready to head home.

So I moved up my flight home, got on a bus and headed to the coast for some rest and reflection. I reached the coast in a couple hours rather than the four days I originally planned, and spent time in both Muxía and Finisterra.

I still had too long at the coast. It rained most days, so the visions of putting my toes in the ocean vanished. It did force me to relax and think about what I had just done, but I didn’t need that much time. I’d been thinking about it all the way across Spain, and I’m sure I will continue to think about it for some time to come.

How Difficult Was It?

The nearly 800 kilometers I walked is comprised of many sections that present various challenges. Some people tackle the Camino by breaking it down into more manageable chunks, coming back year after year to complete new sections as time or conditioning allows.

Walking the just the minimum distance required to receive a Compostela, from Sarria to Santiago, can be done in about a week with minimal training. If able to walk 10-20 kilometers a day with the size backpack you will carry, which can be pretty light if you have your luggage shipped, this section can be done without hesitation.

The nearly 800 kilometers I did is another story. There are three significant mountains to get over if you tackle this route. The first is the Pyrenees, basically from Saint Jean Pied-de-Port to Zubiri. The second is from Astorga to Ponferrada, the section containing the Cruz de Ferro at the highest point on the Camino. The third is the section from Herrerias up to O’Cebreiro and back down to Triacastela.

I found the most difficult parts of these sections the descents, not the climb. As long as I took my time, stopping to rest whenever I felt the need, the trails up the mountains were not too difficult. Maybe because I didn’t expect it, the descents were more troublesome. The last several kilometers descending into Zubri was all rock, which I found very difficult to navigate. The descent from Cruz de Ferro is reportedly also very rocky and difficult, but I was warned and avoided it by walking mostly on the road instead.

These three sections are not the only places that require climbs and descents. Except for the long flat section called the Meseta, the terrain is rather hilly. You pretty much always find yourself climbing and descending at least gentle hills.

The Meseta, roughly between Burgos and León, offers another type of challenge. It is long, flat and boring. People tend to either love it or hate it. Some skip it to get to more interesting scenery. I loved it because it gave me a lot of time to mindlessly walk and think, which is what I mostly wanted to do on this journey. If you walk the Meseta, it is more of a mental challenge than a physical one.

As I prepared to walk the Camino, I read a lot of alarming reports about injuries, particularly painful blisters. My impression after returning is that this is only an issue for those who are unprepared or who fail to pay heed to basic, common sense precautions.

I encountered plenty of people with blisters, and some with more serious issues, but significant injuries that prevent people from continuing are exceedingly rare. I had one recurring issue after leaving Burgos, a right calf that cramped. I think it was due to dehydration, since I drank less water than beer and wine the two days I spent in Burgos. I hobbled to my next destination, drank plenty of water, massaged my calf, and was fine the next day. The cramp periodically recurred the rest of my journey, particularly when I exerted my calf, but it was more an annoyance than an injury.

The bottom line, I think, is that this is an adventure that can be done by anyone in reasonably good shape, with the right shoes (I found trail runners worked well) and socks, who keeps their feet lubricated (petroleum jelly worked well for me), and pays close attention to nutrition and hydration requirements.

Did I Accomplish My Goals?

Looking back at my written goals, I can’t say I accomplished them. My goals were unrealistic. I thought a lot about what to do with my life, but didn’t reach any conclusions.

As I made this journey I started to think about the purpose differently. Particularly after Cruz de Ferro, I began to think of this as more of a cleansing experience than a problem-solving exercise.

A large part of the value was spending these two months by myself, learning about myself. I began to think about the fact that I have never spent a significant chunk of time by myself, making decisions on my own without considering how it might impact anyone else.

Yes, they are little things, like when to get up and walk, when to take a break and for how long; where to stay for the night, whether to book ahead or risk finding an acceptable place at the end of the day; whether to interact with people, how and for how long; and how to think about and learn from the mistakes I, and I alone, made.

Little things, but making those decisions, day after day, I couldn’t help but learn something about myself. I couldn’t help but notice that making those decisions got me, safe and sound, from Saint Jean Pied-de-Port to Santiago de Compostela, on foot, nearly 500 miles, over three mountain ranges, across a desolate plain, through large cities and tiny towns, in a country where I don’t competently speak the language.

This breeds confidence, confidence that you can make decisions that move you forward.

I do think I am better prepared and more willing to make life decisions now than when I left for Spain. I feel less willing to let inertia dictate my life path, more able to take control. If I follow through, the journey will have given me more than I anticipated. I can start to push through the fog, grab the steering wheel, and start charting the next chapter of my life.