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 (16 page)

BOOK: A Million Steps
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Day 21

Ascents

I woke up 185 kilometers from Santiago and looked forward to my 21st day of walking the Camino. I was prepared for a total accrued ascent for the day of 3,600 vertical feet, concentrated on two large hills that covered about eight miles. The first hill was optional, and my macho genes did not allow me to take the easier path.

In the darkness, I began to climb a very steep hill. About five minutes later, an older man passed me walking in the opposite direction. He complained about the difficulty of making the climb. I shrugged off his concerns and blamed it on his age. About five minutes later, my body heat was high and my breath was short when I saw another gaggle of people making their way back down the hill. One of them was my South African friend Melinda. She told me that it was just too much for her, but that Annette had decided to continue. It was only a 1,000-foot climb, but the angle was truly a challenge. Seeing more young people aborting the mission left me with some doubt. Still, I was convinced that there must be some relief as this rigid angle could not last forever.

With a bit of light from the pending sunrise, I could see the trail as it wound up the mountain. My friend Annette and another couple appeared committed to the climb. I peered back over my shoulder many times to see the lights from the village and an array of mountains that spread in all four directions. After quite a bit of labor, the climb became manageable and the scenery wonderful.

The Romans believed that Finisterre, on the western coast of Spain, was the end of the world and buried nobles there as a badge of honor. With equal conviction, I found the top of the world on this hill. As I approached the summit, the sunrise began to provide a radiance that was simply magical. In every direction, mountain ridgelines receded in silhouette. The pines and rocks were visible on the first ridge, the second had a hint of brown, the third was the darkest. They became a progressively lighter shade of gray until meeting the distant horizon. The entire scene changed with each minute as the sun began to shine light over the entire area. As the sun broke above the horizon, the sky above the most distant mountains became a canvas of orange, yellow, and blue.

At the bottom of the hill on the other side, I found a small bar that was serving food. I felt like I was on some type of wonder drug as I walked through the entrance. My body and soul were truly quenched and glowing from the morning’s hike. I ate tortilla de patatas and my first Tarta de Santiago, an almond cake with a powdered sugar imprint of the Cross of Saint James on top. The cake was another reminder of the Camino’s long history. The traditional recipe dated back to the Middle Ages.

Below the deck, about 10 local villagers harvested potatoes in a large community garden. A small orange tractor, driven by an aging man wearing a short-brim hat, turned the ground. The only woman wore a blue dress that hung well below the knees. Together, they filled 18 large white sacks with fresh tubers. It struck me as very odd that I had never seen potatoes harvested before. After 48 years of living in Idaho, I witnessed my first earthborn spud in Trabadelo, Spain.

After recharging my body with some rest and food, I returned to the Camino. I knew there was a decent amount of flat ground before the next large ascent to O’Cebreiro. For the next several hours, I walked and enjoyed the sounds of birds serenading from above, cowbells clanking on the left, sheep bells on the right, and water rolling over rocks in the creek that crisscrossed the path. Something had changed inside of me. On a daily basis, I experienced frequent overwhelming episodes of appreciation.

Clear blue skies and perfect temperatures welcomed me to a region named Galicia. The Romans incorporated this area into the Empire in 19 BC. The countryside is very similar to the Celtic lands of Ireland with lush green foliage and epic mountains. Chronic and chaotic rainstorms feed the area’s maze of interconnected streams and rivers. One of my favorite things from the region is their Galician stew, made with beans, chorizo or ham, and vegetables. It provides warmth on cold, damp days when a thick blanket of fog rolls in.

The final climb of the day proved to be much more challenging than my expectations. For the first time on the entire Camino, I struggled to continue up the endless hill that plateaued in O’Cebreiro. During one rest stop, I had a stranger take my picture in front of a unique stone structure. When I reviewed the daily photos, that particular shot stood out because of the amount of sweat dripping from my bald head. When I finally reached the summit, I had another feeling of being on top of the world. How lucky I was to experience this twice in one day.

The first thing I saw in the new village was a large stone church with at least 200 red candles burning in a black rack at the front door. Originally built in the ninth century, this church is among the oldest on the Camino.

The village is about six blocks long, with the buildings along one lone road. The entire street and every building were crafted from the same large gray stones. Only 50 people live in this tiny town, but all kinds of trashy Camino de Santiago trinkets fill the stores. A highway passes through the area, which must make it a tourist destination.

The Albergue Xunta was a modern facility, operated by the regional government. Facilities like this one are common along this final stage of the Camino. I was not in the hostel for more than 10 minutes before seeing Mikkel, Jimmy, Tom, Fred, Annette, Melinda, Joan, and Zenira.

After completing my normal chores, I patrolled through the village on a mission to find ice cream. With a double caramel magnum bar in hand, I sat on a stone wall facing the same mountains I had conquered earlier in the day. I counted nine different mountain ranges that preceded the horizon. It was truly a sea of hilltops with each range displaying a different color. I sat there alone and appreciated the view in silence for at least an hour. I thought to myself, “Why did it take me 48 years and 355 miles of walking to take pleasure in an hour-long uninterrupted date with nature?”

I enjoyed dinner with Fred and Mikkel, and a new friend named Joshua from Australia. The restaurant had a wonderful rustic interior enhanced by the flickering light from a fireplace. When dessert came, Joshua was anxious to devour the flan. With a big smile, he explained that his palate was conducting a test for the top 10 flans of the Camino. This particular custard did not make a dent in the list, but he inhaled it anyway. I asked about other top 10 lists, and he immediately told me about the rooster crow list. I could not stop laughing as he puffed his chest and let loose his personal renditions of the best cock-a-doodle-do’s. After dinner, we walked back to the albergue accompanied by a sunset of mountain ridges that melted into layers of pink, orange, yellow, purple, and blue clouds.

Day 22

Welcome at Any Table

October 5, 2012 began early on a cool morning, at the top of the mountain, with a sunrise as spectacular as the previous night’s sunset. The day before I had walked up to this height, and this morning I would walk down.

Since my pace had slowed, I seemed to be traveling with the same band of people. The relationships had time to establish some depth. At the first break, I ran into Annette, Melinda, Joan, and Zenira.

Zenira was from Brazil and had a zest for life that I found completely contagious. She had such high spirits that when a hint of negativity entered her realm, she swatted it down before giving it a chance to launch and infect. This was a most admirable talent that came naturally to her. I am not even sure she was aware of this special power.

Annette and Melinda were two joyous women with smiles that could light up any room. After telling them about my miraculous shoe adventure, Melinda shared a similar story. Early in her trip, her shoes caused her a great amount of pain. After telling a stranger about the problem, he asked her shoe size. It turned out that he was ending his walk on that day and had no need for his boots. He offered them to Melinda. She tried to offer him compensation. The man told her that if she insisted on paying he would not part with the shoes, but would gladly tender them for free. They fit her perfectly, and she wore them for the rest of her Camino.

Joan was a non-conformist who had an unusual strategy for finishing her Camino pilgrimage. The majority of people who walk the Camino end the journey in Santiago. A few continue to Finisterre on the west coast of Spain. Joan was concerned that Santiago might be a commercial zone that would dampen her enthusiasm for the experience. To avoid the perceived contamination, she planned to bypass the city by bus then resume her walk to the Atlantic Coast. She had even arranged to stay at The Little Fox House, a post-Camino retreat center outside of Muxia. It provides a space to chill and process some of the journey before rushing back to the real world.

The final stop for this day was another small village named Triacastela. Upon arrival, the entire group reconvened for snacks in the warm sun. This was the end of the line for Joan as she was preparing to bus past Santiago. I had made a nice practice of letting go of Camino relationships, but this one was tough. We all said our emotional goodbyes and began our search for the night’s lodging.

I left with Zenira who was determined to stay at Albergue Zen. However, when we took a tour, the hostel did not match this grand Brazilian woman’s personality. She then found an albergue she liked, but it did not feel right for me. I finally lucked out and found a small and obscure facility that had four beds in each room. This was considered a prize on the Camino. As an extra bonus, there were no other people in my room.

Annette was also staying at my place, and she had a new friend from Australia named Courtney. Melinda had bedbug problems and decided to stay in a hotel where she could murder the little pests. To accomplish this feat, she planned to launder all her clothes at a very high water temperature. She would place all non-washable items in a plastic garbage bag to be left in the sun to heat the interior and fry the pests.

As I walked through town I saw some friends at an outdoor café. We decided to eat together. This soon turned into a delightful, big-group experience. As more and more people kept showing up, we pushed tables together to accommodate the overflow crowd. By the beginning of the first course, I sat with Alberto (Spain), Zenira (Brazil), Melinda (S. Africa), Annette (S. Africa), Mikkel (Denmark), Lou (Vermont), and Courtney (Australia).

On the Camino everyone was always welcome at any table. Each person was dealing with some type of nagging physical pain, yet the conversations were always positive and uplifting. I cannot imagine another setting where such a group could convene under similar and joyous circumstances.

By this point in my journey, I had met many diverse people from all walks of life who came to Spain from every corner of the world. It seemed to me that the Camino was an equalizer of all people. On the Way, people were not defined by their religion, age, occupation, or wealth. We all slept in the same room and nobody had a gold-plated backpack. Instead, we were defined by how we treated each other in the moment. The more time I spent with my new friends, the more I realized how similar we all are as human beings. Our problems with relationships, finances, health, and mortality are all universal, as are the common denominators that unlock our enjoyment of happiness. From the first step, we felt like a large family walking each other home.

A lyric from my music player stood out for me this day. In his song,
Unconditional Love
, Tupac Shakur expressed how I felt about my Camino companions. “(What y’all want?)
Unconditional Love
(no doubt). Talking ’bout the stuff that don’t wear off. It don’t fade. It’ll last for all these crazy days.”

BOOK: A Million Steps
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