Toward the Field of Stars

After three extremely long and painful days of walking on the Camino, I felt thankful to only have to walk 10 miles to our home for the night today. After walking around 15 miles, give or take, for three days straight, 10 miles felt very short. However, while the walk was shorter, the pain from the last last three days remains in the forms of blisters and sore legs.  Despite the pain, I couldn’t help but feel as if I could have done more today. We walked 10 miles, but what if my destination was 15 miles away again? Could I have made it? Would my body give in and no longer carry me? I’ve wondered this each day, but giving up has never been an option I’ve considered.  Surprisingly, I’ve learned that the more tired I become physically, the more motivated I feel to continue the journey. I’ve made it this far and now I owe it to myself to finish what I started. My body aches and my feet continue to blister, but it is worth it for the Camino. Interesting sighting on the Camino; tr

Throughout the pilgrimage, I knew that our journey could have represented the journey of life (as cliché as that sounds), but I didn't fully have that sense until the end. I had walked this journey with a group that was in a way like a family because I didn't get to choose them, though I grew to love them.  The other friends on the path came and went just as people do, and some seemed like they were meant to stick around. Arriving in Santiago felt like a homecoming in itself, even though I wasn't actually home yet. Walking into the square and standing under the cathedral, there was an overwhelming sense of happiness and accomplishment in the company of others. The massiveness of the cathedral and surrounding buildings of the square felt almost comforting. Seeing so many pilgrims of the Camino in one place created even more of a sense of that community I had felt throughout the whole pilgrimage. The pilgrim's mass continued this homecoming. For me, it brought bac

Pilgrim Mass     Every Sunday the huge Cathedral of Santiago holds a Pilgrims Mass for those who have completed their walk along the Camino during the week. It’s a kind of celebration, not only a celebration of the sacrifice that Jesus made for the salvation of all mankind but also for the pilgrims who had arrived safely at what was for many of their final destination on trail: the holy Cathedral de Compostela of Santiago. Pilgrims would travel hundreds of miles from the safety of their homes seeking God’s forgiveness or healing through one of the several of the overland routes that carries them to Santiago. It is a tradition that had lasted for almost a thousand years and there are a great many others that we could talk about, but I’d like to talk about the Mass itself in the ways that it differed from the Masses that I, as a practicing Catholic, have been to in the past. One thing that should be noted is that the Cathedral was partly closed for renovation and as part of that we en

These are the Sacristies of all the churches that I visited and was allowed to take pictures in from where we began our walk in Sarria all the way to Santiago.

Our final day on the trip was a bus tour to Finisterre. While it felt weird to be on a bus after nearly a week of only walking, I’m glad we went to see this city on the coast. Before we got to Finisterre we stopped at a small, old town outside of Santiago. A historic bridge, Ponte Maceira was said to have collapsed before the Romans who were persecuting the disciples that were transporting the remains of Saint James. A water mill - mills grains using power from the river. Another beautiful sighting in Ames. Continuing on with our tour, we stopped by an amazing scenic viewpoint where we got to stop and take some photos. The ocean from the scenic viewpoint. In the middle right of the picture is a lagoon between the ocean and the land. Some of the wind turbines that were seen all across the mountain tops. In the background is Granite Mountain, which is entirely made of granite and is the highest point in the area. After the scenic viewpoint, we finally made it to the 0 kilometer marker in

The Camino trail is long and hard and I think this even though I only walked it for a week. Winds strong enough to blow a hat away clean off your head, the rain coming down in bucket loads heavy enough to stick clothes to bodies like a second skin. The humidity thickens the air around you until you can see your breath in 50ish degree weather even as you have trouble drawing a full breath in; not to mention the sunburn on your neck, aching knees and blistered feet. I got off lucky with only a single huge blister in between two of my toes in an exact spot that it made it painful to walk on, but one girl in my group got so many blisters that she burned through two boxes of Band-Aids. But you know what the really crazy thing is? This same girl who got all those blisters said she'd be willing to walk the Camino again, she even said that before we'd finished this go around! What kind of hike could do that to a body? To cause some kind of reaction inside them that makes them willi

I thought in walking the Camino that I would see farm animals. Cows, chickens, sheep, pigs and if I was lucky, a few horses. We were going to be walking through farmlands for a large part of the way, after all, and that is what one is bound to see when viewing farms. What I did not expect to see was all the dogs. Big ones, small ones, short-haired, long-haired, farm dog, guard dog, somebody’s soft pet, you name it and it was somewhere along the Camino. And just like the people I met they were all different; joining and departing from my pilgrimage walk after brightening my life with the light they reflected. Outside of Sarria, the place of my very first steps along the Camino itself, there was a silvery black shepherd dog that halted me and my roommate Maggie. Not with loud barking or blocking our path, but this folded back ears and a gently wagging tail. He had kind brown eyes that lit up when they connected with mine and he came bounding up to the makeshift fence between us. His f

Strangers. The very word is usually enough to put us on our guard and make us grip our possessions a little tighter. We do not know them or what their true intentions are in approaching us, but there is almost always a brief moment of tension as we size them up. We do not trust them, but then again there is normally little reason or need to. Most people we pass in the street are not really that important to us, they are not likely to become features in the landscape of our life, so why would they matter? We do not think about talking to them, or walking with them, or inquiring about their lives because we have little interest in them. Our society teaches us to care about what is or what could be immediately useful to us and to ignore that which is not.   This is not the way of the Camino though. The pilgrimage of the Camino takes this cynical view of our fellow man and how to treat them and buries it in the nearest churchyard. Like the Catholicism from which this trail was born, th

Reflecting on my experiences on the Camino. On many of my days traveling, I realize that I had to rely on the kindness of others to you get what I needed. Even though they speak a different language, we're all able to connect with each other. I was practicing this new mindset of letting go and just going with my feelings. Through this I was met with more interesting experiences. I remember meeting an older gentleman at one of the rest stops. He was with a small group of other pilgrims. One Australian lady and a Brazilian couple. I had first tried to speak to the Brazilians, but could not speak Spanish. I ended up speaking to the Australian woman who could speak a little English. I then spoke to the older gentleman who was from Indiana. He told me that the people he was with were his angels. They came to help him after he fell and broke his arm while on the Camino. They were finishing the journey together now. I found the story very inspiring. He asked me what I was looking for

The getting to Santiago was a complete joy. It felt like everything in our journey had genuinely come to a cathartic end. My knees were starting to feel like they were going to give out from the immense pressure from walking so long — the church from a hill that overlooked the city made for a perfect painkiller. Walking into the city was like entering a post-apocalypse movie. The streets were nearly empty. However, this was only the outskirts of the large city of Santiago. I had lost my pills and supplement in one of the previous towns we stopped in; my ADHD was exploding. I was asking the girls all kinds of questions to ignore the pain. The closer we got to the church, the more people we began to see. The people I began to see reminded me of the people Madrid. They were rushed like every big city, however ever it was clear that the Camino has affected the town. I felt like our presence was welcomed. The people wave and smile when they see our walking sticks and seashells I'm amaz

Arrival in Santiago after spending the week walking across the countryside of Spain was such a delight.  While I was reluctant to be leaving the Camino and our pilgrim life, arriving to such a beautiful city was a great way to end our journey. The historical center of the city felt like another world.  The narrow streets and cobblestone roads combined with all the medieval architecture took me back in time and made me feel as if I was a true medieval pilgrim. Here I will post some pictures from time in Santiago. Our first glimpse of the cathedral after arriving in the city. One of the University of Santiago’s buildings in the city. The front of Santiago city hall.  The top of city hall, Saint James pictured as the Moor Slayer. One of the best pictures I took of the cathedral during “golden hour.” Japanese influence shown in a tower connected to the cathedral. A close up of the front towers of the cathedral, with the moon making an appearance in the background. Walking thr

I have never thought of myself as someone interested in languages. I took German in high school, and didn't really enjoy it, and only remember enough to say hello and how are you. When I came to college in the fall, I signed up to take French, determined that it would be different with this language and that I would focus better on it. However, I still had difficulty with the vocabulary, grammar, and general fundamental learning. (Okay, so that pretty much just makes it sound like I am bad at learning languages overall, which is kind of true) It was strange because I thought that because I find all other humanities —   literature, art, politics, religion —  really interesting, but I just couldn't find myself invested in learning other languages.  However, that changed when I was in Spain. I was surrounded by different languages from my first flight (look back to my first blog), and my monolingualism smacked me in the face. If only I knew Spanish, or Russian, or Hindi, I wou

Most people who walk the Camino believe that Santiago is the ultimate destination, and in some ways I agree with this. When standing just outside of the city I was overwhelmed with emotion that we had finally reached our goal . I thought about all of the knee pain and blisters I had gone through to reach this city, and I was overjoyed to finally be there . When actually entering the city and seeing all of the pilgrims hobble in with knee braces and hiking poles tears were almost brought to my eyes . Every one of us , regardless of whether we walked 100km or 1000km, were happy and proud to be in this city . Finally seeing the cathedral in person was beyond beautiful . I was shocked by the intricacy of the details in the church . Colbi, Hannah, and I laid down in front of the cathedral for several moments and soaked all of its beauty in . While Santiago was full of brilliance , I believe that the best part of this trip took place in Finisterre .  As soon as I laid eyes on the ci

Many of the readings we did over the past few weeks touched upon the impossibility of describing a Camino experience. It's a phenomenon I'm beginning to realize is all too true as I return to the "real world" and attempt to tell my friends and family what exactly I spent the past week doing. It's already a nebulous, complicated thing: lots of people choosing, for one reason or another, to spend a certain amount of time walking to a place when they could otherwise take a bus, train, or plane. Our brains, outside of the Camino, don't run anywhere near the pace they do while on the trail--where else would an hour pass but only feel like a few minutes? The communitas, or sense of community among the pilgrims on the trail, is also difficult to capture. Sure, I can explain the objective facts of my interactions with my fellow travelers: where they were from, where they started on the Camino, and why they were doing it (or why they said they were doing it), but I

Yesterday I said farewell to Santiago and to most of my fellow pilgrims. Allison, Colbi, and I—who all happened to have the same flight to Madrid—caught a taxi to the airport together. Going through security, we noted with surprise that the people in front of us were not removing their shoes. Colbi turned to a security guard and asked if we were meant to (the case was a bit different for her, as she had metal buckles on her sandals). He did not seem to understand her question and walked off momentarily; however, he soon returned holding two blue objects in his hands that, initially, appeared to be gloves. We stared, each mildly afraid that he was about to perform a cavity search simply because she had asked a question. We all stopped; we all waited—a cohesive unit. Instead of something so dramatic as an invasive search, he handed the objects to Colbi and walked away. Relieved, I turned back to my own task of loading the plastic bins. When I turned back to the others, Colbi had remo

Of all the wonderful things I experienced on the Camino, the many people I met were the best part .  I met my friend Simoan while walking the Camino on the 3rd day . She is from Denmark but lives in Belgium . Hannah and I walked with her for a few hours and spoke about many different subjects . We started the conversation with the impression that Belgium was much different than the United States , however after our long conversation with her we left thinking differently . She told us about her life in Belgium and how she had recently graduated from her university and is now struggling to search for a job . She told us about her love for the environment and how she hopes to find a job where she can create eco friendly services for people . She shared that she believes if we can make all default options the eco friendly option then we could make a bigger difference in saving the earth .  On the second to last day outside of the Cathedral , Colbi , Hannah , Amanda and I met tw

When discussing the Camino, people always reference this feeling of communitas.  This sense of community that ties together all the pilgrims trekking across the Galician country side over rolling hills, winding streets, and mystical forests. All pilgrims to a certain degree have to rely on the kindness of strangers in order to make it through the Camino, which in my opinion is really the force bringing everyone together.  As a result, there is a friendly vibe while on the route. Everyone introduces themselves and you cannot make it to Santiago without hearing “Buen Camino” at least two thousand times.   Throughout my trip I have made many connections with people from more places than I could imagine including Germany, Sweden, Canada, Australia, the United States, and more.  I was in such awe meeting the people from all over the world I seemed to completely overlook something.  And this was the bond forming between our little group itself.  Having to leave everyone this morning it seem

“Oh wow you guys are really smelling the roses.” That is the exact response we got when we told the Australian man that we were taking three days to get to Santiago instead of the regular two.  Now we had seen this Australian man a couple different times along the way and this comment was passed when we bade him farewell at the end of dinner at Casa Millia. I know that he did not mean anything offensive by this comment, it was a mere reaction, however I have been thinking about it a lot.  Personally, I feel as though many people try to rush through the Camino.  It seems as though it’s almost a race against one’s self, trying to reach the destination as fast as physically possible. This is one of the things I do not like about the Camino.  It is almost frowned upon to “smell the roses.” I feel as though people do not take as much time to stop and take in everything that’s around them. To really absorb the beautiful scenery or have that hand-crafted cup of coffee. People focus on reachi

We were asked to notice the familiar and unfamiliar on the Camino. I didn't realize that some things would fall into both of these categories. I found myself while walking through countryside, mossy towns, and cities picking wildflowers that caught my eye. There wasn't anything to them except that  I just thought they were nice, and I have no I idea even now what any of them are called. It started with a few flowers, then I couldn't help but expand my collection, (extending even to some flowers that were probably not meant for picking!) I have always loved flowers, and having a piece of what surrounded me in Spain felt both comforting and foreign. It was a similar thing with animals. I love animals too and have many of them at home, but every cat, dog, or cow felt like a wonderful surprise. A few people on the trip mentioned how our delight in these animals was a sort of child-like, and I definitely have that same sentiment. So, here is a look of the Camino through my c

The walk from Sarria to Santiago was slow. Not in the sense of tedious, nor in the sense of a peacefully flowing stream; it was slow in the sense of unhurried, painstaking, and deliberate. I woke up everyday knowing that my primary task for the day was to walk; that was my purpose and my full-time job; that was the reason I was here. Discuss and Eat. Sleep. Walk. I was surprised and relieved to find how easily I worked into this pattern— how soon my mind relaxed—how natural it felt to concern myself almost entirely with food, sleep,  and the next step. The slow progression forbade me from whizzing by the cities, villages, and shops along the way; it insisted that I notice the flowers protruding from the crevices of stone walls—that I smell the eucalyptus leaves blowing in the breeze. It demanded I take in. I gave to it physical comfort and it gave back so much beauty—a fair exchange. With every step (and there were many many steps in the 60+ miles of walking), I became increasingly a

I wish I could say I had a glorious, pious entry into Santiago de Compostela on our last day of walking, but I'm not quite sure I did. After reaching the square the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela calls home--the end of the pilgrimage!--I met back up with the rest of our group and we found the location of the daily Pilgrim's Mass, which was located in a different church in the city thanks to the cathedral's ongoing renovations. Twenty minutes before 12 p.m., the church was packed, and we couldn't find seats--hardly the kind of welcome a walking-worn pilgrim expects at her destination. Still, though, the church was beautiful, even if Baroque architecture and all of its accompanying gold flashiness aren't really my style. At 12, music began. But it was not the solemn, soaring chanting I'd expected; instead, it involved an acoustic guitar and lots of clapping on the part of the congregation. My Protestant heart felt betrayed: where was all the Catholic pomp a

Ahead lies the Atlantic Ocean, a vast expanse of sapphire blue water that goes on for miles and miles, even beyond what can be seen. Behind is the lighthouse that sits at the point of Finisterre. Underneath my feet are the granite boulders that line the coast and the mountains surrounding the estuary. All around are pilgrims and tourists stopping to take in the seaside view. Being in Finisterre, it is easy to see why it was once thought to be the end of the earth. I take a moment to sit down on one of the rocks, which is warm because the sun is brilliantly beating down on Galicia today. Looking out across the ocean, I start to imagine what it would have been like for medieval pilgrims and people even before then who traveled to Finisterre and truly believed that it was the edge of the earth. I’ll be honest, it is hard for me to imagine that because I know that 3,000 miles away lies the United States. However, I am amazed by the leap of faith it took for explorers to travel o

Kathryn Harrison considers in her book, Pilgrimage to Santiago, what exactly she will remember about her walk. She pleads with her mind, insisting “[d]on’t let me forget…Please make me remember” (148). Tonight, my fellow pilgrims and I were asked to consider five things that we hope to remember (or perhaps even are afraid to forget). As soon as this was spoken memories and images flooded my mind, sometimes building on one another, sometimes competing for a place on the list. And though there are far more than five things I hope to remember, here are few of the things I plead never to forget: The kindness of strangers. Whyte writes that “even with those you know, the stranger’s love is best of all.” While I don’t necessarily agree with the hierarchy of this comparison, this pilgrimage has shown me the love of strangers more frequently than I would ever have imagined, and there is certainly something to be said for someone investing in you with no expectation of return nor with any f