I have yet to walk the camino, but want to and actively research this topic. I have friends (husband and wife) who have listened to me talk about my desire to make this pilgrimage. They come just short of making fun of this. The wife tells me the camino is no different than any other hiking trail, the Appalachian Trail, for instance. That it is just as "spiritual" as the camino. (She has done neither, nor has he). The husband tells me I don't have to go as far as France and Spain to turn any walk into something spiritual. I'm not certain why this is some kind of hot topic with them. All of my other friends remain interested and encourage my fascination and preparation. Has anyone else encountered this and what do you tell these people who think the Camino is just another walk?
I've hiked as far south as Isla Navarino and as far North as the Canol Road in the NWT. If what you're after is a rugged outdoor experience the camino isn't it. Most hikes require heavy lifting so most of the people you meet are younger rugged outdoors types. And if you find culture ... whose idea was it to bring a heavy cup of yoghurt?
The camino is by comparison a gentle walk through the countryside. Its attractions are history and culture found along the road and the companionship of people from all ages and walks of life.
What do you tell people who think the camino is just another walk? Tell them they are right ... cuz that is all it is.
Here is an analogy. People come to the camino for all sorts of reasons ... lets call it searching for gold ... and people usually come away with something else that enriches them ... usually it isn't what they came looking for. You're friends are right ... you don't have to walk the camino to go 'finding the gold'. But the camino is as good a place as any and easier to access than a lot of other places.
The spell of the Yukon
I wanted the gold, and I sought it;
I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
Was it famine or scurvy—I fought it;
I hurled my youth into a grave.
I wanted the gold, and I got it—
Came out with a fortune last fall,—
Yet somehow life’s not what I thought it,
And somehow the gold isn’t all.
No! There’s the land. (Have you seen it?)
It’s the cussedest land that I know,
From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it
To the deep, deathlike valleys below.
Some say God was tired when He made it;
Some say it’s a fine land to shun;
Maybe; but there’s some as would trade it
For no land on earth—and I’m one.
You come to get rich (damned good reason);
You feel like an exile at first;
You hate it like hell for a season,
And then you are worse than the worst.
It grips you like some kinds of sinning;
It twists you from foe to a friend;
It seems it’s been since the beginning;
It seems it will be to the end.
I’ve stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow
That’s plumb-full of hush to the brim;
I’ve watched the big, husky sun wallow
In crimson and gold, and grow dim,
Till the moon set the pearly peaks gleaming,
And the stars tumbled out, neck and crop;
And I’ve thought that I surely was dreaming,
With the peace o’ the world piled on top.
The summer—no sweeter was ever;
The sunshiny woods all athrill;
The grayling aleap in the river,
The bighorn asleep on the hill.
The strong life that never knows harness;
The wilds where the caribou call;
The freshness, the freedom, the farness—
O God! how I’m stuck on it all.
The winter! the brightness that blinds you,
The white land locked tight as a drum,
The cold fear that follows and finds you,
The silence that bludgeons you dumb.
The snows that are older than history,
The woods where the weird shadows slant;
The stillness, the moonlight, the mystery,
I’ve bade ’em good-by—but I can’t.
There’s a land where the mountains are nameless,
And the rivers all run God knows where;
There are lives that are erring and aimless,
And deaths that just hang by a hair;
There are hardships that nobody reckons;
There are valleys unpeopled and still;
There’s a land—oh, it beckons and beckons,
And I want to go back—and I will.
They’re making my money diminish;
I’m sick of the taste of champagne.
Thank God! when I’m skinned to a finish
I’ll pike to the Yukon again.
I’ll fight—and you bet it’s no sham-fight;
It’s hell!—but I’ve been there before;
And it’s better than this by a damsite—
So me for the Yukon once more.
There’s gold, and it’s haunting and haunting;
It’s luring me on as of old;
Yet it isn’t the gold that I’m wanting
So much as just finding the gold.
It’s the great, big, broad land ’way up yonder,
It’s the forests where silence has lease;
It’s the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
It’s the stillness that fills me with peace.
~Robert Service~
Sound familiar?