I have spent the last month (31 days) walking across northern Spain. This time period has instilled the habit of walking, and the distinction of not understanding transportation. There are two perspectives that constantly haunt the footbound traveler, both related to distance. The first is that 500 miles is a result to be reached. And all that rises from that perspective makes distance into a single, focused goal. So, there is scant difference between a 20 or 30 mile day, if there is a reason that supports the long term. To stay 2 miles from a desired location is nothing when one understands the habits of foot travel. Distance, and the time spent to traverse them, is placed into a very different understanding, one set inside an overall perspective of time and place. For example, if it’s a rest day in Burgos, and I want to get a new pair of wool socks from the outdoor sports store 4 miles away, that’s not a problem. That will, in fact, be easy, because I won’t have a pack. The second perspective, however, is that if my context shifts and I am in a walking day, don’t even think about asking me to go a quarter mile out of my way for anything. It has to be something truly spectacular to make me deviate from my course. In fact, don’t ask me to walk 100 feet backwards to the grocery store I just passed. I would rather be hungry for a few more hours and move forward than to go back. So, to the pilgrim, there is an intense understanding of distance, both long and short. And those distances are traversed in a slow, casual manner, coupled with intense observation, an observation that is habit, constant and ongoing. Road signs are observed carefully in order to stay on route, countryside is watched for cues as to terrain, the quality of the stones/cement/cobbles underfoot are felt, weather is monitored for changes that may indicate wind, rain, or snow, and the people are studied so that one may behave appropriately upon entering eateries in these town. But today my pilgrimage is over, and I am in a train on my way to Madrid. The train is moving at 140 miles an hour, and I am overwhelmed at the speed at which information is forcing itself at me. I quickly traverse biotomes that would have taken me days to pass previously. I am unable to process the information that I can see, and unable to understand the information that I can’t. My window serves as a focal point, substituted for a full field of vision. I am whisked briskly by beautiful towns, astounding countrysides, and people too small to know. Before this, I thought myself rushed if I only walked a town from end to end without exploring side streets, and berated myself for such behavior. Now, I see small towns where I will never drink café con leche, or meditate in their cathedrals. Rather than try to focus on the rapidly morphing exterior world, my eye seems to migrate back to the small television set in the train car. It seems that the brightly colored movie and it’s fictional characters are easier to understand than the reality that I am unable to engage in this moment. John O’Donohue notes that television is the equivalent of Plato’s cave, creating a false imagery of the realistic world as shadow figures on the walls in front of us, as we sit chained by an addiction formed by an avoidance of reality. The problem is that I have been engaged entirely in the real world, and I don’t want to go back. So, as I shy from the screen, I reflect on the journey, looking again through pictures that I have taken. The arrival in Santiago, and the conclusion of my 500 mile walk was much more anticlimactic than I expected. As I entered the old city center, I am looking for the steeples of the church that will guide me, and am unable to spot them. As I approach what appears to be the main plaza, a tour guide remarks, “and look, here is a real pilgrim!” A bagpiper is playing, and his haunting sounds compose a unique atmosphere. I enter the plaza and realize that the reason I can’t see the church is that it is covered in scaffolding. So….Let me sit back, and begin to quantify the journey. I try to meditate, but all I can hear is the piper, and my eyes fall not on the stone façade that I can see, but rather on the father guiding his sons toddling steps, on the tour guides leading their groups around the cathedral, on the pilgrims trickling into the square, and on the families clustered around the Nativity. My heart is suddenly filled with joy, not because of this geographical moment, but because of the humanity displayed here. I suddenly grip the obscure thought that I have been trying to grip. The Camino is not made up of miles, churches, and roads. It is instead, composed of relationships. I came for solitude, and found instead, humanity. As I quantify the journey, I dont think of sites or miles, but rather track the journey by the friends that I have known here, conveniently referred to by nationalities. I think of the Italians, the bromance that they exuded as they discussed their soon to be matching tattoos. I think of the Polish couple, doing the Camino in lieu of marriage counseling. I think of the Spaniards, as they seek to better understand their own country. I think of the Koreans, who came the furthest out of all of us, and were the most hospitable, despite not being able to communicate in any of our languages. I think of the young Germans, who are seeking an understanding of independent life before they begin to make career decisions, and unwaiveringly welcomed all to their meager pasta meals, often cooked in a matter of hours over a campstove. I think of Chris the Irishman, who was the true traveler amongst us with very little time frame or visible motivation. I think of Tom from Japan, who anxiously walked 60 KM in a day so that he could begin his next adventure, but made sure to facebook us and warn us of wolves ahead. I think of the variety of Belgians that we met, all eccentric in remarkable ways. When you are in the presence of the other, you are in the presence of their past, and their future, their hopes and dreams, fears and frustrations. These may be masked, but they are always present. This is what I have encountered on the Camino. I have sought solitude on this trip many times, and have always found myself in company, always with unintentional friends. The Camino is very different than what I expected, but I am satisfied. I found a new perspective on who I am, and who I wish to become. I have discovered desires within that I didn’t know were growing, and I have found peace in a journey. This is all that I could ask for. And I received kinship, a welcoming into the presence of others. This was a presence shared over meals, around blisters, through heat, cold, exhaustion, and emotional phases ranging from elation to depression. I cannot repeat this experience, because those friends, those relationships, would be different. I am pressed forward by time, but in a meditation where I treasure the memories, and look forward to the presence of myself and others in the future. Thank you to all who have followed me on this adventure, and for all your comments and likes across the past month. Youre involvement in my life has been much appreciated, and I have loved sharing it. Happy New Year!
Posted on: Thu, 01 Jan 2015 01:28:22 +0000
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