Camino de Santiago tests mental, physical and spiritual energy

We coast gloriously down a smooth asphalt road, winding through the narrow lanes of a Portuguese village, bougainvillea and gigantic geraniums spilling over the stuccoed walls. Ahead of me, Bill points to the right, indicating the yellow arrow spray-painted on the back of a sign. We gear down, round the corner and groan. A rough stony road winds steeply up through the pine forest.

The hot sun beats down as we shift to our lowest gears, our speed dropping to a crawl as we dodge sharp rocks, slide on loose gravel and finally come to a halt. I squeeze my brakes hard to avoid sliding backwards as I swing my leg over and off my bike. I hang over the handlebars to catch my breath, then start pushing my bike uphill, moving from one rut to another to avoid the worst rocks and the gullies formed by water erosion. Sweat, overladen with dust, coats my entire body.   

If the Camino de Santiago is supposed to be a challenge – mentally, physically, and spiritually – then we seem to be doing it right. It’s tough.

Much tougher and slower than we expected.

Most people who’ve heard of the Camino de Santiago (which means Way of St. James) know the Camino Frances route that starts in France and runs through northern Spain. In fact, there are a dozen Camino routes that start all over Europe and converge on the Spanish city of Santiago de Compostela. We’re cycling the Portuguese route, from Lisbon north through Porto, into Spain and on to Santiago de Compostela.

The Camino is a pilgrimage route that goes back to medieval times. Jesus’ apostle James preached in this area, then went back to Jerusalem where he was murdered. Other disciples brought his body back for burial in Libredon, which was later named Santiago – Saint James – in his honour. Around the 10^th century, people began walking to Santiago to honour him, later visiting his tomb in the cathedral when it was built between 1075 and 1211. That’s how the many pilgrim routes began.

I had read a lot of books and seen a few films about the Camino and wanted to walk it. But Bill is a cycler and flat-out refused to walk. So, we agreed to cycle the 709ish kilometres from Lisbon to Santiago – the Portuguese coastal route – which is considered easier to cycle than the Camino Frances.

Easier, but not easy.

We initially thought we’d complete the Camino in about 18 days, at a leisurely pace of 50 to 60 kilometres a day. How naïve we were! By the time we got to the city of Coimbra on Day 8, our longest day was 45 kilometres and our shortest a mere 15.2.

The first three days were brutal: temperatures 36 to 38 degrees Celsius, hardly any shade, dry dusty landscapes and a strong hot headwind. We got lost a lot, since we still hadn’t developed an eye for spotting the yellow Camino arrows. We didn’t stop enough to rest, didn’t drink enough water and didn’t eat enough food. Late afternoon on the first day, I suddenly developed painful leg cramps, so bad I could hardly stand. Bill force-fed me an energy bar, which helped quickly reduce the cramps. But my stomach was queasy for several days and I didn’t eat well.

Those first days taught us to eat frequent, small, high-energy snacks, to take longer breaks, and to drink lots and lots of water. We learned to leave earlier in the morning, when it’s cooler. And we got much better at spotting the yellow arrows – on official ceramic plaques, plus spray-painted on the backs of signs, ends of walls, sides of buildings, lamp posts, curbs, electricity towers, under vines and behind parked cars. Once we developed our Camino rhythm, we felt much better and began to enjoy the journey.

And there are definitely many wonderful features. We cycled down some idyllic country lanes, with ivy-covered stone walls and the tangy smell of hot pine needles. We cycled past countless tomato fields, and stopped to pick and eat some – sun-warmed and juicy. We also picked and ate ripe figs and sweet purple grapes hanging over our path. Our tires crunched over acorns that had fallen from cork oak trees – fascinating how the tree doesn’t die when its bark is peeled off.

The Camino is as much a mental challenge as it is a physical test of your abilities. Even when you’re cycling with someone, you have long stretches alone with your thoughts. My challenge is to stay positive – it’s easy for me to get discouraged, especially on the steep hills and rough tracks. That’s when I question why we’re putting ourselves through this.

Take, for example, cobblestone roads. I used to think they were quaint and picturesque. But cycling over them is like strapping yourself to a paint mixer. Your arms and butt say “Hey, brain. Get us off this $%#@& road!” But your brain is too busy bouncing off your eyeballs to formulate a solution.

One section took us up a long, very steep, rutted stony logging road, so rough that we had to push our bikes uphill for several kilometres. I was convinced we were lost, since I hadn’t seen a yellow arrow for a while. All we could see was clear-cut eucalyptus stands. “Who planned this ridiculous route anyhow?” I grumbled. I was annoyed because the map seemed to indicate we could have avoided this route by staying on a smooth road. Cobblestone roads were looking good at that point.

We finally reached the peak and began to descend, but still had to walk our bikes because it was too steep and rough. As we emerged onto asphalt, my funk suddenly vanished as I truly understood that the Camino is a metaphor for life. That logging road was the eight months I dated a dreadful jerk in fourth-year university. And those first three days were like the terrible twos and teen years (my own and my kids’) all rolled together. I was happy to know I could survive the logging roads of life.

The Camino is also a spiritual journey, when you take time to reflect on faith, relationships, higher ideals or whatever you define as spiritual. Bill and I agreed to contemplate our future as we rode. Since we both recently retired, we’re at a crossroads in life and not entirely sure where we’ll go. We decided to ask ourselves a different question related to our future each day, think about it as we rode, and then discuss it later. However, I’m afraid we haven’t had the energy to do that. When we reach our destination each day, we search for a place to stay, shower and change, find something to eat, and fall into bed. Our discussions have been more of the practical sort: can I wear this shirt one more day before laundry is imperative?     

However, we have strengthened our faith: faith that speeding cars and enormous trucks will give us wide berth on the roads (for the most part they do); faith that we will find a place to stay every night; faith in the kindness of strangers; and faith that whatever the future brings, we’ll be together.

Camino Part 2: Angels, saints, good Samaritans and kind strangers