The Camino de Santiago: Europe’s Most Famous Christian Pilgrimage - What to Expect on the Camino de Santiago - Part I
Dispatch XXXVII
Continent #2: Europe
Cyndy and I decided to walk Europe’s most hallowed and famous pilgrimage - the Way of St. James and found that a journey means far more than putting one foot in front of the other. Part I
Personal Tales from the Camino
“Footsteps Through Time: Walking the Ancient Paths”
When you travel the way we are, without the use of any jets, you stumble across places that don’t show up inside the Rick Steves or Frommer travel books. Vigo, Spain would be an example of that. It’s is a gem of a mid-sized city along the Atlantic Ocean just north of Portugal that also happens to be on one route of the famous Camino de Santiago, also known as the Way of Saint James or El Camino, the holiest and most popular of all Catholic pilgrimages in Europe. Given its importance, we knew we had to walk it. Part of our goal as we travelled the planet was to trek as many pilgrim trails and holy places as we could — Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, Christian. Not that we knew much about the Camino Way, except a few insights from Wikipedia. If we were going to go, Cyn and I agreed that we might want to do some research.
It’s not easy to describe the Camino Way because it isn’t really one, single pilgrimage trail that leads from point A to point B. It is a whole array of ways, more akin to the junctions and pathways of the human brain spread out all over western Europe with some tendrils linked to the Middle East where St. James, the Apostle of Jesus Christ, was beheaded. You can therefore tread over any number of Camino Ways. The main thing is that in the end you make it to the apostle’s grave.
St. James - Peter Paul Rubens (Photo - Wikimedia Commons)
James was a first cousin of Christ and, along with Peter and John (James’s younger brother), considered Christ’s favorite. After Jesus was crucified, James made a point of spreading the word about his cousin’s remarkable story and beliefs, and at one point made his way clear to a Spanish port now known as Camino Finisterre, a cape beyond Santiago, meaning “the end of the world,” literally; a place where the craggy igneous rocks of the north Spanish coast meet the thundering waves of the Atlantic Ocean. (We visited there later and it surely did look like the end of the world, but that’s another story.)
St. James had also apparently spent time in a little village nearby eventually given the name of Santiago de Compostela and the locals developed an affection for him. After James’s unfortunate death, the story goes that his disciples brought him back from Jerusalem to the place they felt he loved most. The name Santiago comes from the Latin genitive Sancti Iacobi, “the church or sanctuary of Saint James” and evolved through Portuguese into Sanct-tiago, from its derivatives Diego/Diogo. Now, more than two thousand years later, a massive cathedral sits over the saint’s simple grave, and during that time millions of saints and sinners, beggars and kings, even Charlemagne himself, have walked the Way of St. James in all of its iterations.
Anyone can walk the El Camino any time he or she likes and after we poked around at a Spanish map, we decided Vigo would make an excellent place to begin. It was one of the shorter routes — 100 kilometers, a 60-mile hike along the far western edge of Spain, and it was just north of where we were at the time in Portugal.
First job, get from Portugal to Vigo.
Getting to the Beginning
Through much of June we had been working our way from southern Portugal north with stops to Porto, Braga, Nazarre, Fatima and Aveiro, known as the Venice of Portugal. We had now settled briefly in a lovely beach town called Costa Nova, which seemed to have dropped like a gift out of the sky. Its huge sandy shoreline was as empty as nuns in a brothel, and we loved its striped homes, quiet streets and cool breezes. We set a July 4 deadline, which made it time for a return trip to Porto there to deposit our rental car at the Campanha Railway Station and hop the 7:10 PM train to Vigo. Once aboard, the train rattled and screeched us north on rails that would take us just a hair beyond the Portuguese border. We passed small homes, with their orange terra-cotta roofs and then as the sun dropped over the Atlantic threaded our way through hills of pine, peach, eucalyptus and towering birch trees that danced in the stiff evening wind.
It was dark when we made the half mile walk to the Hotel Atlantico, our home for the next few days. Behind the hotel desk we found an elderly man with thinning hair and the serene face of a Capuchin monk who signed us in. He moved with the speed of a tombstone, or maybe it was that after the day we had had we simply wanted to get immediately in our beds. But there is always the credit cards and passports and the mangled interlocutions of unfamiliar languages and, inevitably, “how long are you staying.” By now it was now 11 PM. But once in our comfortable room, “nature’s soft nurse” as Shakespeare put it, had us soon snoring away.
Camino de Santiago Packing Tips, Preparations and Camino Way Credentials
We spent the next two days prepping for our self-guided tour of the El Camino. We needed to re-provision basics like shampoo and deodorant and figure out the bare minimum we would need. Then there was the problem of transferring our excess baggage while we trekked the pilgrim trail. I wanted to investigate new shoes too. We were looking at walking an average of 10 miles a day on our 60-mile hike. (I didn’t buy the shoes until AFTER we arrived.) And we needed our “passport,” our El Camino credentials. Nearly anyone who walks the El Camino carries this piece of paper that can be stamped at villages, restaurants and hotels where you stay; proof you truly made the spiritual pilgrimage. Generally, you picked these little pamphlets up at a local catholic church.
Luckily, there was a cathedral directly across the boulevard from the Hotel Atlantico. Cyndy and I crossed the street three times to pick up our passport, but it wasn’t until the third try that we found the church doors open. Once inside I was fear-struck. But why? Was it my childhood as a catholic altar boy mixed with the dread and power of the enormous church inside that was the culprit? Hesitantly I walked to the sacristy door, certain that when I knocked a rogue nun would slap my wrist or shake me by the shoulders and waggle her finger at me for daring to invade the sacred privacy of the place. But finally, I did knock on the big wooden door, very quietly. Me, a heathen agnostic, fallen from the Church, wanting not a soul-cleansing journey to a sacred place, but nothing other than a credential for some personal adventure. I had interviewed Nobel Laureates, shaken hands with Henry Kissinger and met who knew how many celebrities, but here I was petrified.
The door opened. An elderly, kindly priest stood before me. He wore his cassock and collar. His hair was dark and thinning. He smiled at me. I stuttered out my purpose for being there in a few syllables of mangled Spanish. A two euro contribution was usually expected in exchange for the passport, but I only had one euro or €20. Did he have change? He gently waved his hand away. The money was unnecessary, and then handed me the “passport.” I felt right then that he must be the kindest man in the world, and thanked him far too many times. Outside I showed the piece of paper to Cyndy and grinned. I knew now that we were officially on "The Way."
Packed for six days of nonstop hiking. Everything a pilgrim could need. (Photo - Chip Walter)
Exactly how we would make our way along the Camino remained unclear since I could find no detailed map that pertained to our specific route. We only knew there were small towns and villages we would try to reach by day’s end. How we connected the dots was another matter, mostly left to our phones. The afternoon before departure, we did take the time to find the Vigo Trailhead and then we headed back to re-organize our bags. The Hotel had kindly agreed to let us keep most of our possessions with the two bags we normally carried everywhere in a locked room. All of the rest we stuffed like sausages into our little REI daypacks — a few pairs of pants, shorts and shirts, caps to protect us against Spain’s hot summer sun, power cords and enough toiletries to get us through six days and nights. The next morning, we would head out and join the other millions who had made this pilgrimage.
We had no idea what was coming. But that’s the way it is with journeys. You never know what lay before you.
July 4 - On the Way and a Bagpipe
We walked out of the Hotel Atlantico, a full breakfast in our bellies, and headed north. Three miles in, on the outskirts of Vigo, we departed the urban pavement and the tan adobe houses and apartments capped with terra cotta roofs that surrounded us. Now it was only the crunch of sandy, rocky soil beneath our feet.
On our right, we rose into steep hills brimming with small gardens; on our left the immense Vigo estuary, and its cargo ships anchored in the nearby waters. Once we crested the hill we found ourselves in a forest along a ridge high above the water. It was already 80º Fahrenheit, but cooler here. We could have been walking through the very woods that thousands had trekked 300 or 400 years in the past. We saw not a single sign of the 21st century. And then we heard the strains of a bagpipe. A bagpipe! Slowly the sound grew, and when we rounded a bend, there among the trees, near a babbling creek, we saw Maria, a young, dark-haired woman, cheeks puffed and fingers flying as she played a lovely Scottish melody. What the …!
Maria greeted us as though we were old friends and just happened to be passing by. She spoke excellent English with a Celtic lilt and explained the bagpipes. This part of Spain is known as Galicia, an area settled by early Celts even before the Romans showed up over 2000 years ago. (Galicia derives from the same word as Gaelic.) Celts ran this part of the world south to Porto and as far east as Léon. The bagpipe was an interesting musical move, I thought. Personally, I might have preferred a guitar or piccolo; a little easier on the ears, but the squawk of the old instrument made an undeniable statement. There was no mistaking it was Celtic because I have yet to hear a bagpipe anywhere else in Spain except in the arms of this uncommon woman. And for her part, it happened to be the instrument she knew best.
Beginner’s Rules for Walking the Camino Way - Avoid Blisters
We couldn’t spend too much time with Maria, delightful as she was. We had another 10 miles to cover if we were to make the little town of Arcade north of the estuary. So we gulped down some water, gobbled a handful of gorp and made a contribution to Maria before waving goodbye. A few more miles brought us down a wickedly steep paved street, back to sea level. That was where the blisters started. At first it began as a slight burning, but after descending several hundred vertical feet, I was pretty sure my right toe had caught fire. Luckily Cyn’s feet remained intact, at least for now. We walked through the small town, trying make sure we were following on the right path. This was not always easy. Sometimes you would see a sign that looked like the yellow rays of the sun against a blue back drop (often described as a clamshell) or sometimes simply a bright yellow arrow pointing you in the right direction. But here, passing through this village, we were back on urban streets and there was no sign to be found. We had seen some other pilgrims and followed them, hoping they knew their way around better than we did. My feet were scorched, and I had no desire to add to the day’s mileage.
In between creative ways to guide pilgrims, Cyn walks the 14 miles on our first day. (Photos - Chip Walter)
I’ll spare you the details, but after another seven miles, through hills, cobble-stoned streets and the along a major highway where massive trucks whipped by in the afternoon heat (yes this was part of the El Camino too), we finally saw the edges of the small town of Arcade. We had both begun to feel we might never get there. The heat had wrung us out, our dogs were yelping and the blossoming blisters on my right foot felt as though they had been blow torched.
Thankfully, Cyndy had found a fine little restaurant/hotel in the center of town right across a tiny church where the statue of a medieval pilgrim stood, a reminder of our roots. Our pedometer showed we had walked 14 miles.
Nothing to your average Roman foot soldier, but it had decidedly taxed our physical endurance. It was stupid of me to have failed to bring the moleskin I almost always carried so once in our room I had no choice but to split the blisters and wrapped them with a few band aids. We showered and made for the little restaurant below, ravenous. Our kindly waiter, handsome, 55, with a great head of thick, gray hair atop his square body immediately saw to our needs. He was almost as kindly as Said, the waiter we had gotten to know in Fez, Morocco. The specialty for the evening was cuttlefish, a cousin to squid and octopus, so we ordered it, and then consumed it as if we had never eaten before, which made the restaurant’s tiny chef no end of proud. It really was delicious, pulled, I suspected, directly out of the bay nearby and flash grilled to perfection with roasted vegetables and potatoes. That, chilled white and bread with olive oil made us both almost forget our cranky feet.
Next up: Day 2 of the Camino where we meet a priest and his delightful, trekking entourage of Philippine teenagers. And some revelations about journeys as an allegory for life.
If you are interested in learning about other routes you can take to Santiago de Compostela throughout Europe, explore here …
Other Camino Pilgrimage Routes in Europe
These are the primary pilgrimage routes leading to Santiago de Compostela:
Camino Francés (French Way): The most popular route, starting from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in France and spanning approximately 780 km to Santiago de Compostela.
Camino Portugués (Portuguese Way): Begins in Lisbon or Porto, traversing northern Portugal into Spain.
Camino del Norte (Northern Way): Follows Spain’s northern coast from Irún to Santiago, covering about 817 km.
Camino Primitivo (Original Way): The oldest route, starting in Oviedo and merging with the Camino Francés in Melide.
Camino Inglés (English Way): Traditionally used by pilgrims arriving by sea, starting from Ferrol or A Coruña.
Via de la Plata: A longer route from Seville in southern Spain, covering approximately 1,000 km.
Camino Finisterre: Extends beyond Santiago to Cape Finisterre, historically considered the "end of the world.
Le Puy Route (Chemin du Puy):A French route starting in Le Puy-en-Velay, joining the Camino Francés in Spain.
This is Dispatch XXXVII in a series about a Vagabond’s Adventures - journalist and National Geographic Explorer Chip Walter and his wife Cyndy’s effort to capture their experience exploring all seven continents, all seven seas and 100+ countries, never traveling by jet.
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