First Person is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide.
Illustration by Brooklin Holbrough
I shifted awkwardly. It was my turn to place the small stone I had carried several hundred kilometres at the foot of the Iron Cross (Cruz de Ferro). This would symbolize the arduousness of the journey I’d undertaken so far, as well as God’s forgiveness of all my worldly sins. I could see other pilgrims patiently waiting their turn to climb up the mound and lay their own stone near the base of the cross. By some unspoken arrangement, we all seemed to be waiting for others to take their turn and have their own moment of spiritual rebirth in relative privacy. I felt like a fraud.
I had decided to walk the Camino de Santiago in Spain mainly because I love a good hike. Also, I hadn’t gone on any wild backpacking adventures in my 20s, and so my early 30s seemed like the right time to fill that gap. I, an unreligious pilgrim, was by no means an oddity on the Camino. Many pilgrims were there to experience an incredible adventure, see some amazing sights, and possibly learn some Spanish along the way.
Many I met were at a crossroad in their lives and were walking as a means of determining which path to take when they returned home, or because they wished to delay difficult decisions for a while longer. Regardless of why a pilgrim begins, walking the Camino is a powerful experience. I will never forget the elderly man who cheered for every pilgrim passing through the city of Pamplona early one morning, shouting the traditional “Buen Camino!” again and again. Nor will I forget the kindness of the hosts who ran the Albergues (hostels), taking in tired, dirty, hungry and sometimes injured walkers.
Given how highly I regard my experience on the Camino, my answer to whether others should walk it may be surprising. These days, I usually say, “Maybe.” I’m not trying to be cagey, it’s just that, after walking nearly 900 kilometres across Spain, and living in communal Albergues for about a month, I think people who decide to walk should have a good idea of why they’re going and what they hope to get out of the experience.
Although many parts of the Camino are beautiful and scenic, others are not. Spain developed and modernized around the Camino, so where there may have once been fields or forests, there are now industrial parks on the edge of larger cities. In some stretches, pilgrims walk right along the shoulder of busy highways. It’s not all glamorous olive fields and intricate old architecture, though a lot of the scenery is very charming. And it is daunting to walk across a country, carrying all your essentials on your back. The daily repetition of walking for so many hours can take a toll, even for the fit and healthy. As I neared the end, one of my shoulders grew sorer each day, no matter how light I tried to keep my pack.
That morning at the Iron Cross, I wondered how the other not-so-devout pilgrims in the crowd felt about this part of the process. I wondered what to say to a God who I only ever seemed to speak to in moments of real fear or strife. It was still early in the morning and a chilly breeze ruffled my hair. I saw the faces of other tired pilgrims waiting their turn, resting on the cold ground, eating snacks, taking photos, and even calling home. Suddenly, I realized it wasn’t about how anyone else felt about the Iron Cross, or what I could or should say to a deity I mostly ignore. For me, that moment was a celebration of the distance I’d travelled so far, and a solidification of my belief that I would make it the rest of the way. It was a realization of everything I’d learned about myself with each step along the trail. With a whoop of joy, I placed my rock on the pile, pumped my fist into the air, and clambered down.
Since then, when I look back at my time on the Camino, I feel a deep peacefulness. My sole focus each day was to walk, eat, and find shelter. It was a time of mental clarity and calm, with no requirement other than to keep moving forward. I think there’s a lesson in that. When the responsibilities of family, work, and life in general feel heavy, the Camino reminds me to take each moment as a single step. To focus on what really matters, to find joy in specific moments, and to celebrate milestones, big and small.
I sometimes wonder if I would walk the Camino again, knowing what I know now. The answer is always yes. But next time I want to go more slowly. I want to spend more time in each town and city, meet more people, try more regional cuisines and immerse myself in each moment. I want to dig more deeply into what the Camino can teach me.
Jessica Spina lives in the greater Edmonton area.