Lunacy

On the Camino today, a man wearing a pack threw up his hands in frustration when a pigeon wandered in front of him. It made me smile. We are here doing this thing as though speed were a factor. As though anything about this made sense. The other night, while organizing my things, I was overwhelmed by an attack of giggles. There I was, rolling this shirt and that pair of socks just so, as if it mattered. Doing this in a particular manner after walking fourteen miles or so that day, to be ready to start it all again the next morning. Why? For what purpose?

And while we’re at it, why does anyone do this?

(Subtle Segway to Wikipedia info):

El Camino de Santiago or in English the Way of St. James, is a network of pilgrims’ ways or pilgrimages leading to the shrine of the apostle James in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia in northwestern Spain, where tradition holds that the remains of the apostle are buried.

As Pope Benedict XVI said, “It is a way sown with so many demonstrations of fervour, repentance, hospitality, art and culture which speak to us eloquently of the spiritual roots of the Old Continent.”[2] Many still follow its routes as a form of spiritual path or retreat for their spiritual growth. It is also popular with hikers, cyclists, and organized tour groups.

It may seem that Jerry and I fall into that last category. And sure, we pretty much do. But that’s not to say that this has no larger significance for us. I won’t speak for him. But when you devote a period of time to an undertaking that stretches your abilities, offers large swaths of time for reflection, and brings you together with the person you’ve chosen to spend your life with, something larger than recreation presents itself.

It’s not about religion for me, but nor is religion absent. When we stop into some of the many beautiful very old churches, I sometimes sit and lose myself in the feelings i used to have growing up Catholic. Feeling of the enormity of the church, the length of its history, and a handful of less savory opinions I’ll leave unsaid. In those churches, I might light a candle for my mom or dad, neither of whom is still alive. (Honestly, though, I feel my mother most when I look up at the moon, because when I was young we’d walk at night and marvel at its beauty. And my father, who was a pilot from the age of fifteen on, feels most present when I see a plane flying over.)

Barcelona sky, 14 April, 2024

The best church experience yet was in Barcelona, where the organ was being tuned. Seriously you’ve never heard anything quite as gothic as that.

Basilica de Santa María del Mar, Barcelona

That Wiki article I cribbed above goes on to share that, in the 1980s, only a few hundred pilgrims per year registered in the pilgrim’s office in Santiago. But since 2013, the Camino has attracted more than 200,000 pilgrims each year, with an annual growth rate of more than 10 percent. What? That’s nuts, right? Is it all because Martin Sheen made a somewhat better than mediocre movie and we’re all trying to recreate the Josiah Bartlett who abandoned us to these horrific political nightmares? No idea.

So what can I really say about why I’m doing this? I suppose I’ll figure that out as I go. But packing my bag just so each night before heading out on the road again – folding my shirts or rolling up my socks or stashing a couple squares of chocolate for when we might need them as we make our way west to where a righteous man may or may not be buried – seems suddenly no more frivolous than spending my time with dishes or laundry or any of the thousands of tasks that make up my “normal,” occasionally less intentional, life.

Tomorrow we walk to Castro Urdiales, leaving the Basque Country for Cantabria.

S.