Walking the Camino de Santiago

 First published in Options, The Edge, on July 4, 2022 @ https://www.optionstheedge.com/topic/travel/going-distance-walking-camino-de-santiago-spain-and-portugal

The scallop shell, symbolic of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage, has a series of converging lines which fuse at the base of the shell. It’s been pointed out that this is representative of the many routes that lead to the cathedral at Santiago de Compostella.

Legend has it that the remains of St James the Greater, Jesus’ disciple, was brought and buried here by his followers after his beheading in Jerusalem.  What was once an unmarked grave has since grown into the great cathedral of today.

Since the discovery of the remains in the 9^th century, pilgrims have undertaken the journey called the Camino de Santiago or the Way of St James, to pay their respects. The journey is described as one of the three great pilgrimages of the Christian faith, the others being to Rome and to Jerusalem.

“Camino” in Spanish means way or road, aptly encompassing the seeking of the way by pilgrims through the centuries. Pilgrimages took months, or years. The journey was fraught with peril. Pilgrims lost their way, fell prey to bandits, and illness. An unknown number died, never to reach the cathedral.  Hospitals were set up along the way to tend to sick pilgrims, as well as albergues, hostels that provide, and continue to provide, simple, dormitory style shelter to pilgrims.

On reaching the cathedral, pilgrims of yore burnt their old clothes, a shedding of the old life, and donned clean vestments issued by the church. Often, a scallop shell was issued to pilgrims on completion of their journey. Although this practice has long been discontinued in favour of a paper certificate, or compostella, the emblem of the scallop shell continues to the present.

The Camino, popular in the Middle Ages, suffered a decline due to The Black Plague and political upheavals which swept Europe, but there was been a revival in the twentieth century, with over 200,000 travelers every year since 2013. Many come for religious reasons, but many undertake the journey for other purposes.

The Pilgrims’ Museum in Santiago de Compostella lists 39 different routes. The most popular, the Camino Frances (French Way), starts in France; the second most popular Camino Portugues (Portuguese Way), draws travelers from Portugal. The Camino del Norte (Northern Way), Camino Primitivo (Original Way), Camino Ingles (English Way) are just some of the routes.

The modern traveler has it easy compared to the pilgrim of the past. A comprehensive modern infrastructure, from well-placed stone markers, well maintained paths, modern communications, transport, smartphone apps, and the social structure of friendly locals, cafes, hostels and hotels dependent for business on the thousands of travelers who travel the way, make pilgrimage a safe and enjoyable experience.

In order to qualify for a compostella, the traveler has to walk the last 100km of the route, or cycle or ride the last 200km, if the traveler is riding a bicycle or horse.  Businesses and churches along a Camino route can stamp a traveler’s credencial or “passport”, as proof that the traveler passed that way. The credencial is presented at the church office in Santiago de Compostella for examination.

My journey started in a Spanish border town called Tui, which has a walled city with a pre-Roman history. Tui is part of the Camino Portugues inland route, which merges with the Camino Portugues Coastal route further along.

I collected my first stamp at the Tui cathedral, a 12th century Gothic style construction built on a small hill in a walled city with wending cobblestone alleys, and stayed in an endearing modern hotel cunningly built into a centuries-old stone building.

I had booked the Camino walk with one of the companies that provide the service, prebooking accommodation along the way, and arranging for bulky luggage to be sent on to the next destination daily, so all I needed to carry was a light backpack. There is no one way of walking the Camino, from travelers who carry everything needed for the journey in rucksacks, to having a guide accompany you on the route, to the availability of a support vehicle.

My walking journey started, and it was easy: brass scallop shells were embedded into the stone walkway of old Tui town, while blue and yellow markers on milestones marked the way out in the fields and forests. All I had to do, especially at intersections and turns, was to look out for the marker.

I left Tui for cultivated fields and forests, the path undulating and wending gently beside streams, over old stone Roman-era bridges, into the backyards of small villages, anticipating the sign of the yellow scallop shell symbol and arrow pointing out the way, like beacons.

The country was lush with verdure, and it was cool: the Spanish province of Galicia experiences a wet and mild climate, due to moisture laden winds from the North Atlantic, and the Camino seeks out small byways and forest paths, largely bypassing towns and busy roads.

I hardly needed to resort to smartphone online navigation tools; besides seeming out of place in the rustic, fairy-tale world, it simply wasn’t necessary. It felt, at times, that I had walked into a past of narrow roads and clear roadside brooks, of fields and woodlands untroubled by global concerns of warming weather and pandemics. It was easy to breathe along sun-dappled paths and waving green fronds.

Houses along the way had stone garden walls with letter boxes and a bigger box beneath, labelled “pan”, for the local bread delivery service to drop off freshly baked bread.

In the early afternoon, I wandered into the town of O Porrinho, for the respite of a seat in a local café, and a large bocadillo, a sandwich made with Spanish baguette and filling of choice, often cheese with jamon.

I had accommodation prearranged at a country cottage away from town, a low, stone, farmhouse-like affair with a garden sprawl where a surprisingly sophisticated dinner was prepared: a three-course meal of finely-prepared appetizer, grilled pork loin, salad and dessert, with background music, cooked by the home-owner who had 20 years’ experience working in a professional kitchen, one of those small and happy discoveries along the way.

Each day, I awoke in a different town, in a different hotel; a 200-year old stone cottage, a gorgeous, gracious mansion built over a forested river gorge, a farmhouse cluttered with the implements of a rural farm, an urban hotel. The program was simple; after breakfast, I would hoist on my backpack and walk, sometimes in the company of newly-met travelers, sometimes on my own.

There were small cafes to stop by for a hot coffee or tortilla at mealtimes. Locals would nod and offer a “buen camino”, an utterance of blessing and acknowledgment. When it rained, I donned a rain poncho and trudged on. When it was sunny and bright, I wore sunglasses and hat and walked on.  Each day’s walking averaged 20 km varying between the mid-teens to about 30km a day.  The weather fluctuated from chilly mornings to warm, blue-sky afternoons to continuous rain.

I met many fellow walkers, fewer in the early stages of the walk, progressively growing in number as the many different routes began to merge nearer our final destination.  Some walked alone, there were couples, families, groups of friends, many with large rucksacks on their backs. Some had walked multiple Caminos before, for some it was the first time. A couple had met on a walk several years earlier, gotten married, had a child and settled down in Spain. A woman walked with her dog for over 100km, a couple had hiked over 800km in a month, a single woman walked 260km in eight days, and so on.

 

The terrain was gently undulating and overwhelmingly rural except for the occasional path through a town. I had my credencial stamped at churches, cafes and albergues along the way.  As each day became the next, the walk distilled itself into the single purpose, to the next turn of the road, the next milestone and the promise of a hot meal and soft bed at the end of the day. Distractions and the cares of my regular self, with its thousand concerns and wandering curiosities, melted away.

I hadn’t started with single mindedness, but it came to me on the rural paths, under the shade, walking in the rain, in vineyards, pausing by ancient stone crosses called cruceiros, green with moss and weathered by time, that once gave comfort to tired pilgrims, centuries ago.

The last day, I saw the spires of the church in the distance, and walked into Santiago de Compostella, following the natural rise of the land along modern streets with traffic, into the cool, stony alleys of the Old Town, bustling with people, sights and sounds into the flagstone paved square before the great cathedral, one of many travelers, arrived at my final destination.

A 100km or more is trivial in a modern vehicle and a ruthlessly efficient highway. It is almost anachronistic to slow down and walk the distance, connect with oneself and experience the true pace of being human. To arrive at the cathedral under one’s own effort, gave meaning and significance and an understanding why thousands of people pry themselves from the comforts of home every year to walk the Camino de Santiago.