by Kurt Koontz
For her birthday in July, I arranged a surprise and romantic trip to Portland, Oregon. Her lack of enthusiasm began to haunt me. In the six weeks that followed, I decided to walk the Camino and made all arrangements for the trip. It wasn’t unusual for me to go on outdoor adventures without Roberta—she preferred joining me for other, less physical trips with the limited vacation time she had from work. She had given me the Paulo Coelho book, Pilgrimage, the Christmas before and encouraged me to go on my own solo journey.
Now I walked in sorrow, fearing a final breakup. The signs were discouraging. But I was still hopeful that we could avoid the unneeded death of our love.
After my first Camino cry, I realized that the Hinder song lyrics, paired with Massimo and Mom walking in front of me, also reminded me of my 76-year-old mother.
One of the first things that occurred after I quit drinking was a blossoming relationship with my mother. I have always adored her, but the passing of my father removed a big barrier.
For many years, my mother, stepfather, sister, various friends, and I had taken a family spring break trip to Palm Springs in California. After my early retirement from a large technology firm, this trip morphed into an annual mecca lasting five to six weeks. At first I thought it was a bit odd to be taking such a long vacation with my mom. But then I changed my view of this excursion and began to celebrate my luck at being able to spend such a long time with this lovely person. When you lose a parent, there is a natural tendency to appreciate the survivor. Our bond is healthy and strong. The annual trip has become one of my favorite times of the year. I will miss it when my mother is gone.
Given my girlfriend trouble and my mom’s inevitable mortality, I realized that the two most important female relationships in my life could end at any time.
I arrived in Viana, my final destination for day five on the Camino. Sporting a population of 3,600, this city is quite a bit larger than most of the previous villages.
Upon arrival, I decided to stay at the Albergue Andrés Muñoz. Like every lodging experience, you never know what will happen until you open the wrapper. Originally a monastery, the building had been converted to housing for pilgrims. I found my bunk and was surprised to see that the beds were triple deckers. All bunks on the Camino were two high, but three was quite a sight. Each room held three sets of these structures for a total of nine beds per room. The entire hostel housed 54 people.
My perspective on everything was in a constant state of flux on this trip. Before arriving in Spain, I was sure that sleeping in bunk beds with strangers would be difficult. I envisioned insomnia, rolling off the edge, and difficulty falling asleep. With just a few days under my belt, I saw things with a different light. Here I was in a room full of bunk-bed skyscrapers, but focused only on the positive elements of my specific bed—bottom bunk, against the wall, with no foot barrier!
I also felt some advancement in my Camino “age.” Now that I was an expert on packing my bag, staying in albergues, making some miles, finding new friends, and speaking a little Spanish, I was like a teenager. I thought I knew everything!
After unpacking and showering, I went back to the lobby to send my daily e-mail to friends and family. Most albergues provided computer terminals for a nominal fee. Before my fingertips hit the keyboard, I felt a knock on my shoulder. My head twisted toward the tap to see Massimo’s smiling face. We shared a good laugh as he settled into the chair next to me. After about 30 minutes, I ran into my detective friend Peter on the stairs.
The coincidence of running into these people was simply overwhelming. More than 250 people begin this journey every day in the slower months of fall. In the summer, more than 1,000 pilgrims start each day. The specific lesson to me was that as people repeatedly come into your life, there may be a bigger reason and they should all be welcomed with open arms and a warm heart. Without any planning, Peter and I had slept under the same roof for five of the last six nights. Assuming he was not staking me out, this was a bit too much to be coincidental.
Peter and I spent the afternoon walking through the new metropolis. We visited a few shops and explored the sights including a beautiful thirteenth-century church where Cesare Borgia, the son of Pope Alexander VI, is entombed. No matter the size or location of the town, there is significant historical fascination at each and every stop on the Camino. I enjoyed coffee while Peter downed a few brews at a local bar. On the way to dinner, we ran into one of his new friends from Germany and had a nice meal together.
Day 6
Reflections
I always tried to slip out of the group sleeping chambers without waking the other inhabitants. Fortunately, on this early morning, I had a bottom bunk. Given the three tiers at Albergue Andrés Muñoz, a gymnast could not have made a silent exit from a top bunk. I gathered my belongings and took them to a dining area on the first floor. This allowed for lots of light and no need to be silent as I arranged items in my backpack.
While preparing to leave, I noticed a silent woman sitting at the end of the table. Sang Ha Lim was waiting for anyone with a headlamp. I was the lucky illuminator and began my day with a wonderful lady from Korea. The top of her head barely passed my hip, but her pace caught me off guard. Up to this point, I usually had to slow down when walking with new people. With Sang Ha, I had to speed up. Her ability to speak English was minimal, and my Korean was nonexistent. It did not matter as there is always a way to communicate. We learned a little about each other over the first hour. During a break, she offered me half of her homemade tomato and cheese sandwich. This nourishment was perfect for the moment. When the sun shone on the path, we said goodbye.
The whole idea of saying adiós and letting go of my pilgrim companions was becoming much easier with experience. I knew it was impossible for me to “hang onto” all of the people I met along the way. A mental image of me arriving in Santiago with 10 pilgrims under each arm put a smile on my face. But during the first part of the trip, it was hard for me to say goodbye to anyone. I did not like the idea that it might be the end of our relationship. I was finding it easier to meet new people with open arms and realize that there is a beginning, middle, and end to most relationships. I was learning that it is much better to focus on the person when they are in your life. Letting go creates space for the next learning experience, but equally important, allows that person to share their lessons with others.
Again, I thought of Roberta and wondered what would happen when I returned to Idaho. Specifically, I wondered if our path was headed for permanent divergence or a merge back to better days on the road together.
During a much-needed break, I pulled A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino de Santiago by John Brierley from the zippered pouch of my pack. This guidebook is the gold standard for pilgrims walking to Santiago. Maps, with information on the elevation, villages, and albergues, make up the bulk of the book. Recommendations touch not only on the obvious things like backpacks and rain gear, but also on history and the inner purpose for the trip. While resting, a daily reflection moved me:
“The deepening lines on her aging face cannot hide her welcoming smile. Her name means happiness and she has welcomed pilgrims for decades giving her blessings and stamping credentials. Some see her unofficial presence as an intrusion, preferring to hurry by to avoid interaction. I sit beside her and observe myself judging them as they are judging her.”
This description of an aging hospitalera made me think of all the miscellaneous people in my life who have provided some type of service to me. How many times have I forgotten to even recognize these people as individuals instead of some type of personal servant? So many people cross our daily paths, yet busy schedules or a preoccupation with another time and place shutter the door to friendship. Every person has a story that needs to be heard. This reminded me to open my gate and let them into my life.
On this day, I passed through Logroño, the second of four large cities on the Camino. Right at the
entrance to the city, the sun shone on the arches of a Roman bridge reflected in the still water below. I reached for my pink Canon PowerShot camera housed in a pink Case Logic pouch, attached to the left chest strap of my backpack. The easy access made it simple to take a snap. I took multiple exposures of this masterpiece as it unfolded before my eyes. It changed each minute as the sun rose in the sky. The vibrant colors of the buildings and the gray stone of the bridge were brilliantly reflected in the smooth water.
My Camino guidebook suggested that pilgrims leave their cameras at home to avoid any opportunity to distract them from living in the Now. I thought long and hard before overruling the author and taking my camera. On the first few days, I took a reasonable number of pictures. As the trip progressed, I could not stop taking pictures. Just as the music sounded better on the Way, I could not pass these amazing sights without recording them. With a clear mind and a focus on the moment, sights and sounds were amplified. Walking through the villages was like spending time in an art gallery. A subconscious glacial shift was occurring in my head and heart.
After crossing the well-photographed bridge, I found myself in the University district. As I passed a large church, the door opened and I was face-to-face again with Sang Ha. We shared a laugh, asked a stranger to take our picture, and walked until it was time to once again say goodbye.
As I got deeper into the heart of the city, a strange sensation came over me. I had passed through Pamplona, the first large city on the Camino, early on a calm and pleasant Sunday morning. Logroño on a weekday was busy with crowded sidewalks, traffic snarls, horns honking, and general chaos. I could not see a smile on any of the faces of the local people in this city. I understood that they were not on a pilgrimage vacation, but not a single smile? Toward the end of the city, one stranger made my day with two words: “Buen Camino.” I was not depressed but truly saddened to realize that most people just go through the motions of life with little time for joy.
One small joy for me in this city was stopping at a nice hotel to use their restroom.
As a pilgrim, I understood that local businesses might view me as Americans see vagrants in large cities. I had no economic value and smelled like a guy walking six to eight hours per day. Instead of barging into the hotel like I owned the place, I asked for permission from the man at the front desk. The kind gentleman granted my wish. Walking into a clean bathroom was a simple pleasure of life that had been nonexistent since St. Jean. I found myself surrounded by marble walls with at least five urinals. Large oak doors provided privacy for the spotless white porcelain toilets. The mirrors sparkled and the three sinks offered abundant hot water. At home and during most of my previous vacations, this was the life I took for granted. Until something is gone, its value seems to diminish with familiarity. Like many things on the Camino, happiness is found in some very simple places.
Toward the edge of the city, the Camino took me through a large park where people were relaxing and enjoying the day. A stream and series of small waterfalls meandered through the entire area. I sat on a bench, aired my feet, ate a banana, and stretched. This place felt like a soothing shower that washed away the hustle and bustle of Logroño. Refreshed, I marched onward along a very scenic area that took me through rolling hills, small lakes, and lush vineyards. I was fortunate to run into Sang Ha Lim one last time.
A small village with a population of 150 people was my final stop for the day. The San Saturnino albergue in Ventosa was one of my favorites. There were 42 beds but no more than 8 per room. The red-tiled floors were clean and the beds well kept. Bathrooms were spotless with granite counters. For a fee, I was able to machine-wash my clothes, which was quite a luxury. Can you imagine finding genuine happiness and joy in the simple act of having your clothes run through a washing machine? Trust me, it was divine.
While waiting for my laundry machine to finish the cycle, I took advantage of the time to write in my journal. The courtyard at this facility was out of this world, and the sun could not have been more perfect. It was the type of common area one would expect to find in a high-end bed and breakfast rather than a pilgrim hostel requiring a nominal payment.
While writing in my journal, a man tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see Massimo and his trooper of a mother. Later in the day, as I walked through the lobby to get some ice cream at a bar down the street, I saw Peter resting in one of the chairs. I later found out that the hostel was full when he arrived, and that he made a decision to walk to the next village.
Around dinnertime, I began a slow ascent to the recommended restaurant with plans to enjoy another pilgrim menu. While walking, I ran into Angelo (age 75) and his wife Sandra (70) and invited them to join me for the meal. Our restaurant was one of my favorites. The intimate dining room overlooked a lush courtyard with benches, a hammock, and chairs. Birds and squirrels provided entertainment as we enjoyed our food.
Angelo and Sandra told me that they grew up in Cuba and became engaged in their late teens. In the early 1960s, both of their wealthy families made it known that they intended to migrate to the United States. At that time, this decision made them enemies of the revolution. It took three years to process the paperwork for Angelo to leave and five years for Sandra. During that time, the government catalogued every material item they owned and tracked every financial asset. Angelo and Sandra had to account for every penny and each item for years while the government reviewed their applications. Angelo told me that if a single spoon or plate were missing, it would delay their departure by years. Needless to say, they made no attempt to hide or conceal anything.
In 1966, Angelo arrived in New York City with $20 in his pocket. Three years later, Sandra arrived in Atlanta with two changes of clothing. They finally married and have lived a great life in Georgia. Both worked very hard to achieve their version of the American dream. In retirement, their zest for life is contagious. When I told Angelo that I live in Idaho, he grinned and told me of many trips to the area for game bird hunting. He and Sandra were on their fourth Camino in five years. It took my breath away.
As I did most nights, I read my guidebook and savored the day’s pictures before going to bed. Reviewing photos always brought a smile to my face and helped me relive the glorious moments that happened each day.
The guidebook bonus quote for this day gave me a sharp twist to the navel. It read: “Worrying is praying for what you don’t want.”
Day 7
Singing
On this particular morning, I awoke to a new sound. It took me some time to decipher the new auditory sensation. When the dots connected, I heard chanting monks on a stereo system. A scent of incense also drifted on all floors of the albergue. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I took my belongings to the kitchen to begin my packing routine.
I was the only person in the quiet kitchen and had most of my items strewn across the table when a small contingent of walkers from France joined me. They seemed to be irritated about something. Finally, one of them pointed at my clean socks on the table and pushed them onto the floor. They were completely offended that I would allow my clothes to touch a surface where food would eventually be served. My initial reaction was to confront and argue, but common sense prevailed and I went with the flow.
Here, at this early hour, the Camino presented another lesson for me. Pilgrims often used albergue tables for a wide variety of activities, including writing, snacking, and folding clothes. I thought I was being considerate to pack in an area that would not be disruptive to other pilgrims. But this group found my actions offensive. Cultural perspectives, even among Westerners, can be widely divergent.
The power of the Camino to teach is greatly underestimated. The lessons come without warning. This was another of those moments. It really made me think about how every life decision, big or small, has a real consequence.
My choice of childhood friends, for example, planted the seeds for my future hobbies, sports, and interests. C
hoosing the University of Puget Sound was the crucible for a whole new set of friends and experiences. Selecting Micron Technology as my post-college employer resulted in travel to all 50 states and an early retirement.
In 1992, while riding my bike in town, I took a wrong turn down a street. I passed a home that looked appealing and happened to know the realtor listed on the sign. I walked in, called her name, Shula, and moved in 30 days later. That was more than 20 years ago, and I still live in the same house.
I was about 20 minutes down the road and walking in complete silence when I suddenly realized that there was no “clack” from my walking stick. It could not be heard because it was still back at Albergue San Saturnino, taking in the ambience of incense and Gregorian chants. I had a vision of my companion as an orphan in its “stick” canister at the base of the albergue stairs. I immediately turned around and retrieved my friend.
I pondered how this small detour might affect my day. Who might I meet because of my decision to retrieve the stick? Who would I miss? Would I make different stops? What would the consequences be?
Thus began my seventh day of walking on the Camino. I had left behind much of my physical and mental baggage. While there were some issues in my life, none could be solved while walking in Spain. With that attitude, I resolved not to worry about anything that was beyond my control––which happens to be almost everything! Life can only be lived and experienced in the moment. An adage in my guidebook summed this up well: “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and today is a gift––that is why it is called the present.”
When the sun pierced the horizon, the sky became a chameleon of constantly changing brilliant colors. At the end of the grassy flatlands, several mountain ranges provided a silhouette against the new light. Beauty was everywhere, and I was enjoying every bit.