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 (6 page)

BOOK: A Million Steps
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Unfortunately, while enjoying the view, I witnessed many pilgrims arriving at the front door with a look of relief for completing the day. Little did they know that the hostel had no additional beds. They were given an option to sleep outside or walk another eight kilometers to the next village. It was sad to see strangers turned away, but it was downright painful to see Olivier and Peter denied entrance. They both made lemonade from lemons and prepared to sleep under the stars. The people who ran the hostel did their best to provide the “under the stars” group with padding and blankets.

For a small fee, the albergue provided a group dinner and breakfast at three large tables in a quaint room with open windows. This was a new experience and only happened two more times down the road. Volunteers from Holland ran the facility and were one week into their two-week commitment. Thanks to their generous labors, we all enjoyed a nice meal of mixed greens, lentil soup, spaghetti with vegetables, and apple cobbler. I sat between Ella and Joyce.

At the end of the evening, I received another priceless gift from a new friend. Joyce told me to open my hand. She took an inch-long yellow arrow pin from her hat, and placed it in my palm.

Day 5

Arrows and Signs

The yellow arrow hatpin is another symbol of the Camino. It represents the yellow arrows that are written on stones, walls, and streets to mark the pilgrimage route. These beauties also appear on trees, concrete, rocks, signs, telephone poles, buildings, bridges, and other surfaces. In the darkness of the morning, I found significant comfort in this shining marker.

Three other symbols help direct Camino pilgrims. In some cities, scallop shells complement the arrows. Some of these are metal that rise above the ground and others are etched into the concrete. The third is a cairn-type marker, usually about three feet high with a scallop shell etching. The last is a simple red line below a white line, which signifies the Camino Francés.

The actual trail presents itself in many forms. Most commonly it is a hard-packed dirt path about 10-15 feet wide. At times it is an actual road shared with cars. In the cities, it is often made of cobblestone. Sometimes it is solid rock and sometimes soggy mud. The single-person-wide stretches gave me the most energy. My body felt an extra connection to the millions who walked in the exact same track.

As I walked the Way, I learned to follow the physical arrows and signs as well as the directions of my head and heart. Just as there are signs everywhere on the Camino, there are signs everywhere in life, pointing the way forward. I believe the main reason we miss life’s signs is we are not open to seeing them or too busy to notice. Once we start to see them, as I finally did after the death of my father from alcoholism, the ultimate key to success is having a confident inner faith to trust and obey the direction.

I remain amazed that I could walk nearly 500 miles with total trust and faith in little and big yellow arrows that were placed by the good people who volunteer time to mark and maintain the trail. I lost the Camino just two times in 28 days. I am equally astonished at how quickly my heart notified my brain that this was the wrong road. Throughout my life the signs have always been present, but their brightness was dulled by the day-to-day routines that consume our lives.

I woke up early on the fifth day, said goodbye to my new friends, and headed out the front door wearing my Tilley hat with its yellow arrow pin. It was dark, and my headlamp was required to prevent a belly flop on the trail. Outside the front door, I could hear a symphony of snoring. About 15 people slept in a tiny playground under the stars. I found Peter and Olivier and, once again, said goodbye. I was sure it was for real this time!

I liked to start early for many reasons. The predawn walks were peaceful and very quiet. I always anticipated with pleasure the soothing warmth and gorgeous color that accompanied each sunrise. The cool early-morning walks contrasted with the heat of autumn afternoons, which could scorch a person.

On this day, I was grateful for the early-morning privacy to take care of a pressing physical need. I am usually an extremely “regular” person when it comes to my bathroom schedule. But since arriving in Europe five days earlier, I had been unable to poop. I was very uncomfortable and a little alarmed. I had been eating plenty…but nothing was coming out! Finally on this solitary morning, the time came, and although my only option was a hole dug near a vineyard, I was very happy. (Enough said about this topic.)

I walked alone most of the time. I spent the rest of my day with the random people who intersected my life on the Camino. Some pilgrims tended to stay in small groups and chose to make the walk more of a group effort. I truly enjoyed the solitude that allowed my mind to wander into many territories. I thought about my dad and his endless battles with vodka. I thought about my mom and how much I enjoy her company. I thought about my girlfriend Roberta and our future. Would I be a different person after this trip, or would I return to the same daily habits?

I spent about a quarter of my alone time listening to music. Six hundred of my favorite songs resided on my Sansa Clip MP3 player. No rhyme or reason prompted when I started or stopped the tunes. I just turned them on when it felt appropriate and terminated when it was time. As my appreciation for everything increased on the Camino, the music began to sound quite a bit better than it did back home.

My first new companions of the day were a mother and son combination from Italy. Massimo (38) and Mom (69) were special to me, and our paths would cross many times down the road.

At some point in the day while walking alone, I saw Massimo and Mom ahead of me. At the same time, I was listening to a song,
Better Than Me
, by Hinder. Without any warning, I started the first spontaneous cry of my entire life. It was odd to be walking down this beautiful road, enjoying music, loving the sunshine, and weeping.

It took me several days to figure out where that cry came from. The song by Hinder told of a man reminiscing about the good times shared with his former lover. “I told myself I won’t miss you, But I remembered what it feels like beside you.” It wasn’t just that I was missing Roberta. I was worrying that the love of my life would no longer be the love of my life upon my return.

Until I quit drinking at age 37, alcohol kept me a teenager, especially with women. I had a very active sex life and a very empty relationship life. I had two significant relationships, each one lasting for a two-year period. Both of them were really just tolerant drinking pals. In retrospect, it is impossible to have a meaningful relationship with anyone when Coors Light steals the primary focus.

All that changed with Roberta, although our relationship began slowly. The first time I saw her, I was totally taken by her Sophia Loren looks. We had lunch a few weeks later, but without sparks. We went our separate ways. Then, four years later, our paths crossed and we decided to have lunch again. Her beauty had deepened during the absence. Her quiet warmth entranced me. That first lunch led to another lunch that led to a date to see
Slumdog Millionaire
on Christmas Eve afternoon.

During the movie, I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. The slightest touch of her forearm was electrifying. Cupid aimed his pointy little arrow and was on the verge of firing. After the show, I walked her to the car. We kissed. And holy shit!

It was unlike any other kiss of my entire life. It was completely relaxed, beyond natural, and extremely sensual. It took 500% of my current and all of my future self-discipline to end the date on that kiss. I was delirious on the drive home.

The romance progressed at a rapid pace, and we were soon completely head over heels in love. We began one of our many traditions by celebrating that kiss on the 24th day of each and every month. We enjoyed movies, theater, walks in the rain, crosswords, cribbage, gardening, cooking, and just being alone. More than her external beauty, I love Roberta for her loyalty, her care and concern for others, and her humility about her talents. She was my best friend and we lived in our own special world.

At the end of February 2009, I took my annual month-long trip to Palm Springs. Roberta planned to come down for two long weekends. This was our first time apart and it was painful! I ate through all of my 1,500 cell-phone minutes in the first two weeks. I could not change my plan, so I bought another phone that served as the Roberta hotline for the remainder of the trip. When she finally arrived, it was an airport scene from the movies. I had a white rose in my hand as she came through security with her carry-on bag. We dropped everything, ran toward each other, and kissed like it was the first time.

Together we planned our next vacation to New York City for Labor Day. We saw
Wicked
on Broadway, took a boat to Ellis Island, viewed the city from Rockefeller Center, heard a gospel choir in a Harlem church, and even made love in Central Park. One of my favorite moments was watching Roberta gasp for air when she saw Vincent van Gogh’s
Starry Night
at the Museum of Modern Art. I have taken a lot of trips, but without question, I enjoyed this vacation more than any other to date.

During our second year we broached the idea of marriage. At this point, we did not live together but were inseparable on the weekends. I had never been so sure about anything in my entire life. For me, it was not a matter of
if
, but simply a question of
when
. I was living the dream with my best friend and lover. There were a few bumps along the road, but nothing capable of sending the vehicle crashing down a ravine.

Neither of us had been married nor had children. So we visited several times with a counselor to avoid complications associated with “merging two movies that were currently in production.” Roberta had some concerns (such as my snoring), which we addressed. We took it slow. We felt no rush to exchange vows.

We instigated a new tradition of having a date day on each weekend. For the majority of that year, we took turns designing a unique day. Some were elaborate and expensive getaways to mountain resorts like Sun Valley, Idaho, but most were simple activities such as a picnic lunch at the zoo followed by a paddle-boat ride on a pond. These are the memories that last forever.

Without notice, things took a dramatic turn. I am still not sure what happened, but at the beginning of the fourth year, Roberta began to withdraw from our relationship. Our magic weekends turned into not-so-magic Saturday nights. The date days ended, our romantic trips ended, and her interest in most activities faded. She began spending more time alone at her house. Several times I asked if she wanted to separate, but she always told me that I was the best thing that ever happened to her and losing me was unfathomable.

For her birthday in July, I arranged a surprise and romantic trip to Portland, Oregon. Her lack of enthusiasm began to haunt me. In the six weeks that followed, I decided to walk the Camino and made all arrangements for the trip. It wasn’t unusual for me to go on outdoor adventures without Roberta—she preferred joining me for other, less physical trips with the limited vacation time she had from work. She had given me the Paulo Coelho book,
Pilgrimage
, the Christmas before and encouraged me to go on my own solo journey.

Now I walked in sorrow, fearing a final breakup. The signs were discouraging. But I was still hopeful that we could avoid the unneeded death of our love.

After my first Camino cry, I realized that the Hinder song lyrics, paired with Massimo and Mom walking in front of me, also reminded me of my 76-year-old mother.

One of the first things that occurred after I quit drinking was a blossoming relationship with my mother. I have always adored her, but the passing of my father removed a big barrier.

For many years, my mother, stepfather, sister, various friends, and I had taken a family spring break trip to Palm Springs in California. After my early retirement from a large technology firm, this trip morphed into an annual mecca lasting five to six weeks. At first I thought it was a bit odd to be taking such a long vacation with my mom. But then I changed my view of this excursion and began to celebrate my luck at being able to spend such a long time with this lovely person. When you lose a parent, there is a natural tendency to appreciate the survivor. Our bond is healthy and strong. The annual trip has become one of my favorite times of the year. I will miss it when my mother is gone.

Given my girlfriend trouble and my mom’s inevitable mortality, I realized that the two most important female relationships in my life could end at any time.

I arrived in Viana, my final destination for day five on the Camino. Sporting a population of 3,600, this city is quite a bit larger than most of the previous villages.

Upon arrival, I decided to stay at the Albergue Andrés Muñoz. Like every lodging experience, you never know what will happen until you open the wrapper. Originally a monastery, the building had been converted to housing for pilgrims. I found my bunk and was surprised to see that the beds were triple deckers. All bunks on the Camino were two high, but three was quite a sight. Each room held three sets of these structures for a total of nine beds per room. The entire hostel housed 54 people.

My perspective on everything was in a constant state of flux on this trip. Before arriving in Spain, I was sure that sleeping in bunk beds with strangers would be difficult. I envisioned insomnia, rolling off the edge, and difficulty falling asleep. With just a few days under my belt, I saw things with a different light. Here I was in a room full of bunk-bed skyscrapers, but focused only on the positive elements of my specific bed—bottom bunk, against the wall, with no foot barrier!

I also felt some advancement in my Camino “age.” Now that I was an expert on packing my bag, staying in albergues, making some miles, finding new friends, and speaking a little Spanish, I was like a teenager. I thought I knew everything!

After unpacking and showering, I went back to the lobby to send my daily e-mail to friends and family. Most albergues provided computer terminals for a nominal fee. Before my fingertips hit the keyboard, I felt a knock on my shoulder. My head twisted toward the tap to see Massimo’s smiling face. We shared a good laugh as he settled into the chair next to me. After about 30 minutes, I ran into my detective friend Peter on the stairs.

BOOK: A Million Steps
8.56Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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