A JOURNEY THROUGH A ROCKY ROAD (Part 2)

What I learned walking on the St. James Way (Compostelle)

II . The hare or the tortoise

2. How fast you do it.

In the first days of my pilgrimage, I was stressed by the time I needed each morning before I get started. The stress was caused partly because I was always the last one to get out of the “albergue” and most of the time, I was never ready to walk before 9h00.

I noticed that some of the pilgrims were sleeping in their next morning clothes to ensure they would not lose time in the morning, a quick breakfast and they were ready to go at 6h30 – 7h30. I presumed they were doing that because they planned to walk 30 km a day or to be the first arrived to have the best places to sleep. I never knew, I never saw them again.

It made me questioned my way of doing. Shouldn’t I be more efficient?

I have never been a morning person but I have always felt that I should push myself to become one. The few times in my life where I had to be at work very early in the morning, I was astonished by what we can achieve in a day when we start early. And I was also surprised to see the other early birds already in the office.

But as hard as I tried, it was just not me. In French, we have an expression saying : “Chasser le naturel et il revient au galop”. I guess the English equivalent would be “What is bred in the bone, will come out in the flesh”. An equivalent, yes, but I like the image the French expression draws in the imagination: push back what is natural and it comes back in a galop. I imagine the horse running back to the stable.

I left the city, the “busyness” of work, because I needed to come back to myself, to my only self. I needed a time to gather my shit and leave it behind, I also needed to mourn the death of my mother one year earlier.

There was no obligation to be at a certain place, at a specific moment. There was no deadline. The only deadline was that I had to be back in Barcelona at a specific day for my flight back to Montreal 30 days later.

Still, I questioned myself. Every morning started without an alarm clock. I was not there to work or to push myself after all. I was waking up naturally, either with the light or with the noise of others getting up one by one.

I also didn’t want to wait in line to take my shower or for the bathroom. So I let everyone else do their things while I was either reading my notes, gathering my things, and most importantly, deciding which of my two T-shirts I would wear that day.

And then, taking all the time I wanted in the bathroom and the shower, packing my things, and reaching for the kitchen or coffee shop for breakfast. In Spain, like most places in Europe, breakfast is always minimal. What was available most of the time in the tiny villages, was an orange juice, a croissant, and a cafe con leche.

Except that, on the Spanish road, the orange juice was always made from freshly pressed, juicy, and sweet Valencia oranges. It was refreshing, rehydrating, and full of vitamin C, potassium, and magnesium which, I guess, have preventing me from having muscular cramps because I experienced none during the 650 km or so.

And the coffee? It was always perfect, a rich and creamy espresso with the exact perfect proportion of warm, creamy milk. And it was always as perfect in every tiny village or big city along the way. To make a long story short, I was enjoying the morning moment.

Still, reality struck me when I was out on the street, ready to go at 9h00 am, with nobody else around. And here it came: a glimpse of fear appearing, a fear of getting lost, of not reaching the chosen destination before dusk, a fear of finding no place to spend the night because all the others would have arrived earlier.

Happily for me, it was just a glimpse.

I finally realized I was not the only one not being an early bird. Maybe, at the places I slept, everyone else was gone, but in the village or the city, in the other albergues, there were always other pilgrims starting their day late, just like me. You just have to find your tribe.

After a few days, the doubt disappeared. I realized it was just perfect for me.

I was following my pace. I finally aligned with my own flow and it filled me with peace.

I enjoyed the freedom of being where I wanted, when I wanted, and the freedom to enjoy the company of some people met on the way, to walk with them for an hour, or a few days, and share a room with them. The security of being with people you know.

Until the whisper of my inner voice called me back to my journey, my own adventure into the insecurity of the unknown.

The unknown, when you have to go forward without knowing what hides ahead.

The unknown, the only place where you can face yourself and meet your dark side.

I enjoyed the perfect balance between gathering, laughing, and sharing with wonderful people and hearing their stories, on one hand, and isolating, feeling, reflecting, and releasing the griefs, the losses, the sadness of my past, on the other hand.

The Way has its way of showing you what you have to learn.

Meeting Speedy Gonzales

On my very first day, between Pamplona and Puenta La Reina, the first three or four hours were a steady climb until you reached the top of the mountain called the Alto del Perdon. And then, you go down on steep slopes for a while.

When I was on my way up, although I was walking rapidly a tall and well fit guy overtook me by the right. As everyone does on the Way, I told him: Buen Camino! He heard me, got rid of his earplugs, and slowed down to walk by my side for a while.

We talked a bit, our names, what we were respectively doing in our lives, and the question everyone asked: why have we decided to do this. He was a business man, I recall. After 20 minutes or so, he put back his earplugs, said : Have a nice day! and then left, fasting his pace. When I saw him disappearing and outrunning me, I couldn’t help telling myself: He is in a far much better shape than I am, I will never see him again. I was wrong.

A few days later, I stopped for a lunch at the only small cafe crossed on the road that day. Everybody was stopping there. And, surprise, he was there, drinking a beer with a bunch of people. I sat with the group beside him.

At first, he didn’t recognize me. After I told him where we met, he said : “Oh yes! You are the business lawyer from Canada. He added : you are a good walker.“ I thought he was joking. But no, he looked sincere. He admitted he got exhausted and had to stop on the way, staying two days at the same place because his feet and knees were hurting so much. He was no longer the rabbit running.

Oh dear, you thought he was faster and healthier than you and, finally, you caught him up and now end up ahead of him….. I left after a 30-minute pause, he stayed at the table.

Meeting Pepe with my bleeding nose

A few days later, I met some girls and walked with them for several days. One morning, I woke up with a sinusite and ended up with a bleeding nose. I didn’t want to slow down the others so I kept walking with a Kleenex in my nose, changing it several times while walking. Of course, the bleeding didn’t stop. I slowed down a bit to reduce my heart rate and finally lost the others.

I continued until I arrived at a place, in the middle of nowhere, where a Spanish man called Pepe was selling fruits, nuts, and juices to the walkers. My friends were there but they were ready to go when I arrived. My nose was bleeding continuously so I told them not to wait for me.

The man helped me, forced me to sit, and put a wet cloth on the back of my neck. One of the girls was hesitant to leave. I knew she wanted to go, so I insisted I would be fine and she should go. But Pepe turned to her and said : “Please, wait for her. Why you, pilgrims, have to run all the Way? What are you running at? St. James died 2000 years ago! He will still be there when you arrive!”

I think what he said resonated in her because, not only she stayed, but I felt it triggered something in her. We walked and talked together for several days until we parted at Lo Grono where she had to take a train to go back to California.

Meeting Alegra, 74 year-old

A week or two later, I also met a 74 year-old woman walking the Camino alone. She was starting with us in the morning, then stopping behind us on the road, without asking us for anything. 25 km further, there she was! An hour later but there she was.

She did that every morning, every day, and finished at St-Jacques de Compostelle almost at the same time as I or maybe one day after. When I decided to do the trip, I told myself if I do not do it at 55, I would never do it. She proved me wrong. Her story inspired me.

Her daughter was worried when she decided to leave to walk alone in a foreign country for a month. I understood between the lines she had suffered from a stroke some years before. Her daughter didn’t want her to do the trip. But Alegra stuck to her guns: “Please, do not worry, if I die there, it will be the best death ever!“

And she added with a big smile: “When I began to walk, I told my self I will never last more than 3 days. But here I am! Two weeks later and I am still there! Before I came here, every morning when I woke up with the pain of aging, I used to tell myself: Another day before I die. Now, when I woke up in the morning, ready to walk for the day, I tell myself: What a beautiful day to live !”

The Way of St. James shifted her perspective. And her story also changed mine.

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Second lesson learned (not only in my head, we all know what I am going to say, but now imprinted by these experiences in my subconscious):

The only limitations you have are the one your mind creates. Our mind is full of preconceived ideas. Life, when you take the time to live it, finds it ways to prove you wrong. Just like the turtle who arrived before the rabbit in the De Lafontaine tale.