Behind the Albergue Door: Inspiration Agony Adventure on the Camino de Santiago

time.
    Trudging through the pouring rain next to a busy highway…by choice
    There were many moments, in many desolate and depressing locations, where rain pelted us remorselessly as though determined to both break our spirit and completely ruin our expensive hiking socks. And nearly all of those moments were more nauseating than Piranha 3D, or rancid yoghurt. But there was one stretch of time that really stands out in the annals of our misery. It was between Frómista and Carri ón de los Condes, and the rain was intense right from the start, seeming to gain strength throughout a long, depressing night in order to greet us at the door and heavily, almost viciously, dogging us relentlessly every step of the day.
    Ensconced in uncomfortable layers of so-called rain gear that were rapidly proving themselves far more water -“friendly” or water-“collective” than actually water-“proof”, and with my fleece gloves soaking up water like a really thirsty glove with an unquenchable thirst for rain water (or an Arab visiting Florida? Maybe that one is better), an unsuspecting outsider would probably have looked at us and said we were all sorts of negative things. Like angry, aggravated, depressed, long-suffering, catatonic, overly cautious when it came to non-prescription drugs. And that flippant outsider would have been right on the fucking money. And you know what the worst part was? The thing that really stretched our spirits to the limit? We didn’t have to be there! Nobody was making us! It wasn’t like we had some inspirational reason for doing this, or were pursuing some lifelong compulsion to prove our worthiness as pilgrims, or were fulfilling the dying wish of some bald kid (who obviously really sucks at picking wishes). So, in addition to our obvious physical discomfort, it was knowing that we chose to do this, and could change our minds at any point, but for some reason wouldn’t even consider it, that added a whole extra layer of confusion and emotional wonderment to the situation.
    Probably the main reason we were able to keep going was the fact that, in response to the previous awful day of rain, we had actually planned ahead and booked a hotel room. A real hotel, with a room to ourselves, with nobody sleeping just above our head, or sporadically brushing our feet with their damp towel, a heater that no one could stop us from fiddling with, and a shower all to ourselves which meant, presumably, that we wouldn’t have to wait for the slightly hard of hearing German suffering through a raging mid-life crisis to finish up, the whole time wondering, while fighting hard to not wonder, just what he was up to in there for fifteen minutes.



From the Mouths of Actual Pilgrims…
    Barry Brooks
    United States
    In 1999 I was working in Albuquerque, New Mexico. At Christmas our company had a gift exchange and one of my co -workers gave me a plate with my family crest he had found at a garage sale. I looked at the plate and thought it was odd that my family crest (Brooks) had three scallop shells. No lions, no charging knights wielding swords. At first I was a little disappointed, then I became curious as to the origin of the unexpectedly ferocious shells. I searched the web and soon found the story. It seems there was a pilgrimage in Spain called "The Way of St. James", or "Camino de Santiago", that ended in Santiago de Compostela and used a scallop shell as its symbol. I soon forgot about the Camino, though, and life went on. In 2004 I moved to Seattle, Washington and soon learned that it is home to the Cathedral of St. James and that the building itself is based upon the Cathedral of St. James in Santiago, Spain. I found a brochure about St. James and again became intrigued with the story and felt a stronger desire to explore this ancient pilgrimage. I told myself I was going to walk the "way" one day just as my ancestors did. The years went by but the idea never left, surfacing from time to time. Then in 2012 my stars aligned, so to speak, and I found myself with the time and means to undertake this journey. I had no idea what to expect or, to be honest, why I was doing this…? Mid-life crisis? A desire for one great adventure? Escape from the daily grind? All of these contributed, but to be honest I somehow felt compelled. I had to do this! What a wonderful, magical and spiritual experience it became. Like any adventure or journey of this nature which involves physical and emotional endurance, you