On October the 8th, I’m catching a plane to Bilbao in Northern Spain.
I love to travel, particularly to places where I can find good food and wine. This trip is a little different. I’m going for a walk. No. Really. I am.
I am walking with one of my oldest friends, conveniently named Stuart. There is a school of thought that Stuart and I are both results of some kind of botched cloning experiment. Close your eyes and it can be difficult to tell which of us is speaking.
As we both embark upon our mid-life crises, Stuart ventured “Shall we walk the camino?”.
“Absolutely. I’ll have one, if your having one.”
I fully expected to embark on an eccentric ritual method of drinking wine.
“No. Seriously. El Camino de Santiago. Have a think about it.”
I got googling.
The Camino is a pilgrimage. One that has been around for centuries. It is believed that the bodily remains of St James (an apostle) are interred at Santiago de Compostela, in north-western Spain. Pilgrims walk to Santiago by many different routes, but perhaps the most well-trodden is the Camino Francés – the French Way. The walk starts from St Jean Pied de Port in the Pays Basque region of France, crosses the Pyrenees and then meanders across Northern Spain to Santiago.
A tidy little walk of 500 miles or so.
Yes. 500 miles.
To date, my mid-life crisis had been evidenced by buying a two-seater sports car. Now I was agreeing to walk 500 miles (cue Scottish folk band).
I have thought about setting up a separate blog for the walk, but decided against it. I will post about it here. (Categorised as Camino)
What on earth have I got myself into?
