Diana Lech
When I first learned that I had been chosen to receive the Bryent P. Wilkins
Fellowship to complete the Camino de Santiago through northern Spain, I was ecstatic. It
was an adventure I had longed to go on ever since I learned of it a few years ago.
However, the joy of the good news rapidly transformed into alarm as the full extent of the
challenge dawned over me. Would I really be able to handle the physical and mental toll
of walking the hundreds of kilometers to Santiago de Compostela? As someone who isn’t
particularly athletic and had never undertaken anything remotely similar before, I began
to worry whether this dream of mine didn’t transcend my capabilities. Now, having
successfully completed the Camino and looking back at my past concerns, I am so
thankful that I did not let myself be disheartened and that I had the opportunity to live
this amazing experience.
The Camino de Santiago, or Way of St. James, is a thousand year old pilgrimage
route to the city of Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain. The ultimate
destination is the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, the reputed burial place of St.
James. There are various routes from different regions of Spain and different parts of
Europe that lead to the city, reflecting the different routes people took in the Middle Ages
to arrive at this sacred place. I settled on the most popular, the Camino Frances, or the
French way, which stretches across the north and began at Roncesvalles 764 km away.
My cousin and I began our journey by flying to Madrid and then taking two buses
north to Roncesvalles. There, we went directly to the pilgrim’s office to obtain our
pilgrim’s passports (credenciales). These would become essential in order for us to stay
at any pilgrim’s hostel (albergue) along the way. Wherever we stopped at the end of a
hard day’s walk, we had to give our credencial to be stamped by the host. It soon became
a source of pride for the credencial to be full of stamps as a record of all the places we
had been to and the length of the journey we had made. With pilgrim’s credentials in
hand, we were ready to follow the scallop shell symbol, which would become a familiar
marker for the next month of our travels. The scallop shell is the symbol of St. James and
it appeared on signs along the entire Camino to prevent pilgrims from wandering off
course. The scallop shell has also become the symbol of the pilgrim himself, and like
most of the others, we also obtained scallop shells to tie to our backpacks. With the shells
as our guides, we made our first steps along the Camino.
I distinctly remember my feelings on the first day. I recall thinking how strange
the inception of our journey was in its simplicity. Most likely because of our late arrival
from Madrid, there were few pilgrims on the route with us. There were no trumpets or
fanfare announcing the start, not that we expected any. But the silence was incongruous
with our anticipation of the long road that lay ahead. My cousin and I spoke for the first
few hours, but as the day carried on we fell into silence and into the privacy of our own
thoughts, a routine that repeated itself until Santiago.
Our first days were spent on the rolling green hills of the Basque country. The
first stages were incredibly difficult, primarily because of the many mistakes we made as
enthusiastic beginners on the Camino. We quickly realized that it was foolish to
overstretch physical limits too quickly, when after only the second day our whole bodies
were aching. We also learned that there was no such thing as too much water, and it was
a commodity worth carrying in bulk since most stores were closed during hours of siesta.
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Finally, we recognized the importance of waking early (around 5 am) to arrive at our next
destination quickly (preferably before 2 pm), in order to avoid the afternoon heat and
have a place at the albergue. At the albergues, we would be given a bed in a room with
many other pilgrims for a very low price or donation. The locations ranged from a private
inn to an old school building or monastery. We usually had about 10 people in a room,
but the numbers varied and usually grew once more pilgrims joined us nearer Santiago.
Though we had to tolerate the snores and 4 am alarms of overzealous pilgrims, this
atmosphere of living together lent itself to building a community. Some albergues also
had a communal dinner, where the host would cook us meals consisting of the typical
pilgrim’s menu of lentils, beef, and the traditional pilgrim’s cake (torta de peregrino).
Over these dinners, we would share our unique experiences on the Camino thus far and
exchange advice and personal stories.
My favorite part of the Camino was the second half of the journey in the region of
Castile and Leon. Here was the Meseta, a dry, high plateau surrounded by mountains
where golden wheat fields stretched for miles and were enveloped by a brilliant blue sky.
Occasionally we were met with rows upon rows of sunflowers or a shepherd tending to
his flock of sheep. The Meseta was otherwise sparsely populated. Scattered, earth-colored
villages blended with the surroundings and were only discernable because of their church
towers. For me, this was an ethereal place. As we walked the ancient Roman roads we
felt that although we were so cutoff from our everyday lives, we were somehow united
with the thousands of people who had walked this very same path for centuries. It was
also in these parts that we came across the historical cities of Burgos and Leon, which
awed us with their vibrant culture and grandiose medieval architecture. It was wonderful
simply getting lost in the narrow city streets and learning about the history behind every
corner.
Our final stage was in the hills of Galicia, decidedly different from the Meseta
and noticeably poorer. As numerous pilgrims joined us on the way, we felt that our
destination was very near and we were filled with a renewed vigor. We finally arrived at
Santiago de Compostela midday before most of the other pilgrims, and dragged our feet
to the city center where we stood facing the cathedral. It was an overwhelming feeling to
confront this imposing gothic structure and realize that a month’s worth of travels
culminated at this moment. With a mixture of relief and sadness, we went to receive our
compostela, or certificate of completion, and to find our last albergue. The next day at
noon, we attended the pilgrim’s mass in our honor and saw the famous thurible swung
across the Cathedral while the choir sang the beautiful Hymn to Santiago. Afterwards, we
felt that our Camino had reached its definitive conclusion. We stayed an extra day to
explore Santiago and then took a bus to Madrid, from where we would return on a flight
home.
I went into the Camino with certain intentions. I wanted it to be a time to put my
thoughts to the forefront, to finally reflect on things that were relegated aside in the full
throttle of everyday university life: my future after college, the development of my own
character, my faith. I knew that these matters evolve for a lifetime; our characters change
as does our faith. But the hours spent in silence hiking through the Pyrenees Mountains
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and traversing the golden Meseta affected me in ways that no other experience had done
before.
For one, the entire Camino seemed like a metaphor for our travel through life,
facing the unknown on the way to some distant goal with hundreds of other people. Yet
unlike often in life, we all regarded each other as companions on this path. “Buen
camino” (a good Camino) was the universal greeting we exchanged with every pilgrim
on our way. We would also hear the encouraging “buen camino” from the locals in the
villages we passed. It was as if everyone was inspiriting us to reach Santiago. We
experienced so many instances of human warmth and kindness. I remember sitting by
train tracks in the early morning hours on a deserted Meseta and seeing the conductor of
the approaching freight train wave and shout “Buen Camino!” as he sped by. Or the
elderly man in a village in Galicia who gave me a beautiful purple dahlia and asked that I
say a prayer for him in Santiago. There was also the time a driver stopped us on a
particularly scorching and arduous day to tell us that we had gotten off course, and
subsequently insisted on driving us back onto the Camino. There was a general respect
for the pilgrim and a desire to see us succeed that was very meaningful to us.
The journey was physically straining, but we gradually grew stronger and there
were days when we walked well over 40 km. On our travels, we were surprised to learn
that our psychological weakness often superseded any physical pain. At first, there was
worry about the unknown. We wondered just how difficult this was going to be.
Eventually, this passed and was replaced by enthusiasm and joy at our independence.
However, as time went on this elation sometimes fell and gave rise to strange feelings of
isolation. After all, we were so far from our families, friends, and everyday lives. We
limited phone calls to once every four or five days and only to say that we were well - we
wanted this to be a truly spiritual experience separate from everything else. For a month
we existed within a strange reality, maintaining a simple lifestyle without greater
responsibilities, with the primary goal to arrive at a destination that seemed so far off in
the future. There was something sad about being uprooted that way and never seeing the
same place twice, always going forward and never looking back. It was important to look
to each other to remind ourselves of why we were there.
On the road, I met a pilgrim for whom it was her fifth Camino. At the time I
thought this was strange, wasn’t the entire satisfaction in finishing it once and then
checking it off as done? However, now that I am back I understand her completely. The
Camino has a way of putting your life in perspective, of offering surprising new insight
into your character, and creating an environment free of complications where the good in
your character can bloom. It is a time for reflection and spiritual growth. There was one
pilgrim we were all in awe of, an elderly German man in his early 90s who determined
that he was nearing the end of his life and this was the last earthly journey he wanted to
make. Perhaps this is more telling of the nature of the Camino than anything I can
attempt to explain.
There is something about a physical and mental hardship that makes us well
rounded and strengthens us as people. Despite the difficulties, I returned from the
Camino reinvigorated and happy. I would love to go back there someday and do it all
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over again. I am so grateful for receiving the Bryent P. Wilkins Fellowship, which made
it possible for me to have this truly amazing and unforgettable experience.