Having always been interested in a vacation combining spirituality and adventure, I was thrilled to learn of the Christian pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in the book, "The Pilgrimage," by Brazilian author, Paulo Coelho, and through Ottawa Citizen articles by journalist Robert Sibley.
At the time, I had the feeling that I was ending the first phase of my existence and was about to embark on another. So I decided that going on this pilgrimage would serve as the bridge from my past to my future.
People have been making this pilgrimage for over 1,000 years. It involves walking some 800 kilometres across the north of Spain to the town of Santiago de Compostela, where bones believed to be from the apostle St. James the Great are resting in a silver shrine. St. James ("Santiago" in Spanish) was the brother of the apostle John.
Pilgrims can take one of several routes on this journey. I chose the one that starts in France, because it is the most popular and it's the one described in all the works I read. This route takes the pilgrim across the Pyrenees Mountains into Spain - followed by a tramp across the green valleys of Navarra and Rioja, the plains of Castille and Leon, and the mountains of Galicia.
Preparing for this voyage was fairly simple, given the many books on the subject and the many articles that can be found on the Internet. Since travelling doesn't come naturally to me, my different readings were crucial.
On April 29, 2002, I left Ottawa on a bus heading for Montreal's Dorval Airport. From there, I made my way to Paris and then to Biarritz. I took the bus to Bayonne and the train to the French--Spanish border town of St-Jean-Pied-de-Port.
The next day, I set off on my pilgrimage along with 150 others. (During May some 5,000 pilgrims started the journey from there.)
The first day was one of the most difficult because we crossed the Pyrenees Mountains, climbing to an altitude of 1,440 metres - an ascent of 1,300 metres - to get to Roncesvalles, in Spain. I spent the night with hundreds of fellow pilgrims in a12th-century Augustinian monastery.
During the evening mass, the priest asked that each pilgrim come before him to hear the pilgrimage prayer:
May the Blessed Virgin grant you her maternal care, protecting you against dangers to your body and soul.
And may you make your way to the end of your pilgrimage under her cloak. Amen
Because it is tradition to receive this blessing before embarking on one's pilgrimage, it was important for me to take part in the mass, even though I do not practise my religion. In order to truly experience every emotion of this unique journey, it was my intention to follow tradition to the letter, every step of the way.
My pilgrimage lasted just over a month. I began walking on May 1 and finished on June 4, taking a well-earned day of rest every now and then. The walk was very demanding physically. But, despite the blisters and the pain in my feet and knees, I would always get up the next morning and continue my journey.
Spain is much more beautiful than I imagined. I ate to my heart's content and drank excellent wine at affordable prices.
I met people from around the world: Brazil, Australia, Japan, several European countries, and many people from Canada. I feel humbled and privileged to have walked the same path that millions of others have trod throughout the ages.
Every evening, when our day of walking had come to an end, we would remove and wash our rain- or sweat-soaked clothing, take a shower, and put on clean (and hopefully dry) clothes. Few of the shelters - or "refugios" as they are called in Spain - are properly heated, but some have hot showers. The most important thing was taking care of our feet. We quickly learned that we were helpless without them. Then we would sit down to eat and get ready for the next day.
Most of the people would get up at about six o'clock in the morning. They would dress, and after preparing their backpacks (weighing about 10 to 12 kilograms), they would immediately head off for another day of discovering new landscapes and settings.
I would let the people leave early and generally move off later, so that I could enjoy the solitude. But it never lasted long though. I would always meet one or two people and we would walk together for a while.
When I finally arrived in Santiago de Compostela, I had tears in my eyes. I was so proud of my achievement - walking 500 miles carrying a 12-kilogram backpack. But I was also saddened by the fact that the journey was over and I would have to return to everyday life.
One of the first things pilgrims do in Santiago is to find the
pilgrimage office (next to the lovely town cathedral) and apply for a
compostela - a certificate written in Latin - showing that they
completed the pilgrimage. (You have to walk at least 100 kilometres to
receive a compostela, and to prove how far you went, you must have a
passport stamped at every night's resting place.)
Then it's time to tour the cathedral. We pilgrims placed our hands on or in the Tree of Jesse that stands just below the statue of St. James. So many hands have touched this marble column that it has holes in it. Afterwards, we made our way to the altar to place our hands on the statue of St. James, which dates back to the 13th century. We then went under the altar to see the silver chest containing the remains of the apostle, who was laid to rest there.
After several days of rest in Santiago, I took a bus a few miles west to Fisterra on the Atlantic Ocean. This place was known in medieval days as the ends of the earth and thus the pilgrim's last destination. Here pilgrims traditionally burn certain articles they carried during their journey.
The rocks and the sea instill a sense of isolation and sadness that makes Fisterra the perfect place to bring the journey to an end. I am pleased that I made my way there. The pensive atmosphere that reigns in the rocks and the endless sea brought me the closure I needed.
I will make this pilgrimage again, and next time, I hope to share the experience with my son.