The French is just one of many routes collectively known as El Camino de Santiago. Together, they form a network of ancient pilgrimage routes originating from various points in Europe to the great cathedral of Santiago, where, reputedly, lie the remains of St. James the Apostle, brother of Jesus.
When I first heard about the Camino a few years ago, I immediately placed it in my I’d love to do that someday category. And really didn’t give it much further thought.
It resurfaced in early December, when I began asking myself what I might want to do to celebrate the completion of another decade, hitting the big 4-0. What began as simply another idea, quickly took center stage and refused to leave, as did the thought of doing it alone. I started pouring over websites, searching for information about the different routes, trying to determine a plan. I inhaled Camino blogs and forums, consumed travel guides, memoirs, even novels, absorbing information, looking for answers. Could I do it in winter, right around my birthday, or is it too great a risk with places being closed for the season? If so, it’d make sense to pick a popular route with more towns and options along the way, but the most-traversed section of the Portuguese route was shorter than I’d hoped, and the French had the daunting Pyrenees Mountain Range that I was a little nervous to cross alone in winter. At one point, talking to Jason about my dilemma, he said, if I were you, I’d do the French. You got this. And that little boost of confidence settled it. It was what I wanted, but fear had shadowed that clarity.
So it's full-on prep mode! Training, planning, gathering supplies, REI-ing, walking all over my neighborhood and nearby trails in all the winter weather with a pack on my back, trying out the new gear, and in my favorite barefoot boots.
My feet are a known issue. There is that. They’ve long been stiff, so I’ve been in minimal shoes almost exclusively the past few years in an effort to gain strength and mobility. But lately I’ve been putting in training mileage, in addition to getting manual work done on my feet, and I am feeling them. I’m not sure how well that bodes for what’s ahead. It’d be ideal to have a few more than two months to prepare myself for a venture like this.
But here I am. And it’s final prep time.
I've taken over a 3rd-floor bedroom with my version of organized chaos. Every item is accounted for on a spreadsheet with the weight in grams/kilos, pounds, with check boxes so that I can experiment with the total pack weight by selecting or deselecting items. (That’s not weird, is it, just organized?) I’ve been agonizing about how to get in under 15 lbs “wet” weight (including food and water), but I can’t quite do it. Dry weight is easily there, but that 2.37 lbs of water? I don’t have that margin. I’ll shed what I can along the way. I just decided to leave my Kindle and mini computer that I wasn’t sure I could live without. It’ll only be my phone and Moleskine journal for all reading and writing.
Last, but not least, I procure my stone. It’s an archaic tradition that pilgrims bring a stone from home to carry with them on the trail, leaving it at the “hill of the cross,” the high point of the route towards the end of the journey. I make a trip to the family farm, where I experienced three generations living (my grandparents as a child, then my parents when I was a teenager, and finally Jason & me after we got married) and where the company first began. As such, the grounds are filled with memory like no other place I know.
I wander the fields, losing myself in time, thought, reflection, nostalgia. Finally, I select the stone that will live with me on the road: in my pack some days, but more often, in my pocket. A reminder of home, of where I’m from, yet also pieces which I’d like to let go of and leave behind. I don’t really know what it means or might come to mean, but I do know that I want to participate in this ancient practice.
And with that in hand, my bag packed, I believe I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be to head off into the unknown on a one-way ticket. I’m saying it’ll be maybe 6-8 weeks, but I really haven’t got a clue.
The French Camino: 33 stages, roughly 500 miles/800 kilometers
The extension from Santiago to the coast at Finisterre: another 4-6 days, 56 miles/90 kilometers
Partial stages/short days
Rest, injury, and/or exploration days along the way
= An unknown quantity of time
Confirmed plans:
Flight to Paris (few days with Jason and over my birthday): February 19
Hotel in Paris until February 25
Train from Paris to Saint Jean Pied-de-Port: February 25
Sketched ideas:
Stay at a hostel in St. Jean for two nights? Feb 25-27?
Hit the road around Feb 27?
I don’t have reservations, plans, or even sketched ideas from that point forward, I’ll just follow the trail and see where it leads.
And it's go time.
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