It started out with all the promise of an early summer day. The sun was bright and already warm. It would be hot, but this was San Sebastian, Spain, on the Bay of Biscay. The breezes off the water would moderate the heat.
Today we would walk a short piece of the Camino de Santiago, the Way of St. James, legendary since the ninth century. It can be walked in a month, they say.
You walk the Camino, not hike it as you hike the Apppalachian Trail. The purpose is different. It’s a physical challenge, yes, but more than that, it’s a spiritual challenge. You walk the Camino because you want some something from it, something intangible, something you might not even be able to name. It’s a different “something” for each of those centuries of pilgrims who has trudged kilometer after weary kilometer.
About six of those kilometers stretched ahead of me. Loomed would be a better word. I’m not an athletic person. I knew this would be a challenge. I had no idea how much of a challenge.
It started out easy enough – about 10 minutes of easy! Then an ascent. It was a paved ascent, past a couple of new urban farms. The horse, the goats and their kids were a distraction from the rapid increase in altitude.
And it kept going up…and up! I was breathing rapidly. It wasn’t the kind of rapid breathing you get when you’re running. It seemed harsher, more forced.
The path would level out, the guide promised. Words he repeated often during the several hours I wrestled with the Camino.
The path did level out…for a few minutes. Then it ascended again. The Camino was speaking…harshly. The large stones that paved the way were round and hard under my feet. Some were just damp enough to make them slippery. And they’d go up. Not always sharply up, but you had to pay attention.
Trees shaded the Way, their roots reaching out to trip up the unwary walker. Watch the rocks! Watch the roots! I learned to plan each step carefully.
Shades of green enveloped us. Birds called. A long fat slug meandered in harm’s way until carefully removed to the side. The only other animals around besides us were the birds, which I heard rather than saw.
There was plenty to see, however. Periodically, a space in the trees opened onto a view of the bay, where blues ranged from deep to pale, white foaming where the water crashed on the rocks. Gulls circled and called.
At first, I stopped to take pictures of these photo-worthy views. Soon, though, I decided to save my attention and energy for the next step.
There were obstacles to that looming “next step.” A tree root would reach out to trip me. I quickly decided that dignity was over-rated when the safest way forward seemed to be to sit down and scoot. And shyness wasn’t even a thought when the only security was found in grabbing the guide’s hand.
But what were the options? Going back? The thought crossed my mind. I’m sure it’s been done before, especially in modern times, when human and animal feet aren’t the only means of transportation. But I had no concept of how far we were from Pasaia San Pedro, our destination. And going back would have meant struggling along the same rocky, rooted ground we’d already covered. Abandoning the Camino didn’t seem any easier than going forward.
The only way was ahead: clambering, scooting, hanging onto the guide. I learned that it didn’t pay to look further than the next step. I’d see an ascent or a descent, and it would be all I could do to keep from crying. The only way was forward. And the way forward was to think no further than the next step.
There was a fountain ahead, the guide said. To the fountain! Just make it to the fountain! How far ahead was the fountain? Like a child on a road trip, I asked, “How much further?” Just ahead. Just ahead.
Finally – the fountain! The rush of cold water over head and face. Gulps of it into a parched mouth. No thought of appearance; just blessed refreshment! The fountain was one of the delights of the walk, the water evaporating on my skin bringing respite. It was only a momentary reprieve. Thirst returned. Descents and ascents. Roots and rocks.
It would end – eventually. Taking one step at a time forward, it would end. That was the only consolation. It would end in at the village, Pasaia San Pedro. Five minutes, the guide kept saying.
My sister and I laughed about it later. It was always just five minutes to the next brief reprieve. Five minutes for him and those who, like him, knew the Camino and took to it like mountain goats!
Finally, the bar! Water, wine or beer to go with the pinxos? Water! Blessed water! Water and the pinxo of tuna and pepper or anchovy; I don’t even remember now. What mattered was that we had finished. And there was water.
It’s tempting to make a metaphor of the Camino, to say there are life lessons to be learned from the process of the walk. That is so for some. For me, that approach would make the Camino less than what it is, as if it needed my motivations, my hopes to make it worthy of being. For me, the Camino is itself. It doesn’t need me, or any other walker, to give it meaning. It is worthy in itself, for itself.
Leave it alone in its rocky, rooted, breath-taking harshness/beauty.
Yesterday, when I was in the kitchen preparing…
How do I live thee? 