Moving towards Oviedo

I remember my first Camino. We were in Hospital de Órbigo, sitting around with a lot of young people before their nightly yoga class. Everyone was talking about their feet. “How are your feet doing?” a handsome young man asked an equally beautiful young woman. “Oh, I’m having so many problems!” she replied in tears. “My middle-aged feet are doing fine,” I marveled silently to myself. So there it is - I’m terrible at golf, even worse at water skiing, basketball and tennis, but I can walk. I wend my way through Spain, connecting the dots across an entire country in the pursuit of a relic, an answer, a moment.

Why do we go on pilgrimages? Maybe there are questions that can only be answered in a different time zone, different country, different air. Your phone rings, the floors need vacuuming, a dog begs for a walk - a few of the many things that keep us from confronting the hollows in other parts of our day and heart. Perhaps we set out when thoughts that simmer under the surface gently bubble to the top, pop and release a bit of pressure. We keep the burner on low purposefully; if the flame is too high, there’s a chance we’ll be burnt by the ferocity of our questions. Yet when we begin to move across the land, the decisions we’ve planned to weigh and consider dissapate, and we’re left with moving one foot in front of the other. Suddenly, whether I sell my house and move the country, remarry or remain single, leave that job to focus on writing - it’s really not that important. What’s valuable now is to recognize my place in this long line of people, to keep moving forward.

Photo: Sam catching some shuteye as we make our way to Oviedo and his first Camino.