My Personal Globe

The February, 1994 issue of Smithsonian magazine had an article on the ancient pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostella.  I had read of it in history, and knew that in the middle ages people used to make the trip from all over Europe.  I learned that Saint James, Iago in Spanish, was the cousin of Jesus and legend says that he came to Spain to spread the gospel.  Supposedly he was buried there, and many years later a shrine, and still later a cathedral, was built.  This attracted pilgrims, and for political reasons this was encouraged by the French, and other governments. At one time this was the third most popular pilgrimage in Christendom, the others being the Holy Land and Rome.  A chain of monasteries grew up and other religious establishments caring for the sick .  Crusaders returning from the Holy Land built castles to protect the route and gradually they became bases for pushing back the Moors, who then held most of Spain.

What I hadn’t known was that the old Camino de Santiago was still in existence, and in use. In 1993, when the Feast of Santiago fell on a Sunday, a Holy Year was declared.  The Pope came to Santiago, new markers were set up and more hostels built to accommodate an increased number of pilgrims.  I had nothing better to do, why couldn’t I walk it?   The more I thought about it the more I wanted to try. That I had never backpacked before and knew very little Spanish didn’t seem much of an obstacle.

The Tour St. Jacque, (Jacque is the French form of James, or Iago) near Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris had been one of the principal starting points, centuries ago.  I didn’t feel up to quite that distance.  I looked at a map, and decided to start in Burgos, in Spain.  That would be about 300 miles and I should be able to do it in about three weeks if all went well.  I started training on a treadmill, often studying a Spanish textbook as I walked.  I had not used the language in years, and was never very proficient.

Getting the historical background was easy.  Doug found a guidebook for me that was only seven years out of date, but there was a lot it didn’t cover. As a result I started off very ill prepared.  I had no idea where or how to get the necessary credentials for the pilgrimage, a credenzial del peregrino, a sort of identity paper, like a passport which is stamped along the way to permit me to use the refugios. These are dormitory type rest houses set up for pilgrims, about a days walk apart.

I flew to England the first week in May, and left a suitcase with a friend there.  I would need the contents later, after my walk.  They gave me a ride to Portsmouth, where I took an overnight ferry to Bilbao and a train to Burgos.  It was a beautiful train ride through the Picos de Europa Mountains. In Burgos I went first to the Cathedral and spent a happy hour viewing its treasures, including the tomb of El Cid.  I had hoped to get information there about the necessary credenzial, but had to settle for getting my guidebook stamped instead.  I wanted a scallop shell, which I was told pilgrims wear hung around their neck for identity, but no one knew what I was talking about.  I finally settled for a lapel pin with the insignia for identification.  I was glad my artist neighbor in Atlanta had painted a beautiful scallop shell on my back pack before I left home.

Next morning, with guidebook in hand, I did a practice walk out to the Monastery of Huelgas Reales.  This once offered care for pilgrims in the 12th century, now it offers guided tours.  I found the cloisters particularly beautiful.  Later as I was sitting in a park, I saw two typical pilgrims, complete with walking staff and scallop shell.  They were American students studying in Madrid and had already walked ten days.  It was reassuring to talk to them and they gave me the one piece of advice I needed for the next three weeks.  “Just follow the yellow arrows.”

The first day was a nightmare!  I had scarcely left Burgos when it started to rain, and hail, and there was an icy gale blowing which was difficult to walk against.  All I had read told me to expect hot weather, not this. I climbed the first meseta, like a western mesa, and thought it would never end.  My pack was too heavy and poorly balanced, so it kept slipping sideways. In Hornilos I found the first refugio.  It was unfinished and unfurnished.  I had only walked 20 kilometers, but I was exhausted and decided to stop.  It was good