By Sarah Kim

The Camino de Santiago has ended for us — some of us went home and others have continued to travel on. We all can agree that we appreciated the journey, and have been enlightened in big or small ways. We pushed our limits, and made it to the very end, and that feeling of accomplishment is something we can never forget. Now that it is over, we have a better understanding of why people continue to travel along the multiple ways of St. James — some had religious reasons and some had spiritual or recreational reasons, but regardless of that it is time needed away from the daily stressors of life, just like they did during medieval times. A pilgrim will go through times of reflective solitude and also times being vulnerable with a complete stranger. Phil Cousineau, the author of The Art of Pilgrimage says, “Pilgrimage means following in the footsteps of somebody or something we honor to pay homage. It revitalizes our lives, reinvigorates our very souls.” The people in the past carved the path, and we people of the present continue to use the path in our own ways.

By Matthew Dent

When one walks 116km, it can challenge the way you look at your world. In my hometown, and many places in America, a walk of more than five minutes is considered a long walk. In Spain, in the cities especially, that was not the case. We walked everywhere out of necessity, and this is after already walking 15 miles from town to town. My feet held up well, but my illusions of distance did not. No longer will I lament a ten minute walk if I miss the bus. I know how far and, to be frank, how easy a thirty minute walk really is. I actually enjoyed walking — it brought prospective and easy time for reflection. Or, if you tire of yourself and your thoughts, some earbuds and an album always serves to keep you occupied. Plus, while you see the landscape from the backseat of a car, you FEEL the landscape when you walk it. Each hill becomes a journey, each stretch of open ground in the hot sun a gauntlet. I did not feel the elation that was reported upon seeing the Cathedral of Saint James, but I did when John and I scaled the hill to the hotel after walking forty minutes from the center of town. Do I regret walking? No, and my feet do not either.

By Cory Jones

The Camino for me was a pretty moving experience. I really got to know myself and what I am capable of achieving. Hiking the Camino, even for only 100 kilometers, was extremely difficult. We forged friendships and created lasting bonds together, but we all grew individually as well.

It took a lot of personal perseverance to achieve what we did and I look at my Compostela now, knowing that I am capable of more than I think sometimes. The Camino is a metaphor for life for me, it has moments of pure joy as well as arduous hills to climb, but every step of the way is an achievement.

‪By Matthew Dent

When it comes down to it, the Camino is about people. People walk to and from, up and down, but most importantly, in and out of our lives. The Korean man who walks by and gives you a thumbs up, the Briton who says “Buen Camino” through labored breath, the Spaniard who yodels as he bikes past — these are the true notes of flavor to the Camino. What forms the backbone is walking, the dominant mindless trudging through idyllic and stinking dairy country which every pilgrim must endure. However, the high and mid notes of this aromatic cocktail are the moment-to-moment, person-to-person encounters. In León, as we performed our evening crawl through downtown eating numerous and delicious tapas, I bumped into a man from Japan names Daiki. I lived in Japan for several years, so it took less time than a jackrabbit takes to leap off a hot griddle for us to become fast friends. Daiki was beginning the Camino the next morning at six o'clock. We laughed and joked, but we also discussed more serious matters like the state of his beloved home country and how he planned to go back home to his girlfriend and his family. If not for those human elements, like sharing a beer with Daiki over tapas and discussing his hopes and fears, we would simply be plodding along as sheep over hills and streams to a giant stone box. Instead, we build these ephemeral relationships that transcend the boundaries of normal friendship. We are bonded by our journey and our struggle, by our sore feet and our tired eyes. They say in the study abroad safety meetings, “be wary of "instant friends," but there should be an asterisk saying: *except on the Camino.

By Corey Jones

‪For me the best parts of the Camino are the quiet moments of reflection that I find as we walk. I breathe in the fresh air in the eucalyptus forests and am alone with my thoughts even as we file past groups on the trail. However, we have also met many other pilgrims on the road and that has provided its own kind of reflection.

‪One of the most memorable to me was a couple from San Francisco we met at the beginning of the Camino. They were an older couple and they had some interesting views on the experience. They were doing the Camino for religious reasons and they were extremely interested in the history behind it. Talking with them made me realize just how much I cared about this thing that we are doing and how glad I am that I have been able to experience such a historically significant place.

‪Of course then afterward, the husband told us that he didn't major in history because he wanted to "major in something practical," so that changed the way that I looked at them a little. However, they were the catalyst for a revelation that I am in an amazing place and seeing something truly important.

‪By Sarah Kim

I had this romantic expectation of the Camino being all about me. I was being selfish and only thinking of trying to find myself along the Camino, and have been ignoring the other side of the Camino, meeting people. There are times to be silent and reflect, but it is also important to balance that with time to be social and not remain in solitude the entire way. Some people come into our lives and may quickly go, but they all awaken a new understanding or perspective during the time they share with us.

‪I met this lovely lady named Cheryl, who came to the Camino with her daughter's youth group. She hoped to spend time with her daughter and take it slow. Her daughter though, believed the Camino was a race. As a result, Cheryl spent much of her time chasing after her daughter and worried that she was wasting her own pilgrimage. She was also disappointed that some French pilgrims accused her group of not being real pilgrims since they were only walking a small portion of the Camino and not staying in albergues. She found this criticism particularly upsetting because she was already pushing her limits. In her frustration she asked me what a real pilgrim is — a question I couldn't fully answer. Everyone has their own opinion on what a real pilgrim is.

By Matt Dent

The Taberna Patillas was plastered with old photos and newspaper clippings. Every space except the reddish-brown bar was occupied by the remains of patrons past and present. Hanging from these littered walls were various acoustic instruments including several guitars, a mandolin, and a violin. As our huge group ordered drinks, a group of old men entered and sat in the back corner, one of them quietly tuning his guitar. Without warning, the suave, portly man with slicked-back white hair began to sing. The songs he sang sounded like traditional ballads, while the guitarist expertly strummed along. We got the guitarist to play some more modern songs, mostly the Beatles, and we tried to sing along. Eventually, as we tired of the bar, an Irish woman came in with a fiddle and started playing with the gentlemen. She was getting upset at our bar noises, plus we were ready to leave, so we made like a lumberjack and split.

By John Douglas

The sound of the tambour drums wormed their way into the cavernous reaches of the cathedral of Covarrubias from the street, filling the cold medieval structure with life. Shawms then joined in a archaic wail as the procession crossed the threshold. Even from my poor seat in the nave next to the dusty bones of a long forgotten bishop I could see the procession slowly approach the altar in solemn composure. King Alfonso X took his seat on the altar with his queen and their whole noble retinue as the last notes of the drums and pipes echoed off of the vaulted ceiling. Although heavily accented with the tones of Castile, even a linguistically inept catholic American such as myself can still follow through the entire mass with little difficulty. It seem very strange to me that I was experiencing something universally understandable yet something so alien as a medieval Spanish Catholic mass. The congregation emerged from the cathedral into a different mass, a foreign one of swirling colors and smells erupting from a medieval festival that had set up shop outside. I threaded my way through the throng, admiring the wonderful crafts that these villagers cobbled together (in one case quite literally). However, I was soon broken out of my reverie by a stone-faced grim reaper. Why somebody would decide to dress up in a all black outfit in the midst of a Spanish heatwave as an embodiment of death is anybody’s guess. Perhaps it was actually the  grim reaper there to remind all of those who had opted out of mass for caramelized almonds and leather handbags that they too would one day face their judgement. Gotta love the universality of Catholic guilt.

By Sarah Kim

There was a Medieval festival at Covarrubias near Burgos, which was probably one of the most amazing things so far. There were shops, people dressed up in medieval apparel, a fun parade — we even met the Grimm Reaper lurking around the elderly. Some of my friends and I received a tarot stone reading at the festival as well — it was my third spiritual reading so far on this trip. The tarot stone lady told me that I needed to get to know myself better. Fortunately, the Camino is coming soon, and I have about 100 kilometers and six days of walking to get to know myself. All my spiritual readings have pointed me towards the Camino, which has been encouraging me to get excited about the walk with our lovely new friends.

We have only been in Spain for a few days but we have already had so many incredible experiences on the road to Santiago. We began yesterday in Barcelona and today we crossed the border into France briefly to visit St. Jean Pied de Port followed closely by Roncesvalles in the evening. We have traversed over a significant portion of the country, seen multiple Gothic churches, eating some amazing food, and putting our feet in the sand of the Camino. In our short time here, we have already come into contact with the Camino 'communitas,' the people here have been immeasurably friendly and welcoming. While we have seen this community spirit in action many times, some experiences stay with us more than others. 

I was waiting on my friends when a middle-aged woman strolled into the bar and ordered a red wine. This being Spain, the seating arrangement in the establishment was rather hectic — I was already perched on the edge of the fireplace — so she borrowed a chair from another Spanish couple and set it down close to me. Inspired by my rather lonely and melancholic temperament at the moment, I ordered a beer and slumped back to my place at the fireplace. I was perfectly content to stare at the painting of the Basque shepherd on the far wall and compare his anxious indirect gaze to the same gaze with which the Basque man who sat beneath the painting looked at his wife. The woman, however had other plans; after I sat back down she said hello and asked how I was doing, in English, thankfully. Grateful for non-painting-related human contact, I slid over on the fireplace next to her like I was Tom Cruise sliding in his socks in Risky Business. Her name was Pauline, a retired lawyer from Amsterdam who worked as a hospitaler in the local Albergue. Forty-five minutes later, after meeting her husband Ben — who bought me another round — I had made two more friends. This, Pauline assured me, “Is the spirit of the Camino, we are always glad to share what we have and share our experiences.” Even with the Basque man hung on the wall staring anxiously at us, I was sure that I had tapped into something honest — something human. 
 
Standing in the church in St. Jean Pied de Port, it was hard not to feel the power of the Camino pressing down on you. The gothic arches soared upward, bringing us towards God, while the candles and stone altar anchored us to the Earth. Staring like this, at the grandeur facilitated by the church, something seeps into your bones and draws you into the Camino.  We want to get started, to get walking towards our destination, towards Santiago. There is a certain je n'est sais quois in the churches here. A connection with the earth, or with God, or something that touches us spiritually.
 
At dinner we made friends with two other pilgrims named, Jose-Manuel and just Jose. Although, they only spoke Spanish, we didn't let language be a barrier for a new friendship. They shared their purpose for pursuing the Camino. Jose-Manuel had been recently divorced, and was seeking himself along the Camino. He was looking for clarity and a new purpose. Jose has been on the Camino multiple times, simply for the adventure and to meet new people from different cultures. He told us that the Camino is not only one culture, but a mixture of many different cultures, so we will see different faces. And although they all may look different, they are still pilgrims. Later, we were blessed to be given a private tour by the Father of the church in Roncesvalles, who told us that "in this walk, you have no masks, you are just who you are, no longer defined by society, you are just a pilgrim.