Sometime
in the weeks immediately following the death of my husband, a friend suggested
I watch the Reese Witherspoon movie Wild. Based off the autobiography by
the same name, the book and movie tell Cheryl Strayed's story of hiking the
Pacific Crest Trail by herself in the 1990s. Lost as I was in grief and
depression, a long walk like that sounded perfect. Shortly thereafter, a Facebook
friend posted: "The husband gave me permission to hike the Camino de Santiago
if I can find someone to do it with me. Anyone want to do this? Bonus points if
you speak Spanish." I read her post while on a break from my second job. I had
never heard of the Camino, but a quick google search revealed it to be a nice
long walk. I commented on her post that I spoke mediocre Spanish and wanted to
join her. My friend recommended the movie The Way which is about walking
the Camino. After watching it, I was all in. One year later, my friend and I
flew to Barcelona, Spain where we hopped a train to Lèon and the start of our two-week
quest as peregrinas (pilgrims) to hike the final 309 km/192 miles of the Camino
Francès. Buen Camino.
I have always been a shy,
introverted person who clings to friends and family. On the first day of
college, I remember entering the dining hall with my roommate, whom I had just
met, and begging her, "please don't leave me, I don't know anyone." In my
relationship with my late husband, Jim, we were a perfect match of
codependency. We rarely did things apart and I certainly never hung out
socially with friends outside of training runs for the many races I used to
complete. I was not worried about the social aspect of the Camino because it's
safe to do alone and my level of social interaction was whatever I would choose
it to be. Even with my friend, we knew we would start each day's hike together,
but we did not need to stay together the entire day. She was at least half a
mile ahead of me most of our days. There was only one day where I maintained a
lead on her as she nursed a minor injury.
We
leap frogged with several other peregrinos: a married couple from Albany, NY;
two men from South Korea; a mother daughter duo from Winnipeg, Manitoba; single
women from Denmark, Germany, Australia, and France; a single man from Germany; and
many others. Peregrinos cheer each other on, they wish one another a buen
Camino, they share experiences (don't stay at such-and-such albergue [hostel],
I hear they have bed bugs), they share medical supplies, and at the end of the
day they share a pilgrim's feast together if they so desire.
Several
people asked me why I was on Camino. Everyone has their own reason. Frequently
peregrinos hike the Camino for religious reasons; the Way is rooted in
Christianity. I told anyone who asked: "I'm lost. I have been lost since Jim
died. I'd like to maybe find myself."
It
quickly became apparent that I had not trained sufficiently in my hiking boots
for my Camino: my feet swelled and developed terrible blisters, and I had a
very difficult time walking. I learned more than I wanted to know about blister
treatment. The unfortunate thing about crippling blisters on Camino is that you
must walk on unless you have time budgeted for rest days. Or you can take a cab
and cheat yourself out of miles.
Our
third day on Camino ended at a tiny mountain village called Foncebedòn where we
checked into an albergue with a fantastic vibe. I had given up on my hiking
boots that morning due to massive blisters on my heels and climbed that
mountain in flip flops. After a shower and taking time to doctor my feet with
medical supplies gifted by the Albany couple, I sat fireside with a glass of
wine (wine is so inexpensive in Spain!) and relaxed. A table of peregrinos
invited me to join them for dinner (paella, salad, bread, cheese, salami, and
ice cream), and I shyly sat down. It ended up being my favorite night of my
pilgrimage. Admittedly, the three glasses of wine helped loosen me up and
increased my ability to socialize, but the atmosphere of the albergue and the
kindness of my tablemates was a salve for my soul. The wine also helped me feel
more comfortable when we went upstairs to the bedroom. Albergues are often
co-ed with rows of bunk beds lined up. This albergue had beds pushed together,
so, I ended up essentially sharing a bed with a woman from Australia with whom
I had just dined. She joked, "I'll bet you didn't expect to get lucky your
third night in!" It certainly was outside my normal, reticent bubble and excellent
for forcing me to adapt.
The
next morning, we climbed two more kilometers up the mountain to reach La Cruz
de Ferro. This iron cross is 1,504 meters / 4,934 feet above sea level and is
an important location for peregrinos. Many peregrinos carry a stone or some
other token with them to leave at the cross. It rises from the middle of a
mound of rocks left by decades or even centuries of peregrinos. I carried with
me a small round stone from our saltwater aquarium that Jim had picked up at
Point Woronzof in Anchorage, Alaska when we had vacationed there in June of
2014. Alaska had been Jim's dream vacation. We spent eighteen days exploring
Anchorage, Seward, Fairbanks, and Denali National Park. We were surprised that
Anchorage felt like home to us both; I had never felt like I belonged at any of
the places I had previously lived, and we were not sure we should trust how
comfortable Anchorage felt after just eighteen days. We decided we would return
for a full month in September of 2015, however, Jim died six days before our
great Alaskan trip. When I left his stone at La Cruz de Ferro, it was a
surprisingly emotional moment for me. It symbolized another end to my
relationship with Jim and another step in finding out who I was as a single
person.
My
blisters were causing me so much pain by day eight. We had not allowed time in
our schedule to rest, so my friend and I decided that she would walk the 18.7km
/ 11.6 miles without me while I would take a cab to our next stop, an actual
city: Sarria. I needed to have time off my feet, but I really needed to find a
sporting goods store so I could buy different shoes. My feet were too bandaged
and swollen to fit into my hiking boots and I had been hiking in cheap flip
flops for several days. I needed better footwear options.
I
had never used an Uber, Lyft, or taxicab in my life; that form of
transportation was so far outside of my comfort zone. Once my friend departed
for the day, I sat in a restaurant in the tiny village of Triacastela and cried
over my breakfast. I was so scared. I was all alone in a foreign country where
I was only mediocre at speaking and understanding the language, and I had to
figure out how to hail a cab and explain to the driver that I needed to buy
shoes. Terrified.
After
breakfast, I managed to successfully ask the waitress to please call a cab for
me. Once the taxi arrived, I was able to adequately explain where I needed to
go and that I needed to buy shoes. Towns located along the Camino are full of
people who love to help peregrinos; the cab driver was no exception. He took me
directly to a sporting goods store located right on the Camino that is even
recommended in the guidebook we were following. By happenstance, the German
peregrina with whom I had dined back in Foncebadòn on night three was hiking
past the cab as I exited. She hugged me and offered me much-needed
encouragement before she continued along her way, and I went shopping.
Taking
that cab ride by myself in a foreign country is one of the scariest things I
have ever done. It sounds like a simple non-event to so many people, but for me
it was a huge deal. That was a pivotal moment in my life. I took a cab by
myself in Spain. Watch out, world! I can do anything now!
When
we reached Santiago de Compostela, the end of the Way, I reconnected with a
woman from Denmark. She and I had hiked several kilometers together a few days
earlier and had exchanged medical supplies. After the noon pilgrim's mass at
the cathedral in Santiago, she invited me to join her and another peregrina
from Berlin, Germany for a little down time that evening. With trepidation, I
left my friend at the hotel we had booked and joined the two women in a park
where we shared a cerveza. I was amused and a little appalled to be drinking
from the same beer bottle as these two women I barely knew, but also proud of
myself for doing something so foreign to me. We then moved on to a bar for more
cerveza, and later to dinner at a restaurant. That night in Santiago was
another magical night of personal growth.
During
the thirteen days it took me and my friend to get from Lèon to Santiago de
Compostela, I repeatedly found myself humbled by blisters, by exhaustion, by
swollen feet, by loneliness, and by miles and miles of time with my thoughts. I
wanted to quit several times and find a way to be a tourist in Germany instead,
but I kept going. I found strength and confidence I never had before. I began
to find myself.
When
I returned home, I felt empowered from my Camino and ready for another
challenge. I began planning to move to Alaska, if only for a year, to try it
out. Jim and I had dreamed of moving to Alaska, but that dream seemed to have
died when he did. I had lived in Florida for twenty years, so I was not sure I
could actually cope with the Alaskan climate, but I wanted to try. Because I
had taken that cab ride in Spain, I knew I would be able to drive across the
country to Anchorage. I could do anything after Spain. I had a work-at-home job,
and my boss was planning to close the office for a two-week paternity leave
once his wife had their baby, so I wanted to take advantage of that two weeks to
relocate. Roughly a month after my Camino I received a text from my boss
announcing the birth. I threw everything I owned into storage, loaded what I
could into my tiny car, and my dog, Huxley, and I hit the road.
It
took me twelve days to drive from my starting point just outside of Nashville,
TN, to Anchorage. Traveling by myself with only my dog for company presented
some limitations and challenges. I was worried at every pit stop that some good
Samaritan would smash my windows to save my dog while I was away from my car
for a few minutes. It limited my ability to visit tourist destinations as most
of them are not dog friendly. It also limited my dining options; I ate far more
drive-through fast food than I would have liked to. But my good boy was
guaranteed to eat chicken nuggets, so the Golden Arches was our primary food
source.
In
Mitchell, SD, I stopped off at the famous Corn Palace. As I walked Huxley, a
tornado siren sounded, and a voice came over the Palace's loudspeaker advising
its visitors to go to a specific place within the building to ride out the
storm. I looked at my dog and laughed at the absurdity of my situation. What
was I going to do if a tornado came through? We loaded back into the car and stopped
at a McDonald's for food and a reliable restroom. As we stood in the increasing
wind eating beside the car outside the restaurant, a teenaged employee came
outside and said I had to come into their storage room to ride out the storm.
Since they allowed me to bring Huxley, who I absolutely would not have
abandoned in my car in the storm, we went in and stood in a stock room with a
bunch of strangers until the manager decided the danger had passed. Back
outside, I set my food and Coke onto the hood of my car as I buckled my dog
back into the front passenger seat. In the few moments it took to accomplish
that task, the wind blew my food and drink away so that I couldn't even see
them in the vicinity. The sky was an ominous green, and there were cloud
fingers reaching down from the sky. Nope! I hopped into the car and drove for three
more hours to get away from that weather system!
Tornado
night was my first time camping by myself. I found a KOA in Belvidere, SD,
where I set up my tent and marveled that I was doing another thing that was not
within my comfort zone. Huxley did great in the tent, so well, in fact, that we
camped several more times during our road trip. Each day and experience
provided me with more self-confidence and pride in my growth as a single
person.
On
day nine, I crossed the border into Canada. Cities and towns are much farther
apart in Canada on the route I was driving to Alaska than the cities in the
States. My drive times lengthened, and I had fewer options for places to stop.
I planned to stop for the night in Banff, Alberta. What I did not realize is
that Banff is a tourist resort-type town that is very expensive and outside
both my budget and comfort zone. Immediately after arriving, after roughly
eight hours of driving, I realized that I did not have enough cash on hand nor
money in my bank account to get a hotel for the night. My funds were in transit
from my savings account in one financial institution to my checking account
with a debit card at another financial institution. That two-day funds transfer
delay was crippling, as was my lack of a credit card. I called a friend and
sobbed. I acknowledged I was over my head and didn't know what to do. And then
I pulled myself together, found a campground to set up my tent and a reasonably
priced café to buy a couple of sandwiches for dinner and breakfast. That used
up most of my remaining available money. The temperature dropped below freezing
that night, and Huxley and I huddled together wishing I had thought to purchase
firewood.
Day
ten of my trek brought me to the start of the Alaska Highway in Dawson Creek,
BC, and a whole new brand of driving. I had never encountered frost heaves
before. I quickly discovered I had to drive slower than I wanted to avoid
becoming airborne and breaking an axel. Large sections of the highway were
gravel, which slowed me further. I constantly had to slow down for moose,
caribou, buffalo, bears, porcupine, woodchucks, and even the occasional fox.
Huxley was not amused by the wildlife, but I was enthralled! I played a game to
see how long it would be between sightings of other cars and people... it was
usually around forty-five minutes or more.
I
started my drive on June 11, 2017, and arrived in Anchorage, after a
nineteen-hour push because I was over it already, on June 22nd at
2:30am. I pulled into the parking lot at the apartment I had rented by
telephone a few days after my Camino and was home.
Alaska
has been cathartic for my soul. I have made excellent progress in recovering
from the depression that attempted to destroy me after I became a widow. The
mountains are magical, and I marvel at them daily. I have made some great
friends, had fantastic adventures, and even met someone. Being widowed at age
38, I did not have much hope that I would ever find love again. I met my new
husband just over a year after arriving in Anchorage. We now have the most
amazing miracle child, a faithful dog (Huxley passed away a year after I
arrived in Anchorage), and a beautiful home. I have found happiness I never
dreamed I would have. I am so lucky. None of this would have happened if I had
not taken that cab ride in Triacastela, Spain. That cab ride gave me the
courage to start the journey toward this life. Buen Camino indeed!
|