Read A Million Steps Online

Authors: Kurt Koontz

Tags: #Spiritual, #Love, #Camino de Santiago, #A Million Steps, #Alcohol Addiction, #The Way, #Pilgrimage

A Million Steps (10 page)

BOOK: A Million Steps
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Day 10

Baggage

Waking up to such serene silence was strange. It took a few minutes for me to realize I was in the solitude of my private hotel room and did not need to leave by an albergue’s required eight o’clock. First thing on my agenda was another long and hot shower. The room rate included breakfast, so around nine I took the elevator to the lobby breakfast room.

Not another person was in sight at any of about 20 tables. A long row of silver buffet trays, filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles, and a mountain of home-fried potatoes, warmed above blue sterno flames. At least six carafes of juice rested on ice. Fruit filled bowls to the brim. A large canister dispensed four types of cold cereal, and hot oatmeal bubbled in a pot. Desserts are my weakness, and an entire table was devoted to these little devils. I spent 90 minutes grazing on the delicious foods and wrote in my journal during the breaks. It was a very enjoyable experience.

After the meal of a lifetime, I returned to the room to make a plan for the day. I felt so well rested and satiated with food that I made the decision to bank my planned “rest day” for a time when I might need it to recover from illness, injury, or other unforeseen circumstance. I sincerely hope that another person can find as much happiness in room 305 at the Almirante as I did on September 22, 2012.

By the time I left the hotel in the late morning, I saw no fellow pilgrims on the path. However, when I passed by the cathedral, I met an American man sitting on a wooden bench enjoying the view. He asked how my Camino adventure was going and offered to take my picture using the gothic church as the background.

“I just started a bit of a journey myself by bringing my family here for a year,” he added. “We have two little kids and want them to experience another culture. We arrived from Florida one week ago.”

I expressed my admiration for the family’s willingness to shatter routines. “Guess we’re both on the same trail,” I observed.

When I asked to take his photo as well, he asked why. “Because you are now part of my Camino,” I explained.

“Buen Camino,” he said as we parted.

“Buen Camino,” I replied.

This was one of many moments where a very brief encounter left a large print in my mind.

I stored another visual memory that day outside a church in Burgos. Because churches tend to be the tallest buildings in Spanish towns, the bell towers are a favorite location for white stork’s nests. These nests are huge––four to six feet in diameter, three to five feet deep––and can weigh up to 500 pounds! They are likely more comfortable than most of my bunks on the Camino. The birds live in loose colonies, so four to six nests often cluster on each belfry. While I had seen hundreds of these nests along the Camino, Burgos stands out because I saw one with an inhabitant. It was a spectacular bird with long red legs, standing in its domain.

The nests got me thinking about the generosity of the residents along the Camino. For hundreds of years, they have given over space in their communities to travelers needing “nests” for a night. The pilgrims they house are like eggs, in a way, hoping to hatch new lives for themselves as they walk the Way.

My sighting of the stork was another example of all the luck I experienced on the Camino. From day one, things just seemed to tilt in my favor. While I have always appreciated the good fortune of my life, I began to build an inner faith that no matter what happened on this journey, everything would be just fine. The more I let go of my worries and things beyond my control, the more things fell into a perfect and satisfying order. I wondered if I was actually losing my ability to worry. What a glorious thought!

I exited Burgos through a wonderful park. At one point, I was surprised by the sight of two pilgrims walking toward me, alongside a donkey loaded with gear. That was in stark contrast to the 22 pounds of baggage that I was carrying.

For several days, I had been playing a mind game based on the contents of my backpack. When planning the trip, I had been careful to keep the weight of my pack below the recommended 10-15% of bodyweight (without water). Still, on the first few days, I eliminated a book, a silk sleep sack, and an inflatable Big Agnes memory foam pillow. In the early albergues, there was always a table loaded with excess items below a sign that read, “Take what you need; leave what you don’t.”

My new exercise was to mentally go through the contents of my pack and determine what was really needed to complete the trek. Did I really want my journal or could the memories survive in my mind? Obviously, my shoes were required, but did I really need three pairs of socks? Would the trip end if someone stole my camera? Were fingernail clippers required? Living with minimal material items was one of the many liberating features of this pilgrimage. Even though I carried little, I still endeavored to determine what I really required.

That thought process led me to the deeper question of what is required for me to be happy on my larger journey through life. What material items do I need to carry with me, but more importantly, what do I want to carry in my emotional backpack? Do I want more family time, more friends, more physical strength, more power? What are the true emotional necessities of life? Are events or people taking up too much space in my emotional backpack? Do any need to be cleared out? And the bigger question: what is missing that could truly enrich my life?

With lots of time and an uncluttered mind, I found it quite challenging to try to prioritize and apply weightings. It was much more difficult to imagine eliminating certain items from life’s backpack. I felt like one of the stork chicks, cracking out of my shell of now useless baggage.

I was definitely experiencing a transition on the Camino. I had completed the first third of the journey, which experienced pilgrims say is for the body. I was beginning the second third of the journey, which is for the mind.

Although my body had adjusted to the pilgrimage during the first third of the trip, my feet were still complaining. With nine long and glorious days of walking, my feet constantly reminded me that they were not too pleased with my decision to cross Spain.

Imagine you have nuclear codes and have been detained by a group of terrorists. The leader knows he cannot kill you and water boarding is not an option, so he decides to give you the feet-beating treatment. With your feet locked into a rack and the bottoms exposed, he takes a small baton and begins to tap every square inch. The blows are not strong enough to break a bone, but after nine hours, the message has been received. Now, get on those feet and walk from San Francisco to San Diego. Although bearable, my feet reiterated their unhappiness on a regular basis. Rest and plenty of massage allowed for spells of remission.

Up to this point, the most physically challenging day was the introductory hike from France to Spain over the Pyrenees. After the mountain pass, most of the days had been on rolling hills or flat ground. The total accrued ascent on the first day was 1,390 meters (4,560 feet). The cumulative total for the next nine days was only 3,550 meters (11,647 feet).

On the tenth day, I found myself entering the mentally challenging portion of the walk known as “The Meseta.” Many Camino veterans had advised me that this would be the Don Quixote,
Man of La Mancha
, portion of the path where the mind becomes the most serious obstacle. Mountains rim these high plains of central Spain and occasionally edge into them. But for the next 200 kilometers, I walked on a flat surface. Endless crop fields of wheat, oats, and barley bordered my path. The golden glow of the fields etched my mind on this leg of the journey.

I had been walking alone for several hours and needed some coffee. When I came upon a village, my mendicant companions Martin and Kimberli were soaking up the sun at one of two tables outside the bar. We shared a group hug and reminisced about the previous 24 hours. Knowing they were low on funds, I disappeared into the bar and emerged with chorizo bocadillos and café con leche for three. They made a feeble attempt to refuse before devouring the food.

After my late afternoon meal and social event, I resumed my walk alone again. Thoughts rolled freely in and out of my head. I retained a few while others recycled into the vast emptiness. This “non-thinking,” as I now call it, became one of the great benefits of this trip. Afterward, many people asked, “what did you think about?” or “was it great to be able to think so much?” However, as in meditation, the real insights of the walk arose from all the time spent letting thoughts flow by without focus or judgment. That is when the answers and questions appeared from within.

Toward the end of my first day on the flat grounds, the blue sky turned gray and the wind began to howl. Little did I know that this would remain constant for the next five days. Were it not for the chinstrap, my Tilley hat would surely have accompanied Dorothy on the yellow brick road. Given a choice, I wouldn’t have selected this weather feature. But since I am not in control of anything, I embraced the wind and made the best of a blustery week. The high-speed winds created a very unique movie of rapidly shifting clouds.

Here my dependence on Duran began to worry me. I was becoming as attached to my walking stick as Tom Hanks was to his Wilson ball in the movie
Castaway
. From my point of view, our constant companionship was developing into a deep friendship. The stick was the silent type but surely had similar feelings.

I arrived at the albergue in Hornillos del Camino around three o’clock. At 3:01, the sky let loose and the rain poured nonstop for hours. It was the kind of rain that starts by quickly changing the color of the cobblestones, then turns into a small creek, and finally acts as a pond to be pummeled by more raindrops. It was not a rain to walk in.

All of the beds were taken in the town of 100 inhabitants. A small note on the albergue door read “More beds available, back at 5:00.” With an ounce of hope, I joined a small group of pilgrims hoping for a night’s shelter.

As the clock ticked, more and more people showed up to wait in the small hostel kitchen. Given the Noah’s Ark atmosphere, each new arrival was a bit moister than his or her predecessor. The final person to arrive dripped water all over the floor and probably had water in his rain-protected backpack. Sometime around 5:30, the hospitalera showed up with the good news. She led the entire group about 20 yards to a large gymnasium.

One by one, we registered and received a blanket and pillow. In one large open room, 30 cots lined the edges of a rust-colored concrete floor. The mattresses were well worn and comfortable. The sound of the thousands of raindrops pelting the ceiling reverberated throughout the cavernous room. We all began the ritualistic process of unpacking, doing laundry, showering, and getting ready for dinner.

Day 11

Anniversary

I began my eleventh day of walking early in the cold morning. The rain from the previous night had vanished and left a moist scent in the frozen air. The stars glowed in the sky as I took my first steps.

I spent a good portion of the day walking with Sandra from Amsterdam. We talked about life and a relationship problem she was experiencing with her boyfriend. Her troubles were not uncommon, with shades of alcohol addiction, threats of physical abuse, and infidelity. I almost laughed when she told me of her need to spend a month in Spain to make a decision about this relationship. Physical threats? Infidelity? The choice seemed obvious to me. Still, I removed my hat of judgment and listened, with the purpose of giving her an outlet to drain her feelings. I am quite sure she knew the answer prior to entering the country but still needed affirmation to cement her decision.

While listening to her relationship woes, I thought of my own uncertainties about Roberta. Was I doing the same thing? Did I already know the answer but needed the time and distance to affirm it?

Walking on the Camino, Sandra and I watched for a village where we could find food and coffee. On most days, the villages, with a church in the center, were very easy to spot. However, on the flat Meseta, the villages are built into the few low areas along the plains. The first thing seen is still the nest-covered belfry, but there is little to no advance vision of the destination. Coming upon a village is like finding a hidden oasis in a desert depression.

After lunch, I parted ways with Sandra and continued my journey toward a city named Castrojeriz. A tremendously large and decaying structure loomed on a mountain above the city. The Visigoths originally built the fortified castle, which was later occupied by the Romans, Moors, and Christians. The area witnessed many battles, with the Christians becoming the final victors around the tenth century. It made me proud that a route built for conquering and stealing from enemies had transformed into a path for spiritual growth and international friendships.

I spent the second half of the day listening to my MP3 player. Not only did I enjoy the music, but it created a nice barrier to the relentless wind.

For an hour or two each day, a switch flipped in my head, indicating a need for tunes, usually at the most opportune time. For the entire trip, the first song of the day always seemed to be perfect for the moment. I never searched for a specific song, but did pass a few that did not jibe with my moods.

Often I would listen to the same song three or four times in a row. With a clear head and intense subconscious focus, I could hear fresh notes and extract new messages from the lyrics. My favorite lyric on this day came from U2’s
Walk On
: “All the baggage you can bring is all that you can’t leave behind.”

Each step carried me a bit further from the things I had left behind in my life. I walked away from a steady income, away from alcohol, away from co-dependency, and away from materialism. I was walking toward a simpler, less demanding, and more humane lifestyle.

Another tiny village named Itero de la Vega served as my final stop for the day. The albergue had a 6-Euro or 10-Euro option. I bucked up and found myself in a room with five beds on the floor (yippee…no bunks), sheets, blankets, and a shared bathroom. While this may not seem like much, it was sheer happiness. My roommates were all from France and our only ability to communicate was non-verbal. I did my laundry in a sink outside the room and firmly attached my clothes to the line. Normally, there is a risk that the clothes would not dry before nightfall. On this day, my fear was that they would blow off the line and fly to the moon. The wind dried them in record time.

While enjoying a warm drink in the village, I met a woman from Germany. Pilgrims frequently share stories of joy and adversity. Many are heartfelt and deal with deep emotions or physical struggles. I was a bit taken aback to hear that her biggest problem was not being able to buy stuff along the way. Her limitation was not financial; instead, the weight and bulk of items prevented the desired acquisitions. She dreamt of her arrival in Santiago so she could rack up some points on her credit cards. I thought it rather odd because most of us felt liberated to be living with few material possessions and looked forward to purging items upon our return home. It was a challenge, again, to suppress my judgment.

Letting go of judgment has been a lifelong, difficult endeavor for me. The Camino amplified my ability to discard this undesirable characteristic. At the albergue, holding onto judgment about the group sleeping arrangements would prevent me from a good night’s rest. Judgment of people would sabotage many friendships at the launch pad. As I walked, self-judgment was a load I did not want to carry. I especially wanted to avoid judgments about my relationship with Roberta.

Today was the 24th of the month, almost four years after our first amazing kiss. We celebrated that kiss on the 24th day of each and every month. We exchanged cards, delivered flowers, ate chocolate-covered cherry caramels from our favorite chocolate bar, sent flirty e-mails and naughty texts, had sexy dinners at romantic restaurants, and made passionate love. We missed a few due to travel or a nuclear feud, but for the most part, the 24th of each and every month was a special day to affirm our love.

Prior to leaving town for this trip, I had given Roberta a card with instructions not to open until the 24th. Inside, I had written about my hope that we could get our relationship plane leveled out with intent to continue the ascent. I had waited 44 years to meet this person and still felt she was well worth the long wait!

At the bar, I popped a few coins into the Internet terminal. My heart lifted when I saw a new e-mail from Roberta. Her one-sentence message gave me hope and doubt at the same time. “Happy Anniversary,” it read. “I love you.” It was good to read those words. But the terseness of her note disappointed me. It seemed to brush my card aside, pretending that nothing was wrong. I felt we were at a critical point. Even from this distance––or especially from this distance and experience––I wanted to share my life, her life, our lives together.

BOOK: A Million Steps
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