It is a Catholic pilgrimage to the resting place of the apostle St. James at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in northwest Spain. After St. James was beheaded and subsequently martyred in 44 BC, his body was transported back to Spain from Jerusalem by way of boat and two legends were born. The first is a raging storm demolished the boat, but miraculously, the body of St. James washed up on shore unscathed and covered in scallop shells. The other is that a crewless ship carried the body of St. James back to Spain, and upon its arrival along the coast, spooked a horse so dramatically, the horse plunged himself and his hapless rider off a cliff into the ocean. Again, miraculously, both horse and rider emerged undamaged from the waves, covered in scallop shells. The scallop shell, with its many lined exterior merging into a single apex, is significant. It symbolizes the multitude of pilgrims coming to one place.
The first recorded pilgrim to Santiago de Compostela dates from the 9th century, and a steady stream of pilgrims have followed ever since. There are many popular routes, the Camino Frances, or the French Way, arguably the most popular for modern pilgrims (since most pilgrims no longer start from their front doorstep as pilgrims of old did). This route traces the northern border of Spain, passing through Pamplona, Leon, Basque Country and in to Galicia. As I sit here writing this, I am on a train to Bayonne from Paris, and tomorrow Kelsey and I will take one final regional train to St. Jean de Pied-Port, the small town on the French side of the border and the start of the Camino Frances.
El Camino became a possibility the moment I learned of it. It gripped me, and I subconsciously knew it was something I had to do. Although I am not Catholic, the physical, mental, and spiritual challenges experienced and embraced on a pilgrimage, specifically this pilgrimage, seemed so necessary. Allowing my mind to focus not on first-world daily doings, but instead on intrinsic questions and contemplation, is something that I have rarely done. That I can find a way to be more open, less selfish, more thoughtful, and less entitled is a lofty overarching endeavor that I aim to work on. The timing worked perfectly to walk El Camino following my separation from the Navy. It seemed so beautifully symbolic, a time of transition, a time of reflection and mediation, and maybe (without too much pressure attached) a time to realize my goals and aspiration and take small, human sized steps in those directions.
Kelsey and I met through our friend Chris. We were both bridesmaids at Chris' wedding, and immediately I felt a connection with her. Kelsey is so calm, intelligent and kind. Before long we discovered our mutual fascination in the beauty of El Camino. Prior to our meeting, the movie "The Way" directed by Emilio Estevez, about a father's walk on El Camino to memorialize his son had been released. Seeing El Camino in the bright, aesthetic-focused lights of cinema only made Kelsey and I want to experience the magic of the trail even more. So our adventure was born, and now, almost a year later, we are on a train, eating baguette and feeling quite pleased with ourselves that we are here.
Kels at the Jardin du Luxembourg in Paris.
A random good omen! A movie poster of "The Way" in Paris!
On Friday the 13th I started my circuitous journey to St. Jean. My parents drove me to Dulles, pep talking me the entire way. The most poignant thing they said was that I was giving myself a gift of love. That you must love yourself to give yourself the freedom to explore. Those words will ring in my heart throughout this journey.
My wonderful, inspirational parents. Also, how many different colors am I wearing?
My spirits were high, especially after so many wonderful conversations with family, friends, Michael, and another amazing pep talk from Kate. Not even the 3 hour delay in my flight could get me down. My hopes in taking a Space-A flight were dashed when I learned there were zero flights for my three day window of opportunity (wonderful Emily drove to BWI when I was Hawaii to get the September schedule). Not wanting to risk the same at other military terminals, I exercised extreme patience one morning in Hawaii, with less than ten days to go, and searched for the cheapest route to my destination. A secret Expedia fare to London, then a train to Paris was the answer. I saw my plan disintegrate with the flight delay. It was certainly going to be a chain reaction of missing my connection in Copenhagen to London and missing the train. But the Aloha tailwinds were in my favor and a 3 hour delay resulted in only a 1.5 hour late arrival in Copenhagen. I made my connection with time to spare, breezed through customs in London, caught the tube to St. Pancras station and all onboard for my Eurostar train to Gare de Nord in Paris.
Stepping off the train into a cold (what?!), rainy (wait, what?!) evening in Paris, I stood in wonder at the grandiose architectural beauty that is the City if Lights. Walking a mile in the rain, with my Packa rain coat half on (Kelsey fixed me later), I was soon reuniting with Kels in our quaint (tiny) hotel room. Oh now things really felt like they were starting! We compared pack sizes, started our month long conversation on life, and headed out to dinner. Jet-lagged and sated, we went back to the hotel where I was forced into the luxuriousness of taking a bath, since I couldn't figure out how to make the shower head work.
This morning we arose early, walked two miles past Notre Dame, the Sorbonne and through the Jardin du Luxembourg to our train station for the 5 hour ride to Bayonne, our destination for this evening.
Kelsey and I at the brass marker outside Notre Dame from which all distances in Paris originate.
I would buy that shirt, but I literally cannot carry anything else in this pack.
Lunch on the train, to include a Paul's caprese sandwich, and an extra baguette just in case.
Stepping off the train in sunny Bayonne, we were immediately approached by our first pilgrim inquiring as to whether we wanted to share a taxi to St. Jean that evening. We demurred, as our plan was for one more night of acclimatization in Bayonne, and an early start tomorrow to catch our last train and begin our walk with a certain grueling (but fantastic, marvelous, wondrous!) 16 mile walk through the Pyrenees. We walked another mile to our hotel, relieved our backs of our packs and set out to explore.
Bayonne art ala "Exit Through the Gift Shop".
We came upon the large Cathedral towering above Petit Bayonne just in time for evening Mass. In the spirit of the pilgrimage, and for a quiet moment to pray and meditate, I will try to attend as many Masses as I can along El Camino. From my limited understanding of organized religious gatherings, it seems to be a way to enjoy quiet solitude amongst other good souls experiencing the same. So it becomes a community and a place of belonging, trying to jointly communicate with God or a deeper self in a moment of peace. Perhaps this is idealized (well it may certainly be), but that's how I shall look at it.
Graffiti on the gate to the Cathedral.
Following Mass, we ate gigantic crepes and waddled back to our hotel.
Tomorrow, we take our first steps on El Camino, although in some ways I feel as if the pilgrimage has already begun. I am hopeful, I am a tad but nervous, and most of all I am filled with a sense of peaceful purpose. It begins with one step...
Awesome! Have fun
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