Anyone for Octopus?
Author:
Patricia Barker
In September, I took two weeks to do something I have promised myself for the past twenty years. I walked a 200-mile section of the Camino Santiago, the ancient pilgrimage in Northern Spain that culminates in Santiago Compostela. I went with five other middle-aged, middle-class professional women all with varying reasons for tackling this arduous challenge. To any casual observer as we set off at Dublin Airport, we had all the external appearances of Menopause on Tour. However, the reality was a tough bunch of well-trained, lean and mean walking machines. In preparation, we had had several hikes in Wicklow, Dublin and in the West of Ireland - all preceded by yummie dinners with buckets of Spanish wine and lots of practice saying ‘Hola’ and ‘thinko otros binos tintos, per favor’.
The Camino de Santiago (the Way of St. James) originated as a medieval pilgrimage from France to Santiago Compostela to reach the tomb of St. James. 2004 is a Holy Year, when the feast of St. James falls on a Sunday and we were promised a Plenary Indulgence for walking at least the last 100 km into Santiago, provided we walked through the Holy Gate and embraced St. James in the Cathedral once we got there. This Plenary Indulgence fascinated me. It conjured up images of a communal Jacuzzi in plenary session, in which we could indulge ourselves and relax together in the bliss of warm water after the rigours of the long walk - and all we had to do was shimmy through a small gate and hug a gilt statue! However, the pamphlet handed to me by a rather earnest looking woman as we started off in Leon informed me that a Plenary Indulgence is a “total amnesty of the temporal punishment due for sins, the guilt of which has already been forgiven, granted by the Church which, as the minister of redemption, authoritatively dispenses and applies the treasury of the merits of Christ and the Saints”. This sounded a bit heavy and much less attractive than the Jacuzzi, so I decided to concentrate on the personal reflection that the Camino offers rather than the formal reward.
We walked every day for 20 miles or so, starting as soon as the sun crept up. We had to carry all our own gear, which meant a restriction to 10% of body weight. In my case, this limited me to 5 kg, including my rucksack, sleeping bag, sleeping mat, clothes, trekking sandals, rain gear, camera, hat, water bottle, first aid kit, maps, book, wash kit and stick. I need never worry about Michael O’Leary and his baggage limit ever again! I discovered that it is possible to travel for a fortnight without my anti-wrinkle cream, little black frock, fifteen tops, three pairs of trousers, five jackets, bikini-line waxing kit, four pairs of shoes, electric kettle, Barry’s Tea Bags and the bathroom sink. We pared everything down to the barest minimum. Toothbrush handles were sawn off, camping towels were cut in half to the size of a large handkerchief, no bras were worn and T-shirts were worn one day and the next were washed and pegged to the back of the rucksacks to dry in the sun as we walked.
For lunch we bought bread, cheese, fruit and chocolate and drank gallons of water. In the evening, we stayed in the Refugios (pilgrims’ hostels). They were clean and simple places with banks of bunk beds lined up in large co-educational dormitories. We all shared the limited washing and showering facilities. Any residual modesty acquired at Irish convent schools soon dissipated as we asserted our turn in the lavatory or shower and insisted that the window be kept open all night to help keep the air circulating. While we weren’t quite in the ‘Ladies who Lunch’ Brigade, it was something of a learning experience for some of our number to have to sleep with walking sticks at the ready order to give regular prods to snoring male strangers who were blasting away within six inches of their ears. This was mostly a waste of time and effort as the snorers seemed cheerfully to keep everyone awake all night while they had a wonderful night’s rest and then bounced chirpily and noisily out of bed at six in the morning just as the rest of us finally managed to drift off to sleep.
The ritual of the feet was universal and constant. We had taken advice and had applied Methylated Spirits to our feet every day for four weeks before we left to toughen them up. We were a bit horrified at that, so we additionally applied moisturising cream after the meths - to keep them supple! The result was that we did not suffer as badly as many of the pilgrims with blisters. Nobody had any qualms at stripping off boots and socks at any opportunity to plunge them into cold water, at rivers, streams, water fountains and village pumps. We even stood guard for each other outside the very plush Powder Room at the King Alphonso IX Hotel in Sarria while we took turns sticking our feet into the bidet to cool them down. The first sign of any reddening was met by Compeed to protect against blistering. There are free Pilgrims' First Aid stations all along the Way and we only had to use them once as one of us had a bad gash on her knee that needed stitching.
Dinner at night was simple but enthusiastically hoovered up. Tuna tart, omelette, tomatoes, hake, salad and delicious octopus were on the menu most nights. We coped best when the menu was in Spanish, as we could make some stab at understanding what we were likely to get. Nobody spoke English and we learned to be suspicious of menus that were helpfully translated for us into English. ‘Crème caramel’ turned out to be very runny Bird's custard; ‘cold milk with meringue and hot chocolate sauce’ turned out to be ice-cream with a boiled egg and cold cocoa and ‘mango with flan ice-cream and flower jam’ turned out to be Vienetta! The local Riojas and Albarinos served to vaporize all complaints about aching knees, cold showers and oily chips.
I was not particularly religious setting out on this marathon walk. I am still not particularly religious! We turned up at the Cathedral in Santiago in time for the midday Pilgrims’ Service. It was an event that would have given any Health and Safety Officer the horrors. The place was jammed with people (mostly tourists who had just alighted from tour buses) and there were throngs outside trying to push past the beefy security guards into any little remaining nook or cranny. The Archbishop delivered a booming sermon (all in Spanish) and the professional looking choir sang magnificently. The highlight of the gig was, however, the swinging of the famous Botifumeiri - a gigantic thurible full of incense that required eight men to haul it up by ropes and swing it from floor to ceiling across both transepts. That was all very exciting and traditional, but failed to appeal to other than my sense of drama. However, doing the Camino was an unexpectedly moving opportunity to reflect on life, relationships, plans and just simply on enjoying the magnificent and varied beauty of nature, clean air and a slow measured pace. Most of our fellow pilgrims were a good deal younger than us, but there was a surprising and warm comradeship of the road. We shed all worries about the workplace and the stressors of our lives and had time, during the long daily walks to exchange ideas, to laugh uproariously, to meet people from all around the world and to just have time for ourselves.
This may not be your ideal way of finding time for yourself, but you can do it in your own way - just so long as you do it! A New Year’s Resolution?
Accountancy Ireland, Vol 36, No 6, December 2004.