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Illustration by Alex Deadman-Wylie
My daughter and I are at two very different stages in our lives. She’s recently started getting on her professional feet. I’m months away from becoming a senior citizen. When I received a call from the federal government to let me know it was time to apply for Old Age Security, it was less like a hard pill to swallow and more like downing the entire bottle. How did I get this old?
I’ve known about the Camino for years, but the pull to walk the trail didn’t seize me until I received that phone call. The Camino de Santiago, or Way of St. James, is a network of walking routes that converge in Santiago de Compostela, Spain, where the remains of Saint James the Apostle are believed to rest.
I asked my daughter whether she would join me. To my delight, she said yes. We checked our calendars and agreed October worked best. We looked at route options and decided on the lesser-known Senda Litoral route. Its promise of oceanside views and fewer people appealed to us both.
Our Camino started in northwest Portugal in the beautiful city of Porto, which welcomed us with cobblestone streets, stunning tiled buildings and river views. The next morning we found the first of many yellow arrows that mark the trail. That first day we walked over cobblestones, concrete, sand and pebbles, and along a boardwalk, a dirt road and even a running track. By the trip’s end, we would add an impromptu river (because of Hurricane Kirk), the edge of a farmer’s field (because we got a bit off course), and a Roman road (because we were walking in Europe) to the list of surfaces.
The skies wept as we walked for the first few days. Each night we arrived at our accommodations soaked to the bone. The third night, after walking across a 562-metre bridge while clinging to its handrail because of strong winds, we entered Biano, Portugal. Once safely tucked in our room, with wet clothes strung everywhere, my daughter smiled at me and said, “You know mom, some moms take their daughters on trips to resorts, sit on the beach and drink cocktails.”
I laughed. “Aren’t you lucky I’m not that kind of mom.”
We continued along the coastline, the ocean on our left and our goal to the northeast. I was surprised at how little we spoke and how comfortable that felt. There is something exquisite about walking in silence with nothing but the sound of waves and wind humming a soothing tune in the background.
At first, I worried the pace was too slow for my daughter. After questioning her about it once too often, she said I could stop asking. “The pace is fine.” I didn’t ask again.
As the days passed, the Camino took its toll. My left knee called out on occasion, and regardless of how I adjusted my pack it grew knuckles that dug into my shoulders by day’s end. There were moments of frustration, my worst being late one afternoon when a podcast wouldn’t load after hours of heavy rain dripping down my body and into my shoes. For my daughter, who is celiac, it was trying to find a restaurant that served gluten-free food after our longest day of walking in the rain. There were many moments of lightness, too. Most days found one of us doubled over in laughter.
After the fifth day, the skies cleared. There were still showers but nothing like the heavy rains we’d experienced. On our 12th day, we finally entered the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela’s courtyard. We’d walked more than 270 kilometres and now stood surrounded by pilgrims from all over the world. I hugged my daughter, closed my eyes and turned my face toward the sun. We’d made it!
Looking back, one symbolic moment occurred while climbing a daunting uphill. My daughter asked me a few times whether I wanted to rest. I said, “Let’s stop at the top.” Eventually we reached a plateau, and I asked whether we had further to climb.
“I hate to tell you this, but we’re here.” She pointed to a red dot on her screen. We were only beginning our ascent. After a short rest and walking 100 metres on level terrain my daughter checked again, then burst into laughter. “I forgot to turn my data on.” We had crested the hill and were on our descent. This moment encapsulated our journey.
Before leaving for Portugal someone said to me, “You walk the Camino like you live your life. Buen Camino.” For me, the Camino was not about the destination but small, personal challenges and triumphs along the way. Sometimes you believe you’re in for a long, hard climb to find you’re already on the downside. Sometimes you’re out for a pleasant walk and you find yourself on the edge of a hurricane. And sometimes you walk through sun and rain, over smooth paths and rough terrain all within an hour.
We met many people along the Camino, and everyone had their reason for making this journey. What was mine? Walking the Camino gave me – and my daughter – the gift of time and shared memories that will last forever. And it gave me confidence to keep pushing myself to try new experiences in this lifetime. Buen Camino. Buen life.
Sylvia Davies lives in Ottawa.
