Buen Camino

      I first heard about El Camino de Santiago from one of my language professors during the month-long immersion program in September. He told us about the 800 kilometer pilgrimage across northern Spain, starting in the French Pyranneas and ending in Santiago de Compostela, in north-west Spain. The Pilgrimage is over 1,000 years old, and originally the trek was done by Catholics to visit the Cathedral where Apostle St. James' remains are supposedly buried. Nowadays anyone can do it, not just believers, and hundreds of thousands of pilgrims make the hike every year, for all different reasons, from all different countries, and starting at all different points along the route.
      Ever since September I thought about possibly doing the Camino, and I decided to hike the last five stages in July as a way to conclude my year. I'm in no way religious, but I wanted to do something challenging--both physically, by walking 110 kilometers, but also mentally and emotionally, by doing it by myself and reflecting on my year. One thing I knew for sure was that I would never be alone, since you meet so many pilgrims along the way.
       I tried to do as much research as I could for the trip via internet and word of mouth, but I really had no idea what to expect (and I also refused to spend 30 euros on a guidebook for five short days). But like I said, on the Camino you're never alone, and on the bus ride to Sarria I met my first fellow pilgrim, Luis. He struck me as pretty eccentric but very friendly, and he explained to me how the hostels work along the way (there are public and private hostels at each town along the Camino), to always follow the yellow arrows that mark the trail, and the general code of conduct (including wishing "Buen Camino!" to every pilgrim you pass). He told me to trust people but not too much ("There are still bastards out there, like the ones who stole my boots") and to not worry about anything, because "There's always help on the Camino" (as he points to the sky--I guess for five days I should try my best to remain from scoffing at such religious remarks). I really started to trust Luis and think of him as a wise guide for the Camino, possibly a great companion to walk and exchange life lessons with for the next week--until he abruptly told me he must leave me now to "buscarme la vida," as he rubbed his finger frantically under his nose. Ok, so the first pilgrim I meet on the Camino, this supposedly ancient show of faith and what is to many a sacred experience, turns out to be a crack addict. So I'm left alone again on the sizzling streets of Sarria, my only acquaintance unwilling to pay five euros on a hostel but dishing out his last cash for drugs. I wonder, will all the pilgrims be this...er....unhinged? Perhaps the Camino attracts a specific kind of person?
       I'm happy to report that my next week hiking through Galicia was one of the best experiences of my life. I'm so grateful that I did it alone, because it enabled me to branch out, meet all sorts of amazing people, and be in charge and worry about only myself. From the moment I checked into a hostel that first day, before even having walked more than a few hundred meters from the bus stop, I met new and interesting and amazing people from all over the world. The Camino atmosphere was like the first month of Freshman year of college, where everyone is so nice and outgoing and eager to meet new people. But it's even better than that, because you're not just meeting 18-year-old Californians who want to party, but rather math professors from Barcelona and entire families from Valencia and psychiatrists from Philadelphia and eccentric Danish men who seem to speak entirely in jokes. You meet 12-year-old girls and 70-year-old grandfathers hiking 30 kilometers a day. You meet newlyweds and widows and couples that met and fell in love while walking to Santiago (and you hope to repeat their romance story). In five days of walking I laughed more and got closer to some near-strangers than I could have imagined before setting out on the trek, and vastly improved my Spanish from spending 24/7 with people from all over the Peninsula.

Dinner in Sarria the first night before walking. Friends Pierre, Charlie, and Jean.

     Most days on the Camino were similar: Wake up around 5:30 and start hiking at 6 while it's still dark. Catch the sunrise over beautiful rolling hills and green pastures. Stop at a bar after about two hours for a coffee and a stamp on your pilgrim passport, and wish "Buen Camino" to everyone who passes. Admire the beautiful scenery and, in my case, try to avoid stepping on the massive slugs that are all too common in Galicia's wet landscape. Reach the next town and hostel around noon or one, after walking between 20-30 kilometers (12-18 miles). Marvel at how forty bunk beds manage to cram themselves into just one room, and thank Saint James himself for the sweet relief of a shower and flip flops. Ingest about a billion calories for lunch and pretend that's how many you just burned in six hours of hiking, then try to take a siesta if you're not as unlucky as me, who, for two nights in a row, got placed in the bunk right next to the infamous snorer. (Number One topic of conversation on the Camino: how snorers should do us all a favor and stay home.) In the afternoon, after hand-washing your clothes, meet up at the town's sometimes only bar and drink beers and laugh until your soreness begins to dull. Bed around 10, trying to reach REM sleep before the snorer roars up.

Heading out the first day

Catching the sunrise

Trail between Sarria and Portomarín

Beautiful countryside

And more beautiful countryside

Follow the yellow arrows

     The Camino was like a cultural snapshot. You could almost tell where someone was from just by their habits. My fellow Americans were either drinking beer and dreaming about a plate of barbecued ribs instead of the monotony of Spanish food (my Texan friend), or cheerfully encouraging everyone and offering friendly hugs and thumbs-ups. (I feel like when Americans don't know what a social situation calls for, we just result to hugging). The Italians would stop at literally every café en route to have an espresso. The Spaniards would walk in jolly hoards, singing and cheering and jumping on each others backs as though it was not a holy pilgrimage but rather a frat party. The Danes discussed taxes and health care, and the French had a lit cigarette in hand even as they hulled their loads 25 kilometers over steep terrain, as though clean lungs were perhaps not so important when hiking seven hours a day.
        I would say the most challenging part for me on the Camino, more than blisters or sore hamstrings or lugging 25 pounds on my back, was knowing that any coffee break or hostel night could be the last time I see these people who I became such friends with. Since hardly anyone brings a phone on the Camino (added weight!), if someone decides to go a few more kilometers that day it could mean you are separated for the rest of the journey. And since I live about 6,000 miles away, it's not so easy to meet up with these people any old day for lunch. Luckily, however, it seemed to always work out that I ran into people (sometimes too frequently, to the point where we would say over 10 goodbyes "just in case"), and by the end I felt satisfied with the farewells.

      I say I absolutely loved the Camino, but I would do some things differently if I were to do it again (and I hope to!). Due to circumstances of traveling beforehand in Switzerland and Sweden, my pack was ridiculously too heavy--twice the recommended weight. I knew I would be going out in Switzerland and Sweden, and I think a nightclub would be likely to reject me if I showed up in running shoes and a Hanes V-neck, so I brought along some fancier flats. At the end of my trip I would be spending a few days in the inferno of Southern Granada, so I packed 2 dresses. My dad has instilled in me the dangers of sun exposure, perhaps too much so, to the point where I brought along not just one but three tubes of sunscreen, and couldn't get myself to dispose of any because sunscreen is so unreasonably expensive. I also had a purse inside my backpack, which in and of itself probably weighs a fifth of the recommended weight, because I couldn't walk the streets of Lugano or Stockholm with an entire backpacking pack to hold my wallet, unbrella, camera, etc. To top it off, Cecile's grandmother in Switzerland founded a make-up company and her house was brimming with free samples. I knew I would have to carry everything I took on my back, but offering free make-up to a girl is something like offering a slice of pizza to Ghandi. (The irony of all this is that I had everything I didn't need and nothing that I did--like a sleeping bag, flashlight, vaseline for feet, blister kit....what an unprepared pilgrim).
     Anyway, by the second day my friend Juan nicknamed me "Barbie Pilgrim," as I put on a dress after the shower and was also forced to wear my fancy flats since I lost my flip flops on the bus. I refrained from touching up with mascara, but by the end of the trip I was answering just as frequently to "Barbie" as to "Jenny." I got the last laugh, however, when we all went out to celebrate our last night in Santiago and all the girls were begging me for a splash of concealer and some eyeliner. Barbie Pilgrim always wins.

My friend Juan, giver of nicknames

      When we finally reached Santiago I was filled with mixed emotions. As I didn't start anywhere near the beginning (doing the Camino for the last 5 days almost feels like cheating), I didn't have this overwhelming sense of accomplishment or relief at having had arrived. As I'm not religious, I wasn't floored by the fact that I had reached an apostle's ancient remains. Instead, it really hit me that my incredible year, topped off by this incredible journey and incredible new friends, was fast coming to a close. I couldn't think of a better way to say goodbye to my new home.

Friends Jorge and Rosa in front of the Cathedral

My Valencian family

The incredible Cathedral

       That night me and some friends checked into a pensión (pure luxury after the hostels) and I explored the beautiful city of Santiago de Compostela. For dinner a small group of us went out to tapas and it was perfect closure to the Camino, spending time with the people whom I'd gotten closest to: my adopted Valencian family, siblings Juan and Amanda and mom Amanda; Rosa; and Jorge. They all proceeded to tell me how impressed they were that someone my age chose to do the Camino alone and mom Amanda called me "un ángel de una hija" (an angel of a child). I almost cried.
      Later that night there was a DJ in the huge plaza and we all pretended like walking hundreds of kilometers and sleeping in hostels didn't leave us severely sleep deprived at all. The next morning we realized that no amount of coffee could replace a week's lack of sleep, and after bidding a very sad farewell in the airport to the Valencian family, I boarded a plane to Southern Spain and stayed with my friend Javi for two days, where I'm pretty sure I slept more than 75% of the visit.

Plaza party

Gorgeous view overlooking Santiago