Camino of Santiago

Pilgrim Hostel, St Jean Pied de Port.

The human urge to travel, seek  inner truths, to explore the unknown, are traits as old as human kind. Why  do people embark on these journeys, I don't know. But this quest for some deeply hidden truth  lies deep within us. Over the years, I have often toyed with the idea to undertake this pilgrimage from St. Jean de Pied de Port to Santiago. A current film showing at the State in Hobart titled, "The Way" brought back many of these hidden desires and memories. In my less rational moments, I feel I should complete this walk on foot like a true pilgrim on foot, not experience the journey from a car, train or  bicycle as I have done along with many do others. My only semi-serious attempt to travel to Santiago was by car, bus and, I am ashamed to say very little walking. This pilgrimage was from Lisbon, Tomar, Braga, and on to Santiago Di Compostela. Now whether I have left it a little late is hard to say, to walk some 840kms in my mid seventy posses more than a few health and fitness problems. This is not the first time I have had this urge, a few years ago I spent several days in St. Jean de Port, a lovely little town in the foothills of the Pyrenees, before driving across northern Spain. It was the first time I became aware of this thousand year old pilgrimage undertaken continually over this vast span of time. St. Jean, with it's hilly cobble stoned streets seemed like an ideal training ground, it is all up hill from here over the mountains, until you arrive in Spain. This route is often called the French way, you could of course undertake the journey from anywhere, Paris, Granada or Berlin as many do, depending on how far you think you could walk. My first confrontation with pilgrims was in a church here in St Jean, where three potential walkers were singing hymns, staffs in hand with their scallop shells as symbols of  pilgrimage. Outside, I suddenly became aware of all the scallop shells everywhere, something I had not noticed on my arrival, they hung in the doorways of hostels, cafes, and official registration points for those wishing to undertake the duties of  the pilgrim.


What drives so many modern people [100.000 last year], to undertake what really is a religious experience I have no idea. Living as we do in what many would call a Post-Christian era, yet  vast number of walkers undertake this demanding hike over several weeks in search of some inner peace and truth. Interestingly, the characters in the film I recently saw, all gave different reasons, one to lose weight, something he badly needed to do, another wanted to give up smoking, while a third wished to write a book about his experience. The star of the film, Martin Sheen had had no intention of undertaking the Camino at all when he arrived, he was in St. Jean to collect the ashes of his son, who had meet his end a few days early, while only a few days into his journey. There was no one cast undertaking the pilgrimage for spiritual reasons. Various people I have spoken to over the years, who have walked the Camino, claim that less than half undertake this journey for any  religious purpose.The vast majority do it for their health, the experience, to circuit break some unsatisfactory period in life, or simply are addicted to long walks and a love of nature. Pilgrimages, Crusades, the voyages of Odysseus, searches in general are all part of being human, personifying the truth that the journey is what is important in life. Personally, I feel there must also be some hidden reason buried deep inside every one's psychic, some guilt or desire to right some perceived wrong in the past. It is possible that the rational self has rejected religious belief, while at the same time feel that life must have a meaning beyond  day to day existence. A young Japanese couple I spoke to in Santiago, who had walked all the way from Paris to Santiago, were Buddhist, yet felt that such a pilgrimage was within their religious belief. Many pilgrims claim that the experience changed their view of life, but often seem  unable to tell  why.


One thing I did find disturbing was the lack of any genuine religious atmosphere in Santiago. It was not what I had expected, like Rome and many other religious centres the city appeared to  have scummed to greed. The cathedral itself is surrounded by tourist shops of all kinds, attempting to maximise their profits at the pilgrims expense. The simple scallop shell, symbol of St. James stands in marked contrast to the gold and silver ones in the shops surrounding this shrine. But it was my experience inside the Cathedral itself that provided the greatest shock. Behind the high alter there is a narrow stair way leading up to a small room, that I assumed held the bones of St James. No sooner had I mounted the staircase, than a rather sinister figure emerged from the gloom. Dressed in purple, with a skull cay planted on his gaunt head, clutching a ornate box that he trust under my nose requesting a donation for St James. His long tapered fingers clutched a box, his rather disconcerting appearance gave me quite a shock,  I had not expected to be waylaid in such a manner.This churchman had all the qualities of the hunchback of Notre Dame, it was almost as if I had emerged into the middle-ages. I was so shocked by his appearance that I turned and fled back down the stairs. His appearance haunted me for the rest of the day. I felt I had walked into the middle of a Hieronymus Bosch painting with their visions of hell.


What ever the reason modern pilgrims undertake this walk, it most certainly was not to meet this churchman. What ever the reason most people undertaken the camino to Santiago, all seem to agree it changed their view about what is important in life. The facilities on route are basic, there is no place for pretence, the walk becomes an obligation to reach Santiago at any price, and pay whatever homage you may want to make to the tens of thousands who have gone before. I am no Steven Hawkins, nor particularly religious, but nor can I put behind me the childhood experience of a religious education. This experience was more about memory, it's fears, the distaste of having to kiss dead nuns at the end of their funeral, the hours I was compelled to knell for hours on end in chapel, Hours I was required to spend praying, the long retreats and constant religious services Religious instruction and church services of one kind or another, often took up two to three hours ever day, seven days a week.. I felt that by visiting Santiago, I could expel some of this weight that I have been carrying around all these years. In this sense, this churchman sitting in the dark, next to the bones of St. James worked wonders, and I am very grateful.