Coming Home (again)

Perhaps this is due to it being my third go around in as many years, or the weariness of walking everywhere and constantly stifling my very American desire to drive a car again, but the thought of going home occurred to me yesterday (in the shower, as these things tend to go) and I was surprised at how comforting it was. Two months of constant, often unplanned travel is both wonderful and tiresome. This is not to say I would not jump at the chance to do a backpacking trip through Europe again (I am already compiling a list of places in my head to visit if it ever came), but even in the company of complete strangers I find myself talking of Portland more and more as my date of departure edges closer.

I’ve come across more than a few people in Europe looking to get away from something, be it home, a relationship, or pain of some sort (this is heavily influenced by talking to those on the Camino). Travel can be a very helpful and necessary way to deal with those problems; I, however, cannot recall ever leaving the States for those reasons. Going abroad has, even on this wild Eurotrip, always been an education. The freedom to dictate (for the most part) every moment, every eatery, every step, every conversation is a rarity, and I cherish it dearly as the time for being (somewhat) responsible grows near. Some important decisions loom, and while I was not entirely ready to face then two months ago, I certainly am now. In this light, coming to Europe was an absolute success.

With all this said, any conclusion to a journey is difficult, and I will miss the people I have met along the way. I will probably pine for the mesmerizing charm of Paris from time to time, or laugh aloud thinking about the incessant mooing of cows while hiking the German alps. I will crave Italian gelato and dream of the Camino while stuck in traffic on the 217. As always, I leave these places full of gratitude, yet surer of who I am and where I belong: home.

It is always home.

Porto, and Final Camino Thoughts (no promises though)

I view the Camino as a separate trip entirely from the rest of my travels in Europe, and I hope there is some wisdom in doing so. As with any significant life experience, I would prefer to lessen the inevitable letdown which can sometimes follow, though the sheer exhaustion I have felt emotionally and physically in the days since tells me there is little use in doing so. What the Camino does to the body is pretty crazy, and even the best preparation does not guarantee a pain-free experience. Two people I am traveling with in Portugal, a week removed from the walk, are still dealing with some chronic pain, tendinitis and such, but are still very happy.

Currently, I am in a city called Porto, a fairly common destination for perigrinos after finishing in Santiago, only three hours north. It is an easygoing city with a pretty incredible river walk filled with inexpensive (but very good) eats all over town. As a benefit of being one of the chief producers of port wine, it is extremely easy to fit in a few wine tours while walking around. The city itself is set upon a hill on both sides–not necessarily a break for the legs after walking 400 kilometers or so–but offers amazing views as a reward. My Portuguese is even worse than my Spanish, but there seems to be a higher tolerance for my bumbling here than in Spain.

End of the World, Ma!

I’ll write more later, but I’m going to bed for now. Walking 390 kilometers takes a bit out of me.

Best Lunch Ever, and an Extended Walk

Lunch on the Camino isn’t really a thing.

If you have a 30 kilometer walk ahead of you, at best you will have a coffee and piece of white toast (apparently they do not believe in wheat bread here) in the morning at 7:30, second breakfast at 10:00 or so (a wonderful Spanish tradition I fully intend to bring back with me), and perhaps a quick stop to choke down a bocadillo (Spain’s dry, unimaginative sandwiches are by far my least favorite cuisine on this trip) before arriving at the albergue in the early to late afternoon. With how crowded the route becomes the last 100km due to Spaniards joining the fray, there is precious little time to spare in the rush to find a satisfactory bed for the night. Lunch is left by the wayside on the Camino…until the walk after Santiago, that is.

This morning I woke up in Santiago and fully intended to go back to Madrid to relax and plot my next move. I then looked outside and it was a beautiful morning for a walk, so I got my things together and continued onward towards the coast, a good 90 kilometers away. What can I say? This lifestyle is addicting, and good exercise at the very least. As an added bonus, the trail becomes much less crowded and so the walk is in turn more leisurely and thus provides more time for rare privileges like lunch.

As soon as my friend and I stepped into the restaurant, I knew it was going to be good. For the most part, these places in Spain tend to look incredibly similar, offering most of the same options from place to place with a bar running through it to serve the day drinking populace. For this restaurant in Negreira, however, someone decided to put some extra effort for whatever reason and we were more than happy to take advantage of it.

The Meal:
-Fresh salad with a healthy assortment of greens and corn and tomatoes mixed in
-Braised pork (with added spices! a rarity here) over potatoes
-Galician beer, one of the few Spanish beers I have tried this far which I like
-THE GREATEST CHEESECAKE KNOWN TO MAN

See, this is when the meal rocketed from good to amazing. The density and texture of this dish, made in-house, was comparable to a sort of firm custard and completely different from any other cheesecake I have ever tried. And the flavor! Incredible. This area is known for producing some great cheese, and I can only assume this is what made it so tasty. I was literally overwhelmed at first bite. Tears welled up in my eyes. Once, I had made a Nutella milkshake for someone and watched the same kind of reaction, but never had I shared the same experience until today. I would walk another 300 kilometers just to have that first bite again. Almost spiritual. Such goodness.

After we finished dessert (it took a good twenty minutes to properly enjoy and appreciate it), our waiter asked if we wanted any coffee, and after I politely declined, asked if I instead wanted a shot. With my very bad Spanish, I assumed an espresso shot so I said yes, and when he asked me what type of shot I, now extremely confused, said it was up to him. Of course, he actually meant alcohol, and brought back a local liqueur similar to Bailey’s, but a bit more rich and with a pleasant aftertaste. Couldn’t have been happier to have made that mistake.

Oh, to top it all off, he came back with the bill and gave us an additional shot for free. Insane. I love this place. Marry me, Galicia.

Llegar

Our final day started with rain.

For the first two hours, it was a steady, soaking, relentless rain; washing pilgrims, washing clothes, washing sins.

Through the gray and mud and streams we walked in a silent but resolute manner. No one talked of stopping or of rest, very little was said at all. I had walked for twelve days and covered a distance of 300 kilometers and the thought of pausing was an impossible one: this was the day. Twenty kilometers to Santiago de Compostela.

We passed an airport and could not help but be startled by such noise. Since I had not heard something so loud and so fierce in almost two weeks, it was my first jarring reminder the end of this journey was rapidly closing on us. For my friends who started much, much further away, there seemed to be a mixture of wonder and apprehension. Nearly 800 kilometers stretches from the beginning of the Camino Frances to Santiago. Miles upon miles passing over rugged mountain paths, vineyards, fields, villages, streams, dirt, the dust of pilgrims centuries before: to imagine an end was nearly impossible after over 30 days of walking.

Pain, Lots and Lots of Pain, and Looking Back

My first morning of the Camino I was asked by one of the toughest people I have ever met, with all the sincerity in the world: “Are you ready for blisters that will make you cry?” He wasn’t kidding.

While I have not shed a tear (in pain) on this walk, I have cursed, winced, hobbled, and limped my way through the past few days of the Camino. I have also sworn off all forms of hiking for at least a month after I am finished. Essentially, my blisters built up to the point where a lot of ibuprofen and bandages (and some magical European patches called Compeed) were required in order to preserve any shred of evidence I possess feet. Understand: hiking 16-18 miles in a day, while difficult, can be done by pretty much anyone–hiking this much every day for 14-34 consecutive days is another matter entirely. Arriving at the final destination point at the end of our day is a huge relief…but it is also when the strain of walking so much comes down hard on everyone.

Pain. So much pain.

People of the Camino

Many who start the Camino originally intend on traveling alone. People have these big plans on discovering themselves and wandering over the grasslands of Spain without other people to distract them or detract from the experience. It never works out: people are the experience. I know this because I hear it almost universally repeated from those I talk with. From day one, it is quickly apparent the Camino is too full of excellent and engaging people to spend the entirety of it alone.

The stories I hear on a daily basis never fail to amaze me, or occasionally, bring me to tears. People who dedicate their walk to their marriages or families, or in memory of loved ones who have died of cancer. People who are seeking a radical lifestyle in order to encourage a permanent change in their outlook on life. Some are desperately seeking God, others trying to forgive those who have hurt them. Parents who have lost their children. Those seeking adventure. An escape or celebration of life. The list of reasons goes on.

Joy

There is a palpable sense of it all throughout this trip, regardless of the day or place. An infectious rush of euphoria in the morning, often turning to laughter or singing in the evening. Friendships are made in an instant because of this common spirit: complete strangers in the beginning, inseparable companions by the time the next albergue is reached. Even our pain is a source of pride, each blister a reminder of a hard day’s walk where our collective rest is well earned. And in this joy is a serenity I rarely find amidst the busyness of my own life–the driving and texting and browsing and worrying I let myself be caught up in. I sense this same relief and comfort from almost every pilgrim I interact with.

The scenery and good weather undoubtedly play a role in our joy, but I have often heard from pilgrims on their second or third walk how they came back despite terrible weather their first year. This joy–I cannot find a better word for it–within every facet of the Camino keeps them coming back. Spain itself is an incredible backdrop to this journey, with an ever-changing landscape I cannot help but stop and admire no matter how tired I am. As for the locals, “Buen Camino” has probably been uttered to me by Spaniards we pass over a hundred times at this point, yet it sounds fresh and welcome each time. Buen Camino, indeed.

Life, Faith, and Feet: Conversations on the Camino

It has already become clear to me the difficulty in describing the experience of the Camino de Santiago, but I will try my best over the next ten days or so. My first impression has been very good and I doubt it will regress much, if at all, throughout the rest of the walk. In short, as soon as I began the Camino, I immediately understood it was less of a very long hike and more of an adoption of a lifestyle unlike much else I have seen. First, I will shed some light on what is discussed over the course of a day heading west.

When reflecting on a day’s conversations, it is truly astounding (if not in any way surprising) how much of it is devoted solely on the subject of feet. Often I am more intimately aware of the condition of a blister on my companion’s left pinkie toe than I am of what town we are staying in for the night. In fact, usually a town is initially referred to as a number (“how long are we walking today?”), with the name only becoming clear as the day continues and the miles stretch on. When walking an average of 15-18 miles per day, the condition of your feet and that of those in your party for the day become the first priority. “How are your feet today?” becomes the de facto “How are you today?” because the two are so intertwined.

Faith is often a subject batted around while walking in the morning (usually because the first ten kilometers of a walk are the easiest and when people are most happy before arriving at the next town); subjects such as our current inner struggles or thoughts on life and people are left for the evening around a dinner table bursting with wine and Spanish dishes–the quality of which (in reference to food) ranges dramatically, unfortunately. The respect and security in which these things are discussed amongst strangers is incredible, and one of my favorite aspects of the Camino so far. In college, such openness and lack of fear in expressing one’s mind and opinion was a rarity because of how quickly people would attack an unpopular or particularly bold opinion, while here I have yet to see such an instance.

More to come, obviously. I need to tend to my feet.

So I’m Taking a Really, Really Long Walk

It’s true: when it comes down to it, El Camino de Santiago (aka, The Way of Saint James) is essentially an incredibly inconvenient way to get from the south of France (or in my case, northern Spain) to the western coast of España. The full route takes about 35-40 days when coming from France. You sweat a lot, and carry three pairs of clothing, at most. You sleep in old buildings with a bunch of other snoring, smelly peregrinos (pilgrims). Oh, and you walk an absurd amount of miles every day.

Why am I doing this? To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I have one specific, all-encompassing reason. It sounds fun. I like Spain? Tapas? Spiritual awakening? Losing some milkshake tummy fat? They all kind of go together for me. Traditionally, the Camino was an intensely religious (Catholic) pilgrimage. Now everyone does it. Seriously, hundreds of thousands per year. If you are looking for originality, sorry to disappoint. I will not, unfortunately, have walked the Camino before it was cool. My hipster cred is at an all time low.

Still, I have about 200 miles to come up with a good reason for all of this sweating. Maybe I don’t need one, but I tend to think along those lines when I go on big adventures like this. The why matters to me. Yet even if all I end up with are really sore feet, it’ll at the very least be a memory worth keeping. Hopefully, a good story too.