fresh air

One of the most amazing benefits of walking the Camino is the opportunity to spend at least 8 hours a day outside in the fresh air. In rain and sun. Snow and wind. Mountains and vineyards. Small towns and on city streets. 

For many of us we haven't taken this kind of time to "play outside" since we were kids. (It's no wonder I first got the idea to walk across Spain when I was working in an office, 40+ hours a week.)

But lucky for me I now have a life, a "schedule", that allows me to enjoy the fresh air. To sit in the sun with my dog. Stand outside and talk to the neighbors. Dig in the dirt and plant vegetables with my dad. Let the fresh air come in through the screen doors to fill the house with air worth breathing.

I feel for those who walked with me, whose lifestyle doesn't ordinarily allow for these long hours outdoors, and hope they are able to find some way to make time for fresh air. Because I can't imagine what it would be like to walk across Spain and then have to go back to an office.

Days 59 & 60

Days 59 & 60: Finisterre

Arriving in Santiago comes with a whole to-do list.

After a couple hours of sleep (3-4.5 has been standard for me the last month), we went first to the pilgrims office to receive our certificates of completion. Then, despite having eaten a 3 a.m. salami and cheese sandwich, found ourselves tremendously hungry. After our first breakfast we then went to the backpack holding area to leave our packs. Feeling entirely out of place without the rest of ourselves. But a little more free at the same time. We had a quick brunch then went to mass to see the swinging of the botafumeiro. Along with a thousand or so other people. Making it feel a bit more like a production than a religious experience.

Following mass we went to the post office to pick up my computer which I had shipped here on Easter Monday, dropped it off at the baggage area, did some shopping, then made our way back to the cafe. Where we had an array of good eats, from cheeses to mushrooms to octopus.

All of these tasks, combined with the crowds of people, left us weary. Not to mention we weren't used to staying in one town for a whole day without being hurt or sick. We wrestled with whether we needed to sit with our discomfort, or move on.

When we ran into the man from Venice, who had helped me cross streams, he said we needed to walk to Finisterre. Another 87 kilometers away. In order to give every bit of ourselves to the journey.

Since that conversation, both Viktor and I had been wrestling with how to make this happen. How much we still had to give. And if Finisterre had anything to do with our lack of emotional attachment to Santiago.

Before chewing our last bites of octopus, we decided to go to the ends of the earth (finis = end; terre = land).

But not on foot.

At least not entirely.

So, without so much as a change of clothes, we hopped in a taxi and headed the rest of the way west. To kilometer 0.00. Walked the rocky path as far out into the ends of the earth as we dared. To watch the sun set over the water. And burn our boots.

"I'm not striving for anything to make me happy any more," Viktor said. "I'm full."

"Me too," I said. "This, the water and the sun going down and the ritual of burning old hurts and empty spaces, was what I needed. My Camino is complete."

All around us people cheered for the setting sun. The end of the day. The journey. The love burning inside us.

Then we went out for pizza.

And because every ending is a new beginning, we slept one last night in an albergue and got up early to watch the sun rise over the trees and the water. Ushering in whatever journey comes next...

patience in listening

Yesterday I was on the treadmill watching the History channel (Did you know that Zachary Taylor died of cholera? Weren't we just talking about cholera? Zach was a president by the way.) when Mr. P walked into the weight room.

My heart sank a little bit.

You see, I love Mr. P.

And Mr. P loves me.

But Mr. P and I have very different philosophies about the gym.

Mr. P's philosophy is 'if you can't socialize at the gym what is the point'. Whereas my philosophy is 'why would I want to make friends when I'm all sweaty and so are you'.

I was just hitting my stride on the treadmill when Mr. P told me I was "going nowhere fast", followed by the same repertoire of jokes, family stories, and life's accomplishments he regales me with each and every time we meet.

They are great stories. Mr. P has had an amazing life and has incredibly talented children to show for it. But I just wish he could remember a new story every now and again.

There is no escaping Mr. P once he gets started. So I Walked With Mr. P and his stories and did my best to smile and look as interested as I had the first time I'd heard them.

And that's when Mr. P changed the game.

Out of nowhere he broke into song. Song! A good morning song about the sun shining down on a magnificent girl named Katie.

Which made me smile a real smile. Perhaps my first of the day.

All because an 80-year-old guy found something new to say. Which I would have missed if I hadn't let him tell me all his same stories and all his same jokes.


There are many times when I am quiet, many times when I don't want to write or talk or preach, because I fear I have nothing new to say. But maybe that is normal. Maybe I'm just warming up to something new to say...to anyone who has the patience to really listen.