The Steps to Heaven

It took 32 days. I finished the Camino de Santiago journey, starting from France, Saint Jean Pied de Port and ending in Spain, Santiago de Compostela. Santiago—Jacob in English—was a fisherman who had walked from Jerusalem to the Galicia region in Spain to spread the words of God after Jesus was hanged on the cross. I went over the Pyrenees, and walked endless meadows, through grapevines, and damp forests, following his footsteps. Today, I write about the 800 kilometres of pilgrimage I went through for a month, following the yellow arrows pointing out the way to Compostela and with 7kg of the weight of life on my back.

*Picture 1-1. Camino’s signature yellow scallop and arrow. The arrows are mostly drawn with yellow paint on roads or guardrails.

*Picture 1-2, 1-3. Sometimes, there are markings of how much kilometres are left to the lodging in town.

Many ask if I’m Catholic when I say I walked the Camino, but I don’t have a religion currently. But I do have many episodes with diverse religions. I went to church for seven years when I was young, my name and courtesy name was given by a monk, and I’ve once lived in a temple for several months. In high school, I consulted a sister I came to know through an acquaintance, and I even attended a few mass and prayer meetings. Although I do not have clear faith about a certain god, I feel each religion’s virtues and doctrines show the road to becoming a better human, and the ends all meet together. This was why, for me, Camino was a journey for my mind to grow, away from the flood of human relationships, media, and all the small things in life that require my attention. In this small bliss of walking solely with my own will, I wanted to change myself through this life where walking was the sole focus.

*Picture 2-1. A cross stands on top of a hill of stones delivered one by one by those who walk the road.

*Picture 2-2. These stones hearts can be often seen. Sometimes they make out the name of loved ones, or sometimes they show the way when the road is complicated in the absence of the yellow arrow.

The day of a pilgrim is simple. Get up early, eat breakfast, walk, rest sometimes in bars at towns, then walk again. Arrive a little after lunch and shower, rest, have dinner, then go to sleep. It truly is a day that sticks to the basics of food, clothes, and shelter. In a life centred around physical labour and severed from the outside world, one can empty the mind and rethink over and over again. In such emptying and reflecting, a process of maturing, did I walk the Camino.

*Picture 3-1. Camino before dawn. The walking starts around 5 to 6 am.

*Picture 3-2. The iron cross was smaller than I thought. The sunset here is said to be beautiful, so I arrived before the sun came up.

If not for religious reasons, the innate features of the country and the road itself conjure a Catholic atmosphere. The expression for asking one’s name in Spanish includes the word that can be translated to ‘which,’ because people choose one of many Catholic baptismal names as one’s name. That is how much Catholicism has been absorbed into Spanish culture. An example that can be seen by the eye is that there is a church in every town, even if it is consisted of only a few houses.

The lively bell that sounds every hour is the daily life of Camino. And sometimes birds catch the eye of the pilgrims with their large, white wings. They are storks that build their houses in the churches. Walking around the time, one can see storks gracefully resting on their large nests above the church bells.

There are also churches that are run as voluntary or at very low costs in albergues, which are lodgings for pilgrims, and such places give mass every night for pilgrims. Of course, it is hard to understand what is said for the mass is said in Spanish, but when the prayers for the safety and blessings for every one the pilgrims start, it feels as if the grace of God reassures me as I walk this road under the name of a ‘pilgrim.’

*Picture 4-1. The Burgos Cathedral

*Picture 4-2. I stayed at a voluntary albergue run by the Belorado and attended the mass at night. The picture is of the centre of the church. The mass was held inside the metal railings seen in the right side of the picture.

When one walks in rugged clothes with a large backpack, sticks in hands, dirt covered hiking boots on feet, anyone can tell he or she is a pilgrim even without the scallop, the sign of Camino. Various favours and kindness come to such pilgrims. When they are lost, the yellow arrows are pointed out; when they are too far from the road, townspeople readily answer to hitchhikers or give money for bus rides, leading the pilgrims to the right road; hospitaleros (owners or volunteers who manage the albergues) open dinner parties with grilled sardines, bread, and wine; the wine fountain of Irache spills out wine when the tap is turned; pilgrims demonstrate hospitality to one another out of comradeship and sympathy—Camino shows the warmth of the human heart snugger than any other place. Furthermore, stores fill the long distances between towns, and many are run voluntarily, or run unmanned. The gratitude cannot be expressed by the amount of donations, for infinite gratitude is felt for every solicitude. I can only give what I received to many more others. I, a person with a clear concept of give & take, used to be obsessed by the thought that I must give back just as much as I was given. But after hearing the story of an old Korean couple who, on their fourth return to the Camino, shared watermelons at the harshest part of the road because they couldn’t stand not having donated at a voluntary stores last time, I decided that gratitude must not always be received by the giver, but spread like a web by action.

*Picture 5-1. A voluntary store that came like an oasis to me. The manager of this place met a woman at the Camino and married her, and shares various fruit and food here.

Although I started the pilgrimage to have time to myself away from the secular, it did not mean that I would be walking the road of solitude. 800km is a physically and mentally challenging, harsh road. Thus, I tried to share stories as much as my energy allowed, and thus my Camino experiences cannot be discussed without talking about ‘people.’ The French youth Maxime, who was out pacemaker for a few days from Pyrenees and even made food for us, was an extremely faithful Catholic, and said that he quit his job and started pilgrimage to find what God wants for him. He visited every town’s church and give prayers, carried the Bible to read every night in an already-too-heavy backpack, and constantly shared and gave favours for others. The many Koreans I met here and there encouraged my friend and I, who had just become adults, and sometimes cooked up food carrying the taste of home for us, who could not cook at all. Isidrio was a Spanish soldier who I met while I was pondering over why I had come here, after feeling regret at myself for concentrating on speed, rushed by time. He said that the Camino showed and taught him many things, giving my lost self the strength to reflect on every day and take one more step forward with optimism. Bailey, an English teacher at León, whom I talked with about education systems of various countries and were recommended books of diverse areas by, Giulio, who walked 40km a day and said would come with a violin next time to play on the road, Katelyn, who was fluent in English, French, and Spanish, and could converse with most pilgrims, and many more people I met allowed me to share conversations of spectrums I could never even have imagined.

*Picture 6-1. Companionship

*Picture 6-2. Korean dinner party

The road is the house at the Camino, and all people met on the road are friend and family. The road shared with them is happy enough to wash away the exhaustion of 25 kilometres a day. And thus, ‘people,’ the motivation to walk further and longer, I miss most. At Camino, shared, but an individual road in the end, every acquaintance is precious, and the sorrow of parting leaves a deep trace. But the Camino is one-way street. The many people I met and passed by today are walking the same road I walked. The sisters that sang for pilgrims said that their mind would be with us the whole way, even if they are at the church and we continue on. Though they are not by my side, they are always in the mind, and so sorrow is a meaningless reluctance. So I decided not to regret those partings, instead choosing the longer perspective. Buen Camino! (Good road, a blessing for pilgrims, and a greeting among pilgrims.) I can only bless the road ahead of them.

*Picture 7-1. The wall of a bar filled with the traces of those who had come before. The Korean words stood out for my eye.

The Route of Santiago de Compostela is a vast road crossing France to Spain, meaning that diverse landscapes can be seen. Mountains of 1500m altitude are climbed up and down, a meadow spread itself to the horizon east and west at the Meseta, and the endless sky embraces the clouds puffing up themselves. Under that sky, I stand, walking the road that goes on and on. But even on this road that seems infinite, and the plains that seem unchanging, every crop is different in colour, shape, and curve. Then the landscape that was far away comes through me, the angle and view changes, or new scenes unfold themselves, adding awe and meaning to every step.

*Pictures 8-1 ~ 8-6

It is not only that landscapes that open the mind’s eye. Every second the ear searched for small sounds by every step, every minute the eye searched for small thing are beyond valuable. Stop by to peer into a cute flower, greet the animals one more time, breathe in deep the air of the forest, listen to the trickling stream. Each scene might not make the heart full, but small pieces of happiness gather to fill not only the heart, but the day.

*Picture 9-1 ~ 9-4

A mere human with nothing to depend on but two legs in Nature, 32 days of walking and walking finally took me to Santiago de Compostela. Maybe it was the busy air, or maybe the scene just didn’t really hit me back then, but I didn’t feel anything, or think of anything then. And then I calmed down and came out of the albergue around 10pm to sit still in front of the Santiago de Compostela Cathedral. Something swelled up in my mind as I stared at every sculpture looked back on every experience and every emotion I went through. Amidst the cheerful songs of the street musicians and people jumping with joy at the thought that they had walked the whole road, I stared at the church, drowned in my thoughts.

*Picture 10-1. The Santiago de Compostela Cathedral

*Picture 10-2. Compostela (certificate of accomplishment) and Camino Certificate of Distance. Credencial (pilgrim’s passport) filled back to back with stamps

Walking the Camino did not change my life or thoughts. But every brilliant moment carved into my soul shine in memory. Like the quote, every word to heaven is heaven, every day I walked towards the holy ground, I was already on the holy ground, and every moment I emptied myself in the nature, every minute I interacted with others, every second I looked into myself, filled me anew. Like that, I drew a heaven in my mind, although I did not know where it was, or how it looked like. Wet, black dirt roads and pebble roads, asphalt roads and ancient stone roads, the road covered with sunlight-reflecting sand, and the road that could not even be seen, sunk in water, led me to the heaven I painted. My body may be outside Camino, but the direction still lies in my mind, leading my pilgrimage with yellow arrows, as I shout out: Buen Camino!

*Picture 11-1

- Munyeong