Calbor

The Camino is full of people and of gossip. The first week where we walked with 'our Camino family' of pilgrims, you meet people with their own stories and share the stories of others you've heard on the way. Everyone becomes a legend. You overlap with people as you leap-frog from town to town, all trudging to Compostella.

We hear of an Irish man who is walking his 3rd Camino this year. His mum always wanted to walk The Way but passed away before she got a chance. He walked it first for her and placed a stone at Cruz de Ferro in memory of her. It is tradition to drop a stone at Ferro - originally this stone represented a sin that you would leave near the end of the Camino, discarding before reaching the Church of St James. As tourists are, now there is apparently a pile of stones and trinkets left here.  The Spanish poor and gypsies collect anything left of value, such as baby's shoes for the miscarried, or necklaces and rings offered as tokens of love, lost. Every few months the pile of rocks and trinkets gets so high, a truck clears the spot so the sins can be replaced by other pilgrims'.  He walked the Camino a second time for himself and realised that the stone he had left for his mum had been carted away and was so angry about this that he decided to make a plaque in honour of her and will affix it at the cross so 'the bastards can't take it away'. He says this in Irish jest apparently, but for him I'm sure it is all a long grieving process. He would have probably spent more time this year on Camino than he has at home.  I hope after he places the plaque he can find peace.

There's Takeshi the Japanese man. The one non-Christian-heritage man I've met who has walked perhaps 7 Camino. Seeking a different life than that prescribed in Japan he lives now in Spain. When people ask where he is from, he replies 'from everywhere'. Besides Japanese and Spanish, he speaks decent French and English. When we ask him why he repeatedly walks the Camino he replies in accent 'for the miracles'. It's hard to expand on his answer, so we change the topic and buy him another beer.

We hear of a man who walked the camino with a dog. Depending on the story, he either had a pack of dogs or adopted a husky puppy. The alburge refuse to house him and his dog, so he camps by rivers on the outskirts of town. Over the meseta plains the dog overheats so he walks the distances at night. A 750km walk - the ultimate holiday for a dog and his man.

Beautiful Pieter from Bourdeax has a wife from Romania, at home with his daughters. We bump into him by the Puente La Reina Bridge, eyes closed in the setting sun. I see him again in the church boarding in Estella, applying tiger balm to his feet which are suffering from tendonitis. I ask him if it helps and he replies 'not really' and shrugs. We pass him in Logrono, crossing the square eating ice cream. Of all pilgrims I've met, he seems the most at ease and the most calm. I've never seen him walking, but when in town he doesn't hide in the alburge or fumble for a nap and shower. He enjoys the travel and what the town has to offer.  The last I saw him he was leaving our table to catch another Romanian pilgrim, to practice his wife's language.

The Canadian with the bright eyes and separated- toed runners has a quick break in a roadside stop. Although everyone looks at katrinas thongs in shock (our feet ache from our boots so our aussie sandals are a blessing) he points and yells that she is doing an amazing walk. He wants to walk the Camino next time in bare feet, giving himself double the time to make the pained distance. We walked with him briefly in Estella, where we nearly have to jog to keep up with his pace. He originally flew in to Barcelona with the intention to mountain climb, but on the plane he heard of the Camino and left his gear in a locker and headed to do the walk. He doesn't have much time so is jogging the whole thing - hoping to complete 30-60km a day, depending on the terrain. Although he wants to complete it, he is already disappointed he will never see the same faces again as he outstrips us on his way to Compostela.

Mike from Canada and Paul from Ireland walk the Camino together. They met on a past walk and now, though both so different, repeat the walk together. Mike is a self proclaimed embodiment of the Camino - always offering advice on how to stretch sore legs, or which alburge have the most authentic experiences, or what to carry in your pack. He shares stories of grandure from his past travels, translates the menu, and repeats his anecdotes. In Pamplona, the first big city, Mike enters the bar and pulls the pilgrim to one table. Last year when he walked he came into the same bar and had a grest party, he wants to recreate it. The other Aussie girls, tired from the walk, leave to find a quiet dinner, but we stay to fulfil Mike's dream. He shows us his Camino tattoos and remarks how a real pilgrim carries his pack and starts walking before dawn. Paul sits quietly, sending the odd work email. He has done many Camino and looks so well with a glint in his eye and both feet on the ground. Patient, one foot in front of the other.

Rachael from America is walking alone. A younger girl who has finished biology and is now studying dentistry. She is lovely and down to earth. She travelled to France with her boyfriend but now walks across Spain on her own. She tells us how in America, the poor children have such bad teeth because all their parents can afford is coke and Macdonalds. The rich kids also come in with holes in their teeth because their parents don't believe in fluoride. The poor and the privileged. She is walking because although she is smart, her parents paid for her college. She is doing the Camino for herself, so she can be proud of her own achievements. For someone so young, and travelling so alone, I'm already proud of her.

One night we spent in an alburge in Zubiri, an old man came in who looked like he'd walked further than the two days from Saint Jean to Zubiri. Perhaps because of his age he had taken longer than most to cross the Pyrenees mountain? In the bar later that night over beers we hear that he is The Dutchman, who left his home in Netherlands to walk the camino, the whole way by foot. He left two and a half months ago and has only just crossed the boarder of Spain. Desperate, we want to speak to him, to shake his hand and ask him how his feet are. By daybreak he has gone.

I have learnt, twice in my life now, that I have no real desire to conquer mountains or to trek for the sake of a stamp. Despite the repeated conversations and the constant search for enlightenment, I miss our original group of pilgrims the most. For as busy as the French Way is, the characters you meet on the way do form part of the legacy of the Camino.Read more