The Camino, as people who've walked it call it, is an ancient hiking trail that runs about 720 miles or 900 kilometers across Spain, if you go all the way to Finnesterre, or the End of the Earth. Yes, that's what the Romans called it, the End of the Earth.
If you don't do the extra bit at the end, it works out to be around 560 miles. Now, whichever you choose, that's a pretty long way if you've never walked further than the safe, paved distance between your car and the front door of work. The long version, of 720 miles, is in North Dakota terms, like going from Bismarck to Cheyenne, Wyoming. It is, as our friends and neighbors would say, a ways. And you're walking, unless of course you're one of the minority group who choose to ride horseback or bicycle. Let's be honest, though: unless you're willing to wear an all-spandex outfit in 90 degree weather (oh dear, oh dear, the chafing), or to get Mr Ed his own plane ticket, you're most likely going to walk it.
Imagine that for a moment: stepping out of your front door in B-town, NoDak, with a light pack on your back, shoes on your feet (preferably ones that won't ever cause blisters) and walking out across the prairie, past the bustling, booming oil country, turning left somewhere south of Billings, and making your way, all day every day, to Cheyenne. Walking for ten hours a day, napping in parks after lunch, eating six or seven meals to keep the energy going, and falling into bed every night. When you think of it that way, the distance becomes clear. Mind-boggling, almost. Or maybe you'd rather not think about it at all.
But thousands upon thousands of people think about it, and then do it every year. It's a pilgrimage trail that has existed since Roman times, which means that millions of people have done it. You may well ask: in God's name, why?
Well, that's exactly the point. Most have done it in God's name. The city of Santiago de Compostela is named after St James, aka Sant Iago, one of the twelve apostles of Christ. As the story goes, St James the apostle was martyred in the middle east. His followers placed his body in a stone boat and set it off to sea. The stone boat eventually washed up on the shores of Galicia, where it was found by shepherds, and brought to the site where the great Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela now stands. It is widely assumed to be his burial place, and so, starting in medieval times (and indeed, in Roman times) people often times made the journey as a pilgrimage in penance for crimes or sins. Actually, if you're doing the hike with blisters on your feet, you very well may think that you're doing penance for some past wrong yourself. But don't let that idea dissuade you just yet.
Now, why the name Compostela? Pilgrims often escaped the brutal Spanish heat by walking at night, and according to camino lore, they made their way to Santiago by following the milky way, or the field of stars. In fact, while walking the camino at night, if you look up, the milky way seems to stretch straight out from where you've been, to where you're going. Santiago de Compostela = St James of the Field of Stars. Beautiful.
Spain is dry, hot and dusty in the summertime, remarkably so, when you compare it to the lush, humid French side of the Pyrenees; but it is made of spectacular stuff. From the start of the Camino, way up in the Pyrenees mountains, which divide France and Spain, peregrinos (as the pilgrims are called) cross through the vineyards of Rioja, the wooded mountains of Cantabrica, winding through thousand-year-old cities like Leon and Burgos, through tiny towns with names like Villaviciosa and Carrion de los Condes, crossing mile after mile of trail before finally ending in Galicia, on the northern Atlantic edge of the Iberian peninsula.
It takes roughly a month to traverse the whole of Spain on the most popular route, the Camino Frances. Modern pilgrims have their own reasons for checking out of their day-to-day life and following the trail: some for sport, some for religious or spiritual reasons, some to get over a heartbreak or to grieve. And some, of course, just because they've always wanted to. For many, it is a life-changing month: a time of daily reflection, of meditation, and of the purest simplicity.
Some of the more memorable points include a wine fountain, where pilgrims can drink wine for free (!) from a tap coming out of a vineyard's wine cellar wall. People often carry a small stone in their pack to leave at the Cruz de Ferro, covered in mementos, ribbons, photographs, and yes, stones. Worth an overnight stop is the pilgrim hostel at Manjarin, run by Tomas and the modern Knights Templar (or so they claim to be), who will feed you, put you up in a barn, and perform a blessing ceremony after dinner in tunics... with swords! You won't forget that anytime soon, nor will you forget picking up a scallop shell on the beach at Finesterre, proof that you made the journey in its entirety.
Of course, the most memorable things are the feeling of comradarie amongst pilgrims: of sleeping in giant rooms stacked with bunkbeds; of shared meals along the side of the road; of greeting familiar faces at different points along your journey; of making new and sometimes lifelong friends from the other side of the world. It's like a big, migrating United Nations summer camp for grown-ups and the occasional donkey.
Does this even begin to encapsulate the camino? It doesn't. As LaVar Burton would say, you don't have to take my word for it. Sure, have a look yourself. You should probably give it a shot sometime.
Buen Camino.
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