I should probably start this with a warning because I predict some of you reading these words will, in coming years, find yourself tired, blistered and sunburnt on a dusty path somewhere in the middle of Spain wondering how on Earth your life came to this. Once you start learning about the Camino, there’s a real chance it will become an obsession that will reel you in, just as it did me. This is why I’m preparing myself to go to Spain with a ridiculous idea of walking the equivalent of a half marathon every day for six weeks.
The Camino de Santiago is an ancient network of pilgrimage routes leading to the cathedral at Santiago de Compostela, a city built around the legend that the body of St James, one of the original Apostles, had somehow found its final resting place nearby. It seems unlikely to me but it’s been credible enough to get pilgrims out of their houses and onto the road for more than a thousand years. And I am going to join them, starting in France and following the path for the next 800km.
By the way, don’t be fooled by that word “pilgrim” because, although this is ostensibly a Christian pilgrimage, the majority of walkers are there for other reasons, be it spirituality, curiosity or “just because it was there”. I definitely fall into the latter, so I anticipate some interesting conversations about religion with my fellow travellers. The guardians of the route make it clear that all are welcome.
For me, it all started with Laurie Lee’s book As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning. As an adventure-starved schoolboy in suburban London, I found the idea of walking across a foreign country absurd, yet also somehow possible.
You didn’t need money, you just needed legs and the obstinacy to use them long after any sensible person would have gone for a lie-down. Of course, my parents wouldn’t go along with such nonsense, but the seeds of a fascination with walking across Spain had been sown.
Then, as generally happens, the conventional handbrakes of life such as careers, mortgages and relationships kept me from such impractical wanderings. Yet, as the years passed, my Spanish adventure was quietly nurtured by films and literature: Martin Sheen in The Way, Paulo Coelho in The Pilgrimage, Ernest Hemingway in Pamplona, and less geographically exact, George Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia.
Finally, several decades later, I find myself at a stage in my life when my free time coincides with the pull of adventure. Ongoing health issues mean that I might not be fit enough to do it in future years, so it’s now or never. I choose now.
Testing the waters
The rain was falling on the Tāwharanui Peninsula. It had settled in for the day: persistent, dreary and accompanied by a blustery easterly. Normally, I would have taken this as a good reason to stay indoors and pretend to tidy my fishing gear, but not this Saturday. These conditions were just what I needed to test my wet-weather clothing. The excellent summer in New Zealand meant that I hadn’t yet had the chance to see what a day of steady rain would do to both my gear and my will to walk. I put on my rucksack, laced up trail runners and set off cheerily for a soggy 10km walk. It wasn’t much fun but I made it undrowned and enthusiasm undimmed. Success.
I’ve come to know the Tāwharanui Regional Park very well over the past couple of months. I’ve built up my fitness accompanied by tūī, saddlebacks, kākā, takahē and once even a kiwi with a faulty alarm clock. People asked why I didn’t start with New Zealand’s own Te Araroa track, if I was so keen on walking across a country. Personally, I believe that while the scenery here is as spectacular as anything Spain has to offer, there’s something compelling about the millennia of human history, and paths worn smooth several centuries before any human is believed to have set foot in these islands. We go travelling, not because it’s better, but because it’s different.
A common misconception is that the weather in Spain is always sunny. The Camino Francés (the best known of several Camino routes and the one I have chosen) starts in France and then crosses northern Spain at roughly the same distance from the equator as Hokitika, so it’s not unreasonable to expect rain mixed in with the occasional heatwave.
The first couple of days are spent crossing the Pyrenees so there’s often a sprinkling of snow to add variety, which means sourcing the right equipment has also been an important part of preparation.
A quick trawl around the online Camino forums suggests that a pair of jandals and a T-shirt will not cut it. What might be a slight niggle on a day hike turns into a major issue when aggravated daily. Although I generally hate shopping, I found procuring for this expedition curiously satisfying. I have spent hours on the internet and in outdoor stores sourcing trail runners, hiking poles, a rucksack, rain jacket, poncho and hiking sandals.
I have heard stories of unfit, overweight individuals turning up and walking the trail with no issues, but these are the exceptions. Plenty of walkers drop out en route, and having waited decades for this opportunity, I really don’t want to be one of them.
It would be nice to think that you can get fit just by doing the walk, but the first day on the Camino Francés is 25km up into the mountains and if you can’t manage that without mishap, your whole journey is threatened. Blisters and tendonitis are the main issues to avoid because once they’ve set in, their nagging can challenge the most resolute of walkers.
Like many, I am walking solo, but with 440,000 walkers a year, I will have plenty of company. Many purists feel that pious communal sleeping in the many pilgrims’ hostels (albergues) is part of the authentic Camino experience. However, I have pre-booked to stay in small hotels. As well as being reticent to give up all my creature comforts, health issues have decreed several trips a night to the facilities are necessary and I would not be popular stumbling around a slumbering dormitory with a head torch. I do not want to be the person everyone tries to avoid. Well, no more than usual.
Global village
At regular intervals, I will be reporting on my progress in the Listener, recounting the villages, the experiences and the people, especially the Kiwis, I encounter en route. Mingling with travellers from around the world will be interesting, given the background of a US presidential election, regional conflicts and on a less contentious note, the Uefa Euro 24 football tournament, which I anticipate will provide much nationalistic ribbing for the European walkers.
Of course, I am hoping the Camino will be fun and fulfilling, as well as tough and gruelling, but whatever happens it promises to be a memorable experience.
And, if in the coming years you happen to find yourself struggling down a Spanish track chasing a floating mirage of rioja and paella that is always somehow another 5km away, at least you’ll know who to blame.
Buen Camino.
Look out for Paul Catmur’s first instalment from the Camino in an upcoming post.
