By EVA NICHOLS | Moonshine Ink
I was in the Copenhagen Airport, flying back to California after a visit to my native country of Denmark, when a book caught my eye: “A Woman’s Journey” by Swedish author Agneta Sjödin. I read the inside cover: “A woman’s journey is about the strength we all have inside us, it’s about a woman who dares seek it.” Bingo! That’s what I needed. I was 55 years old and going through a divorce. It was time to rethink what I wanted to do with the next phase of my life. I needed to get away, to slow down. I needed time to clear my head and listen to my inner voice. I read on: “A wise man told her to walk the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela in Spain.”
I felt that particular pang I always get when fate hits me over the head. The previous year I had visited my daughter while she was living in Biarritz, France. One of the places she took me to was a small village in the Pyrenees, St. Jean Pied de Port, where I saw people milling around with walking sticks and backpacks. My daughter said they were pilgrims walking the Camino de Santiago, a 500-mile pilgrimage route to the burial site of St. James in northwest Spain.
At the time, I looked at the pilgrimage route with mild curiosity, but soon forgot about it. Now the Camino spoke to me in a different way. I knew I had to read the book. Before I landed in San Francisco, I had made up my mind — I was going to walk the Camino de Santiago de Compostela.
Legend holds that St. James’ remains were carried by boat from Jerusalem to northern Spain, where he was buried on the site of what is now the city of Santiago de Compostela (Compostela mean “field of stars” in Spanish. Legend has it that the dust raised by the pilgrams’ boots created the Milky Way.) Before long, pilgrims came flocking from all over Europe. The pilgrimage reached its heyday in the 12th century, and though its had its ups and downs since then, it has never been entirely forgotten.
In the early 1980s, Don Elias Valina Sampedro, a parish priest in O’Cebreiro, Spain, started marking the Camino with yellow arrows. He painted the arrows on rocks, trees, or pavement. In many places the symbol of the scallop has been added as markers, as well. According to legend, when the body of St. James was retrieved from the ocean it was wrapped in seaweeds adorned with scallops. Thus the scallop has become a symbol for the Camino de Santiago, and many pilgrims have a scallop hanging on their backpack.
The popularity of the Camino has grown during the past half century. In 1972, six pilgrims were recorded as finishing the journey. In 2009, 145,877 pilgrims from all over the world completed it.
On the first day of September 2009, I found myself in St. Jean Pied de Port heading for the Pilgrim’s Office to get my Pilgrim Passport. This would serve as proof that I was walking on foot, and would allow me to stay at the inexpensive Pilgrim’s Hostels. Most bars, churches, and all the Pilgrim’s Hostels along the Camino stamp pilgrims’ passports upon arrival. At the Pilgrim’s Office I also bought a scallop shell for my backpack.
By day four I had gotten into the rhythm of the Camino. I slept quite well in the crowded rooms full of bunk beds with snoring pilgrims. However, my knees hurt. The steep descents from the Pyrenees had taken their toll. As I pushed on toward the village of Zubiri in Spain, I had to make many rest stops. A tall, blond man in his early thirties and I took turns passing each other, lamenting our sore knees.
Finally, I reached Zubiri. It was late afternoon and I had walked about 12 taxing miles. My fellow pilgrim with the sore knees introduced himself as Dieter from Germany, and we walked over to the Pilgrim’s Hostel to get a bed. We were directed to the gym full of tired pilgrims, but there were no mattresses left. I was so exhausted I laid on the concrete floor on my sleeping bag, resting my head on my backpack.
A short while later Dieter came back with two big cardboard boxes. He handed me one. The kindness of this simple gesture brought tears to my eyes. He was just as exhausted as I. The cardboard was surprisingly comfortable, blocking the chill of the concrete.
Days and miles passed. I walked through Pamplona, the first major city along the route, and on through the famous wine region of La Rioja where, as rain poured down, spots of infamous red Rioja clay clung to my boots like leeches.
I finally reached the high plains area called the Meseta. It is blistering hot in the summer and freezing in the winter. The villages here are few and far between. It was a relief to finally reach the spectacular city of Leon. It is a bustling city of about 140,000, with ancient and modern architecture straddling the banks of the Río Barnesega. There I spent the night at a Benedictian monastery in the medieval part of the city. From there the landscape changed again. My eyes feasted on the lush landscape of Galicia when I finally hiked up yet another mountain to the hilltop village of O’Cebreiro.
With 100 miles left of my pilgrimage, I stopped by the statue of Don Elias, whose yellow arrows had guided me and thousands of other pilgrims. I sent up a little “thank you” to him.
The next day the rain was pouring down as I entered Santiago. I had walked 500 miles! It is hard to describe the feelings I had. Jubilation. Sadness. Humility. I knew that without the encouragement and kindness of my fellow pilgrims, I would not have made it.
As I slowly walked up the steps to the entrance of the cathedral, I ran into several pilgrims I had met along the way. It seemed like a miracle that we actually met again, each having walked at our own pace.
It took me exactly 50 days to complete the Way of St. James. It had brought me the clarity I had been searching for — I realized I wanted to pursue my dreams of becoming a full-time artist and instructor. It was my true calling, and I would be able to obtain it if I was willing to sacrifice some creature comforts and put all my heart and soul into it, just like I had been able to reach Santiago, one step at a time. Whenever I get discouraged, I think back to those golden moments on the Camino where I knew with absolute certainty that that was my path in life. Those yellow arrows are still guiding me.
~ Eva Nichols has a solo show based on her “Detour to Tahoe” at the North Tahoe Art Center in Tahoe City from March 13 to April 29 (see DiStill Life column about travel journaling here). There will be an artist’s reception on April 12, 5 to 7 p.m. beautyonlocation.com Comment on this column below.
