Carolyn’s Post-Camino Reflections

Domonick and I have completed another course in the art of bipedal motion.  This time it was El Camino 301: A Hike Across the Northern Coast of Spain.  At 500 miles, it was my second longest thru-hike and unlike any other hike I’ve gone on.  Perhaps that’s just it, it wasn’t really a hike, certainly not a trek through the wilderness.  The route follows the Northern coast of Spain from Irun to Ribadeo  and then ventures South toward Santiago de Compostela, eventually meeting up with the Camino Frances  (the most popular camino route).  It sounds magical, and some of it was.  However, there was a lot of road walking, cow poop, and dreadful places called albergues.  We were able to camp most nights (campgrounds are plentiful by the coast) but we had our fair share of albergues.  These are pilgrim hostels (walkers of the camino are “pilgrims”).  Some say the albergues ARE the camino, because that is where you meet people and make lifelong friends.  As far as I could tell, we were the only native English speakers on the north route and Dom and I mostly sat by ourselves and heard others comiserating in German, Spanish, and Dutch. We are introverts anyways, and our intention on this hike was not to make friends.  It was to walk and see some cool stuff along the way.

We did have several nice conversations at the albergues, but the sleeping arrangements sucked the life out of any enjoyment we had.  The albergues are filled with many geriatric, male pilgrims who would benefit from breathe right nasal strips and for some reason a lot of people like to close all the windows of the alburgue before bed.  I do not enjoy sleeping in a stuffy, hot, humid room, but some of these people seemed allergic to fresh air. This even led to a minor showdown between me and a Dutchman over the level of openness in a window 10 days into the hike.  Not to mention you often are sharing bunk beds with people you don’t know who do not realize your beds are literally connected and the laws of physics are such that when you make sudden, frequent, and large movements, your bunkmate is in for an unwanted rollercoaster of a night.  Consideration of others does not seem to be a priority for many pilgrims in albergues.  Also, most albergues never change the bed sheets, and you are left wondering if this is the night you’ll wake up with a rash or bed bug bites.

Albergues were a reminder to me to let go of things not in my control.  This is not easily swallowed when you are sleep deprived and have witnessed an unfit, old man in boxer briefs, but I gradually learned to put up with these places and tried to not let them ruin the positives of the camino.

There were several highlights on this trip.  The walk from Irun to Bilbao was wonderful.  Rolling hills dotted the landscape and San Sebastian contains stunning buildings and bridges.  The coast is a special place.  The waves of the Atlantic lap against large boulders covered with algae and sunrises couldn’t be more gorgeous.  Walking into Llanes, we had spectacular views of the Picos de Europa. We yearned to enter this mountain range, but had to be satisfied with admiring them from a distance.  The walk out of Miraz felt like wilderness.  The space was wide open, with rock faces in the distance and a thick pine forest.  No buildings as far as the eye could see.  The 16th century monastery in Sobrado dos Monxes was otherworldly.  Dom and I were the only ones exploring the church.  It was silent and grand.  The walls were severely aged and a green moss-like growth covered much of its deteriorating walls.  The sheer size of the hall was breathtaking as were the intricate carvings on almost all surfaces.  I sat in a pew by myself as Dom explored taking pictures.  It is silence and sacred spaces that I cherish.  This church as well as nature’s cathedral of wonders make me feel centered and calm.  That is the camino, the path, I wanted to journey down.  Others on the camino are on a Catholic pilgrimage to the tomb and cathedral of St. James.  We did make it to Santiago and visited the cathedral that is the end goal of many pilgrims’ walk.  I was underwhelmed.  The architecture and statues contained within were beautiful and intricate.  However, the hordes of tourists taking pictures as they milled about and talked loudly spoiled the sacredness for me.

I have often wondered what it means that I would rather not be in large groups of people.  Am I a misanthrope?  Is it because I’m introverted? Am I judgemental?  Did I not bond with other pilgrims because of a language barrier or different intentions?  The idea of “oneness” between all beings is hard for me to realize and experience at times, especially on this trip.  I lived in community over the winter at a yoga retreat center and felt way more connected to people there than on the camino.  And I feel connected when leading yoga classes.  Is it because we have similar intentions being there?

I would like to feel more connected when not in a community dedicated to yoga.  It seems like a good way to do this would be by becoming more present myself.  Perhaps my past experiences and upbringing as an American has made me feel different than the other pilgrims.  Presence can put that in the background and even if I have a different perspective, I should be able to glimpse the spark that unites us all, or at the least not feel isolated.  Coming back to the yoga mat, immersing myself in nature, and simply not trying so hard help me center, letting go of the past and future.  Dom and I are planning to hike the Long Trail in Vermont this summer and I have another work-trade assignment at a yoga center lined up, out east this time.  Maybe I am better suited for those endeavors than the camino, and they can ultimately help me feel more connected to those who endeavor in other paths.