A Million Steps

by Kurt Koontz

  This insight was so important to me that I immediately wanted to share it with Roberta. Upon arrival in Sahagún, I wrote her an e-mail. We had always been open and honest with each other, and this was by far the most personal thought that I had shared from the Camino. Her short response was underwhelming. Maybe I was expecting too much intimacy from across the Atlantic, but I felt exposed and questioned whether I would be as forthcoming in future e-mails or conversations.

  As I delved into my past, a mystery of the Camino’s history presented itself within the walls of my night’s lodgings. Large wooden steps led me to the second floor of a rather spectacular albergue. The brick exterior concealed what appeared to be the remains of an earlier structure with large white pillars and gigantic arches. At the base of the gable roof, it looked like someone had “chopped off” the top of the former white building. It turned out that a Romanesque church from the Middle Ages occupied the original site. In the eighteenth century, villagers scavenged the church for its building materials. The building had a new exterior on a partially demolished interior.

  This unusual building made me muse on my exterior and interior. Thanks to a decent diet and an obsession with exercise, my adult exterior has not changed dramatically, although it surely will erode as the years take their natural toll. My interior, on the other hand, is unrecognizable from its earlier form. I would dare to bet that not a single Sigma Nu fraternity brother, knowing my desire for wild times and whiskey, would have voted me “most likely to take a spiritual journey” at age 48. Neither would my former Micron Technology colleagues, who witnessed my pursuit of money and power, have imagined me being inspired by the slow pace of walking through nature.

  I spent most of my professional work career at Micron, a semiconductor manufacturer based in Boise. For nine years, I traveled the world as a hard-driving, successful sales executive. I became the “Micron Man” who bragged at parties about on-time deliveries and quality statistics—as if anyone cared. After my employment at Micron, I spent the next six years consulting on various projects with an emphasis on sales.

  In 2000, at age 36, I thought long and hard about time and money. While I did not have stacks of gold, I also did not have piles of debt. I had worked, saved, and invested. I was ready to make a big leap in life by formally retiring from traditional work. I no longer needed to define my identity with a job.

  This decision allowed me the freedom to pursue many different non-traditional paths. Some led to health and fitness, some satisfied my academic interests, some involved volunteer work, and some focused on understanding the spiritual nature of life. No matter the activity, I pursued them all with passion. One of these adventures led me to this ancient path.

  During this late afternoon in Spain, I explored Sahagún. In the large town square, I was surprised and pleased to see large groups of children. Because schools are centralized in the bigger cities on the Camino, the familiar sounds of school bells or recess did not exist in most of the villages. The high-pitched noise of kids playing and the thump of a foot kicking a ball were comforting reminders of normalcy. I bought a large chocolate éclair and watched the kids.

  Because the mornings had been quite chilly, I embarked on a mission to see if Spain sold gloves. I did not know the Spanish word for glove, so I used the universal gesture of my right hand putting an imaginary glove on my left. After six different stores, I found success and purchased their last pair. They were too small but would certainly meet my needs for the remainder of the trip.

  I tallied my material purchases on the Camino and laughed at my luck. In Burgos, I replenished my sunscreen and did not see the sun for six days. In Carrión, I bought a poncho and did not see rain until the end of the journey. I hoped my expenditure on tight gloves would improve the morning temperatures.

  Day 14

  Gratitude

  I woke with a strange but comforting thought. I had been in Spain for just a little more than two weeks, but it felt like I had never lived in another place. At this mid-point on my Camino journey, I recognized a pattern similar to my version of mid-life in the U.S. I repeated a daily routine without much thought or variance.

  Aside from established routines, however, my daily experiences were vastly different than those at home. The mixture of meeting new people, getting physical exercise, finding beauty in nature, appreciating the simplest things in life, and living with a tiny pack full of clothes was transforming me into another person. Weeding out all the thoughts that had previously cluttered my mind made me much more open to new experiences. I had never lived with so little and been so content.

  My new gloves were the bomb and really helped to warm my fingers on this cool morning. After about 10 minutes of walking, I came to a roundabout on a road and had trouble finding the path. I decided to wait for reinforcements to make a group decision. Moments later I met two wonderful women from Canada. These best friends live in Ontario and work full time as volunteers at a local food bank. I enjoyed spending time with them, but there was no harmony in our pace, so our relationship was not long lasting.

  Five kilometers out from Sahagún, I came upon a surprise in the route. The Camino actually split into two parts. One was the Camino Francés and the other was the Roman road. They reunited in a few days, but this was a new experience. My guidebook indicated that the Roman road was a bit less traveled, so I ventured down that path. One man walked ahead of me. Almost everyone else continued on the Camino Francés.

  On the new path, the sunrise suddenly frosted the golden fields of cut barley. They looked like an endless array of tiny amber rods against the brown earth. The captivating landscapes compelled me to take another 15 photographs.

  At one point, I caught up with the man ahead of me. His name was Dennis, from Scotland. Our initial conversation was very brief. I remember him saying “It sure is a nice day for a walk.” For the next hour or two, we played leapfrog, passing each other after rest and food stops. We were rarely out of sight but did not walk together. We later became friends and agreed that our mutual enjoyment of that morning’s solitude established the foundation of our relationship.

  During one stretch, I began thinking about how unique this experience is for every person who takes the plunge and walks the Camino. Here were two grown men walking on the same trail, in identical weather, at almost the same time, yet our minds were probably on different planets.

  Over a period of 1,300 years, over two million people have ventured down this sacred path. One million did it during the Middle Ages, seeking religious enlightenment. Another million have walked as modern pilgrims, for spiritual or religious affirmation, to challenge the physical body, or to digest life’s joys and traumas.

  My Camino companions and I, ages 2 to 82, came from all corners of the world. Our bodies were fit, fat, short, tall, and many different colors. We all carried a different outlook on our existence and a custom set of emotional luggage. We all had different experiences. Every one of our journeys was also unique and could not be replicated.

  My first-day trek across the French Pyrenees illustrated those differences. That perfect day of blue sky, rolling clouds, and lush hills will be forever imprinted in a special place in my mind. That was September 14, 2012. The pilgrims who crossed the identical physical path 24 hours earlier were subjected to complete fog and rain that limited visibility to less than five feet. Mud made the steep hills treacherous and almost impassible. How would the pilgrims walking that day view their first ray of sun, I wondered? Would rain that bothered me be like a drop to them? Did their immediate experience with adversity take the edge off future events?

  Later that morning, I spent time with a man named Miguel from Brazil. He walked with a limp and had some serious trouble with blisters. Eventually, the conversation focused on his loving wife and daughter. He told me that being away from his daughter was the hardest part of each day on the Camino. When I asked her name, a tear came to his eye and he an
swered “Helena.” He paused, then added: “It is time we no talk about this no more.” His physical pain, although obvious, was completely overshadowed by his emotional pain. We parted ways at the next village as I was in need of some food.

  Since this portion of the trail was much less traveled, there was not the usual bar/café at the entrance to the village. I had walked over 13 kilometers (8 miles) without food and was ready for some nourishment in Calzada de los Hermanillos. I had to ask a local man for directions to a restaurant. He laughed and sent me to a small store.

  I entered the tiny tienda and had to duck my head to avoid a concussion. A very short man with a smile that could light up Broadway owned the store. Since I was deep in the village, a full four blocks from the Camino, not another pilgrim was in sight. I bought a hunk of bread, an apple, a banana, a mystery sweet, and an almond cookie. Before paying, I had a sudden need to use a bathroom.

  Being a kind and gracious host, the man took me to his personal residence. His home was down the hall and connected to the building that housed the store. I sat down and did my business. A moment of panic struck me as there was no toilet paper in the room. Three loud knocks on the door just about gave me a heart attack. I tried to communicate with my best Spanish by saying, “un momento, por favor.” Without warning, the door opened about six inches wide and an arm popped in and dropped a roll of paper. The hand disappeared as quickly as it appeared. I laughed and realized that once again, the Camino had taught me that things just have a nice way of working out. Back at the store, I took his picture as we shared a laugh.

  I carried my little sack of food outside and found a nice place on the sidewalk to maximize my sun exposure. I took off my shoes and sat directly on the concrete with my back resting on a corrugated tin wall. The streets were completely deserted and the only noise was an occasional barking dog or crowing rooster. I slowly savored my lunch under these ideal conditions. The almond cookie and the warm sun put a glow on this most spectacular day. I enjoyed this simple meal more than any other previous dining experience in Spain.

  About an hour down the trail, a stranger approached me with a big smile and vigorously shook my hand.

  “Do you remember me?” he asked. “I was hoping to see you again! You helped me a few days ago. I was down and you put some wind in my sails. I felt bad about not thanking you, but I was dead tired and on the verge of a breakdown.”

  It took me a few seconds to place the event. Several days prior, while walking down a hill, I had come upon this man sitting on a rock, examining a blister on his foot, looking extremely tired and frustrated. I asked if he needed a Compeed patch. He accepted my gift with a grunt and not a word of gratitude. I walked away resenting that my help had gone unacknowledged. Seeing him in this new context reminded me that I can never know what another person is experiencing. This understanding instilled in me a desire to lose my interest in interpreting the actions of others.

  Toward the end of the day, I saw a vista on the horizon that seemed to be out of place. In the distance an artful display of clouds covered a large mountain range. It looked like the flatness of the Meseta was about to become history.

  My final destination for the day was a village named Reliegos. I checked into Albergue Gil, located next to Bar Elvis, a Camino landmark. The exterior of the bar is painted a bright aqua blue. The menu, along with motivational sayings and miscellaneous drawings, is carelessly scrawled across the large blue walls. I enjoyed a big cup of café con leche and a double caramel magnum ice cream treat. The owner was as bright and colorful as her establishment. I could not have picked a better place to be at that moment.

  The room at Gil was perfect, with only three sets of bunks and a nice shared bathroom. I took the last bottom bunk, and the top three remained empty for the night. On the Camino, this was an albergue jackpot! It really was amazing how the simplest things could provide so much happiness and gratitude.

  I shared the room with Judith and Annie. Both were childhood friends from Hungary, but Judith now lived in the UK. Over a great meal of lentil soup, huevos (eggs), and fritatas, we talked about income disparity throughout the world. I was amazed to learn that Hungarian doctors and teachers are each paid a low and equal wage. Both women indicated that most of the higher quality professionals leave the country in search of a better economic status. Not much is produced there, and inflation is growing at an alarming rate. Annie was completely flabbergasted when I explained how much income some normal Americans make on a monthly basis.

  Again, I was full of gratitude. I knew then that I wanted to take this feeling home with me.

  Day 15

  Lives of Service

  I slept like a champ and woke up feeling good. The morning was not as kind to Annie, who had some type of stomach flu. She decided to stay at Gil for another day. I started walking toward León around seven o’clock. The silent solitude of the dark morning mesmerized me. The only indication of another person was a tiny headlamp glow creeping up behind me.

  I had not been walking for very long before meeting an aged replica of Sting named Steve. I asked him where he was going and he responded, “Wherever I can make the most difference.” There was no time lapse to make the decision that this was not a normal encounter.

  Turns out, Steve had lived in a city located about a three-hour drive from my home in Idaho. At age 60, he terminated his house lease, gave away his stuff, and landed in Spain to walk the Camino. He had no plan to return to the United States. He wanted to dedicate the rest of his life to helping other people. He had already done charity work in Africa, India, and Romania. He told me a chilling story about meeting an elderly Jewish woman on a train in Bucharest. She had survived Auschwitz and held no hard feelings toward her captors. Her heartfelt message was that carrying hate and harboring ill feelings serves not a single useful purpose in anyone’s life. This simple and brief encounter changed his life. After the Camino, he planned to travel to Egypt to visit friends who had been involved with the 2011 protests in Tahrir Square.

  Steve reminded me of a man who had been my first inspiration for walking the Camino. Scaughdt and I met at an annual event called “Ride Idaho.” It’s a weeklong group road bike ride with about 300 participants. On my initial ride in 2008, Scaughdt was a volunteer who stood out from the crowd. His attitude was always positive and he seemed to be constantly happy––genuinely happy. On the third day of the trip, I approached him and asked if he had time to tell me his story. The next day, we sat down for a chat that changed my life.

  He explained that he has devoted his life to helping other people and that those actions allow him to cultivate an inner peace that bursts through his outer self. “I go to where I am called and provide service to anyone who asks,” he said. “If there is no pressing need, I find someone to help. There is always a way to serve others.”

  He told me about a woman named Peace Pilgrim, who had inspired him. This extraordinary woman walked back and forth across the United States from 1953 to 1981. Her total distance exceeded 25,000 miles, and she was penniless the entire time. Scaughdt had decided to emulate her lifestyle by living without any form of money. No credit card, not a nickel in his pocket, no savings account, and no retirement account. I was amazed and perplexed and afraid of the concept, yet envious of the implications of his choice. It was hard to imagine living with faith that there is no need to have money and then complement it by spending time helping other people.

  He told me that after the ride, he was planning to visit Spain with his mother and walk 500 miles on the Camino de Santiago. I had never heard of this walk and had some serious questions about this man’s sanity. Still, I was drawn to him.

  After the trip, I invited Scaughdt to stay at my home for about a week. I was able to watch and learn as he went about his daily endeavors to help other people. During that time, he found his way to an animal shelter and cared for strays in the afternoon. On another day, we both visited a l
ocal senior center where he gave a speech about his lifestyle to some aging residents. At one point, he quietly did some unsolicited yard work at my neighbor’s house. Every action in his life centered on helping other people while expecting nothing in return. His seemingly permanent smile gave evidence to his personal happiness and illustrated the benefits of such a lifestyle.

  I always knew of this concept, but he provided the example to connect the dots. He gave me a personal introduction to one of the secrets to inner peace.

  For the years that followed, I knew that I would one day walk the Camino but did not have a firm plan for the timing. Toward the end of August 2012, I made the decision to walk and sent Scaughdt an email with the exciting news. “I am thrilled that you are making the trek,” he replied, “but be aware that this is not your decision.… The Camino decided it was time for you to be there.” At the time, it seemed odd. Now I feel that the Camino did put my life on a new path. Three weeks later I was in St. Jean.

  On day 15 with Steve, our conversation brought up memories of another bicycle trip I took in 2006. On that solo trip, I rode my bike 2,000 miles over six weeks through nine European countries. It was another life-changing trip, but I encountered quite a bit of adversity along the way—lots of problems with wind, mechanics, and communications. On the Camino, I told Steve, everything just seemed to work in my favor. Prior to that exchange, I had never even given the slightest thought to the previous trip.

  Steve suggested that the positive and negative energy we extend has a direct correlation to what we receive. It really hit me like a large stone to the forehead. It provoked some serious introspection into my past and current life. On the bike trip, I had expectations and let adversity easily upset me. On the Camino, I had zero expectations and was able to let go of adversity and forget it.