One step at a time

In the Camino you don’t advance always at the same speed. Some days you walk 30km and other days you walk just 15km. Then there’s the odd days in which you don’t walk at all.

Whatever the case, every day is important for they all add to the experience: with the longer walks you see the distance to the final objective, Santiago, shorten significantly, and you feel empowered by the might of your own body; the shorter journeys allow you to slow down your pace and to take a closer look at the surroundings, its inhabitants big and small, the people walking alongside and around you… You take it all in. You breathe it all in in deep big gulps.

The non-walking days though are probably the most precious, since you wouldn’t be able to walk at all without them; they make possible the continuation of the adventure ahead.

Every day is equally important in its own right, for they all give you something different. Obviously, there are better and worse days, terrible days and others which go perfectly fine. But it’s precisely the sum of them all that makes for the Camino the unforgettable, unregrettable, unparalleled whole experience that it is.

Arguably it’s due to its limited duration (about a month or so) that the appreciation of the pilgrim’s life is enhanced. But why don’t we aspire to perceive the events of our everyday life in equal terms? To accept our hectic days and our lazy days, our ups and our downs, as just necessary moments of our existence?

Eventually, we will get to where we need to go. We will reach the end of the journey sooner or later. Santiago is going nowhere. Neither is our end-day. What matters is what we make of the time it takes us to get there.

And every step, every second along the way it’s a meaningful part in the Camino that is our life.

The beginning of walking

As someone who’s lived close to Santiago de Compostela most of her life, and who’s been there several times, why would I walk over 770km East to West across the whole country to get there? I used to ask myself that very question whenever foreigners, knowing I am from Galicia, the most Western point in Europe, inquired whether I had done “the Camino”.
Then, one day, amid a global pandemic and after 7 years of living with my back to that little piece of land where I come from and to everything that it has ever given me, this idea presented itself clear in my mind: I have to walk back.
And, just like that, my Long Way Home started, by putting one foot in front of the other.

The simple goal was to advance slowly —with my body but also with my heart— towards the roots that had once hold me and nurtured me, towards the people that had so many times seen me come and go but never stay long enough.
That was the idea, at least. But the Camino has its ways, and you might find along its course that your reasons for going in the first place are not the same reasons why you are actually there.

It is only now, a few days back into reality, that I’m starting to comprehend, if only slightly, bit by bit, as I relive my memories from the past 5 weeks of my life, all the things that the Camino was trying to tell me.
Simple things, truth to be told, that would be more common were not for the fast-rhythm stress-ridden societies we live in. Simple but easily forgotten things that we need to be reminded of (or become aware of) every now and then.

And so I walked to remember, and I walked to learn and to question.

The thing with the Camino is, it is only when you’re done with the walking that the real camino begins.