TRAVEL MEMOIRS

On Camino de Santiago, I Was in Trouble

I found myself in the position of needing serious help

This October, I went on Camino Porto, but my history with walking the Camino de Santiago goes back several years. In the summer of 2014, I took care of my mother-in-law. Her health was deteriorating fast. She had Alzheimer’s, and I put up my hand to help, as I’m that person. And I loved her dearly. Yet, it was grueling, and while it’s good to help others, I should have been more cautious.

Seriously, as if teaching high school English full-time the rest of the year wasn’t hard enough! I’d committed to ten weeks but knew it was going to be a tough slog.

Within a month, I was exhausted. I stayed with her four days at a stretch. At night, I didn’t sleep well. I went to bed down the hall from her, closing the door. Most nights, she’d tiptoe into my room and I woke up to her dark shadow hovering over me.

“Who are you?” she’d say, in a no-nonsense voice. I wished there were a lock on the door of the bedroom.

“It’s me, Deb,” I said back, my heart pounding, “your daughter-in-law. It’s midnight. Let’s go back to bed.”

Sundays, I took her to church. One day, when the church service concluded, I got roped into going to the cookie service in the cafeteria. I hadn’t showered that morning, and I felt sticky and tired. I wanted to go home, not sit around in church and drink bad coffee!

Giving my husband some serious stink-eye made me feel a bit better. He said, “Mom loves the cookies! Come on, we’ll just watch the speaker for a while.” We sat on cold folding chairs at the back of the room and Mom happily munched her cookies. And mine.

My life was about to change

A short, dark-haired man approached the podium, and the lights dimmed. The Camino de Santiago slideshow began! I was enthralled, hypnotized.

The 500-mile Camino Frances route, from Southern France to Santiago de Compostela, doesn’t appeal to everyone. The images on the screen were of soaking-wet hikers struggling down a muddy hill. It looked hard. I was all in! This was how I’d spent my twenties and thirties, hiking in rough terrain. Escaping my life of caring for parents was all I could think of.

I excitedly turned to my husband and said, “I’m doing that!’ He smiled and nodded, in his “Of course you’re walking 500 miles across Spain by yourself” manner. One year later, I set off for the Camino Frances — the 500-mile route. I walked over the Pyrenees Mountains, from St. Jean Pied De Port to Santiago de Compostela. Nothing could stop me. I went all the way, on my own. I met friends there. I got fit and strong!

From the charming Southern France town of St. Jean Pied de Port to Santiago de Compostela — 500 miles beyond — I fell in love with the Camino de Santiago. Here are a few photos of St. Jean “at the foot of the pass.” If you can imagine, the first walking day with Camino Frances includes an eight-hour walk over the Pyrenees Mountains. I broke my walk up, staying a night in an albuerge (hostel) five kilometers up the Pyrenees.

I came back from my first Camino a happy person, and have been a strong believer in distance walking ever since

It’s one thing to walk twelve to twenty miles in one day. Can you imagine walking ten miles per day for days on end? The Pyrenees Mountains, hills, rain, snow crossing streets, hopping stones across streams— nothing is particularly easy. Your feet widen and flatten. Your body fat melts. Cheekbones suddenly appear in stark relief.

Every night for more than a month, you practically collapse in bed — which may be a dorm room with fifty bunk beds. Ah, the snoring, gasping, indescribable noises (and smells) of all those people! I admit, these days I prefer a hotel.

I loved walking the Camino de Santiago so much I’ve walked sections of the Camino Frances several more times

It was now time to try something new.

So this year, I chose to walk the Camino Porto — about 160 miles. My friend Darren Weir walked Camino Porto with his hiking partner a month before I went, and I leaned on him for details. He mentioned extreme heat in Portugal. Had I bitten off more than I could chew?

I threw more sunscreen in my pack and an extra 32-ounce water bottle. Surely the heat wave wouldn’t continue into October.

When I flew into Porto, I got off the plane with my twenty-pound backpack and found a train to get into the city. I felt my back dripping with sweat, and my hands and feet began to swell. I made my way to my hotel.

It must have been 90 degrees. I drank two liters of water and got some sleep. The next day, I would begin the Camino Porto! I excitedly packed and repacked, leaning my walking poles against the wall in my tiny room, filling my water jugs and nervously considering what I’d gotten myself into.

It had been six years and several cancer surgeries since my previous time in Spain

Would I be able to do this? To be honest, I had some doubts. I did not share my worries with anyone, but instead planned to use taxis and buses if I needed a break from walking.

The following morning, I walked to the starting point, the Se Cathedral. I followed directions along the way, a map, and my phone. The yellow arrows of the Camino weren’t yet appearing, but after I arrived at the cathedral, I began my walk and there they were! The yellow arrows, along with scallop shells, show pilgrims how to reach their destinations.

I was extremely excited to be starting a journey, all by myself! As I walked to the cathedral, feeling my way through the fascinating shops and little markets of Porto, a few people followed me. I am sure I looked like a veteran Camino walker, with my less-than-fashionable attire and a floppy sunhat.

My first day walking was grueling. I loved every minute, but by the time I had walked from Porto to Matosinhos — right on the coastline of Portugal — I was exhausted. It was only twelve kilometers, seven miles, along the River Douro walking out of the city, but it was another 90-degree day.

Honestly, the first three days are somewhat of a blur, as it was scorching hot and I was walking in direct sun.

I spent the first days stumbling along the beach, heading north. Camino Porto was a different kind of walk than Camino Frances, as it felt like I was on a beach vacation. Traveling along the Portuguese beaches differed from walking in the Pyrenees, or through historic cities like Pamplona.

The sea in Portugal is stunningly beautiful, with crashing waves, dramatic rocks, and men fishing, always fishing. The heat was intense. I saw beautiful people on the beaches, young men and women swimming and splashing in the waves. In my sunhat, long-sleeved shirt, and trudging along with my pack, I felt very out of place. I was physically uncomfortable, and tried to remember that the first days of a distance walk are the hardest.

I drank nonstop, as the temperatures were so high and I wanted to avoid heat stroke. I kept my hat on and took frequent breaks. At night, I’d find my way to a hotel, get some food, and crash — exhausted. I wasn’t sure this felt great.

My troubles came to a head on my fifth day of walking

Praia de Vila Praia de Âncora was my destination. I started from Viano do Castelo, and had planned to taxi five miles ahead, so I didn’t walk the entire distance. The heat wave in Portugal was getting to me. The previous day, pilgrims I met were also suffering from the extreme heat. One woman had collapsed, vomiting and crying, so ill from the heat she had to be rushed to a hospital.

Getting a taxi was impossible, as everyone else had the same fear of the heatwave

As I walked slowly, I drank as much water as I could get in. I ascended an incline at one point and met a British man named John, sitting on a stone, smoking a cigarette. His arms, face, and neck were reddish-brown, and he said, “I’m working on a tan.” As we chatted, I discovered he’d been to Cambodia. I lived there with my first husband, so we had lots to talk about, this British guy and me. We walked together, at first having a great time sharing stories.

I lost energy in the extreme heat, and then I realized I was in trouble

As we continued along, I found myself feeling so hot and exhausted I began to seriously consider lying down in the forest and spending the night on the cool ground.

At one point, we were hiking through a suburb up in the hills and a woman came out of her home.

“Do you need something to drink?” she asked.

Without hesitation, I said, “Yes, please,” but nothing more.

Never have I been so unable to hold a conversation. When she brought me a can of warm Diet Coke, it was like ambrosia to me. I apologized for my silence, but she looked at my flaming face and knew. So did my friend. I was just “this side’ of a serious health problem.

We continued our walk.

John filled the silence with stories and remarks. At one point, he mentioned his job: he took care of elderly people, and when they pushed a “Help, I’ve fallen” button, he was the responder to take their call. My silence was deafening to him, I’m sure. I could no longer chat, nor could I make any pretense at pleasantries. I needed to conserve the little energy I had left.

I realized, in that moment, I had become a burden

I let myself consider that for a while. Hadn’t I always been the helper? Now I was in the horrible position of needing help from someone else. I felt the sting of tears in my eyes and blinked fast. Feeling guilty, I told John, “Please go on ahead! I’m going to go slow, and I don’t want to hold you up.”

He looked at me and smiled, saying “Oh, this is probably better for me. I tend to rush.” I knew in that moment he was slowing down for me. He was looking after me, as I had taken care of my mother-in-law.

We walked uphill, along large stones and rounded ones, and I was careful not to fall. My phone died, but as we approached the destination — finally — I told him the name of my hotel, which I’d scrawled onto a scrap of paper in my pack. He checked his phone, smiled, and said, “You’re in luck. It’s next to my hotel, and I’ll walk you there.”

His kindness was remarkable, and we said goodbyes at the hotel, as he continued to his a few doors down.

“Call me!” he said, holding his hand to his ear.

The next morning I sent him a brief text, thanking him for his amazing help. I know he probably saved my life. I had slept late and didn’t get going until 10 a.m., and thought perhaps my friend and I might walk together a bit more.

Then, I realized that like me, he needed to escape taking care of others. Despite that, I was a bit sad he didn’t wait for me or return my text. Can’t lie. It also reinforced my feelings of being a burden in that heat. I felt lonely all of a sudden.

I was grateful he had given me the gift of his time and help

At that point, I made myself slow down and reflect. I practiced gratitude. I saw myself with John’s eyes, realizing how much of a project I had been. His generosity and kindness helped me in that moment. He basically walked me home, when I was struggling.

I thought about my mother-in-law as I reflected on receiving help from the new friend. How she probably felt, needing help. No one wants to be a burden, or depend on another person.

Yet, I needed to be gracious, and appreciative — and accept that sometimes, like my mother-in-law, I need help.

It is a humbling experience to accept help. Perhaps John thinks about me sometime. I hope he knows I learned something that day. How I realized that it’s okay to lean on a helper. And it’s okay too when the helper steps away, having given what they can.

That is often enough. I am so grateful for John’s help, and for the lessons.

Thank you for reading!