Walking the Camino

By Andrea Ratuski • Photography: Jim Hiscott

“I’m ready to walk,” Mom said, testing her new hiking sticks. It was the first day of our Camino de Santiago adventure and Mom was determined.

Many people dream about walking the Camino, the historic pilgrimage route of St. James in northern Spain. My mother had longed for many years to make this journey, and this year she and our family finally did it. Mom is 88 years old.

Five of us from our family were able to go, my sister and her husband, my husband and I, and our intrepid mother Anne.

We trained as best we could at home in Winnipeg and on some forest trails nearby.

But nothing could have prepared us for what lay ahead. I’ll never forget the look of shock on my mother’s face as she gazed up the steep staircase in front of us on our first morning in Sarria. These were to be our first steps on the Camino. And they all went up. Straight up. After the stairs the path continued its vertiginous ascent.

Café con leche never tasted so good as at our first welcome stop. We rested our feet at outdoor tables, shared an enormous wedge of tortilla - the Spanish thick potato omelette - and freshly-squeezed orange juice before continuing on.

“I just know Casa Morgade will be around the next hill,” Mom said hopefully, as we grew weary in the afternoon. In fact, we had several more steep hills to go before reaching our first destination, a charming old stone inn.

Our second day took us along pleasant tree-covered paths and over lovely rolling hills with stunning views. But our steepest incline came at the very end of the day. We crossed a long, formidable bridge high over the river Miño, and after that looked straight up to our next stop, the town of Portomarin. We were very tired, yet we still had to climb that last steep hill up to our apartment.

No doubt about it, this journey would be challenging. We all quietly wondered if this was a big mistake, if we had bitten off more than we could chew.

In medieval times The Way of St. James, or el Camino de Sant Iago, was a sacred Christian journey, and it still is for many. According to legend, St. James preached in Galicia, this north-west corner of Spain. After his martyrdom in Jerusalem, his remains are said to have been transported back to Spain by boat and buried here, where they rest currently beneath the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. St. James is popularly depicted with a staff, a bible, a wide-brim hat and a scallop shell, and the scallop shell remains a proud symbol of the pilgrim.

Day by day, we meandered through ever-changing landscapes, often rural farmland where cows outnumbered humans, and where the scent of pungent cow manure was masked occasionally by whiffs of wild mint, wildflowers, and apples - fresh and fermenting -- all intoxicating, exuberant and overwhelming.

We walked past crops of ripe corn, then under beautiful canopies of chestnut trees. The trails were a mix of forest or meadow paths, stone trails, and asphalt. Striking and tall eucalyptus trees, with their unusual peeling bark, emitted an exotic perfume. Locals tending fields always flashed a smile and a wave.

Some in our family were very fit and could have completed the route in half the time. But we remained as a group and enjoyed our time together.

Brad, our brother-in-law, led the charge, cheering us on, and chatting up everyone en route.

At every café stop we met more people who shared their personal stories. My sister, Corinne, our social convener, made friends with them all, including Niva from Israel who grew so fond of Mom, calling her an inspiration. Niva was carrying a shell her own mother had brought her after her walk to Santiago.

As the days passed, Mom grew stronger and faster. Yet Camino life became slower. Our days were simple and uncomplicated, with lots of time for reflection.

We stopped in some peaceful Romanesque chapels along the way and Mom quietly lit candles for her sister and a close friend who had recently passed away.

A pilgrimage such as this is an inner as well as an outer journey, with time to ponder our purpose and direction in life. We encountered a paramedic from Toronto who said this pilgrimage helped him reach the decision to retire from his profession. Others have the goal of walking the Camino as their retirement reward.

We encountered single travellers searching for spiritual renewal, like Kim from Wisconsin, who announced simply that she was looking for God. She had walked 800 km in sandals.

We met a woman from England who had suffered a stroke the previous year, leaving her with some handicaps, and was told she would never walk again. She immediately vowed to walk the Camino. So here she was, putting one foot in front of the other, supported by her husband, the two of them soldiering on together, slowly.

And then there were families looking to spend meaningful time together, like us.

There are many ways of ‘doing’ the Camino, too. One can walk 800 km with loaded backpacks, or a mere 100 with luggage transported. But in order to receive a Compostela – the certificate that celebrates that you have fulfilled the criteria - one must walk at least the last 100 km, or cycle 200 km. Some pilgrims even passed us on horseback, another option.

The most well travelled route on the Camino francés begins at St. Jean Pied de Port on the French border with Spain, at the base of the treacherous Pyrenees climb. Others begin even earlier. But as one wise traveller said, “Your pilgrimage begins when you walk out your door.”

Our new friend Ingrid began her pilgrimage from her home outside Berlin, riding a bike with a pup tent on her back. Something in her heart told her she needed to go to Santiago. “It’s a magical journey. My grandchildren say they have a crazy Oma,” she said, laughing.

Many pilgrims who were travelling 25 or more km a day with heavy backpacks left us in the dust, but always called out “Buen Camino!” as they waved and passed.

The Camino is ideal for a group of friends looking for an active holiday. One can revel in the camaraderie of other pilgrims in rustic hostels, or albergues, sharing a room with many others. Or one can book a comfortable hotel room or apartment.

We chose the latter. Our mother, a former travel agent, devoted herself to researching and booking accommodations for us – some so lovely we didn’t want to leave in the morning! And she engaged a company to transfer our luggage from town to town, so we only needed small backpacks for the day.

Meanwhile, Mom was becoming a bit of a celebrity. Many pilgrims recognized her en route and called out words of encouragement. Others wanted to take pictures with her.

Village hostels offer a welcome menu del dia, always a good deal, usually simple fare. We enjoyed traditional Caldo Gallego (a thick vegetable soup based around beans, greens and chorizo) and always ordered pimientos de Padrón – delicious tiny fried peppers, and a local fish, merluza.

The scallops of St. James appear on the dinner plate in many delicious preparations. Also, their petite cousins, zamboriñas. Pulpo a la Gallega, or octopus prepared in a bubbling cauldron, is a popular option in the Galicia region.

As we prepared to set out on our last morning, I was surprised to find Mom feeling very sad. For this was our final day, looking forward to our arrival in Santiago.

“I don’t want it to end!” she said, after so much anticipation.

But as we approached the city and crowds formed, our pace quickened and her face brightened.

When we entered the enormous square of the cathedral, full of pilgrims, she seemed in awe, gazing in every direction, taking it all in. We all felt overwhelmed and full of gratitude.

The next minute, our new hiking friend Ingrid appeared, ecstatic to see Mom, and ran to give her a big hug.

The cathedral itself is magnificent, a Romanesque structure with later additions. St. James looks down on all the activity from his niche in the tower. Each façade has its own large square, making the cathedral a real center of the city.

It is traditional to take in the Pilgrim mass, usually held at noon. On certain days (not announced in advance) a special giant incense burner, the Botafumeiro, is swung right up to the lofty ceiling, requiring a dozen attendants. We were in luck on the day we attended! We found standing room only near the altar (all 1000 seats had been taken), which gave us a perfect vantage point for the dramatic event.

Later, after dinner, we walked down to the cathedral one more time. It was beautifully lit up and peaceful. We twirled around, enjoying the freedom of the space, contemplating what was for Mom – at the age of 88 - a lifetime peak experience.

Then a band struck up in the portico across the way! It was a traditional band with brass players, bagpipes and drums. As we wandered over to listen, I looked over at Mom, who was smiling broadly, and wondered what her next adventure would be.

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