A Million Steps

by Kurt Koontz

  After recharging my body with some rest and food, I returned to the Camino. I knew there was a decent amount of flat ground before the next large ascent to O’Cebreiro. For the next several hours, I walked and enjoyed the sounds of birds serenading from above, cowbells clanking on the left, sheep bells on the right, and water rolling over rocks in the creek that crisscrossed the path. Something had changed inside of me. On a daily basis, I experienced frequent overwhelming episodes of appreciation.

  Clear blue skies and perfect temperatures welcomed me to a region named Galicia. The Romans incorporated this area into the Empire in 19 BC. The countryside is very similar to the Celtic lands of Ireland with lush green foliage and epic mountains. Chronic and chaotic rainstorms feed the area’s maze of interconnected streams and rivers. One of my favorite things from the region is their Galician stew, made with beans, chorizo or ham, and vegetables. It provides warmth on cold, damp days when a thick blanket of fog rolls in.

  The final climb of the day proved to be much more challenging than my expectations. For the first time on the entire Camino, I struggled to continue up the endless hill that plateaued in O’Cebreiro. During one rest stop, I had a stranger take my picture in front of a unique stone structure. When I reviewed the daily photos, that particular shot stood out because of the amount of sweat dripping from my bald head. When I finally reached the summit, I had another feeling of being on top of the world. How lucky I was to experience this twice in one day.

  The first thing I saw in the new village was a large stone church with at least 200 red candles burning in a black rack at the front door. Originally built in the ninth century, this church is among the oldest on the Camino.

  The village is about six blocks long, with the buildings along one lone road. The entire street and every building were crafted from the same large gray stones. Only 50 people live in this tiny town, but all kinds of trashy Camino de Santiago trinkets fill the stores. A highway passes through the area, which must make it a tourist destination.

  The Albergue Xunta was a modern facility, operated by the regional government. Facilities like this one are common along this final stage of the Camino. I was not in the hostel for more than 10 minutes before seeing Mikkel, Jimmy, Tom, Fred, Annette, Melinda, Joan, and Zenira.

  After completing my normal chores, I patrolled through the village on a mission to find ice cream. With a double caramel magnum bar in hand, I sat on a stone wall facing the same mountains I had conquered earlier in the day. I counted nine different mountain ranges that preceded the horizon. It was truly a sea of hilltops with each range displaying a different color. I sat there alone and appreciated the view in silence for at least an hour. I thought to myself, “Why did it take me 48 years and 355 miles of walking to take pleasure in an hour-long uninterrupted date with nature?”

  I enjoyed dinner with Fred and Mikkel, and a new friend named Joshua from Australia. The restaurant had a wonderful rustic interior enhanced by the flickering light from a fireplace. When dessert came, Joshua was anxious to devour the flan. With a big smile, he explained that his palate was conducting a test for the top 10 flans of the Camino. This particular custard did not make a dent in the list, but he inhaled it anyway. I asked about other top 10 lists, and he immediately told me about the rooster crow list. I could not stop laughing as he puffed his chest and let loose his personal renditions of the best cock-a-doodle-do’s. After dinner, we walked back to the albergue accompanied by a sunset of mountain ridges that melted into layers of pink, orange, yellow, purple, and blue clouds.

  Day 22

  Welcome at Any Table

  October 5, 2012 began early on a cool morning, at the top of the mountain, with a sunrise as spectacular as the previous night’s sunset. The day before I had walked up to this height, and this morning I would walk down.

  Since my pace had slowed, I seemed to be traveling with the same band of people. The relationships had time to establish some depth. At the first break, I ran into Annette, Melinda, Joan, and Zenira.

  Zenira was from Brazil and had a zest for life that I found completely contagious. She had such high spirits that when a hint of negativity entered her realm, she swatted it down before giving it a chance to launch and infect. This was a most admirable talent that came naturally to her. I am not even sure she was aware of this special power.

  Annette and Melinda were two joyous women with smiles that could light up any room. After telling them about my miraculous shoe adventure, Melinda shared a similar story. Early in her trip, her shoes caused her a great amount of pain. After telling a stranger about the problem, he asked her shoe size. It turned out that he was ending his walk on that day and had no need for his boots. He offered them to Melinda. She tried to offer him compensation. The man told her that if she insisted on paying he would not part with the shoes, but would gladly tender them for free. They fit her perfectly, and she wore them for the rest of her Camino.

  Joan was a non-conformist who had an unusual strategy for finishing her Camino pilgrimage. The majority of people who walk the Camino end the journey in Santiago. A few continue to Finisterre on the west coast of Spain. Joan was concerned that Santiago might be a commercial zone that would dampen her enthusiasm for the experience. To avoid the perceived contamination, she planned to bypass the city by bus then resume her walk to the Atlantic Coast. She had even arranged to stay at The Little Fox House, a post-Camino retreat center outside of Muxia. It provides a space to chill and process some of the journey before rushing back to the real world.

  The final stop for this day was another small village named Triacastela. Upon arrival, the entire group reconvened for snacks in the warm sun. This was the end of the line for Joan as she was preparing to bus past Santiago. I had made a nice practice of letting go of Camino relationships, but this one was tough. We all said our emotional goodbyes and began our search for the night’s lodging.

  I left with Zenira who was determined to stay at Albergue Zen. However, when we took a tour, the hostel did not match this grand Brazilian woman’s personality. She then found an albergue she liked, but it did not feel right for me. I finally lucked out and found a small and obscure facility that had four beds in each room. This was considered a prize on the Camino. As an extra bonus, there were no other people in my room.

  Annette was also staying at my place, and she had a new friend from Australia named Courtney. Melinda had bedbug problems and decided to stay in a hotel where she could murder the little pests. To accomplish this feat, she planned to launder all her clothes at a very high water temperature. She would place all non-washable items in a plastic garbage bag to be left in the sun to heat the interior and fry the pests.

  As I walked through town I saw some friends at an outdoor café. We decided to eat together. This soon turned into a delightful, big-group experience. As more and more people kept showing up, we pushed tables together to accommodate the overflow crowd. By the beginning of the first course, I sat with Alberto (Spain), Zenira (Brazil), Melinda (S. Africa), Annette (S. Africa), Mikkel (Denmark), Lou (Vermont), and Courtney (Australia).

  On the Camino everyone was always welcome at any table. Each person was dealing with some type of nagging physical pain, yet the conversations were always positive and uplifting. I cannot imagine another setting where such a group could convene under similar and joyous circumstances.

  By this point in my journey, I had met many diverse people from all walks of life who came to Spain from every corner of the world. It seemed to me that the Camino was an equalizer of all people. On the Way, people were not defined by their religion, age, occupation, or wealth. We all slept in the same room and nobody had a gold-plated backpack. Instead, we were defined by how we treated each other in the moment. The more time I spent with my new friends, the more I realized how similar we all are as human beings. Our problems with relationships, finances, health, and mortality are all universal, as are the common denominators that unl
ock our enjoyment of happiness. From the first step, we felt like a large family walking each other home.

  A lyric from my music player stood out for me this day. In his song, Unconditional Love, Tupac Shakur expressed how I felt about my Camino companions. “(What y’all want?) Unconditional Love (no doubt). Talking ’bout the stuff that don’t wear off. It don’t fade. It’ll last for all these crazy days.”

  Day 23

  Calls Home

  Without any advance planning, I ended up leaving Triacastela early in the morning with three familiar companions––Annette, Melinda, and Courtney. We began climbing up a densely wooded hill in the dark using our headlamps. Throughout the ascent, we walked through a green tunnel created by the overlapping tree branches above our heads.

  Courtney struggled to keep pace with the group, but she decided to expand her comfort zone and push the walk. After the initial hill, the women took off on their own, and I plugged in my headphones to enjoy some music. Alanis Morissette did a fine job belting out You Learn as I enjoyed the fresh solitude.

  The terrain became rolling hills with sumptuous views of small farmhouses, pastures, and crops. In the middle of nowhere, a small bar was open for business. My friends were waiting for me to join them in celebrating Annette’s 47th birthday. I sipped some fresh-squeezed orange juice and helped the group devour a super sweet pastry that was a substitute for a birthday cake.

  We talked about how many more pilgrims might be joining us at Sarria, my destination for the day. Many short-distance pilgrims begin at Sarria because of its location on the Camino. Pilgrims are required to walk a minimum of 100 kilometers and must have at least two passport stamps to receive a Compostela in Santiago. It documents the successful completion of walking the Camino. Sarria is 115 kilometers from Santiago and is well served by bus and rail. For this reason, it is a major starting point for pilgrims wishing to obtain the parchment.

  I felt bad when some of my fellow walkers complained about the potential to have “rookies” cluttering up the path. It once again reminded me to remove judgment from my life. Just because we had walked from St. Jean did not mean that we owned the Camino and had exclusive rights to its many features. We were not superior beings because we had the time or extra energy to walk all 500 miles. Instead, I tried to put myself in a new pilgrim’s shoes and imagine what type of support and encouragement I would have desired when taking my first steps on the path.

  On a humorous note, it was very easy to spot the newbies among seasoned Camino travelers. Nearly all peregrinos lose weight as they walk. As they shrink, their shorts and pants get baggy. In contrast, the new pilgrims still had ass in their pants.

  After breakfast, I returned to the Camino, and after a 19-kilometer (11-mile) day arrived at Sarria. With 13,000 inhabitants, the town was quite a bit larger than most on the Camino. I met nine smiling friends at Plaza Mayor to continue celebrating Annette’s birthday. After singing happy birthday to Annette, three people accompanied her to the next village while the rest of the group dispersed to find shelter in Sarria.

  Annette smiled and wept as she hugged everyone and thanked them for sharing her day. We were all equally emotional, while still letting her go. No matter how many times I said these difficult goodbyes, I no longer felt a sense of loneliness. People will always walk into our lives to show us something or say something, to love us or take care of us, to put us on our path, and then when it’s complete, they leave. We are left behind with more than we can imagine, which we then share with others…on their paths.

  I decided to stay in a pensión (single room with shared bathroom) this evening just to enjoy some privacy. While searching for lodging, I ran into Mikkel and Fred. This would become a common occurrence for the rest of the journey.

  After showering and doing laundry, I returned to a small bridge on the outskirts of town where a nice boardwalk edged many different outdoor cafés. I wrote in my journal for about an hour. Later in the evening, I returned to this location for some dinner at a local pizzería.

  In Sarria, I had another chance to call Roberta from an Internet phone. The front of the store sold candy and ice cream. The back had three phone booths and five computers. The phone booths were not properly ventilated and about 20 degrees hotter than the rest of the store, which was already quite warm. I entered the hot room and called Roberta at work. I could not wait to hear her voice!

  She answered unenthusiastically. She blamed it on illness, but my radar received another signal. Afterward, I made two more calls, to my brother and a close friend, who were both clearly glad to talk. It was refreshing to feel that they were interested in hearing from me, and depressing to think that Roberta was not.

  Trying not to dwell on the disappointing phone call, I remembered what my Sting replica companion, Steve, had reminded me after our lunch at Bar Elvis.

  “Don’t waste precious Camino time and energy overthinking your relationship with Roberta,” he had advised. “If you let it be, it will probably work itself out. You may go home and find that things are just fine.” He told me what I already knew––that arriving back in Boise would answer the real question of our longevity.

  Day 24

  Taxi Temptations

  Day 24 was another short day of walking, with only 22 kilometers (13+ miles) to go. It wasn’t a day of rest for me, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was shorter than my average 17-mile walk on the trip.

  I bumped into a young lady from Ireland named Mags. We were together for only 15 minutes, but I remember her well. She was excited about life, bubbling with enthusiasm, and extremely thankful to be walking the Camino. When we came upon a village, I assumed she would like to stop and get some coffee. She declined and continued on her own.

  At one point on the trail, I passed a lone farmhouse of gray stone. In the front yard, about eight Germans were gathered in a circle, singing a delightful song. In a second-story window, a woman rested her head on her hand and listened with a beautiful smile. At the end, I clapped and yelled “Bravo!” My response must have been inappropriate for the song or setting, because the Germans showed their disapproval. Apparently I had intruded on a private event of some sort. I will never know. For me this was another example of how our best intentions can be misunderstood in our culture or another.

  Once again, I found myself in rolling hills filled with lush foliage. My heart took an extra beat when I saw the sign for Santiago, just 100 kilometers away. It was hard to believe that I had walked so far and had only a handful of days until Santiago.

  The day passed uneventfully and I arrived early in the afternoon at my destination of Portomarín. In this town, I discovered that history had been moved to accommodate the demands of a new age. Before they built a dam in 1960, they deconstructed the historic church at this site, one stone at a time, and reassembled it at a higher elevation. The old Roman bridge is now just above the water, hundreds of feet below a new bridge. The historic church continues to preside over the new town square at the river crossing as it has for hundreds of years. I marveled again at the resilience of the Camino.

  I checked into an albergue and received my bed assignment. Without any planning, Mikkel was in the bunk directly above me. This room held at least 50 beds, making this another amazing coincidence. After my chores, I walked through the village and found Melinda and Annette enjoying some coffee. I joined them for a bowl of lentil soup. When we had said goodbye yesterday, I had been pretty sure it was for the last time. I tried to change their minds about continuing on that day, but to make Santiago on their timetable, they needed to walk 30 kilometers (18+ miles) per day. We joked about taxis but they ultimately forced another goodbye.

  Taxis were the ultimate temptation on the Camino.

  At strategic viewing points, various companies affixed advertisements for “Servicio de Taxi” to walls, trees, and signposts, inviting pilgrims to call for a ride at any time. At major Camino interse
ctions, taxis would park next to the trail, soliciting passengers. Drivers would go so far as to cruise slowly by pilgrims, calling out their offers of low fares, warmth, rest, comfort, speed, and anonymity. I sometimes thought that they were like hawks, going in for weak prey.

  Without a doubt, taxis provided valuable service. They offered transport for people, of course, but also for backpacks from one lodging to the next. Many pilgrims preferred walking the path with daypacks only and appreciated this service. Taxis also provided a welcome option for people who were ill or injured or otherwise incapacitated on the Camino.

  But for me, they were a temptation. I wondered if I shouldn’t just let them carry my pack one day. Or just give me a day’s rest. I even considered taking a cab in the wrong direction to feel the excitement of rapid movement while preserving my “I walked the entire Camino” ego. Like many things, it was more like a fantasy that should never become reality.

  That evening, I had dinner with Mikkel. After eating, we joined many of the locals at a bar to watch Madrid play Barcelona in a game of soccer. Being from the U.S., my knowledge and interest in this sport was minimal. Mikkel laughed at me and told me that this game was probably the most important game of the year in all of Europe. He also explained that he had a chance to play professional soccer but had opted for a rigorous academic education. My admiration for this young man increased again.