Written April 24, 2013, at Santo Domingo de la Calzada, Spain.

There is a phrase that has periodically bubbled to the surface of my thoughts on the Camino. “Life is a journey”… “Life is a journey”… “Life is a journey”…

Why does this trouble and even annoy me. The conclusion that I reached is that Life is not a journey. Life is a destination. Living is the journey.

We all share birth and death, our personal Alpha and Omega. That is life. What distinguishes each of us is how we live our journey.

The Camino is not the act of arriving in Santiago, it is “The Way” to Santiago. One may walk 820km while listening to an audiobook, then arrive in Santiago entirely oblivious to the experience. This person has technically earned a certificate (the Compostela) for having completed the Pilgrimage, but what was gained that could not have been accomplished on a treadmill at the local gym?

Another person may have only walked the Camino for a few days, a passage insufficient for the Compostela. However, with mindful awareness of each footfall, each moment, each thought, and each breath, that person experienced a genuine pilgrimage rich in its impact both within and without. It is the journey of living and not the destination of life that matters most.

As our children grew and grandchildren grow, it has been important to me that at every parting I convey a message which is the distillation of things that I hold important. Perhaps this is my attempt at a formula for living:

“Have Fun”. Living should feed your passions and make your soul smile.

“Do Good”. There are two benedictions here: Do your best and also do what is right.

And finally: “Be Safe”, for the sake of those who love you, and also because senselessly jeopardizing your life diminishes the gift of living.

I don’t claim perfect adherence to this formula, but then I am just a Peregrino both here on the Camino, and as I live my Journey.

Have Fun, Do Good, and Be Safe. Buen Camino. Pete

April 20-21, 2013. Villamayor de Monjardin to Torres del Rio, and Viana

We had abandoned the Brierley Guide’s recommended “stages” for two reasons; virtually every English speaking pilgrim used the guide and Christine’s tolerance was better suited to a 12-18km day, rather than the 20-30km often favored in the guide. This meant that we typically stayed in villages and albergues a few kilometers either side of the Guide’s suggested stops. We walked the same path, but the albergues where we lodged were usually less congested.

The 20^th saw us walking 21km to Torres del Rio. Christine arranged for the transport of her pack to our destination and seemed up for the longer walk on a beautiful spring day through the open countryside.

We passed before the ruins of Cugullo, site of an ancient pilgrim’s hospital. There were trailside cairns left over the years by passing pilgrims and even a rough stone shelter of unknown age.

Bicyclists passed us on the path, politely signaling their approach.

In order to receive one’s Compostela in Santiago (certificate of completion of the Camino) a pilgrim must walk the final 100km as a continuous journey. It is also permitted to do so by bicycle (or even horse), but it that case it must be the final 200km.

It was an idyllic day.

We walked through the peaceful town of Los Arcos (pop. 1,300), originally founded by the Romans.

Los Arcos, though small, was a recommended overnight stop and featured no less than 4 albergues. Instead we continued on to Torres del Rio.

What a pleasant surprise awaited us there! The tiny village of fewer than 150 showcased an extraordinary church erected in the 1100’s by the Knights Templar.

Santo Sepulchro was modeled after the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. The church was octagonal in form with the domed ceiling supported by a remarkable web of arches.

The interior was simple, even sparse,, but anything more ornate would have depreciated the visual impact of the small altar and unsettling 13th century crucifix.

Our albergue was a delight.

An enclosed terrace with bar and restaurant was just the place to settle back with fellow pilgrims. There was even a shallow pool in which to dangle ones hot and tired feet, glass of wine in hand.

As with most albergues the rooms were simple, clean, and not very private. I found the communal dining and sleeping arrangements a refreshing reminder of happy childhood days in summer camp where friendships sprouted like mushrooms.

The following morning we set off on a short 12km stage to Viana (pop. 3,600). In light of the shorter distance Christine carried her pack. Her bronchial issues had seemed mostly resolved.

Early on that day we encountered a pilgrim, Kris Ashton of Denver Colorado. A few pleasant words and we were walking in lockstep for the next hour.

Little did we know at the time how interwoven our lives would become. We frequently encountered Kris in the days that followed and nearing Santiago began sharing private accommodations. Back in the States we continued our friendship, often as guests of her and her husband Dennis in Colorado and reciprocating with them in our home in Kansas City.

In 2018 we were in Amsterdam, having just departed Scotland where Kris and Dennis happened to be hiking. Dennis tragically fell to his death from a mountain path on the Isle of Skye. Our friendship with Kris became more tightly joined and in 2019 she accompanied us aboard our canalboat in England. Inspired by our Casita travels she purchased a Casita in early 2021 and that Spring spent 9 days caravanning with us in New Mexico and southwestern Colorado.

Adding to the mystery of friendship, yesterday (June 5,  2021) we spent an afternoon in Kansas City with friends Ron and Lena Meck of Salt Lake City, Utah. They were passing through Kansas City while following the route of Lewis and Clark. We first met them in 2017 on Sitka Island in Alaska, then accidentally encountered them in 2018 in Madrid, Spain. Later this year they plan to be traveling south on the Pacific Coast Highway about the same time that we will be traveling north on the same road, perhaps another chance encounter is ahead of us. By the way, they have walked the Camino and are friends with Kris Ashton. Coincidence? A gentleman in Puerto Rico once counseled me, “Peter, in life there are no coincidences.”

In 1995-96 our son Peter lived the school year as an AFS high school foreign exchange student with a family in Bilbao, Spain. Rafael Mendia Gallardo, his wife Begonia, and their son Arkaitz made Peter a real member of their family that year and thus bonded themselves to us as a part of our extended family. Rafael was following our Camino journey through Facebook and reached out to suggest a meeting in Viana for dinner. It was a 2 hour drive for them and their good friends Rev. and Ms. Javier Aguirregabiria Aguirre. Rafael and Begonia spoke only a little English and we very little Spanish. Javier acted as our interpreter and added much to our afternoon with his grace and good humor.

Our Spanish friends arranged for an excellent private dining experience at an exceptional restaurant in Viana.

They also hosted our walking tour of the town center and the nearby 13th Century church of Santa Maria where in 1507 Cesare Borgia was buried. Borgia died from treachery at the hands of his enemies shortly after his successful siege and conquest of Viana. More about this fascinating historical figure in the postscript.

As the poet said, parting from these dear friends was “such sweet sorrow.” However return to the Camino we did, which included the night in Viana’s 54 bed municipal albergue with beds stacked 3 high.

Pilgrimage is often cast in terms of what one experiences through the senses and what touches one spiritually. I was finding that the Camino was becoming ever richer with personal connections, a path to people. How easy it is for us to make friends as children and how sad that for many adults that gift is lost.

Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino!

 PS. Cesare Borgia (1475-1507) was the acknowledged illegitimate son of Pope Alexander VI (then Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia). The Pope ordained him as a Cardinal at his election to the papacy in 1492. Cesare was only 18 years old at the time. 6 years later Cesare resigned his cardinalate, the first person in history to do so. Instead he became Commander of the Papal Army and served capably in that role until he was deposed shortly after his father’s death in 1503.

Cesare engaged Leonardo da Vinci as his chief military architect and Borgia is believed to be the inspiration in Niccolo Machiavelli’s “The Prince”. Cesare Borgia is also believed to be the model for da Vinci’s famous portrait of Jesus Christ, “Salvator Mundi” (Savior of the World).

April 15-16, 2013 Roncesvalles, Zubiri and Pamplona.

The day broke at Roncesvalles with a clear sky and these two pilgrims well rested. An American volunteer at the albergue greeted us warmly and shared a few minutes of conversation. She escorted us to the door and with a “Buen Camino!”, sent us on our way suffused with optimism for what lay ahead.

For reasons that still escape me this felt like the real start of our pilgrimage. Not a quarter mile down the road was an iconic road sign, “Santiago de Compostela, 790 km. We stood beneath the sign for a picture just as hundreds of thousands of modern day pilgrims had.

Later we learned that a week earlier a high school classmate of our children, Jed Brown in the company of his fiancé Sarah, shared that same spot during a snowstorm as they made their way to Santiago.

790 kilometers! It should have been intimidating, instead it was invigorating. 790 kilometers is over a million steps. I have heard it said that a woman forgets the pains that she endured in labor at the first sight of the new life that she brought into the world. Perhaps in a small way the sight of that sign put to rest the struggles that I had endured the prior day.

While we embraced hope and optimism, we did our best not to hold onto expectations. I had long ago learned an important life lesson that without expectations there can be no disappointments. So far, so good.

A short way down a track through a wooded path we encountered a carved stone cross. It was a modern reproduction of a 17th Century cross that was damaged by lightning.

“Bucket lists” are individual and personal. That cross was the first of many symbols that reminded me that we were pursuing something more significant than an 825 km hike. We journeyed in the footsteps of countless pilgrims who over the centuries had walked to seek God’s grace, or as penance for the forgiveness of sin, or as punishment for crimes they had committed. I still walked because it was there.

3km down the road we paused for coffee and a light breakfast in the quaint village of Burguete, a favorite of Ernest Hemingway.

Its small hotel is reputed to have a piano on which the author carved his name and the date, July 25, 1923. The small village square where we sat was a place where suspected witches were burned at the stake in the 1500’s.

5km further and we made one of the many river crossings those first two days, this one on stepping stones.

We were still descending from the mountains as Roncesvalles sits at 3,000 feet, Zubiri at 1,600, and Pamplona at a little over 1,200.

At times the path was irregular, and in wet weather could even be treacherous. We passed a spot where 11 years earlier a 64 year old pilgrim lost his life.

We shared the beauty of the day with each other and the scores of other pilgrims on the path. Scarcely a kilometer went by that we did not exchange the ubiquitous salutation, “Buen Camino!”, with another pilgrim.

It remains on the Camino a universal declaration of hello, goodbye, good luck, and safe journey, one’s native language notwithstanding. Christine soldiered on with pack on her back. At day’s end Roncesvalles was 22 km behind us and Pamplona 22 km ahead of us. I was tired, Christine was beat.

Saying anything of substance to another on the path did require a shared language. Fortunately, English was spoken by most pilgrims, at least as a second language. Friendships grew from nothing more than “Buen Camino”. We had little more in common with most than that we faced the same journey, challenges, fears, and hopes. In a few steps we shared our stories. In a few kilometers we shared our souls. By day’s end we were as familiar with each other as brothers and sisters. Among family members many “indispensable” social conventions of personal privacy are ignored. So it is on the Camino where many conventions are cast aside in favor of a less restrained sharing among our instant friends. We were each like separate threads with different languages, cultures, origins, and futures, woven together on that one day to briefly become a unique human tapestry.

Years later I overheard a person pass on an opportunity to join others in a friendly conversation, “I don’t have anything in common with those people.” That comment referred to work, politics, socioeconomics, community… things perceived as important to making connections with other people. What we frequently ignore is that we share a journey in life that includes many of the same hopes, dreams, fears, successes, and failures. A few kind words and we find that we have more in common with the “stranger” than we were willing to acknowledge.

Evening in Zubiri brought us a communal dinner, welcome companionship, and beds. Good medicine for the exhaustion that we both felt. Pamplona would be our destination 22 km distant the next day.

April 16th.

Over the course of the 44 kilometers that separated Roncesvalles from Pamplona we crossed many bridges, most dating to the Middle Ages, some to the time of the Romans. I found each bridge fascinating for the human labor invested in its creation, and the ingenuity that produced an ancient structure that still served its original purpose.

One bridge was once thought to cure any animal of rabies by walking it around the central arch three times.

A bridge that crossed the river Ulzama featured an albergue at one end. The bridge and albergue, formerly a pilgrim hospital, have stood and served the needs of those on pilgrimage for over 1,000 years.

The next day continued much as the day before. There were encounters with pilgrims, a delightful outdoor lunch, beer included, and more bridges.

With about 8 kilometers left to reach Pamplona, Christine was done. It is one thing to walk 22km in a day but entirely another thing to do it day after day, especially for one unaccustomed to it. She prudently decided to take a taxi those last kilometers and secure our night’s lodging at the 114 bed albergue built into the side naves of the former Jesuit Church of Jesus and Mary.

We arrived in Pamplona with enough afternoon left to take in some sights of the city of 200,000, famously known for its “Running of the Bulls”.

Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino. Pete

PS. Christine’s mantra was and is, “Listen to your body”. Walking into Pamplona, much to my later regret, I disregarded my body in favor of an opportunity to see how fast I could walk those last kilometers.

My unnecessary effort set off tendinitis in my left ankle that never fully resolved over the weeks that followed. My imprudence and failure to “listen to my body” would eventually gift me a permanent reminder of that temporary impulse, a 12” surgical scar. My left posterior tibial tendon fully ruptured 5 days after we returned to America. How and why the rupture waited for my return to the States is just one of many “Camino mysteries” that I am left to ponder.