A Million Steps

by Kurt Koontz

  With this, they all broke into gleeful, somewhat embarrassed laughter. Relieved that the need was so easily met, I consented and made the transfer. Upon receiving their rolls, the ladies had still more mischief up their sleeves.

  “Thank you and we now christen thee the Saint of Rear Wipe,” they said, with more howls of laughter.

  As a newly anointed Royal, I began my solo 24-mile day’s walk in the dark.

  My first new friend for the day was Eugina from Greece. I remembered seeing her on the first day and then hearing her spectacular solo at Grañón. As we walked together, I learned that her country has a population of 11 million people, with half living in two cities.

  She had a lot going for her at the young age of 23. She had graduated from a local university with a degree in accounting. For fun, she was a lifeguard in the summer and taught skiing in the winter. She did tell me about having some financial struggles on the Camino. I found the trip to be rather inexpensive ($30-$50 per day covered food and lodging), but everything begins from a different perspective. When we came across our first small village, I offered to buy her coffee and toast. She graciously declined my offer. Her pace was much faster than mine, so she took off while I enjoyed my breakfast.

  Eugina was using her time on the Camino to contemplate her next move in life. I was always impressed to meet people in her age group on the walk. It made me wonder how my life would have been different had I undertaken this challenge in my twenties.

  Would this spiritual refreshment have allowed me to confront my alcohol demons at an earlier point in life? Would my fears of intimacy have been eased at a different time? Would I have taken the same career path? Would I have walked the entire 500 miles in a cast-iron shell to prevent new ideas from seeping into my soul? I also wondered if the even-older crowd thought about how their lives would be different if they had walked at my current age of 48.

  Later, I passed a sign pointing east with the word Santiago and 518 KM. This meant that in nine days of walking I had already covered about one-third of the Camino. It was a bit of a wake-up call as I felt time disintegrating at a rapid pace. I calculated that 17,740 days separated my birth from that day. If I am lucky and live to age 80, I had roughly 11,000 days to go.

  Like many people, I spent the first portion of my life trying to please my parents. After college, I spent time and energy trying to please my employer and society. My retirement at age 36 was a deliberate move to create a fork in my own road. Now, on this trip, I was contemplating how to live the rest of my life. Would I marry Roberta or find new love? Would I exit retirement for a paying career or be fulfilled with volunteer work? How would I take my mom’s death? All this weighed on my mind as I walked.

  For lunch in Ages, I had a tortilla de patatas bocadillo, an apple, and the standard café con leche. The sun was shining and I felt like a king. I sat at the head of a white picnic table with 10 bright red chairs on each side and conducted court by myself.

  About two thirds of the way to Burgos, I stopped to take a routine break and give my feet some attention.

  On the Camino, feet need a lot of attention. Foot problems can become all consuming, even catastrophic for the Camino pilgrim. They can slow a trip or end it.

  Even before the trip began, feet were a primary focus when I chose my Patagonia Drifter A/C boots and my REI Moreno Wool Hiker socks. On the trail, they required daily care. Every evening, I washed my feet and socks and changed into different footwear for the evening. Whenever possible, I soaked my feet. On the trail every day, I stopped every few hours to take off my shoes and rest. I developed my own stretch, which began by placing all four fingers in-between the five toes, then using the palm against the balls of my feet as a lever to twist and manipulate the stress out.

  For Camino pilgrims, vanity disintegrated about 10 minutes into the first day, and they were quick to share the naked foot as some type of trophy. My memory carries twisted images of feet with blisters on the soles, on the heels, in-between the toes, and on the tops. Camino Cancer erupted on all locations below the laces. Some blisters were fresh and clear, some disgusting and infected. Many were covered with bandages and moleskin. They were all disturbing to see and worse to endure. They served as a constant source of chatter, an obvious reason for a limp, and one of the few acceptable topics for complaining.

  But not me. I felt that I was prepared. I was fit. I had worked out two hours a day for decades. I was the guy who always seemed to be at the gym on the cardio machines. I had always been an athlete. In recent years, I had biked at least 15,000 miles in the U.S. and Europe. On the Camino, I had already taken 334,370 blister-free steps. I felt like Superman!

  Until day number nine, on the way to Burgos.

  I got a blister.

  And it hurt!

  The physical pain was irritating, but the mental anguish was ridiculously devastating.

  “How could this possibly happen to me?” I thought.

  “Will they mate, have babies, and cover my entire feet?”

  “I may need to get crutches and cut my daily steps in half.”

  “Will I even make it to Santiago?”

  “How unfair!”

  “Why me?”

  “My elite status is gone.”

  “Should I sue Patagonia?”

  “What evil spirit forced me to walk the extra miles today?”

  I tried to think of good times or events, but joy was on siesta. This went on for 90 minutes, until I finally looked closely at this blister and realized its actual size and impact.

  It was a small blister––just a soft bump on my right heel. I knew what to do. I came prepared with my little kit. I drained the blister with a needle and thread. I left the thread in the skin to promote drainage. I covered the blister with a special bandage, Compeed, which is applied over the area to act as a second skin. (This is a wonderful product but not following the directions can have a dismal outcome. The bandage is to be left on the area until it falls off in about three days. Many people made the mistake of trying to change them on a daily basis. When the bandage is removed prematurely, it rips the skin off. Not a good idea.)

  It took me a few days to fully understand this Camino insight. When I was able to process “blistergate,” it became clear to me that the experience was not about a sore on my heel.

  I realized that I’m not invincible. Superman had come back to earth and found out he was just like everyone else.

  I can’t stop the blisters that life will deliver even to me, physically fit Kurt. I’m nearly 50 years old. I’m aging with every step. My best preventive health habits won’t stop every disease or injury. I’m going to have other physical and mental challenges in the years ahead.

  That recognition still brings tears to my eyes. But I am managing the pity party now, thanks in large part to the couple I met on the Camino almost immediately after discovering my blister.

  Martin was from Germany and traveling as a mendicant (without money). He started his Camino in Germany and had been walking for three months. His new love, Kimberli, was from my neighboring state of Utah. He sold homemade crosses to generate funds, and they slept outside every night.

  Martin carried a unique hiking stick. Words and mementos from people he had met along the path covered the homemade walking aid. Ribbons and beads draped over the many personal messages written on the long wooden pole. While we walked together, my blister did not cause pain. When they departed, the pain returned to my heel.

  It finally dawned on me that I was being very self-centered. Here I was on a trip of a lifetime, with a pocket full of Euros, no disease, and great friends and family. After nine days of intense hiking, my biggest problem in life was a pissant blister!

  I walked on to Burgos, the third of four large cities on the Camino. This one seemed to be a bit more metropolitan than the other two. I had previously decided to stay in a hotel for night nu
mber nine and dedicate day 10 to rest and relaxation. I thought there was a recession in Spain, but it took me two hours and 15 attempts to find a hotel room in this lovely city.

  During my walkabout, I roamed past the magnificent Burgos cathedral. This intricately detailed gothic structure took over 300 years to construct. All areas around the church were buzzing with people, but the square was almost chaotic. While standing in the plaza and admiring the structure, I heard someone yell my name. I turned toward the voice and saw Tony and Amir, the Camino veteran and his understudy from day three. They were soaking in the view while savoring a large glass of wine. Did I happen to mention that there are over 200,000 people in this city?

  I had been on my tired feet for 12 hours before finding myself on the third floor of the Almirante Bonifaz. When my key opened the door to my private room, it was simply too good to be true, with a splendid bed, a large bathroom, and a closet. With glee, I placed my clothes on shiny hangers. It was not due to necessity, but because I could! The sparkling bathroom looked like something from a movie set. The toilet was clean and had a seal for insurance. My drinking water came from a glass, and there was a spare in case I needed a second sterile cup.

  After unpacking, arranging my stuff, and doing laundry, I spent a long time shaving my face and head. I sat on a comfortable cushion on a steel chair in front of the sink. The hot water was in endless supply, and nobody was waiting for me to finish. This was routine for me at home and had been since I started to lose my hair.

  After perfecting my Kojak look, I filled the tub with steaming hot water and used every bath product on the counter. I soaked my large frame in the suds for at least an hour. I rubbed my feet with my hands and also used the rim of the tub as an excellent massage aid. I had a religious experience and asked my feet for forgiveness. The tribunal was unable to render a final verdict.

  With my body in prune shape, I drained the tub and turned on the high-pressure shower. I thoroughly enjoyed having a washcloth dedicated to cleaning my body. When the entire event was over, it was like sex; I wanted to do it again!

  I exited the hotel around eight o’clock, planning to find a luxurious restaurant for dinner and see a few sights. Next thing I knew, I was sitting alone in a Domino’s pizza outlet devouring a combo. Dessert consisted of a Haagen-Dazs caramel crisp sandwich from a local tienda. By 9:30, I was lying on my bed and loving life. It was one of the best night’s sleep of my entire life.

  Day 10

  Baggage

  Waking up to such serene silence was strange. It took a few minutes for me to realize I was in the solitude of my private hotel room and did not need to leave by an albergue’s required eight o’clock. First thing on my agenda was another long and hot shower. The room rate included breakfast, so around nine I took the elevator to the lobby breakfast room.

  Not another person was in sight at any of about 20 tables. A long row of silver buffet trays, filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles, and a mountain of home-fried potatoes, warmed above blue sterno flames. At least six carafes of juice rested on ice. Fruit filled bowls to the brim. A large canister dispensed four types of cold cereal, and hot oatmeal bubbled in a pot. Desserts are my weakness, and an entire table was devoted to these little devils. I spent 90 minutes grazing on the delicious foods and wrote in my journal during the breaks. It was a very enjoyable experience.

  After the meal of a lifetime, I returned to the room to make a plan for the day. I felt so well rested and satiated with food that I made the decision to bank my planned “rest day” for a time when I might need it to recover from illness, injury, or other unforeseen circumstance. I sincerely hope that another person can find as much happiness in room 305 at the Almirante as I did on September 22, 2012.

  By the time I left the hotel in the late morning, I saw no fellow pilgrims on the path. However, when I passed by the cathedral, I met an American man sitting on a wooden bench enjoying the view. He asked how my Camino adventure was going and offered to take my picture using the gothic church as the background.

  “I just started a bit of a journey myself by bringing my family here for a year,” he added. “We have two little kids and want them to experience another culture. We arrived from Florida one week ago.”

  I expressed my admiration for the family’s willingness to shatter routines. “Guess we’re both on the same trail,” I observed.

  When I asked to take his photo as well, he asked why. “Because you are now part of my Camino,” I explained.

  “Buen Camino,” he said as we parted.

  “Buen Camino,” I replied.

  This was one of many moments where a very brief encounter left a large print in my mind.

  I stored another visual memory that day outside a church in Burgos. Because churches tend to be the tallest buildings in Spanish towns, the bell towers are a favorite location for white stork’s nests. These nests are huge––four to six feet in diameter, three to five feet deep––and can weigh up to 500 pounds! They are likely more comfortable than most of my bunks on the Camino. The birds live in loose colonies, so four to six nests often cluster on each belfry. While I had seen hundreds of these nests along the Camino, Burgos stands out because I saw one with an inhabitant. It was a spectacular bird with long red legs, standing in its domain.

  The nests got me thinking about the generosity of the residents along the Camino. For hundreds of years, they have given over space in their communities to travelers needing “nests” for a night. The pilgrims they house are like eggs, in a way, hoping to hatch new lives for themselves as they walk the Way.

  My sighting of the stork was another example of all the luck I experienced on the Camino. From day one, things just seemed to tilt in my favor. While I have always appreciated the good fortune of my life, I began to build an inner faith that no matter what happened on this journey, everything would be just fine. The more I let go of my worries and things beyond my control, the more things fell into a perfect and satisfying order. I wondered if I was actually losing my ability to worry. What a glorious thought!

  I exited Burgos through a wonderful park. At one point, I was surprised by the sight of two pilgrims walking toward me, alongside a donkey loaded with gear. That was in stark contrast to the 22 pounds of baggage that I was carrying.

  For several days, I had been playing a mind game based on the contents of my backpack. When planning the trip, I had been careful to keep the weight of my pack below the recommended 10-15% of bodyweight (without water). Still, on the first few days, I eliminated a book, a silk sleep sack, and an inflatable Big Agnes memory foam pillow. In the early albergues, there was always a table loaded with excess items below a sign that read, “Take what you need; leave what you don’t.”

  My new exercise was to mentally go through the contents of my pack and determine what was really needed to complete the trek. Did I really want my journal or could the memories survive in my mind? Obviously, my shoes were required, but did I really need three pairs of socks? Would the trip end if someone stole my camera? Were fingernail clippers required? Living with minimal material items was one of the many liberating features of this pilgrimage. Even though I carried little, I still endeavored to determine what I really required.

  That thought process led me to the deeper question of what is required for me to be happy on my larger journey through life. What material items do I need to carry with me, but more importantly, what do I want to carry in my emotional backpack? Do I want more family time, more friends, more physical strength, more power? What are the true emotional necessities of life? Are events or people taking up too much space in my emotional backpack? Do any need to be cleared out? And the bigger question: what is missing that could truly enrich my life?

  With lots of time and an uncluttered mind, I found it quite challenging to try to prioritize and apply weightings. It was much more difficult to imagine eliminating certain items from life’s back
pack. I felt like one of the stork chicks, cracking out of my shell of now useless baggage.

  I was definitely experiencing a transition on the Camino. I had completed the first third of the journey, which experienced pilgrims say is for the body. I was beginning the second third of the journey, which is for the mind.

  Although my body had adjusted to the pilgrimage during the first third of the trip, my feet were still complaining. With nine long and glorious days of walking, my feet constantly reminded me that they were not too pleased with my decision to cross Spain.

  Imagine you have nuclear codes and have been detained by a group of terrorists. The leader knows he cannot kill you and water boarding is not an option, so he decides to give you the feet-beating treatment. With your feet locked into a rack and the bottoms exposed, he takes a small baton and begins to tap every square inch. The blows are not strong enough to break a bone, but after nine hours, the message has been received. Now, get on those feet and walk from San Francisco to San Diego. Although bearable, my feet reiterated their unhappiness on a regular basis. Rest and plenty of massage allowed for spells of remission.

  Up to this point, the most physically challenging day was the introductory hike from France to Spain over the Pyrenees. After the mountain pass, most of the days had been on rolling hills or flat ground. The total accrued ascent on the first day was 1,390 meters (4,560 feet). The cumulative total for the next nine days was only 3,550 meters (11,647 feet).

  On the tenth day, I found myself entering the mentally challenging portion of the walk known as “The Meseta.” Many Camino veterans had advised me that this would be the Don Quixote, Man of La Mancha, portion of the path where the mind becomes the most serious obstacle. Mountains rim these high plains of central Spain and occasionally edge into them. But for the next 200 kilometers, I walked on a flat surface. Endless crop fields of wheat, oats, and barley bordered my path. The golden glow of the fields etched my mind on this leg of the journey.