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Nadine Walks

stories of trekking and travel

The Greatest Camino Magic

August 1, 2014

Right now I’m in Vigo, a coastal town south of Santiago. I’m in the train station, drinking my second cafe con leche of the morning. I’d planned to take a 10:33 train back to Santiago but when I arrived at the station, I found out that the train I wanted wasn’t running, so I’m here until noon. And that gives me plenty of time to drink coffee and write.

I miss being a pilgrim. I still get to walk to Finisterre; I leave on August 2nd to walk for 4 days with a friend from home, so I know that I’ll still get to experience more of the pilgrim life. But mostly, my pilgrimage is over, and walking with a friend is going to be a different experience. I think it’s going to be so much fun, but it’s no longer my pilgrimage.

I have such mixed feelings about the ending of this. In many ways I was ready to reach Santiago, because it was always the destination, and I always knew that I would be walking for about a month. As I got closer, I was excited about reaching my goal.

But the end has also been heartbreaking. Saying goodbye to the friends I made along the way, accepting that there were a few people I probably wouldn’t get the chance to say goodbye to, not knowing whether I would ever see some of these people again… there’s an aching, beautiful sadness to it.

I expected to really celebrate the night after I arrived in Santiago. I’d hoped to see so many of the people I’d gotten to know over the last month; I expected to go out and have drinks and eat a good meal and crowd around a table and laugh and sing.

But that first night was different. I kept looking for ‘my people’, but I couldn’t find them. The Koreans all took off for Finisterre. Susie and Helen were already there. Saskia was on her way to the coast, maybe even walking another 70 kilometer day.

Ibai was gone too; I’d hoped that he would be in Santiago when I arrived, and when I heard that he had already left my face fell. I started this walk alone, and the first friend I made was Mirra. But the second friend was Ibai: we walked the last hour of our second day together, we walked into Pamplona together, we cooked a meal in Puenta La Reina together. As Mirra and I walked around Santa Domingo we heard a distant voice calling our names: it was Ibai, at the top of a tower high above us, waving and smiling. I watched as Ibai led others through a yoga practice in the courtyard of an albergue, I watched as he approached someone walking alone and began talking to them in his gentle and friendly manner. When his shoes were stolen I stayed with him for the entire day. Throughout the walk I was often separated from him, but every two or three days we would end up in the same town, and every time we heard each others’ voice we would run over and hug.

We both walked the Dragonte route, and late in the day Ibai told me that he was glad we could spend time walking together, before the Camino ended. I last saw him in O’Cebreiro, as we walked out of town together. We stopped at a small bar and I left him sitting at the counter, drinking coffee. “If we lose track of each other, I’ll see you in Santiago, on the 27th, okay?” He nodded.

My night of celebration on the 27th, in Santiago, didn’t feel right without Ibai. It didn’t feel right without the Korean cousins, Hyoeun and Jiwoo. It didn’t feel right without Susie and Helen, without June and Jonathan (who I hadn’t seen in weeks). It didn’t feel right without Steve and Peg and Blas (who all ended in Leon). And it didn’t feel right without Mirra.

I loved the people I was with: Adam. Joe and Adele and Matteo. I was happy to be in Santiago. But it wasn’t the celebration I’d been hoping for.

And I realized that I had, in part, chosen this. I could have picked up a Camino family along the way to walk with, to stay at the same albergues with, to arrive in Santiago with. I could have collected phone numbers and emails and tried to stay in touch along the way, coordinating get-togethers.

But I chose to do this mostly alone, and to stay independent and separate. I struggled with this choice a lot, but all along it felt right. I wanted to arrive in Santiago by myself. I would have loved to be surrounded by all of my friends, posed in front of the cathedral with our arms in the air, but that image was never the Camino I chose to walk. I made friends along the way- so, so many- and I needed to accept, finally, that it was okay to lose them.

I spent the 28th in Santiago, drinking coffee and eating good food and roaming around the city. I’d been planning to take off for a few days to explore the coast of Galicia, and had been thinking about leaving sometime late in afternoon on the 28th. Something held me back, and I decided to leave Santiago on the 29th instead.

And thank goodness for that decision.

Word was going around that pilgrims were meeting at 7:30pm at the horse statue near the cathedral. I walked over with Adam, curious if I would know anyone, and my heart sank a bit when I saw the group of people gathered. All strangers. I began talking to some of them, and like it usually is, the conversation was so easy. It was fine to meet new people, but now, at the end, I wanted familiar faces.

And just like that, Hyoeun and Jiwoo appeared. Their packs were on their backs, and they explained that they were leaving that night for Madrid. “Ibai and Vicool are here,” Hyoeun told me, “they’re in the cathedral.”

What happened in the next few hours was like magic. I found a bar and sat with Hyoeun and Jiwoo’s backpacks so they could go to mass in the cathedral. “I’m only giving you your bags back if you bring me Ibai,” I told them. As I sat at the outdoor table of the bar with Adam, Rosie and Susan came to sit with us (the Canadian mother and daughter who I’d met walking into Burgos). Then Ante appeared, the Spanish woman I’m met the week before. Joe and Adele came and sat too, and then Hyoeun and Jiwoo were back, with Ibai and Vicool. I almost cried when I hugged Ibai. We sat in the corner: me and Ibai, Hyoeun and Jiwoo. We’d all started together from St Jean on the same day, and I joked that while they had all been together that first day, I was walking alone. Hyoeun looked at me, “But it was our destiny to meet.”

When the Korean cousins left there were strong hugs and a few tears. Jiwoo walked backwards down the street, waving to us until he was out of view.

Our group moved on, stopping by a restaurant to find Rudy, who I’d bonded with in St Nicolas. We walked in and Rudy gave me a gigantic hug. I rounded the corner and there was Sung Eun, the Korean opera singer who I’d met in Santa Domingo, and walked with through Castrojeriz. When she saw me she gasped, stood up, and started crying. To her right was Carlo, the Italian man who speaks little English, but who I’d seen in the same albergues every day for nearly two weeks in the middle of my Camino. I’d lost track of him about a week ago, and his face glowed when he saw me. As we left the restaurant and walked down the street, we saw the tall Korean boy who I ran down a hill with over two weeks ago.

The four of them joined us for dinner, and there we were, 16 gathered around a table in a beautiful outdoor courtyard, drinking wine and eating pulpo and grilled vegetables and croquettes and bread. My Camino family. I wasn’t alone after all, I suppose I never have been.

We’d been urging Sung Eun to sing a song for us, and finally she obliged, standing up shyly and telling us that she would sing two songs. ‘The first is a traditional Korean song,” she explained. “And the second is a farewell song”.

Her voice rang out through the courtyard, and as she sang the other tables grew silent, everyone listening to her clear and strong voice. We applauded and toasted when she finished, but there were tears too. It was beautiful: her voice, the courtyard, the night, the friends, the journey, the Camino.

It was magic.

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Next Post: The Camino Continues (Camino Finisterre)

9 Comments / Filed In: Camino de Santiago, Camino Frances
Tagged: Camino de Santiago, endings, friendship, goodbyes, journey, life, love, pilgrimage

Heart and soul and 5km; Day 30 on the Camino, from a little village somewhere past Salceda to Monte Gozo

July 26, 2014

5km to go. I stopped in a place called Monte Gozo and it’s a little bizarre. It’s like a huge, deserted complex for pilgrims. There are other pilgrims here, but it’s such a large and isolated campus that it feels empty and desolate. I’d heard from a few people who were here in the last few days that it’s a bit like a ghost town, and I think that description is accurate. Empty playgrounds. A boarded up supermercado.

I wasn’t sure how to approach these last few days of the Camino. When I stayed in Portomarin three nights ago, I decided that if possible, I wanted to try and stay in small albergues for the rest of the way. The crowds add such a different feeling to the Camino, and I wanted to avoid them as much as possible. That plan worked well two days ago, when I found a small, private albergue in a quaint village, where chickens and cows roamed the streets, and where I could sit for hours outside, drinking tinto de verano, eating potato chips, writing in my journal, and talking with other pilgrims.

Yesterday I met up with Adam in Arzua, where most other pilgrims stopped for the day. We decided to keep walking a few kilometers further, to try our luck with a smaller albergue. We walked a few kilometers, and then we walked a few more. And then a few more. There weren’t many accommodations and what we could find had no beds left.

At some point on the Camino, a bit before the 100 kilometer point, markers started appearing every half kilometer, counting down the distance to Santiago. And as Adam and I walked, I watched those markers tick past: 40 kilometers to go. 35. 30!! 25. 24.

We stopped in a town 24 kilometers outside of Santiago and I knew that I could easily do that distance in one day, but I wanted to stretch it into two. My plan- for as much as I can actually plan anything here- is to leave early tomorrow morning for a sunrise walk into Santiago, to get in with plenty of time to take photos and drink a cafe con leche and store my pack and go to mass at noon.

I feel very uncertain about the end of this experience. I’ve wanted to have ‘perfect’ Camino days as this experience is ending, but I can only control so much. The Camino is different with so many people walking; the scenery isn’t as beautiful and breathtaking as it was a few days ago; somehow, my body has decided that it’s about had it (wasn’t I just saying how strong I feel? I AM strong, but I’m also tired. I think because my mind knows that I’m almost done, it’s told my body to wind down).

All of that being said, I did manage to walk completely on my own today. It helped to have started about 12 kilometers away from the large groups of pilgrims, so for my last full day of walking, I had mostly peace and quiet. I tried to think big thoughts: all the stuff that you’re supposed to be thinking at the end of a pilgrimage. Things like- ‘What have I learned?’ ‘How have I changed and grown?’ ‘Where am I going next?’ ‘What meaning can I take from this?’ ‘How will I change when I get home?’

But instead, all I could focus on were the steps. One foot in front of the other. The pain in my right calf (day 30 and my leg started hurting, go figure). The small pebble in my shoe. The humid air and a hyper-awareness of my body odor. Did I put on deodorant this morning? Was the coffee I drank decaf? Why don’t I have more energy? Where in the world did I put the second pair of headphones, did I actually lose another pair? Can I reach my arm around my pack and find my banana without having to stop and take the pack off? Where can I stop for another cafe con leche? Can I pass those pilgrims ahead of me? I can definitely pass those pilgrims ahead of me.

The time for deep thoughts was not this morning. And I’m not sure it will be tomorrow morning either: I’ll only walk for about an hour, and I think the road will be crowded.

But it’s okay, I’ve had plenty of time to think on this walk, and I’ll have plenty of time to think about it after I’ve finished. And besides, it’s hard to fully process something while you’re still in it.

I think I’ve written about this a little already, but I heard it described so well a week or so ago that I want to write about it again: this idea of the Camino being divided into thirds. David, a man from Ireland, said two things. The first was that the Camino really begins after the walk ends, and it’s something that I’ve heard several times before. Then he talked about the three parts of this journey: the first 10 days or so are about the body, the second 10 days are about the heart, and the last 10 days are about the soul.

And I liked that, especially the third part. I’ve had so many deep and soulful encounters in the last part of this walk and I think it’s been an aspect of this trip that I’d been anticipating and waiting for. I’m not sure if I’ve sought out these connections and moments or if they’ve appeared because others are in this frame of mind as well. But they’ve been here, and they appear so quickly and effortlessly. First it was Masa-Hiro, a man of Japanese descent who was raised in Peru and has lived in Malaga for 13 years. I walked with him out of O’Cebreiro and we played the ‘animal game’, which sparked a conversation about what we are looking for, how others perceive us, who we really are.

I ran into him again a few days later, sitting on a bench outside of an old stone home of an Italian woman who’d been living in Spain and offering coffee and fruit to pilgrims as they walked past her house. There was a wooden table filled with juice and peaches and coffee cups, tattered Tibetan flags strung from a tree, and several small dogs lounging in the sun. As I approached and Masa-Hiro saw me, his face lit up and he rose to greet me. He introduced me to an Argentinian woman sitting next to him, and a few minutes later Eva walked up, a woman I had met in St Nicolas nearly two weeks before and hadn’t seen since. The 20 minutes I spent at that little outdoor oasis felt a bit mystical, and when I stood to leave, Masa-Hiro gave me a strong hug, and the other women embraced me as well.

Two nights ago I was eating dinner at the small albergue in the tiny, quaint village, and I had an amazing conversation with a woman from Montreal, Lucy. (And an amazing meal: a huge crock of chicken noodle soup, salad, pork, frittata made from the eggs of the chickens we’d seen running around an hour earlier, chocolate mousse). The conversation with Lucy felt so fitting for this stage of the journey: she talked about her story of why she was here, and the conversation evolved into a long talk about love and loss. At one point I sat with my chin in my hands and probably a far off look on my face and Lucy said, ‘Ahh, this conversation has made you sad.’ I thought for a moment and replied, ‘Yes, but the sadness is okay, because it’s part of my experience. But I have so, so much happiness too.’

And I do have a lot of happiness. I’ve been so happy on this trip, and so often I’ve felt like I’ve been too lucky to feel this happy. It’s the mark of a good Camino, I suppose.

5km to go. Time to end this long walk.

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Next Post: Santiago! Day 31 on the Camino Frances

10 Comments / Filed In: Camino de Santiago, Camino Frances
Tagged: Camino de Santiago, connection, destination, endings, friendship, journey, life, pilgrimage, soul, walking

All my bags are packed

August 8, 2013

On my last morning in Labastide, I headed up for one last trek to Le Roc, which had become “my spot”. As I hiked up the rocky trail past the church, I saw John coming down towards me (John and his wife Kerry are owners and hosts of La Muse). He slowed for only a few steps and said, simply, “It’s a perfect day.”

I got up to Le Roc and immediately understood what he meant: it was the clearest morning of my three weeks in Labastide. I could see far into the valley below me and beyond, to the clear outlines of the Pyrenees and their still snow capped peaks. For weeks, my eyes would strain and only make out hazy outlines of the Pyrenees; and now, suddenly, here they were. It felt like a message, but whether that message was “hello” or “goodbye” I’m not sure.

In any case, it was perfect. I had lots of perfect days in Labastide, and many in my last week. I intended to blog so much more while on my trip: funny and strange details about the people I interacted with, relearning and remembering how to speak French, my daily hiking adventures. And I still might tell those stories.

But for now, the end.

The day before I left, I woke up at 6am so I could hike to Le Roc to see the sunrise (even though the mountains blocked most of the view). I headed out of La Muse and Homer, John and Kerry’s dog, ran up to me. Normally, Homer would accompany residents on their hikes and walks, but at the beginning of our retreat Homer got sick, and his daily jaunts were restricted. For three weeks I would head out for a hike and Homer would stare at me with sad eyes, begging to come along.

I don’t know what he was doing outside so early, it was almost as if he was waiting for me. He bounded over, gave me a quick look, and then took off, sprinting, out of the village. He wasn’t missing this walk.

I headed towards Le Roc, with Homer leading the way. We made it up to my spot and sat together and watched the morning for awhile.

Homer at Le Roc

The rest of the day was a blur: lingering at lunch, a last hike, a pizza dinner with the entire group, starting a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle at 10pm. I woke up the next morning, not quite packed, not quite prepared to navigate Paris, not quite ready to leave. I sat on the terrace and ate my breakfast with Jean-Christophe and other residents filed in and out, everyone up earlier than normal that day.

I sat at Le Roc and stared at the Pyrenees for as long as I could, and then raced back to La Muse to throw things in my suitcase and write an entry in the guestbook and give away the extra food in my cupboard and say goodbye to La Muse and Labastide.

We drove away in the jeep, only Diane and I leaving that morning (Glenn and Julia came along for the ride and a trip to the grocery store; both had figured out a way to stay in Labastide for another week). As we drove away from the village, someone started singing, “All my bags are packed I’m ready to go, I’m standing here outside your door…” and we all joined in. It’s the slightly corny kind of thing you’d see in a movie, but for us, and in that moment, it worked. It was bittersweet and beautiful.

So many people who go to La Muse end up going back, and I understand why. Already, there was lots of talk about reuniting next summer. I think I knew, on my first day there, that I would want to go back, and that feeling only intensified throughout my stay.

But if I never make it back, it’s okay. It’s the kind of experience that stays with a person forever, and I got more out of it than I ever imagined I would.

Nadine at Le Roc, Labastide, France

 

Leave a Comment / Filed In: France, Inspiration
Tagged: endings, France, hiking, journeys, Leaving on a Jet Plane

Welcome! I’m Nadine: a traveler, a pilgrim, a walker, a writer, a coffee drinker. This is where I share my stories, my thoughts and my walks. I hope you enjoy the site!
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