Why are you doing this Camino?

At the table in Villadangos, we are three Germans, two Singaporeans, one Russian, one Italian, one Dutch, one Brazillian, and myself. On other evenings I have met many Danes, Belgians and Australians, some Irish, Poles, Canadians and Koreans, and a few Americans. Officially, the greatest number of peregrinos come from Spain, followed by France, but I’ve had less conversation with them.

English is the lingua franca.  Only the French appear unable or perhaps unwilling to use the shared language.

Conversation always begins with “Where are you from,” followed by “Where did you begin your Camino?” “Where do you go today?””How are your feet?” However rudimentary the question and answer, the content seems the same: the expression of good will and camaraderie in a shared adventure. Friendships form with amazing rapidity. Albergue entrances are the scene of much hugging and happy reunions of Camino friends who were strangers only days ago.

In 1987 the European Community adopted the Camino as its first cultural route, in recognition of its unifying smbolism.  The icon, seen above as a way marker, represents both the scallop shell of Saint James and also the convergence of many paths to a single destination, the many roads to Santiago.  The symbolism served a Europe in need of unification, much as ‘E Pluribus Unum’ served our fledgling union.

Another question, “Why are you doing this Camino,” seems to differentiate southern Europeans from the rest of us.  The Spanish, in particular, act as if walking across their country is the most natural thing to do, just good exercise in the fresh air. The three young Spaniards at the table in St. Jean said, “I just got a job,” “I just got a promotion,” and “I just lost my job and need a new one.” In fact, any reason seems reason enough for the Spanish.

The significance attached to the act of pilgrimage seems proportional to the distance the pilgrim has come.  “I turned 60 in June, and I had to prove to myself that I still could do it,” Thomas from Denmark told me. “I’m homeless no more, and I have to give to God thanks,” Helge from Germany said.  “After I retired, I became invisible. I felt I was no longer a man,” Michael from South Africa confided in me, within an hour of our meeting. “I need to find something again, I don’t know what it is, inside myself.”

It seemed to me very strange, at first, to confide in strangers the reason for my Camino. “My wife died,” is not an easy thing to say, or an easy thing to hear. But in the spirit of sharing that is the Camino, it would seem even stranger not to say it. In return for that sharing, I have received simple acknowledgement, unexaggerated sympathy, and yes, actually, a bit of healing.