Alone...
Date: May 14, 2007 06:41AM
Hi all,
I really believe in the Camino, I have done three; (I'm not bragging, just stating a fact); and each one was so different from the other. Same route more or less, same hostels more or less, Two in September\October and one in April\May, yet each one was so unique. My friends ask "Isn't it boring being on your own" and tell them "You are never alone on the camino". I fly direct from Dublin into Biarritz so I usually start at St Jean Pied de Port.
You can spot some of the other walkers in the airport waiting for their backpacks to emerge from the baggage carousel. Then, at the railway station you see more of them; bandanas, hats, sticks, scallop shell, hiking boots, like battle anxious troops waiting to go over the top.
If it’s late when you arrive in St Jean, you see them again in the bars and restaurants ordering the last of the Paella or pasta, storing up a few extra calories for the days ahead, nervously gazing at the free glass of Patxaran offered by the next table as a good luck toast for the journey ahead. A potent white spirit that comes back to haunt you on your way up to Lepoeder. You smile at each other across the room in recognition and as you pay your bill and start to leave, they are also anxious to sleep so you walk back to your rooms together. You coyly swap names and wish each other good night, but like the young soldiers you don't want to become too familiar in case you put a hex on them and they don't make it past the first day.
Next morning you strike off early, trying to get a few kilometres done before breakfast. You stop now and again, looking back to see if the others are following. Sure enough you can see them getting closer and closer. Like you they are fidgeting with the straps of their backpack, tightening here loosening there, trying to find the most comfortable position, opening the zip of their jacket, trying to get some cool air, wishing they hadn't drank that second glass of potent spirit.
"Morning"
"Morning to you Jim, how are you?"
"Fine," you lie "just admiring the view." As you try not to make it too obvious that the backs of your legs are screaming in pain.
"Wonderful, isn't it, would you like some water?"
"No thanks, have some here, some chocolate?"
"No, fine Jim. we'll push on, see you later"
And that’s it, your lives are now inextricably bonded. For the next twenty seven or twenty eight days you are going to be meeting each other almost every day. Whether its a drink of water, a piece of chocolate, a compeed patch, a pair of boot laces, a glass of wine, a cup of coffee, a prayer or a blessing. Some day’s you'll walk together and tell stories for hours about your other life at home. Some days you’ll walk together and won't even say a word for hours at a time and yet in that silence say everything.
You’ll wait outside shops for each other while one buys an essential piece of kit, you'll begin to recognise when you want to walk alone for a while, and when you reunite you greet each other like old veterans who survived the latest action.
And like old veterans, you salve each others wounds, swab unreachable blisters, offer each other the last dribble of water from the bottle. Savouring the first glass of beer after a long hot day, muttering words of encouragement as you push each other up the steep climb.
Day by day kilometre after kilometre, until finally you reach the suburbs of your goal. The city walls close in on you as you rush to get to the centre, and all of a sudden you round the corner and there it is "The Cathedral de Santiago de Compestella". Man, there is nothing like it. And as you enter the Plaza del Obradorio, you are greeted with hugs and kisses, slaps on the back, tears of joy, tears of exhaustion. All the faces, all the memories come flooding back. Some names you remember, some names you will never forget. You will be on your way to work, months later and bang. You get a flashback, and once more, you are walking up the hill to Cruze de Ferro, with Peter, Mary, or the older couple from Belgium, or the two Australian girls touring Europe, or the father and daughter from Paris, or the two pals from Liverpool. Or another day you are sitting on a bus or a train and you start chuckling to your self, remembering the evening when you all sat around drinking a glass of wine and telling stories about your friends at home.
Except now you are not sure were home is. Your old friends seem different, you want to tell them about the climb up to O'Ceibrero or the night you stayed in the church in Granon, or the Benediction mass with the nuns in Santa Domingo Della Calzada, or the three Bazillion’s who were always singing and laughing and talking about football.
Then, you find yourself browsing the airline pages looking for cheap flights. Thinking of imaginative ways of convincing your boss to give you four weeks leave. Checking the soles of your walking boots trying to estimate how many miles are left in the soles. Smiling at your credit union manager while he asks you why you need the five hundred euros loan. Checking the date on your passport.
And, before you know it you are there again, standing on the road overlooking St Jean Pied de Port, watching the walkers as they get nearer and nearer.
"Morning"
"Good morning to you Jim, fine day isn't it?"
"Yes it is.”
“Would you like some water?"
"No thank you, have some here. Would you like some chocolate?"