Pilgrimage without a smartphone! Ciao, bella, ciao E-Book

Alexander Arnold

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 203

Beschreibung

Amid in a midlife crisis, on the brink of divorce, and burnt out professionally, I embark on a journey. Nearly half a century lies behind me, but what lies ahead...? Numerous questions and life themes weigh heavier on my shoulders than the light pilgrim's pack on my back. The Camino leads from Porto through Santiago de Compostela to Fisterra, yet ultimately it is the path to oneself. It's an adventure to travel without a smartphone, to be present, and to have a keen appreciation for the wonders of nature. At the outset, the journey proves to be rough and stressful, but with time, it becomes smoother and more harmonious. The silent loner repeatedly encounters fellow pilgrim Tina along the way, and by journey's end, they not only share the common path...

Leseprobe

Content

Foreword:

Day 1/ 30.04.2019: Arrival in Porto

Mape Portugal

Day 2: Porto – Vila do Conde

Day 3: Vila do Conde – Esposende

Day 4: Esposende – Viana do Castelo

Day 5: Viana do Castelo – Caminha

Day 6: Caminha – Valença

Coat of Arms

Mape Spain

Day 7: Valença – Mos

Day 8: Mos – Pontevedra

Day 9: Pontevedra – Caldas de Reis

Day 10: Caldas de Reis – Padron

Day 11: Padron – Santiago de Compostela

Day 12: Santiago de Compostela – Piaxe (A Pena)

Day 13: Piaxe (A Pena) – O Logoso

Day 14: O Logoso – Fisterra

Day 16: Fisterra – Muxia

Day 16: Muxia – Santiago de Compostela

Day 17: Santiago de Compostela – Home

Data und Facts:

Itinerary:

MY COAT OF ARMS

The Royal Sphere (Steini)

Steadfastness and strength

The Clock (time)

Transience of all Life,

Attribute of Moderation

The Compass

Protector of Travelers,

Determination

The Pilgrim’s Staff (Stöcki)

The Third Leg, A Support

The Scallop Shell

The Ancient Pilgrimage Document,

Patron Saint of Pilgrims

The Anchor

Hope, Stability,

Love and the Sea

The Cross of St. James

Poverty (Renunciation), Obedience

....The symbols that have accompanied me on my journey.

Foreword:

A process of rethinking should begin. Not easy, but achievable, I believed. We’ll see where it leads me. Nutrition, exercise, yoga, yes, the path to living a more spiritual and healthier life was the beginning of a perceived better life. I sought advice and found a shaman whom I visited without prejudice, hoping he could help me or perhaps tell me what my path should be. He told me a lot - about my past life, the present and the potential future. There were crazy, but also very interesting claims floating around that captivated me. The important message and statment was that I should prepare for a time-off. As a recommendation, he handed me the Camino de Santiago in Spain and Portugal. It triggered something in me. My thoughts were solely focused on how I could realize it. I had a good job. I couldn’t simply throw everything away. I had to plan it carefully in advance. 2021 was going to be the year I would walk the Camino del Norte. “It’s still a long way off,” I thought to myself. Nevertheless, it began to trigger a lot of positive stress in me. As a very impatient person, I saw this as my first test. Strength lies in calmness! Many things in life take time, especially those that are meant to benefit us. The increasingly faster processes, in our ever-accelerating world, only trigger stress and make us sick. My patience couldn’t endure it for so long. I am someone who lets actions speak. What should I do? After some time, the solution came to soothe my impatience. A friend brought it up. She suggested that I should start with a smaller Camino to see if I even liked it. I thought the idea was great. So, I planned this journey, which I could realize with a normal 2.5-week vacation. The preparations and training for the Camino Portugues could begin. Four months later, it began. My adventure journey from Porto to the ancient end of the world in Fisterra.

Day 1/ 30.04.2019: Arrival in Porto

The bag is packed, and I have the feeling of not having forgotten anything. Internally, I am very tense. I constantly walk back and forth, checking for the third time if I packed my flip-flops.

For days now, I’ve been noticing how irritable I am. Why, though?

Julian, a friend who is supposed to take me to the airport, will arrive at 5:15 p.m. His driving style is pushing my nerves to the limit. I grip the seat tightly and shout:

“You drive like a beginner! One moment you’re speeding like crazy, and the next you’re crawling like a grandma. Oh, man... ”

Julian looks at me with wide eyes, shrugs his shoulders, and mutters only,

“Alex, you need a vacation!”

I feel that he’s right. I close my eyes and fall silent. Why am I so irritated, I wonder. Whatever, I just need to get away! Out of this everyday life, into my adventure with the slogan:

The journey is the destination!

By 6:30 p.m., we arrive at Weeze Airport, near the border with the Netherlands. I bid Julian a brief goodbye. He’s probably glad to be rid of me, the annoying person, I think to myself. I’m also relieved to have arrived without a nervous breakdown or a massive car accident. So, I wave to him briefly and start searching for the check-in counter.

The Ryanair check-in is the usual madness. People are bustling around in all directions. With their headphones on, they seem like they’re being controlled remotely. Everyone acts like robots. What a sad sight. The restlessness from the car ride threatens to resurface. Please, no!

Finally, it’s my turn, the luggage is checked in, and the security check goes smoothly. I have plenty of time. A deep breath temporarily calms my mind. Before takeoff, I buy a magazine, a bottle of water, and a baguette. Traveling tends to make me hungry and thirsty, or is that just nerve-food?

I briefly consider exchanging the water for a red wine but decide against it. Sometimes reason wins. But only sometimes. Before I get too proud of myself, I remember something I almost forgot. Tomorrow, my son has an important tournament. I take out my phone, thinking about what to say. I ponder, scratch my head. Then I type an SMS:

“Wishing you the best of luck for the upcoming tournament! You can do it! I love you!!”

After sending it, I keep staring at the screen for a while, wondering how he’s doing. When was the last time I had a proper conversation with him? I think and have to think back further. It’s not productive, I tell myself. You have to look forward. As I look around, I see some people who look like they’re also going on a pilgrimage. At least their shoes and clothes aren’t suitable for a samba competition. Let’s see if we’ll meet again.

The plane is full, and we start slightly delayed. That’s something I don’t like about Ryanair. The seats are a nightmare. My butt starts hurting after just five minutes. But fate is on my side because fortunately, the plane makes up for the lost time. We land on time, but the baggage-claim takes forever. I wonder why they don’t put chairs next to the conveyor belt. They would be handy for taking a little nap. “Damn Ryanair!” someone next to me curses. I grin in agreement at first and think to myself, “What do you expect from a one-way flight for 85 euros, including baggage?” And I only booked it a few weeks ago. Which usually doesn’t make things cheaper. Still too expensive for the service? No, far from it. In the context of the societal motto “being stingy is cool,” the ratio between service and compensation is completely out of balance.

After 30 minutes, the baggage carousel finally starts. As expected, my backpack comes out last. At least my bag arrived. I take a deep breath as I finally hold it in my hands. A few days ago, I emailed the owner of the accommodation for tonight and informed her that I wouldn’t be bringing a smartphone, tablet, or laptop. Only a basic cellphone, so we can only make calls or send text messages.

I deliberately didn’t bring a smartphone. It was getting on my nerves lately. It was constantly ringing, flashing, or buzzing with SMS messages, emails, and WhatsApp notifications that I had to respond to. “Am I the slave of this thing?” I asked myself, turned it off, and left it at home. I didn’t want to completely give up modern communication, though. In the 90s, there was a Scandinavian mobile phone manufacturer that was as big and significant as today’s fruit manufacturer from Silicon Valley or the electronics manufacturer from South Korea. They produced phones that looked like dinosaur bones. With these awkward devices, you could already make phone calls and send SMS messages back then. It was a hit at the time. I was amazed to find out that you can still buy these devices today. The salesperson explained to me:

“It’s hard to believe, but there are still people who only want to make phone calls or send an occasional SMS!”

That’s exactly what I needed! After all, there was a life before WhatsApp and company. It gave me confidence as I paid for the digital relic. My plan was to book the accommodations for the next few nights in local internet cafes. There had to be something available.

Since I’m not a fan of dormitories, also known as puma cages, or the symphony of snoring in mass sleeping rooms, I prefer to book guesthouses and hotels. Of course, there are budget limits there too. I don’t want to spend more than 50 euros per night. Well, that’s quite a bit more than a hostel, which costs around 6 to 15 euros. The comfort of a single room is worth it to me. The first three nights are already fixed; I had booked them in advance because I could plan that far ahead. I wanted to leave some room for flexibility. Who knows what might happen on a trip like this?

Elena, the owner of my first guesthouse, had offered to pick me up from the airport for a fee. I gladly accepted since I would be arriving in the evening and didn’t know how I would get to my first place to stay. It’s already 10:00 p.m. here , and pitch dark. So, I stroll towards the airport exit, scanning the crowd of people waiting for their friends and relatives.

And there I see her. I recognized her immediately, a typical Portuguese woman: dark hair, dark eyes, shoulder-length hair, and the same friendly smile as in her profile picture.

“Alexander?” she asks shyly.

I nod, smile, and ask, “Elena?”

Her dark eyes light up, she greets me with a casual “Olá!” and introduces me to her boyfriend, Ramon. He silently shakes my hand and scrutinizes me from head to toe. I try my best to give a son-in-law smile. Apparently, it’s well received because he mutters something under his breath that I don’t understand. Meanwhile, we make our way to the car. I can understand why Elena brought her boyfriend along. She looks even better than in the WhatsApp picture! Who knows what kind of guys come when booking anonymously over the internet, I think to myself. Elena interrupts my thoughts. She speaks very good English. On the way to her car, we talk about my flight, the weather in Germany and Portugal. Just small talk. Her boyfriend trots ahead like a loyal dog, always listening with one ear to make sure his lady is doing well. After a short walk to the parking lot, we drive to the outskirts of Porto in her French compact car. It’s dark now, and I let the lights of the night pass me by, listening to Elena’s words as she tells me about Porto, while Ramon silently navigates the car through increasingly smaller streets. Elena tells me it’s over 10 kilometers to her apartment. After about 20 minutes, Ramon parks the car in the underground garage. A slightly aged elevator takes us rattling up, almost to the top floor. The Pension Elena is a private apartment, not an official guesthouse. In the small apartment, she has carved out a little room and set up a small bathroom.

“Your own kingdom, Alexander!” Elena presents my home for the night.

Thank you! A bed, a bathroom, that’s all I need.

I’ll be leaving relatively early tomorrow morning anyway since Elena doesn’t offer breakfast. She hands me the apartment key in case I want to leave and explains a few details about my domain. Ramon stands in front of Elena’s bedroom with his arms crossed over his broad chest, silently indicating where my realm ends and his begins.

Feeling a bit tired, I get ready for bed and lie down. As I drift off to sleep, I suddenly jolt awake as I remember:

Tomorrow is May 1st, a public holiday even in Portugal! Where can I find breakfast then? I mentally turn to Google, even though I want to avoid the internet and all that, and surely, I won’t be the only one in Portugal looking for breakfast. That reassures me.

“There will surely be plenty of wonderful cafes or bakeries along my hiking route,” I whisper to myself, hoping, “They surely won’t all be as crazy as us and close up shop. Maybe even worse, barricade themselves?”

Just as my nerves start to calm down and I’m determined not to starve on May 1st, a thunderous roar passes by the head of my bed. It sounds like Niagara Falls rushing through this room. But it’s just the sewage pipe carrying the results of a toilet flush past the headboard of my bed. I’m about to jump out of bed when I realize the next flush is racing through the pipe.

“Fortunately, it’s just through the pipe,” I think to myself, “and not the entire room.” It’s a horror!

The second one today if you count the airplane seat, and the third if you consider Julian’s little tour. The toilet flush keeps running all the time, sometimes louder, sometimes quieter, sometimes like the Niagara Falls itself, and sometimes as if someone from the 10th floor is aiming into a bowl on the ground floor. I go to the bathroom, searching for a knob to turn it off. The only identifiable small water wheel is stuck tight. Nothing moves. Only the flushing sounds continue through the pipes, amplifying like in a tube amplifier. I shuffle back to my bed and search my luggage for earplugs. They’re from my employer, given away as a promotional item. Hopefully, they’re worth something,” I grumble to myself, firmly placing them in both ears. I feel the pressure of the plugs, yet still hear the flush. Even when I press the pillow over my ears, I hear the water waves raging through the pipes. Internally, I boil, curse, and rant about the useless earplugs that do nothing. They only create pressure in my ears. I fervently hope that our customers aren’t as angry at our company as I am right now. I would have immediately sent an email to the Marketing department, but I don’t have access to email. So, I toss and turn from one side to the other. After some time, I manage to somehow sleep for four consecutive hours.

Mape Portugal

Day 2: Porto – Vila do Conde

It’s already break of day, so one can get up; especially since, strangely enough, the flushing has become quieter. 6:30 a.m, nothing works anymore! A joy slowly rises within me. First, I’ll take a shower, cream my feet, and forget about last night’s toilet terror. How can I forget? I pause, listen, and marvel. Suddenly, the noise is completely gone. Did someone finally find the right lever or switch?! “Couldn’t they have done that earlier?!!” I mutter quietly to myself. “This is just a stupid joke. Is someone trying to mess with me...?”

However, I can’t think of anyone, as I don’t know anyone else here in Portugal. So, it’s pointless to dwell on it further. The first day of my hiking journey begins. It’s supposed to be completely relaxed. Without any burdens.

I’ve been creaming my feet for about two months now. Every evening, my soles receive a generous amount of deer tallow, which I carefully rub in. It’s good for the skin to prevent areas like blisters from getting sore. Additionally, it helps improve balance since the cream makes the feet quite slippery. In addition to the evening creaming ritual, I now also use camphor spray or foot powder in the morning. Double protection is better. This combination of creams is supposed to work wonders against blisters and abrasions. A salesperson at the hiking store gave me the tip. I promised to report back to him after my return. I already wonder why I should report to him whether it worked. So far, I’ve noticed that the creaming routine makes my feet pleasantly soft. It hasn’t been either hindering or advantageous.

Since I found out that I’m going on the Camino de Santiago, I’ve been training as often as possible. I walk with my hiking shoes and backpack into the countryside as frequently as I can. I wanted to get my body accustomed to the strain. After all, my body was used to reaching everything within a 100-meter radius. For everything else, there’s a smartphone and a car, of course!

My backpack weighs about 7.5 kg, including its contents. When drinks and provisions are added, it easily reaches 10 kilograms. Carrying that around for a whole day is not that simple. I realized this immediately when I started delving deeper into the journey.

I am a planner through and through. Before taking a step, I plan it, as well as the next one and the one after that. That’s why I also enjoyed preparing this trip systematically. Sometimes I think and plan too much, I know. Simply setting off from my desk seemed naive, thoughtless, and dangerous to me. There are people who just march on, in case they don’t run out of steam after a day, and the blisters burst their Samba shoes.

I look around in my realm, everything prepared, packed, left in order, and I paid for the overnight stay yesterday. Everything is taken care of. I am ready for my first day of travel. My joy is immense. I sneak out of the apartment, no flushing sound, only faint snoring noises coming from Elena’s bedroom.

I take the elevator down. Once outside the building, I find myself on the street. I squint into the morning sun, trying to orient myself. Because in the morning light, the world looks completely different here. I quickly find my first destination: a gas station. I greet with a casual “Olá,” as Elena taught me, and buy a large bottle of water. With an extra 1.5 kilograms on my back, I stroll towards the sea.

The fresh air does me good. It feels invigorating. My steps quicken as I spot a small café about 200 meters away, which seems to be open as people come and go. Expectantly, I open the squeaky door and take a seat at one of the available tables. Using hand gestures and broken fragments of Portuguese and Spanish, I order a cheese baguette with a hopefully delicious café con leche. It goes relatively well with my three foreign languages, or rather, my fragments of Portuguese and Spanish. I notice that English is not as widely spoken here. I don’t even attempt Dutch or German.

It’s already 8:00 a.m. The streets are nearly empty, just like back home in Germany on a holiday in May.

The weather is a dream. The sky is bright blue. Not a cloud in sight. After enjoying my cheese baguette and café con leche, I feel strengthened and continue my way. It’s nice to wander through the quiet streets in the outskirts of Porto. I know the general direction and that I have to cross a bridge. The sun, as we all know, rises in the East, giving me an important reference point for my walking direction. Barely 30 minutes of leisurely walking, and I already see the bridge I need to cross. As I stand on it and look along the course of the river, I catch sight of my beloved sea and the first pilgrims in the distance. It turns out to be a group from the Netherlands. I continue through one or two narrow alleys. A few minutes later, it stretches out before me: the Atlantic. “How I’ve longed for you,” I whisper quietly, pausing for a moment in awe to savor the moment and the view. People, pilgrims, many athletic Portuguese people buzz around here, going their own ways as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. I can’t help it; I have to take a photo with Steini.

Steini is my travel companion. He, it, she, or whatever it may be, was entrusted to me for this journey. Steini seems to come from Austria. A good friend who accompanied me at home during my training phase left it with me. We suspect it’s made of granite. Small, round, and very black. Slightly larger than a marble. It is meant to give me strength on my way. It was also left up to me to decide what should happen to it afterwards. Does it stay with me? Does it want to go to another person or a specific place? Who knows that now? It’s not a decision to be made now. The principle of here and now applies: It’s nice to have a companion with me!

After taking a deep breath, I continue. My path will always lead along the sea until today’s final destination. Isn’t that wonderful!?

I try to drink at least two sips of water every 15 minutes, even though the beautiful view keeps distracting me. Blue sky with delightful temperatures around 18 to 20 degrees Celsius, accompanied by a gentle sea breeze. One shouldn’t underestimate it!

It’s quite chilly. I feel like I’m facing more and more headwinds throughout the day. It’s getting to me. Step by step, I walk on signposted paths. My thoughts wander their own way. They occupy themselves with things that, in my opinion, have no place on my Camino. They distract me but can’t be redirected. It becomes clear to me that upon reaching my destination, I need to make a phone call. Hopefully, it’ll be the last one on my journey! I know, I originally wanted to abstain and only make calls in case of emergency. A dear friend is looking for a job. I had informed her that we had an opening. Just before my departure, I had discussed it with my boss. I absolutely have to let her know, otherwise it’ll occupy my mind, distract me, and annoy me. Lost in thought, I didn’t even notice that I’m walking very fast. I’m overtaking other pilgrims one after another. Maybe they’re just too slow, I consider, or am I too fast? It doesn’t matter, I have my pace, and that’s good. My thoughts wander off again. Shouldn’t I write a book?

There’s plenty of material, enough for many books even. I’ve experienced a lot, more than I would have liked. Maybe this adventure is worth being captured in a book? We’ll see…

The path is well-built. Almost the entire route follows a wooden path along the beach or through the dunes. It’s fascinating how often you have quiet moments where you don’t hear people or machines. But in return, much more beautiful sounds come to you if you allow yourself to perceive them. The sound of the sea on the left, the singing of birds on the right. After about 18 kilometers without a break, I can feel my feet and calves a bit more. Give up? No way!

On the horizon, I already see my destination city, Vila do Conde. After a total of 24.5 kilometers, I reach my first overnight stop. It’s still very early. It’s only 1:00 p.m. Doesn’t matter. Let’s go in and see if the room is ready.

It is a beautiful old building, as you would expect from the old architectural styles of the Portuguese or Spanish. Is it colonial architecture?

Maybe, I don’t know. Is it important? No. Do I like it? Yes! A massive stone staircase leads to the first floor, and then I’m already at the reception. In front of me are two young girls who want to check-in. Their room is not ready yet, but they can leave their luggage. Carefully, I gather my collected Portuguese knowledge:

“Olá, ... and room ready? Alex is my name! I made a reservation...” I continue in English.

“Olá!” greets the nice lady. “Your room is already done!” she replies in fluent English.

I smile, she smiles back. Communication can be so simple. She shows me to my room. I am very satisfied. It has everything you need for a night. A queen-size bed with a private bathroom. What’s particularly important to me: Everything is clean! Based on last night’s experience, I flush the toilet and listen intently. Relief sets in. It only does what it’s supposed to do and stops immediately. No sound generator! But another sound makes itself noticed: My stomach growls. Loudly and getting louder. Taming this beast