1. Introduction
One day my wife casually suggested that I do the camino. I had quit my last job where I had worked for over twenty-five years, then spent a few months getting under my wife's feet. Without much thought about what walking an actual camino might mean for me, I'd booked a one way flight from London Gatwick to Biaritz in south west France. I would travel to London Gatwick from Blackfriars station which would let me, rather poetically I thought, start the journey from outside the Confraternity of St James. The confraternity being the secular organisation that supports the Way of St James, the camino, in the UK. From Biaritz it would be a short hop on the Cronoplus 4 bus to Bayonne where I would spend the night at a modest hotel directly opposite the rail station providing time to see Bayonne's cathedral. As I put the plan together in my head, this would make for a relaxed early morning rail journey on the SNCF 07:42 train to St. Jean Pied de Port in France on the eleventh of September 2019. Then, over a month later on the nineteenth of October, I would take the 15:12 renfe
train from Santiago de Compostela to Madrid Chamartin rail station arriving 21:47, where I had a hotel room booked close to the station. With a day to see some of Madrid it would be onward to Lisbon on the sleeper train to meet my wife at the apartment we had booked. After five nights in Lisbon my wife and I would fly back to the UK. Some diary notes were created to remind me to book the rail tickets when they became available and a written itinerary lest I should forget the plan. It is all in hand and I can already picture myself walking across Spain with my fellow pilgrims whoever they may be.
It is only mid-April and I pause to draw breath. It is one of those glorious days in April with a watery sun doing its utter best to warm anyone brave enough to venture into their gardens as I have done at the home I share with my wife in the suburbs of north west London. I try to shepherd my thoughts into some semblance of order. Despite being a quiet and reflective sort of person, I do tend to need a project. With a project selected with the help of a blindfold and a sharp pin, I quietly and reflectively steam ahead like a bull with its head down, pressing on through any hurdles that might stop me reaching my arbitrarily chosen objective. But wait. Shouldn't the idea of this project, the camino, be that I start to change my ways? Hadn't I given up my job as an IT manager four months ago to have more time to relax and do the things I enjoy? Or at least find out what it is I enjoy? Live the dream as they say, if I could work out what the dream was? Do those things at age 55 I could not do at age 65, or 75? This was clearly going to take some time to work out and I am unsure I am properly equipped for the task at hand. As a student of mathematics in my younger years, a research assistant in atmospheric physics, a software developer and finally an IT manager, life has supported my natural tendencies to order and organisation. This has prepared me perfectly for planning the logistics of a trip but not for understanding why I am travelling or what meaning I might get from my travels. Having been constrained by the normal patterns of life this was an opportunity I needed to make the most of.
I sit and reflect on the scheme so far. It is April and the main travel arrangements of my adventure are already booked, though I don't start out for another five months. In the plan there is a gaping hole where I have a month and a week in which to achieve something that could prepare me for the future, though I don't know what that something is. My wife had only sown the seed of the trip three weeks ago. Not really knowing what the adventure is or where it will take me, figuratively speaking of course, I focus on the known facts. The journey will take me geographically from St. Jean Pied de Port in south west France, to Santiago de Compostela in north west Spain. This is the most popular of the many ways (routes or caminos) that take pilgrims to the city of Santiago de Compostela. As this particular route collects pilgrims walking down through France it is named the Camino Francés. The more I reflect the more the realisation sinks in that I don't know why I am now committed to walk five hundred miles across Spain apart from the fact that I love walking. I know I am not doing it just because it is there, or for the physical challenge. How did I get to this point? 'Why don't you do the camino?' she had said. That is how I got to this point. In my limited and humble experience, women say the most when they say little. I suspect, they occasionally regret that they only said a little. Had my wife went on to list the numerous, rewards, benefits, experiences and successful outcomes of the camino I may have pinned the tail on the part of the donkey that said a morning walk in the chilterns followed by a pub lunch.
Corralling your thoughts is tiring and I pause for a rest. Ten minutes later I realise that it will help me to practice being a bit less organised, go with the flow more, relax into the moment. It is painful being honest with yourself, but how about being a bit less rigid? My well thought out scheme has a one month and one week vacuum in the middle with nothing arranged. The logical next step for the old me, the current me, would be to fill that with a detailed itinerary so the best could be made of the history, culture, and architecture along the way. But what if I left the plan empty? Live a life less planned, at least for a few weeks. I will arrive in St. Jean Pied de Port on the eleventh of September as punctual as you like. I will depart from Santiago de Compostela on the 15:12 to Madrid on the nineteenth of October. Between these events I will walk my camino, or the camino will simply happen to me. The void will get filled by experiences, some of which will be delightful and surprising. Either way, there will be no itinerary, no accommodation booked, no excursions scheduled, no wine tastings planned or must-see sights jotted down. I feel lighter already, the weight of the world is lifting from my shoulders and I start to see what the camino might mean for me. No plan, no worries, wandering across the Spanish landscape in a general westward direction. I would take a magnetic compass. Go old school. If I was walking in an east to west direction I would either get to Santiago de Compostela or end up at the Atlantic ocean which would not be too much of an overshoot. And of course I would have my mobile with google maps, GPS navigation, the ability to maintain a blog, phone or message home each night and book the next nights accommodation if I felt inclined. Groan. The dull weight of the digital world sits like a monkey on my back. The physical weight of the phone, its charger and power adaptor, the attention it seeks in demanding power and connectivity start to niggle away and the walking doesn't start for another five months. Was I embarking on a walk to embrace new opportunities and a freer me, or was I on a quest for free wireless access across five hundred miles of northern Spain. I didn't know much as yet about my camino, but I knew that this is what I was trying to get away from. The world where you are always on-line, connected, contactable and in a position where you are tied to the daily rigours of a life less relaxed. So, I would leave the phone at home. A simple solution to a simple problem. To me this seemed quite natural and the right thing to do, though at the time I did not realise what a fuss friends and family would later make of this ultimate escape from the new normal of a digital world. How would I be contacted if something happened? What about unspecified emergencies? It was of course my wife who had to answer the questions 'How is he?', 'Where is he?', 'Is he alive?' and I fully regret not furnishing her with a handbook of responses.
So, flight booked then go with the flow. I picture myself spilling out of the morning train in St. Jean Pied de Port on a cool but sunny September morning. Rucksack on my back, stout walking boots on my feet and not a care in the world. Life was good. All I had to do was walk. I had given myself the regulation thirty-three days and a few spare days to rest and sight-see so time would not be a constraint. I visualise myself walking out of the station exit and, well, I wasn't sure what would happen next. Unlike my youthful days undertaking the Duke of Edinburgh award map reading across the Cumbrian hills, I somehow knew I did not need a sack load of maps and advanced navigation skills. There was a lot of internet forum advice on the right clothing, how to manage bed bugs and how to travel to the start of the camino. For navigation, apparently, all you had to do was follow the camino signs. I have followed path signs and way marking in the UK and I know that such signs are erected to lead the unwitting hiker to the top of the bleakest cloud shrouded moor and then leave them directionless with no possible hope of escape. I am not convinced. There is some camino navigation advice and it all pointed to the standard advice. Follow the camino signs. Maybe I have little trust and not enough faith. Though I am not good at asking questions, I decide to visit the Confraternity of St James office in central London to obtain some advice.
The confraternity has a a good stock of pilgrimage related books, and volunteers to answer any questions. The volunteers are very welcoming. I come away with a vague idea that there is good tapas to be had in some places on the camino, that all I had to do was follow the camino signs, and if I wanted a reading recommendation then the 1957 classic by the academic author Walter Starkie was a great place to start. As I say, I'm not good at asking questions. However, addressing these three points of wisdom I decided to let the food and drink side sort itself out. I would have to put my faith in the signs for the full five hundred miles and stop fretting about navigation. Putting this into perspective, it would be like walking two thirds of the way from from Lands End to John O'Groats on paths and minor roads. The book recommendation came with the warning that as it was out of print it was impossible to buy a copy, so naturally I decide to buy the book. The book is indeed out of print, but being determined and resourceful I manage to find a copy for a price I am not prepared to disclose in case my wife reads this far. The Walter Starkie provides a jolly blend of travel writing, history and folk lore. His relaxed minstrel-like wanderings to Santiago strike a cord as he hitches rides on hay carts, visits old friends and makes new ones with the help of the local wine. For me it was the perfect read, including the book's mild arrogance in including both French and Spanish text with no thought to an English translation or synopsis. When I'd finished reading the Walter Starkie book, it occurred to me that a 1957 guide book might not be the best practical guide for my needs. Searching online furnishes me with a sense of the camino classics and I buy Pilgrim Stories by Nancy L. Frey published in 1999. Nancy had come across pilgrims by chance in Santiago which led to a PhD on the camino and later her 1999 book which drew on her findings. The book covers the motivations and experiences of many pilgrims. I cannot recall if it also covered navigation, though if it does I expect it says 'follow the camino signs'. The Nancy L. Frey book was excellent though still not practical, and an up to date camino guide book is purchased. This contains the high level stage maps for each day, details of the available accommodation, notes on history, and various detours you might wish to take to extend what is already a five hundred mile trek. This practical manual for the camino also ventured into what it headlines as the mystical path. You have seen my background and it will not come as a surprise that language like 'the mystical path' is not in my wheelhouse. Though the language does not sit comfortably with me would it transpire that I would experience some of the underlying principles?
To add to my confusion, I had watched a BBC TWO three-part documentary on 'Pilgrimage: The Road to Santiago' which presented the camino from the perspective of several celebrities of different (or no) religion walking for a limited period over various sections of the camino touching base with some of the classic landmarks such as the iron cross. It was unclear to me what the documentary makers had in mind. A mass conversion to Catholicism on this catholic pilgrimage? A clash of religions? On screen spiritual or personal re-awakening? Hopefully I will find the words to record my own experiences.
A month had passed since I had booked the flights, bought the extra hiking gear and now I set to the task of reading the manual that would tell me how to organise my camino. Despite the obvious back to front approach, I perform this with earnest enthusiasm highlighting in brilliant pink the key facts, historical monuments of potential interest, and preferred accommodation options. I picture myself staying in remote rustic albergues (hostels) with small dormitories and memorable local food. Non of this will be booked in advance so perhaps I am starting to develop some trust that all will be well as I drift east to west stumbling upon fluent English speakers in remote villages who will accommodate me with a broad smile and open arms. Trust is one thing, though I realise that I won't be travelling through the Costa del Cleethorpes region of Spain and decide to learn some Spanish. My level of Spanish turns out to be below zero as the few words I think I know are wrong. My ever helpful wife directs me to an on-line language tool. This is supplemented with Spanish soaps such as Gran Hotel and Las Chicas del Cables. It is with some embarrassment that these soaps quickly turn into guilty pleasures though it does help tune the ear to a new language and Spain's love affair with murder, blackmail and intrigue. After a huge effort I find I can ask for a coffee, a tortilla, a beer and a bed for the night. Luckily I won't have to ask for directions as I'll be able to follow the camino signs. It felt as if I'd spent a lot of valuable time for little language skill and with the lack of speaking practice I wondered how the Spanish language would play out for me.
Though I had dismissed the mystical path as it wasn't my kind of language, I did want some meaning for my camino. Why was I doing this beyond a walking holiday? How was I going to make the most of the solitude and open spaces I was heading for? An easy question for someone recently retired from the world of work was 'What next for me?'. Having slogged through a work environment I was increasingly unhappy with, how about 'Have I severed the cord with work?'. Like buses, such lists traditionally come in threes. Knowing I have always struggled with the death of my mother when I was eight, I add 'Mum' to the end of the list. Fortunately, I had no false expectations of rigorous answers to these questions and simply felt better that I had a baseline for the start.
As the date of departure approached all was prepared. Being a fan of the simple activity of walking I had walked five hundred miles over four months to get into shape and prepare my body for the daily physical challenge. It was one thing to walk fifteen miles in a day then have a week off, quite another to repeat that day after day for five hundred miles. There were many unknowns and that was part of it so I was reconciled to working through any practical problems that might arise. The emotional side was different and I did not yet know what lay ahead.
Chapter 2. Starting out
It is only mid-April and I pause to draw breath. It is one of those glorious days in April with a watery sun doing its utter best to warm anyone brave enough to venture into their gardens as I have done at the home I share with my wife in the suburbs of north west London. I try to shepherd my thoughts into some semblance of order. Despite being a quiet and reflective sort of person, I do tend to need a project. With a project selected with the help of a blindfold and a sharp pin, I quietly and reflectively steam ahead like a bull with its head down, pressing on through any hurdles that might stop me reaching my arbitrarily chosen objective. But wait. Shouldn't the idea of this project, the camino, be that I start to change my ways? Hadn't I given up my job as an IT manager four months ago to have more time to relax and do the things I enjoy? Or at least find out what it is I enjoy? Live the dream as they say, if I could work out what the dream was? Do those things at age 55 I could not do at age 65, or 75? This was clearly going to take some time to work out and I am unsure I am properly equipped for the task at hand. As a student of mathematics in my younger years, a research assistant in atmospheric physics, a software developer and finally an IT manager, life has supported my natural tendencies to order and organisation. This has prepared me perfectly for planning the logistics of a trip but not for understanding why I am travelling or what meaning I might get from my travels. Having been constrained by the normal patterns of life this was an opportunity I needed to make the most of.
I sit and reflect on the scheme so far. It is April and the main travel arrangements of my adventure are already booked, though I don't start out for another five months. In the plan there is a gaping hole where I have a month and a week in which to achieve something that could prepare me for the future, though I don't know what that something is. My wife had only sown the seed of the trip three weeks ago. Not really knowing what the adventure is or where it will take me, figuratively speaking of course, I focus on the known facts. The journey will take me geographically from St. Jean Pied de Port in south west France, to Santiago de Compostela in north west Spain. This is the most popular of the many ways (routes or caminos) that take pilgrims to the city of Santiago de Compostela. As this particular route collects pilgrims walking down through France it is named the Camino Francés. The more I reflect the more the realisation sinks in that I don't know why I am now committed to walk five hundred miles across Spain apart from the fact that I love walking. I know I am not doing it just because it is there, or for the physical challenge. How did I get to this point? 'Why don't you do the camino?' she had said. That is how I got to this point. In my limited and humble experience, women say the most when they say little. I suspect, they occasionally regret that they only said a little. Had my wife went on to list the numerous, rewards, benefits, experiences and successful outcomes of the camino I may have pinned the tail on the part of the donkey that said a morning walk in the chilterns followed by a pub lunch.
Corralling your thoughts is tiring and I pause for a rest. Ten minutes later I realise that it will help me to practice being a bit less organised, go with the flow more, relax into the moment. It is painful being honest with yourself, but how about being a bit less rigid? My well thought out scheme has a one month and one week vacuum in the middle with nothing arranged. The logical next step for the old me, the current me, would be to fill that with a detailed itinerary so the best could be made of the history, culture, and architecture along the way. But what if I left the plan empty? Live a life less planned, at least for a few weeks. I will arrive in St. Jean Pied de Port on the eleventh of September as punctual as you like. I will depart from Santiago de Compostela on the 15:12 to Madrid on the nineteenth of October. Between these events I will walk my camino, or the camino will simply happen to me. The void will get filled by experiences, some of which will be delightful and surprising. Either way, there will be no itinerary, no accommodation booked, no excursions scheduled, no wine tastings planned or must-see sights jotted down. I feel lighter already, the weight of the world is lifting from my shoulders and I start to see what the camino might mean for me. No plan, no worries, wandering across the Spanish landscape in a general westward direction. I would take a magnetic compass. Go old school. If I was walking in an east to west direction I would either get to Santiago de Compostela or end up at the Atlantic ocean which would not be too much of an overshoot. And of course I would have my mobile with google maps, GPS navigation, the ability to maintain a blog, phone or message home each night and book the next nights accommodation if I felt inclined. Groan. The dull weight of the digital world sits like a monkey on my back. The physical weight of the phone, its charger and power adaptor, the attention it seeks in demanding power and connectivity start to niggle away and the walking doesn't start for another five months. Was I embarking on a walk to embrace new opportunities and a freer me, or was I on a quest for free wireless access across five hundred miles of northern Spain. I didn't know much as yet about my camino, but I knew that this is what I was trying to get away from. The world where you are always on-line, connected, contactable and in a position where you are tied to the daily rigours of a life less relaxed. So, I would leave the phone at home. A simple solution to a simple problem. To me this seemed quite natural and the right thing to do, though at the time I did not realise what a fuss friends and family would later make of this ultimate escape from the new normal of a digital world. How would I be contacted if something happened? What about unspecified emergencies? It was of course my wife who had to answer the questions 'How is he?', 'Where is he?', 'Is he alive?' and I fully regret not furnishing her with a handbook of responses.
So, flight booked then go with the flow. I picture myself spilling out of the morning train in St. Jean Pied de Port on a cool but sunny September morning. Rucksack on my back, stout walking boots on my feet and not a care in the world. Life was good. All I had to do was walk. I had given myself the regulation thirty-three days and a few spare days to rest and sight-see so time would not be a constraint. I visualise myself walking out of the station exit and, well, I wasn't sure what would happen next. Unlike my youthful days undertaking the Duke of Edinburgh award map reading across the Cumbrian hills, I somehow knew I did not need a sack load of maps and advanced navigation skills. There was a lot of internet forum advice on the right clothing, how to manage bed bugs and how to travel to the start of the camino. For navigation, apparently, all you had to do was follow the camino signs. I have followed path signs and way marking in the UK and I know that such signs are erected to lead the unwitting hiker to the top of the bleakest cloud shrouded moor and then leave them directionless with no possible hope of escape. I am not convinced. There is some camino navigation advice and it all pointed to the standard advice. Follow the camino signs. Maybe I have little trust and not enough faith. Though I am not good at asking questions, I decide to visit the Confraternity of St James office in central London to obtain some advice.
The confraternity has a a good stock of pilgrimage related books, and volunteers to answer any questions. The volunteers are very welcoming. I come away with a vague idea that there is good tapas to be had in some places on the camino, that all I had to do was follow the camino signs, and if I wanted a reading recommendation then the 1957 classic by the academic author Walter Starkie was a great place to start. As I say, I'm not good at asking questions. However, addressing these three points of wisdom I decided to let the food and drink side sort itself out. I would have to put my faith in the signs for the full five hundred miles and stop fretting about navigation. Putting this into perspective, it would be like walking two thirds of the way from from Lands End to John O'Groats on paths and minor roads. The book recommendation came with the warning that as it was out of print it was impossible to buy a copy, so naturally I decide to buy the book. The book is indeed out of print, but being determined and resourceful I manage to find a copy for a price I am not prepared to disclose in case my wife reads this far. The Walter Starkie provides a jolly blend of travel writing, history and folk lore. His relaxed minstrel-like wanderings to Santiago strike a cord as he hitches rides on hay carts, visits old friends and makes new ones with the help of the local wine. For me it was the perfect read, including the book's mild arrogance in including both French and Spanish text with no thought to an English translation or synopsis. When I'd finished reading the Walter Starkie book, it occurred to me that a 1957 guide book might not be the best practical guide for my needs. Searching online furnishes me with a sense of the camino classics and I buy Pilgrim Stories by Nancy L. Frey published in 1999. Nancy had come across pilgrims by chance in Santiago which led to a PhD on the camino and later her 1999 book which drew on her findings. The book covers the motivations and experiences of many pilgrims. I cannot recall if it also covered navigation, though if it does I expect it says 'follow the camino signs'. The Nancy L. Frey book was excellent though still not practical, and an up to date camino guide book is purchased. This contains the high level stage maps for each day, details of the available accommodation, notes on history, and various detours you might wish to take to extend what is already a five hundred mile trek. This practical manual for the camino also ventured into what it headlines as the mystical path. You have seen my background and it will not come as a surprise that language like 'the mystical path' is not in my wheelhouse. Though the language does not sit comfortably with me would it transpire that I would experience some of the underlying principles?
To add to my confusion, I had watched a BBC TWO three-part documentary on 'Pilgrimage: The Road to Santiago' which presented the camino from the perspective of several celebrities of different (or no) religion walking for a limited period over various sections of the camino touching base with some of the classic landmarks such as the iron cross. It was unclear to me what the documentary makers had in mind. A mass conversion to Catholicism on this catholic pilgrimage? A clash of religions? On screen spiritual or personal re-awakening? Hopefully I will find the words to record my own experiences.
A month had passed since I had booked the flights, bought the extra hiking gear and now I set to the task of reading the manual that would tell me how to organise my camino. Despite the obvious back to front approach, I perform this with earnest enthusiasm highlighting in brilliant pink the key facts, historical monuments of potential interest, and preferred accommodation options. I picture myself staying in remote rustic albergues (hostels) with small dormitories and memorable local food. Non of this will be booked in advance so perhaps I am starting to develop some trust that all will be well as I drift east to west stumbling upon fluent English speakers in remote villages who will accommodate me with a broad smile and open arms. Trust is one thing, though I realise that I won't be travelling through the Costa del Cleethorpes region of Spain and decide to learn some Spanish. My level of Spanish turns out to be below zero as the few words I think I know are wrong. My ever helpful wife directs me to an on-line language tool. This is supplemented with Spanish soaps such as Gran Hotel and Las Chicas del Cables. It is with some embarrassment that these soaps quickly turn into guilty pleasures though it does help tune the ear to a new language and Spain's love affair with murder, blackmail and intrigue. After a huge effort I find I can ask for a coffee, a tortilla, a beer and a bed for the night. Luckily I won't have to ask for directions as I'll be able to follow the camino signs. It felt as if I'd spent a lot of valuable time for little language skill and with the lack of speaking practice I wondered how the Spanish language would play out for me.
Though I had dismissed the mystical path as it wasn't my kind of language, I did want some meaning for my camino. Why was I doing this beyond a walking holiday? How was I going to make the most of the solitude and open spaces I was heading for? An easy question for someone recently retired from the world of work was 'What next for me?'. Having slogged through a work environment I was increasingly unhappy with, how about 'Have I severed the cord with work?'. Like buses, such lists traditionally come in threes. Knowing I have always struggled with the death of my mother when I was eight, I add 'Mum' to the end of the list. Fortunately, I had no false expectations of rigorous answers to these questions and simply felt better that I had a baseline for the start.
As the date of departure approached all was prepared. Being a fan of the simple activity of walking I had walked five hundred miles over four months to get into shape and prepare my body for the daily physical challenge. It was one thing to walk fifteen miles in a day then have a week off, quite another to repeat that day after day for five hundred miles. There were many unknowns and that was part of it so I was reconciled to working through any practical problems that might arise. The emotional side was different and I did not yet know what lay ahead.
Chapter 2. Starting out