Whispers from the Camino: Not Alone

September 3, 2023

Eleven hours of sleep. After a nearly sleepless night on the plane from Calgary to Paris I was grateful that my body gave out at 6:30 p.m. the night before (after the challenging train commute). With the eight-hour change in time zone, it nearly put me back on a regular schedule. Up at 5:30 a.m. I decided to walk around the Fontenay-Aux-Roses, the district where my Monastery Stays room was located.

The streets were almost completely deserted except for a couple of early morning dog walkers and a handful of delivery trucks. Then I arrived at a small two-block stretch of businesses located on a cobblestone path. Nearly every shoppe was still locked up behind large iron gates. But three types of shoppes were bustling with energy, despite not being open for customers—fresh meat shops, mouth-watering bakeries and fruit stands.

Meat shoppe early in the morning

It was only later in the day that I understood the contrast between the bustling of these early morning shoppes and other businesses that remained locked up and dark. I headed back to the monastery for a shower and some breakfast. Afterwards, I took another walk in the opposite direction. I discovered more of these small districts. Now all of the shoppes were open, but the meat shoppes, bakeries and fruit stands had lines out in front of them with customers carrying tote bags.

Since I had already had breakfast I set my sights on testing out one of the bakeries in the early afternoon. About 1:00 p.m. I made my way back to the same line of shoppes expecting to take my pick from a number of them. To my surprise almost of all them were already closed for the day. I finally found one that was open, but all the deliciously looking pastries were all sold out. I finally was able to order a tuna sandwich made from three slices of the bakery fresh bread.

With my good night of sleep I had the day to enjoy this little slice of Paris, sit on park benches, watch people, take walks, and drink a couple of cappuccinos. The day lent itself to making a few observations and one observation (actually a discovery) arrived very early in the day.

Crossing the Nevada desert in solitude, 2011

I have embarked on a handful of ambitious physical adventures since 2010. They started with a weeklong bike tour through Yosemite after I had ridden the weeklong Cycle Oregon three years in a row. As much as I loved Cycle Oregon, it is a little like a 500-mile party on wheels. After my third ride I was really yearning for more solitude. Over the next four years I rode solo through Yosemite, embarked on another 4,000-mile pedaling pilgrimage through the American West, and rode solo through Italy, Greece and Turkey, on a pilgrimage that I called “From Rome to Rumi.”

These solo adventures have been very important to me. Like an ascetic going out into the desert I was needing an encounter with myself and God or the Universe. I wasn’t too many hours into this down day where no traveling was required that a clear realization swept through my body: I love these adventures, but I just don’t want to do them alone anymore.

I wonder if this is why I chose the Camino this time. Yes, I was setting off alone, but unlike my previous pilgrimages I would be sharing this with thousands of other pilgrims. I could choose how much solitude I needed and how much connection I wanted to nurture.

It still wouldn’t be the same as setting off with a committed walking partner, but it also wouldn’t be the day after day solitude and psychological isolation of past pilgrimages.

Pickleball injury

I thought about why I was doing this pilgrimage. The first answer was easy: I am trying to nurture a pilgrimage culture in the United States and I wanted to study the infrastructure of the Camino to see what we Americans could learn from them. The second reason only emerged in the prior months. My leg was still not fully recovered from the pickleball injury of January. I was hoping that the 500 miles would potentially complete my rehabilitation.

But the third reason only came to me that day. Might I be walking the Camino to find my people? I have spent most of my adult life serving in the Presbyterian Church. As much as I have felt called to the work, my spirituality has always had a much more physical element to it.

On days off I would often be joining cycling buddies, hiking groups, or yoga classes to satisfy my hunger for physical expression. But it was often like jumping between two different worlds—the religious and more sedentary culture of the church and the active but much more secular people I met on the mountains.

In my mind, I wondered about the Camino experience, “Are these going to be my people? People for whom walking or biking or kayaking is how they worship or encounter the Sacred?”

I knew I didn’t want to do this alone anymore. I would be starting out alone, but I wondered if I would arrive in Santiago not alone, whatever that meant.