(This is a series of six weekly emails I wrote in 2022 while walking the 700+km of the Camino de Santiago. I was on sabbatical and had time to think, to walk, to write, and to drink).
To my nearest and dearest,
Today is a Tuesday and it’s siesta time in Hornillos del Camino. The town has been receiving pilgrims for nearly 1000 years and, despite this illustrious history, there is nothing to do here. I am lying on a blanket in the portico of the church hiding from the sun, looking at the sky and feeling bored. There are a few tiny airplanes criss-crossing the sky, reminding me that thankfully there is a modern world to return to beyond this rural amalgamation of bricks and mortar. It certainly feels like little else.
Sometimes life falls together in a way that unexpectedly breaks your heart. Today I walked around a bend and over a small rise, opening up to a wide view. In the distance a lone pilgrim was small and nondescript, too far to see anything about him. Above him there are huge wind turbines, bigger than any object I’ve ever seen. Their sheer size and sleek tapering make them look like giant mechanical ballerinas, lining up in a row, one behind the other.
The pilgrim was now coming up ahead and I could see he had a limp. His lilted walk clearly wasn’t caused by blisters but by age and injury. I walked past him, smiled and nodded. He smiled back, friendly and open. Neither of us felt the need to greet the other, but there was no hostility, only unspoken agreement that silence was as good as anything else. Cavalleria Rusticana started playing on my Spotify, building to the crescendo. I looked ahead and saw the wind turbines now all in a row, rotating beautifully in unison. I looked back to catch his eye and point to them, but he didn’t look up. He just forged ahead, head down, limping on.
I felt sorry for him and stopped thinking about the small blister forming on my left heel. It also made me think of a book I read early this year by Joan Chittister, Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope. It’s about the Jewish story where Jacob wrestles with the angel of God. Strangely, the angel cannot overpower him, so touches Jacob’s hip, dislocating it. Despite this, Jacob will not let the angel go and demands that he bless him. The angel relents, changing his name from Jacob to Israel “because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome”.
It’s quite a strange story, especially because it’s also the origin myth of the nation of Israel. But the imagery is profound. That often our biggest blessings come from our hardest struggles, and that overcoming doesn’t mean triumphant victory or that everything just goes away. In the story Jacob walks away from the experience blessed, but also with a limp.
It reminded me of my own limps, and also of the wisdom of the enneagram:
“Our personalities draw upon the capacities of our inborn temperament to develop defenses and compensations for where we have been hurt in childhood. In order to survive whatever difficulties we encountered at that time, we unwittingly mastered a limited repertoire of strategies, self images, and behaviors that allowed us to cope with and survive in our early environment. Each of us therefore has become an ‘expert’ at a particular form of coping which, if used excessively, also becomes the core of the dysfunctional area of our personality.”
— Riso and Hudson, p. 18
Some of these stories may make it seem like it is the norm to stroll along and think about profound things, but most of the time it’s just boring. It is difficult to relax with so many people around and everyone in very close proximity. There are usually 12 people in bunk beds, and some towns are too small to siesta anywhere except inside the room lying on your bunk. I cannot bring myself to do this simply because it feels like a prison. I leave at 5am while it is still dark to avoid the people that come later, but then after walking 25km you still arrive at 11am in a town that would not exist except for the church and the Camino route passing through it. On second thought I should have bypassed this section. People say it messes with your head, which seemed unlikely, but here we are.
Some of this is because we’ve just come through the most boring, flat and uneventful part of the Camino, the meseta. Think of walking through a semi-populated ugly part of the Karoo with a highway and a path next to the road. Although it is actually green because it’s spring. Being perpetually surrounded by people, and against your will, is tricky. I am not used to it. For sure my most valued possessions have been my music and AirPods, without which I am sure I would have snapped and cursed the phenomenally inefficient (although kind) nuns or the unwanted conversations. To escape the alternating cacophony and monotony and inject some of my own life, music has been a godsend.
My walking shoes are still not cooperating with my Achilles. It has been 335km so far, and the most recent 171km have been in crocs and socks. All hail crocs. Thankfully it hasn’t rained and I only have two blisters.
From my walk so far it is clear that it is the people who are the gift that keeps on giving. The number and variety of people is wild. They are generous, interesting, open and kind. They make me smile and invite me into their lives on a regular basis. On any given day you will likely be introduced to three or four new people who you might find interesting. You acquire many more meaningful acquaintances than stamps in your pilgrim ‘passport’. I have now reached Sahagún and some pilgrims are getting their Compostela (certificate) here and ending their journey. Most continue to Santiago or Finisterre after that. Patrick’s foot got infected after walking on with blisters, Athena’s knee has stopped working and Sameer’s thigh is generally uncooperative. I will take a few days’ rest in León and decide what to do next. My brain is more blistered than my feet and I miss books and baths.
The Camino has so far felt like a month-long walking festival with everyone strewn across many little towns, bumping into each other again and again.
I miss home and hiking and thinking about my work, but perhaps most of all I miss the ability to withdraw from people.
Hugs to all!
Nic
PS The wine is still very good. And just as well, because it’s needed to enjoy the food.
Nic Spaull 