It all went as hoped and planned. Well mostly. There were surprises almost every day. But after 477 miles and 34 days of walking, Hubby and I entered the square in front of the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela on May 30^th.

For those who missed last week’s Book Review Monday! Singular Pilgrim by Rosemay Mahoney, I revealed where I’ve been the last 6 weeks and why I took a sabbatical from social media–I was answering a 20+ year calling to make a pilgrimage on El Camino Frances. This post is a sketch of those weeks.

We skipped the Pyrenees (a traditional start for the French Way) and began our journey in Pamplona on April 23^rd. In addition to the 34 days of actually walking, averaging 13.5-14 miles a day, we had 4 rest days in different cities (Logrono, Burgos, Leon, Villafranca) when we did rest, but also took time to wander and sight-see. We visited three different cathedrals, toured a real castle, and tasted chocolate in a chocolate museum.

Spain was never on my list of foreign countries to visit. I’m more of a Scandinavia, upper UK kind of girl. But I’m grateful the Camino took me there. The geography of the country is varied and beautiful. We climbed mountains, walked through vineyards and fields, and soon learned that when the guidebook said a section was ‘…relatively flat…’ flat was a relative term. There were times I wondered if both my menisci would return intact.

The history of the country is evident in the remains of Roman roads still used on part of the Camino, the churches from cathedrals in the larger cities to the simple structures in small villages, and the way of life for many living in the villages.

The people could not have been more welcoming and genuine. Getting a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign for one of our rest days became an international combination of charades and Pictionary, leaving the clerk and me laughing and high fiving as we overcame the language barrier.

A pilgrim is defined as one who travels to a shrine or holy place as a devotee. A pilgrimage is simply the journey of a pilgrim. It’s not that simple. The mental and spiritual part of that journey is, I believe, even more important than the physical movement from one place to another.

My first Camino angel was a woman who noticed I was walking gingerly (that meniscus thing) and stopped and asked if I was okay, no doubt going to offer me a ride. I assured her I was fine and just taking it slowly. She eyed me dubiously, but didn’t force me into her van. Instead asked if she could pray over me, specifically my knees. I drew on that prayer often.

We weren’t part of a tour group, but rarely alone. We met pilgrims from 14 different states and 20 different countries. We were continually awed and humbled by our fellow peregrinos. Cinda from Wichita–I could do a whole post just on her!–used a 3-wheeled cart/walker to make the trek. It didn’t have a motor, so she pushed and braked over 400 miles to receive her compostela.

We passed an elderly man from China during one difficult descent who used crutches because his left leg was missing from the hip down. His pant leg pinned behind him.

We met several widows; one recently lost her husband of fifty-one years, one in her 30s who became a widow just 7 months earlier, one who’d been a widow for a year and a half and was facing the wedding of her son without her husband. Each walked alone as part of their grief process. To look at them you’d never know. It was only in sharing our stories we discovered why we walked. A reminder we don’t know what another person is ‘carrying in their backpack.’

My backpack became symbolic of my walk, which I may write about later.

Many days had their moment of levity, like when a herd of cows left their stalls right onto the street and we had to dodge them and cow patties. A very tame version of the running with the bulls.  The last day also had its bit of levity. Green Day was the main event at a huge 3-day music festival going on as we entered Santiago. We climbed a hill that was to give us our first panoramic glimpse of the city, but hundreds of cars, vans, campers and tents and a giant Ferris Wheel filled the foreground. As we walked past the festival grounds–music blaring–Green Day ‘pilgrims’ with their backpacks were coming from the opposite direction. Many of our fellow pilgrims with their backpacks were bopping and weaving to the music coming from the stage. The physical blending of these two groups was fun to watch and be a part of.

Even before entering the square, the last day of walking was emotional knowing we were finished. There were tears of relief that we were done walking, that we’d made it; in awe and joy at the beauty of the cathedral and in everything we’d seen and experienced. Some were unexplainable.

We extended our time in Spain by taking a taxi to Finisterre, ‘the end of the world’, where Spanish ships would appear to drop off the edge of the horizon, and where the ‘0 km’ Camino marker stands next to an outcropping of boulders on the European side of the Atlantic Ocean.

The definition of pilgrim says nothing about returning home. A topic for another day. We returned home last Tuesday. It still feels a bit surreal. Saturday I finally got to play in the dirt. Life is back to ‘normal’. But I’m still mentally processing the walk. I imagine that will be a lifelong process.

It’s good to be back. I’ve missed sitting at my window with you. I hope you have a wonderful week.