Learning How to Be a Pilgrim

Two days into the Camino, and I am already learning there is a difference between walking the Camino and knowing how to be a pilgrim. Apparently, I have a lot to learn. For those of you who may not know , the Camino is called a pilgrimage because for centuries people have walked its routes to the tomb of St. James in Santiago de Compostela for spiritual reflection, faith, or personal meaning and those who make the journey are known as “pilgrims”, and not ones that came over on the mayflower

I officially started yesterday in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, heading toward Roncesvalles one of the toughest stages of the Camino Francés, climbing up and over the Pyrenees. It should have been about 15–16 miles. It wasn't.

Lesson #1: Pay attention to the little yellow arrows.

I was walking and talking with new Camino friends, Jen from California and Marti from Virginia, when we somehow walked 1.4 miles in the wrong direction which meant 1.4 miles back because we missed a yellow arrow which are the mile markers. Nothing like adding almost three bonus miles to one of the hardest days!

I also discovered that the three Camino apps I carefully downloaded weren't much help without a signal. Another lesson learned, and one I was very grateful not to learn while alone.

The climb was hard mostly uphill but got lucky with fog covering much of the Pyrenees and keeping it cool. Somewhere along the first miles, I began learning the rhythm of the Camino.

People are here from all over the world, of every age, walking for countless different reasons. You pass someone and quietly say, "Buen Camino." Someone may start walking beside you and suddenly you're sharing your life stories. You might walk together for five minutes or five miles. If someone stops for water, a picture or to tie a shoe, you just keep walking. No formal goodbye. Somehow, you usually find each other again.

In one day, I met people from Romania, Korea, Ireland, Belgium, Australia, Italy, Brazil and across the U.S. Complete strangers in the morning became friends quickly enough that hours later we were sitting around a table having dinner together. Already one of my favorite things about the Camino.

Lesson #2: The advice that works for someone else's Camino may not work for yours.

I was repeatedly told not to book accommodations ahead, just walk and find something when you arrive. Apparently, September didn't get that memo.

It's one of the busiest times of year, and these villages are tiny. When I arrived in Roncesvalles, almost everything was full. My remaining option was an albergue with roughly 60 people sleeping in one room.

That's when I discovered something else about myself: I am apparently a pilgrim who needs a private room, a bathroom and a hot shower and I'm completely okay with that.

Today I topped yesterday's accommodation mistake by booking what I thought was a hotel 3.6 miles from my destination. It was 20 miles away.

After taxis, cancellations and tracking down the backpack I had already shipped ahead, I finally found a room closer to the trail I will start again in the morning NOT ideal .Tonight I met a wonderful Swiss couple, and she shared her entire Camino spreadsheet with me towns, accommodations, everything. Two days in, and I'm getting smarter. But none of those lessons are what I'll remember most about the start of my Camino walk

Because yesterday, I experienced what people call Camino magic. Near the top of the Pyrenees, I walked out of thick fog and suddenly found myself above the clouds. The valley below had disappeared beneath a sea of white. It was breathtaking. Off the trail, I noticed a statue of the Virgin Mary overlooking the valley and walked over to take a picture. An older man approached and began spreading ashes beneath the statue. He was visibly heartbroken. I didn't know him, and he didn't speak English. But some things don't need translation. I put my hand on his shoulder and then hugged him. He cried. Through a few words and gestures, I understood they were his wife's ashes. He handed me his phone and asked me to photograph him with his hand beside her ashes beneath the Virgin Mary. It was one of the most intimate moments I have ever unexpectedly been part of. I almost felt I shouldn't be there, yet at the same time felt incredibly privileged that I was. Eventually, he walked away. About 20 minutes later, I continued too. I assumed I would never see him again.

Hours later, because I couldn't find a room in Roncesvalles, I called a taxi to take me to a hotel four miles away. The taxi pulled up with one passenger already inside. It was him. Of all the people on that mountain, all the taxis, hotels and villages, somehow our paths crossed again. His name was Miguel. This time we had Google Translate. Miguel told me his wife, Manuela, had died two months ago. They had been married for 46 years. I thanked him for allowing me to be part of such an intimate moment. He thanked me for being there and the hug and told me how hard it has been since she passed 2 months earlier I don't know why our paths crossed twice that day. Maybe there doesn't need to be a reason.

But sitting in that taxi with Miguel, after witnessing him carry his wife to that beautiful place above the clouds, I knew one thing: I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

I came to the Camino during a time of enormous transition in my own life, thinking I would walk hundreds of miles and somehow figure a few things out along the way. Two days in, I'm realizing the Camino may have other plans. Maybe being a pilgrim isn't about getting every turn right, having the perfect app, booking the right hotel or knowing exactly where you're going.

Maybe it's simply about paying attention to the arrows, to the people walking beside you, to the people who somehow cross your path again, and to the moments that ask you to stop and simply be present.

Buen Camino.

And tonight, especially, Buen Camino to Miguel and Manuela.