Well I’m done walking – for now. I was on the Camino Frances for a total of 36 days and then extended to the Camino Muxia and Finisterre for a further 4 days – bringing my total to 40 days and 40 nights and around 920km.
I was contemplating my days toward the end of the journey. How each day is the same, and at the same time, completely different, and how the days, or at least the way I think of the days, changed from my first few weeks to the last few weeks.
There are some things that seemingly remain the same, every single day. Even after 40 days of walking.
Like these things:
I’m on the top bunk in a room full of other people all in their own bunks.
5.30am Plastic bag rustling commences.
I know the other pilgrims in the albergue (hostel with bunk beds for pilgrims) are trying to be quiet.
But they are failing at that.
I’m familiar with the sound now but wish they’d all brought dry bags instead of plastic bags. Less noisy.
I push my earplugs in my ear harder and cover my face. I need more sleep.
I get tired of trying to sleep with the noise and get up.
Sleep sack goes in the bag and I stuff my sleeping bag.
Find my toothbrush. Wait in line for one bathroom that services 60 people.
Get dressed in exactly the same clothes I wore yesterday. And the day before and the day before….
Pack my backpack.
Over the Pyrenees – blessed with stunning weather
Put in on hoping it’s going to miraculously be lighter than yesterday.
Leave the albergue.
Mostly it’s dark for a while. Hope I don’t twist an ankle in the dark. Keep walking for about 2 hours.
Think about what it might be like to not have to walk today. Briefly.
Then just walk.
Take a seat at the next cafe.
Cafe con leche grande (big coffee with milk), bocadillo con queso y jamon ( Ham and cheese baguette) and zumo de naranjo (freshly squeezed orange juice).
Stop again after another 2-3 hours for another coffee or cold drink. Take my shoes off. Check my feet and blisters.
Talk to friends. Meet new friends.
Arrive at a place where I want to stay. Look for a bed.
Find a bed.
Fingers crossed for a bottom bunk.
Get out my sleeping bag, and my other set of clothes (my ‘going out’ clothes).
Check the line for the shower.
Get in line.
Find a sink and hand wash today’s clothes (which of course are tomorrow and every other days clothes). Wring the life out of them and find a line or some other obscure but sunny place to hang them.
Hope I remember to get them in before dark.
Go to the bar.
Drink a large beer. With lemon.
Talk to friends from all over the world.
Eat the pilgrims dinner.
And drink the wine that comes with it.
Go to bed.
Restrain myself from poking the guy snoring with my trekking poles.
Listen curiously to the person sleep talking.
Try hard to ignore the moans and groans.
Feel an itch on my leg.
Spend the night thinking the bed is infested with bed bugs (only once in actuality but the fear remains).
5.30am plastic bags rustling.
So while it seems from the above commentary that each day was the same – it was, and of course, it wasn’t.
Every day provided me with new experiences, new friends, deeper friendships, opportunities to stretch my comfort zone, the chance to push myself physically, daily tests of my mental endurance and emotional strength, many opportunities to laugh, differing views and vistas (mostly beautiful, some industrial), new food, the chance to practice my Spanish and of course, the unexpected. Always the unexpected.
What did change over the 40 days was the way I thought about each day.
I recall early on I would check the elevation profiles of the stage for the next day, and dread the hills I knew were coming. I would think constantly about the kilometers I’d walked that day, how many more were to go, how quickly that time might pass. I was forever focused on my blisters, my pain, my sore feet. The twinges in my leg muscles telling me to back off. Constantly focused on the body.
After a few weeks, I measured my day in hours. If someone said something was 10km away, I immediately translated that to 2 hours away. I stopped vigilantly checking the elevation profiles the night before, knowing that there would be hills, or there wouldn’t (unlikely) but that whatever the day held, I’d get through it. I measured the morning as the part before the sun came up (and reasoned to myself that any distances made pre-daylight were a bonus) and the part until I found a cafe for breakfast. The rest of the day just flowed along. Walking. Talking. Contemplating life. Celebrating life. Knowing that at a point in time that day, I would arrive somewhere to sleep.
So as they say, some things stay the same. But even in the sameness that was my walking for 40 days, there was so much to celebrate, so much that was different.
What kind of different can you find in your everyday sameness?
“Let your life be your message” Mahatma Gandhi.