Why I walk the Camino
One of the paradoxes of our wonderful English language is that whereas a majority of words in the dictionary are of Latin or Greek origin, more than 90% of the most commonly used words come from Anglo-Saxon . These are the oldest and the best words; they are short and they are basic, defining our everyday activities. That is why they have survived. They include verbs like walk, talk, think, eat and drink. That of course is what we do on the Camino, as we retreat to an earlier and simpler way of living. I spent a lot of time walking and thinking on the Chemin d'Arles and I recorded my thoughts about why I was doing it on an iPod Touch and sent them off to a blog.
I
Why do I walk the Camino? I certainly don't do it for religious reasons, although I have the greatest respect for those who do. We all construct our own reality and if theirs includes God, that's fine with me.
To me, the Camino embodies the essence of true Christianity, with its camaraderie, generosity, hospitality, and the openness of priests who welcome believers and non-believers alike to the pilgrims' mass.
I appreciate this Christian element of the chemin.
Once, when I was walking the Chemin du Puy, a group of Christians who were eating their lunch beside the road invited me to join them. When we had finished, one of them took me aside and said, "Can I ask you a personal question?" Oh, no, I thought, here it comes. "In English Canada," he said, "Do they teach French in the schools?" Not the question I expected. No one on the Camino has ever probed into my religious beliefs.
So I don't walk the Camino for religious reasons. At least I don't think so. Just after leaving a stone at the cross of iron in Spain, my Aussie mate George and I arrived at the pilgrims' refuge in the wilderness run by the hermit, Thomas, I think his name was.
He was quite famous. The authorities had tried to close him down, because there were no facilities, just the woods out back, but he went on a hunger strike on the steps of Leon Cathedral until they relented.
We didn't need to use the facilities, but thought we'd have a cup of something. As we entered his primitive dwelling I was overwhelmed by the strains of the Hallelujah Chorus. What, I thought. Is this a sign? Is this my moment on the road to Santiago? That I should arrive at this moment in the Messiah!
I listened, and waited for the familiar opening to the next aria. But no, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, it began again. The bugger was playing the Hallelujah Chorus over and over again on a circular tape.
I have drifted on the edge of Christianity all my life, and have probably read as much on the subject as most Christians. Ultimately, it wasn't the atheists Dawkins and Hitchens who convinced me that there is no God, but theologians like Karen Armstrong and Bishop Spong who confirmed for me what really happened in the days of the early Church.
Some Christians say that you have to take a leap of faith, but that's a load of old codswallop. If there is a God, he gave us a mind to think with, not to let "fust in us unused".
I am not a believer, but I am glad to be part of the great cultural tradition which gave us the magnificent works of art, music and literature, created by Christians inspired by their faith.
To me, the Camino embodies the essence of true Christianity, with its camaraderie, generosity, hospitality, and the openness of priests who welcome believers and non-believers alike to the pilgrims' mass.
I appreciate this Christian element of the chemin.
Once, when I was walking the Chemin du Puy, a group of Christians who were eating their lunch beside the road invited me to join them. When we had finished, one of them took me aside and said, "Can I ask you a personal question?" Oh, no, I thought, here it comes. "In English Canada," he said, "Do they teach French in the schools?" Not the question I expected. No one on the Camino has ever probed into my religious beliefs.
So I don't walk the Camino for religious reasons. At least I don't think so. Just after leaving a stone at the cross of iron in Spain, my Aussie mate George and I arrived at the pilgrims' refuge in the wilderness run by the hermit, Thomas, I think his name was.
He was quite famous. The authorities had tried to close him down, because there were no facilities, just the woods out back, but he went on a hunger strike on the steps of Leon Cathedral until they relented.
We didn't need to use the facilities, but thought we'd have a cup of something. As we entered his primitive dwelling I was overwhelmed by the strains of the Hallelujah Chorus. What, I thought. Is this a sign? Is this my moment on the road to Santiago? That I should arrive at this moment in the Messiah!
I listened, and waited for the familiar opening to the next aria. But no, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, it began again. The bugger was playing the Hallelujah Chorus over and over again on a circular tape.
I have drifted on the edge of Christianity all my life, and have probably read as much on the subject as most Christians. Ultimately, it wasn't the atheists Dawkins and Hitchens who convinced me that there is no God, but theologians like Karen Armstrong and Bishop Spong who confirmed for me what really happened in the days of the early Church.
Some Christians say that you have to take a leap of faith, but that's a load of old codswallop. If there is a God, he gave us a mind to think with, not to let "fust in us unused".
I am not a believer, but I am glad to be part of the great cultural tradition which gave us the magnificent works of art, music and literature, created by Christians inspired by their faith.
II
So I don't walk the Camino for religious reasons. Why do I walk it?
My mate George asked me if I was on some kind of heroic quest. Well, yes, I suppose I am. Every journey is a kind of spiritual journey.
But I am not a hero. For me, it was Marmeladov who said it best: "A man must have somewhere to go."
Of our company of pilgrims, all are doing it for some kind of personal, and some would say, spiritual, reasons.
One of us has reached his mid-fifties after a successful business and political life. He is wondering what to do with the rest of his life.
Another began walking the Camino after a serous loss in her life and found that she experienced a profound change. She continues to walk.
Another told how one of her brothers had carried a stone in memory of their other brother to place on the cross of iron. She was following in his footsteps. Others are walking the Camino because it gives them time to think.
For everyone, the Camino is a kind of quest in the sense that one has all the time in the world to think and perhaps to put those thoughts in order. As I walk, I find that thoughts tumble in, and tumble about in, my head. Sometimes I can walk for miles, lost in my thoughts. Perhaps, the rhythm of my walking aids my thinking.
Perhaps my quest is to put my thoughts in order and to find meaning in them.
My mate George asked me if I was on some kind of heroic quest. Well, yes, I suppose I am. Every journey is a kind of spiritual journey.
But I am not a hero. For me, it was Marmeladov who said it best: "A man must have somewhere to go."
Of our company of pilgrims, all are doing it for some kind of personal, and some would say, spiritual, reasons.
One of us has reached his mid-fifties after a successful business and political life. He is wondering what to do with the rest of his life.
Another began walking the Camino after a serous loss in her life and found that she experienced a profound change. She continues to walk.
Another told how one of her brothers had carried a stone in memory of their other brother to place on the cross of iron. She was following in his footsteps. Others are walking the Camino because it gives them time to think.
For everyone, the Camino is a kind of quest in the sense that one has all the time in the world to think and perhaps to put those thoughts in order. As I walk, I find that thoughts tumble in, and tumble about in, my head. Sometimes I can walk for miles, lost in my thoughts. Perhaps, the rhythm of my walking aids my thinking.
Perhaps my quest is to put my thoughts in order and to find meaning in them.
III
There are many reasons why people walk the Camino: religious, spiritual, personal, sportive, cultural, "natural", etc.
For some, one particular reason may be all important. A few days ago I met a woman who was astonished that I wasn't going to make a detour to see "le Christ qui sourit". She had the manner of a stern Mother Superior. And I have met people whose aim was to do the Camino as quickly as possible, walking up to 50 kilometres a day. For them it is a race.
But I think that most of us walk for all of these reasons, in our own order of priority.
Mainly, I walk the Camino for the pleasures of the moment.
There are the moments of architectural beauty - the octagonal church at Eunate, the cathedral at Auch, the abbey at Conques, the cloister at Moissac, the église Romane at Villafranca, and so on.
And I enjoy the sights, sounds and smells of the countryside. The yellow buttercups and the broom and gorse, the blue iris and bluebells and fogetmenots, the red poppies, the pink mallow and foxgloves and herb Roberts. And the birdcalls and the rushing of the river as I walk up a valley, and even the curious sound of the turbines in the wind. And the whiff of smoke from a wood fire and the scent of wild herbs. And the loneliness of high places.
Above all, there is the fellowship and camaraderie of the road, the stuff of picaresque novels which I have always enjoyed: the pleasure of meeting and re-meeting old friends, the interesting characters one meets, and the little adventures along the way.
Included in these social pleasures are the biting tang of a cold beer at the end of the day, the gastronomic delights of a good meal, and the enduring taste of a good red. All of these are intensified on the road because we have earned them.
Walking the Camino is living a life within a life. Is it an escape? Probably.
For some, one particular reason may be all important. A few days ago I met a woman who was astonished that I wasn't going to make a detour to see "le Christ qui sourit". She had the manner of a stern Mother Superior. And I have met people whose aim was to do the Camino as quickly as possible, walking up to 50 kilometres a day. For them it is a race.
But I think that most of us walk for all of these reasons, in our own order of priority.
Mainly, I walk the Camino for the pleasures of the moment.
There are the moments of architectural beauty - the octagonal church at Eunate, the cathedral at Auch, the abbey at Conques, the cloister at Moissac, the église Romane at Villafranca, and so on.
And I enjoy the sights, sounds and smells of the countryside. The yellow buttercups and the broom and gorse, the blue iris and bluebells and fogetmenots, the red poppies, the pink mallow and foxgloves and herb Roberts. And the birdcalls and the rushing of the river as I walk up a valley, and even the curious sound of the turbines in the wind. And the whiff of smoke from a wood fire and the scent of wild herbs. And the loneliness of high places.
Above all, there is the fellowship and camaraderie of the road, the stuff of picaresque novels which I have always enjoyed: the pleasure of meeting and re-meeting old friends, the interesting characters one meets, and the little adventures along the way.
Included in these social pleasures are the biting tang of a cold beer at the end of the day, the gastronomic delights of a good meal, and the enduring taste of a good red. All of these are intensified on the road because we have earned them.
Walking the Camino is living a life within a life. Is it an escape? Probably.