Walking as Therapy — 4

There were ten pilgrims staying in the pilgrim accommodations hosted by a man and a woman who had met on the Camino years earlier. Most of us slept in a common area in the attic of the old, stone house. A convivial supper had us become less like strangers. A shared morning breakfast the next morning had us part as friends.

My feet felt better after a good night’s sleep, so I was hopeful of making it to Saugues, rather than having to stop in Monistrol d’Alliers which was only 6.5 kilometres from St. Privat. It took me almost two hours to walk to Monistrol, and I was hurting. I had to stop for coffee before trying to attempt a very steep ascent of 400 metres.

I began walking slower, covering 7.5 kilometres in two-and-a-half hours to reach Le Vernet. There, I stopped at an old barn that had been converted to a pilgrim rest stop. I was overjoyed to find two of the pilgrims who had stayed at the same pilgrim lodgings as me. It was like a home-coming, a family reunion.

Rested, I left to continue on to Saugues. The distance to Saugues was 17 kilometres. However, I added at least an extra 500 metres because I wasn’t paying attention. I would have soon found myself lost according to my guidebook if someone stopped when seeing me approach wearing my backpack. They soon had me retracing my steps to reach a junction where I was supposed to have turned to the left. It took me seven and a half hours to walk into Saugues and find a hostel for the night.

Getting lost was a good lesson for me, teaching me to stay in the present rather than get lost in my thoughts while walking. Getting lost in thoughts meant getting lost on the trail.

I found Internet access at the hostel, a gite, as the French called this type of lodging, and soon checked and read the emails than had accumulated over the two days since leaving Le Puy.

At the end of the day, I found myself in a dormitory with five other pilgrims, including the two women with whom I had lunch and a man who had also spent the first night in St Privat, a man called Richard.

Two days into the pilgrimage and I still felt that it was nothing more than a long hike with a lot of physical pain. There was no sense of anything spiritual about the trek. If anything, I had felt more spiritual while training back in Canada.

Perhaps it had to do with the fact that I had stopped meditating. More likely, it was because I focused on my feet and not on the journey itself, other than as a tourist taking photos. I was there in body, but I wasn’t really there, really present. Getting lost earlier in the day and all those signals since landing in France were proof that I was anything but present.

Previously . . .