Perspectives
Making a pilgrimage: It’s a lot like life
By Kathleen Ogle
Managing Editor
A pilgrimage may be the best metaphor we have for the journey of life. And like life itself, a pilgrimage is more about the journey than it is about the destination.
For more than a millennium, the Camino de Santiago, or Way of St. James, has drawn Christian pilgrims. St. James was martyred in Jerusalem in 44, but, according to tradition, his remains were transported to and buried in Iberia. In the 9th century, a hermit following a shining star discovered his tomb. The discovery was confirmed by the local bishop, and a cathedral was erected.
Historically, Christians undertook the pilgrimage to Santiago as a penance. If one makes the pilgrimage during a year when the feast of St. James, July 25, falls on a Sunday, one could receive an indulgence — a remittance of all of one’s sins. St. Francis of Assisi, Charlemagne, Ferdinand and Isabella, Dante and Chaucer all reportedly made the journey.
I first heard about the Camino from my friend Patrick who made the pilgrimage in the mid 1990s. For years he had been telling me, “You must do this.” But when would I be able to take a month off from work? In 2000, I got my chance. I decided to leave the career I had spent the past decade building as a medical journalist and editor. It was time to do something new, but I wasn’t sure what. I signed up to spend a year as a full-time lay volunteer. It was going to be a drastic change in work and lifestyle, but I believed it would point me in the right direction.
I gave myself two months between leaving my old job and reporting for volunteer orientation. I would go to Spain, make the pilgrimage and then still have plenty of time to pack up my apartment.
As I prepared for my pilgrimage, Patrick advised me that I would not be able to do it on my own but that I would meet people who would help me. I bristled at the thought of having to depend on others for help in an unfamiliar country. I prided myself on my independence and self-sufficiency. Why would I place myself in a situation where both would be compromised? But at the same time, I had come to wonder if these same qualities might be working against me in my relationships with others. I decided to make that the intention for my pilgrimage. I would “let” other people help me, thereby acknowledging what I knew deep inside to be true: We are all dependent upon each other.
The day after my last day at work I flew to Madrid. From there, a bus took me to Pamplona, and another bus took me to Roncesvalles, a village near the French/Spanish border. The next day my pilgrimage began.
Everything I thought I would need — a change of clothing, a sleeping bag, some personal items — was in my backpack. Along the way I stayed at refugios, also known as alburgues, which are inexpensive and simple shelters specifically for pilgrims. For the equivalent of a few U.S. dollars I could take a shower, sometimes with hot water, wash out my clothes and have a place to sleep.
My journey began with enthusiasm, but I soon found walking the Camino not only physically but also psychologically grueling. I was usually on the road by 6 a.m. so as to do most of my walking before it got too hot. The route took me through forests, farms, villages and cities, up and down hills and mountains, over bridges, along highways and through the endless wheat fields of the meseta. The countryside was beautiful, sometimes spectacular, and I found myself experiencing the range of emotions from exhilaration to despondency. The first serious challenge I faced was recognizing that my backpack was too heavy. After just two days of walking I was in so much pain that I feared I would not be able to complete the pilgrimage. I eliminated every item that was not absolutely necessary.
Along the route I met fellow pilgrims from all over the world. Some were making the pilgrimage for religious reasons, but most seemed to be on holiday and were doing it for sport. Many, like me, were in the middle of some type of life transition. I met a woman who was making the pilgrimage in gratitude for a favorable divorce and custody settlement. I met an Oblate of Immaculate Mary who told me that walking the Camino was like prayer. I met more than one graduate student who was researching a dissertation on the Camino.
When I began, my attention was focused solely on the route. Between the unfamiliar surroundings and having to literally watch my every next step, I experienced what it was like to live fully in the present moment. As I adapted to the routine of the Camino — waking up, packing my sleeping bag and hitting the road before dawn; arriving at the refugio, unpacking, showering, washing and hanging my clothes up to dry; eating and going to sleep, over and over again — I began to relax a bit. As I continued walking my mind inevitably wandered to the past, to the people I loved, to regrets, losses and painful memories.
I arrived in Santiago de Compostela on July 27. I had not expected to be there for the feast day so missing it by two days was not a concern. It took me a total of 30 days to walk the 738 kilometers (about 450 miles) from Roncesvalles to Santiago with three days of rest along the way: one day was due to pain; another, exhaustion; and a third, dehydration.
Walking the Camino is an intense experience. Although the route is well marked, there is always uncertainty. Which way is that arrow pointing? Will I make it to the next refugio? When I do get there, will there be a place for me? Where can I get water? When will I be able to use a toilet?
Patrick was right. I learned that I could depend on others to help me. I met people who shared their food with me or offered tips on how to care for my blistered feet. One night, when the refugio was full and a bunch of us decided to sleep outside under the stars, a fellow pilgrim lent me a mat so that my sleeping bag would be
protected from the ground. At first I was annoyed by the many cyclists who were traveling the Camino. Those of us on foot were always having to move out of their way to let them pass. Then a group of cyclists invited me to take a break from walking and have coffee with them; it was one of the best cups of coffee I had ever had.
If I wanted companionship, there was always someone I could walk with. If I wanted solitude, it was easy to continue on my own. When I would find myself unsure of which way to go, there was always someone who would come along and point the way. People cared enough to ask how I was doing. When I became discouraged, they walked with me, supporting me with their friendship and example.
I learned many valuable lessons from my pilgrimage, including:
- While we may travel alone, we are all traveling together, too.
- The journey is easier when we leave some of our baggage behind.
- I can get by on much less than what originally seemed necessary.
- When I don’t know which direction to take or if I have lost my way, there is always someone who will let me know.
- First impressions are often wrong.
- Sometimes I may have to lead the way even if I don’t know exactly where I’m going.
- A pilgrimage is not a vacation; a vacation is not a pilgrimage.
- A pilgrimage is not a race; I don’t have to keep up with everyone else.
- I do have to take care of myself or I won’t be able to finish, or even continue.
- It’s hard but there are a lot of other people doing it, too.
- When I try to “repay” someone who has given me a gift by doing something in return, I diminish the gift.
- When we start something new, it is appropriate and necessary to mourn that which has ended.
I spent a couple of days in Santiago before I headed back to Madrid and then home to the United States. As I wandered the city I encountered many of the pilgrims I had met along the way. We were so very happy to see each other and to know that we had made it to Santiago. More important than the souvenirs I brought back with me were the memories of the people I met along the way, the excitement of seeing familiar faces, and the knowledge that I could not have made it to Santiago without them.
*The attached/referenced article was originally published in The Catholic Spirit, the official newspaper of the Diocese of Metuchen, and is protected under U.S. and international copyright law