Guido on the Camino
A Jersey Boy’s Experience in Spain
The story of how Alice and I came to Spain to walk the pilgrim road begins in early spring of 2012. It was the last week of March. That week we were visited by the spirit of St. James three times. One night we sat down to watch “The Way” a movie about the way of St. James. How many of you have seen the movie? It came up in Alice’s Netflix cue because they know we like movies without guns or loud explosions. So Alice was aware of the pilgrimage.
The very next day something happened at my job to make me think about my future with that company. I decided to hand in my resignation and strike out on my own. We started our own landscaping company. To do this I had to remember everything I learned from my mentor and crew chief of my first landscaping job, the man who taught me about all things green…Kermit the Frog?… no… his name….James. The next day I got my first client via the helpful staff at our local church, Church of the Redeemer… that client…St. James Episcopal Church. That was it. Our sign. I do think it is important to have a sign or epiphany or clear desire for an American to leave home and hearth, friends and family, a job or other commitments to walk for 40 days in a foreign land. I think for Europeans it is a little more casual, as we were about to find out. How many readers here are thinking about doing this pilgrimage?
Well, most of us know how Alice is when she gets a bee in her bonnet.
She was off to the races or I should say off to the research table. She loves to research. First to go up was a tote board in the kitchen with a graph showing the amount of money we would need to go. Alice, do you remember? Was it $3500 each? With my last paycheck as a baseline we were on our way.
Soon every night at dinner she would fill me in with all the day’s findings. Backpacks and camping gear, socks and shoes from REI. She booked the plane tickets with the airline; she checked about the trains and autobuses that would set us up. Lightweight high-tech clothes, lightweight high-tech compasses with a whistle and a magnifying lens, headlamps, half toothbrushes, camp trowels for going to the bathroom outdoors. Needless to say, I was terrified at what I had got myself into. “We have to walk how far?” I asked. “and how long will we be away from home?”…Do We Have To?” At one point I think there was even a book about FEET. I mean, she did all the researching and buying.
Now I can appreciate all the hard work she did and I know I never would have embarked on this once in a lifetime experience without her. So, Alice I thank you. I’m sorry I was such a jerk about it. I was just scared.
Our departure date came and we packed everything up and went to Dulles International Airport and flew to Madrid. At the airport I got my first chance to try what little Spanish I learned on the young woman behind the counter for the autobus tickets. I nervously walked up and stammered “Dos billetes de Pamplona, por favor.” 2 tix for Pamplona, please. She smiled at me, I think even laughed a little and started speaking English. Whew!
After resting on the airport floor for a while we were off to Pamplona. We were in desperate need to shake off our jetlag. Pamplona– a beautiful city with beautiful people. At the charming small pensione we were staying I heard the first Spanish person try to say my name….StuAAAA …StuAAAA…I had to look at him and say “It’s Stuart”.
That day in Pamplona a general strike was going on by the Spanish people against the big banks of Spain, much like the Occupy Wall St. here. Revolution was in the air. We heard some commotion, maybe some shots and I saw the bloody head of a photographer. But we had only one thought in mind. Hitting the pilgrim road with our packs and, thank God, each other.
