Beyond Expectations - Conversations With Kate
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Beyond Expectations
Beyond
Expectations
6 Days on the Camino Portugués
KATE W. FISHER
This is a work of creative nonfiction. Some parts have been fictionalized for various purposes. Copyright © 2020 by Kate W. Fisher All photos were taken by the author. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the copyright owner’s written permission. For more information, email: kate@conversationswithkate.net www.conversationswithkate.net First paperback edition, December 2020 ISBN 978-0-578-80220-6
For my adult children, Alex and Nettie,
who teach and encourage me
CONTENTS
TWO YEARS BEFORE..................................9
INVITATION ......................................................13
MY FIRST TIME IN SPAIN.........................15
DAY 1 - TUI.........................................................23
DAY 2 - PORRIÑO ........................................31
DAY 3 - REDONDELA................................47
DAY 4 - PONTEVEDRA.............................55
DAY 5 - CALDAS DE REIS........................63
DAY 6 - ESCRAVITUDE..............................71
AFTERWARD...................................................83
THE REAL JOURNEY BEGINS..............85
APPENDIX
MY CAMINO PACKING LIST..................88
PHOTO DESCRIPTIONS..........................90
ENGLISH GLOSSARY.................................92
SPANISH GLOSSARY.................................94
RESOURCES...................................................96
7
8
TWO YEARS BEFORE
How are you going to do that?
WHEN I TOLD MY FRIENDS that I was
going to Europe by myself, they said,
What?! Not that long ago, you couldn’t
even go to the grocery store by yourself! How
are you going to do that? How do you even
know if it’s a legitimate program?
Depression and anxiety, a complete and
total breakdown, had forced me to retire from
my public school teaching job early. After a
long recovery, including nearly a dozen things
I won’t go into here, I was willing to venture
back out into the world. When the scholarship
opportunity arrived in my email box, I knew at
once that it was meant to be.
I saw the decision to earn my certificate
to Teach English as a Foreign Language as a
way to discover a new source of income and
purpose in my life. I had been researching
programs online for several months. Then an
email came inviting me to apply for a TEFL
9
beyond expectations
scholarship, and I investigated it immediately.
The plan was to complete ten modules online.
Then I would go to Poland, a country I’d never
been to before, to participate in the experiential
part of the program. It required volunteering in
three English immersion programs over three
weeks. I applied on a Friday and was accepted
and presented with my schedule the following
Monday.
Several weeks later, I boarded a plane to
Warsaw and began a journey of self-discovery,
of trusting myself with decisions, and navigat-
ing life on my terms. It was a significant risk,
but it paid off. I tapped into my strengths and
found immense satisfaction in conversations
with Polish professionals while I helped them
overcome their fear of speaking in English.
New places and faces allowed me to connect
authentically, with no strings attached. The
dark and dreary days of depression faded
entirely away, and both light and lightness
returned to my days.
After returning home, I began disentangling
myself from the expectations that had been
holding me back for years. I separated from
my husband and started my online teaching
business. Stronger and bolder, I took the lid off
106 days on the camino Portugués
of suppressed dreams. One that had been there
for a decade emerged. I wanted to walk on the
Camino de Santiago.
What follows is the story of my six-day
journey on the Camino Portugués, the second
most popular route to Santiago de Compostela.
In the northwest of Spain, this city is the desti-
nation of many pilgrimage routes that begin as
far away as Scandinavia and Eastern Europe.
After arriving in Santiago de Compostela,
weary pilgrims gather and stand in awe below
the cathedral’s grand facade. Inside, in a crypt
in the lower part of the church, is an ornate
silver reliquary. It holds the remains of St.
James, the patron saint of Spain. In Spanish,
The Way of St. James is known as Camino de
Santiago.
Devout Catholics and other seekers of
forgiveness and healing have been walking
from their homes in Europe to Santiago de
Compostela since medieval times. Today,
people from as far away as New Zealand and
Brazil come to the Camino for a variety of
reasons that range from spiritual to sport. Some
move quickly along the Camino on bicycles.
Most people walk. The journey may take
weeks, months, or even longer.
11beyond expectations
So why six days? Because I had already
scheduled two new volunteer English immer-
sion programs, one in Poland and the other in
Spain. And I had exactly one week in between.
It was perfect for walking the shortest path
to complete a pilgrimage. The requirements
are: 1) to walk at least the last 100 km from any
direction to Santiago de Compostela; 2) collect
at least two stamps per day in your creden-
cial, which is like a passport; 3) present your
credencial at the Pilgrim’s Office in Santiago
and receive a Compostela or certificate of
completion. I could hardly wait to begin.
12INVITATION
One client asked me to tell her a story.
PEOPLE COME FROM all over the world
to walk the Camino. They come for personal
reasons and bring their stories and experiences
with them. Some people come for solitude. A
majority of them come to enjoy one of life’s
great pleasures, walking and talking.
Because English has become the Global
Language for international communication,
many of those conversations are in English.
As you read this book, I invite you to
follow me on my six-day journey. It doesn’t
matter if you are an English Language Learner
interested in travel and hiking, or someone
interested in learning how to walk at least 100
km to Santiago and receive a Compostela, the
certificate of completion. Perhaps you are both.
Or neither. Maybe you just like stories.
When I began teaching English as a Foreign
Language to intermediate and advanced
learners, some of them asked for listening
13beyond expectations
comprehension practice. One client asked me
to tell her a story.
I began to describe short episodes from my
life and created accompanying lesson guides
with vocabulary, conversation questions,
transcripts, and audio recordings.
This book is a more extended version of
those learning resources. I describe my experi-
ence on the Camino Portugués, what I observed,
and some of my thoughts. To assist readers,
I’ve included a glossary in the back.
Additional materials for English Language
Learners, including the audio and a workbook,
are available by contacting me via my website,
www.conversationswithkate.net.
My hope is that what I have written here
inspires you to examine the expectations and
unfulfilled dreams in your life. We’ll return to
these ideas at the end of the story, in the chapter,
“The Real Journey Begins.”
14MY FIRST TIME IN SPAIN
I spent my siesta walking alone to La Alberca.
SOMETIMES IT IS ESSENTIAL to leave it
all behind—home, family, and work—to focus
on something else. That is why English immer-
sion programs take place in remote locations in
the European countryside.
Professionals needing to speak English for
international business or academics seek quick
progress in an intensive English experience.
Native English-speaking volunteers come from
their various homelands to see a different part
of the world, connect with a different culture
and its people, improve their teaching methods
and communication skills, or simply have fun
in a beautiful setting.
When I traveled to Poland in 2016 and 2017,
I participated in week-long programs that took
place in a country manor outside of Warsaw, a
resort in the Knyszyńska Primeval Forest, and
hotels in the Tatra and Karkonosze mountains.
The next year, in 2018, I found a program in
15beyond expectations
Spain located in a 4-star resort surrounded by
four mountain ranges in northwest Spain; the
Sierra de Bejar, La Peña de Francia, Sierra de
Francia, and the Sierra de Kilama.
IT WAS MY FIRST TIME IN SPAIN. I flew
from Atlanta, in the USA, to Madrid. There I
joined the volunteers and our program facilita-
tor for a traditional Spanish lunch and Flamenco
performance. The next day we boarded a large
tour bus and were paired with a Spanish partic-
ipant. From the moment we stepped on the bus,
we were to speak only in English.
At the resort, we stayed in small chalets
situated around a central dining and meeting
complex. At lunch and dinner, we sat around
tables covered in white linen and were served
by waiters who brought delicious food on china
plates along with bottles of local red and white
wine. Actually, the Spanish midday meal can
hardly be called lunch. At 2 pm, it is followed
by sobremesa, which is leisurely chatting at the
table after dinner, and then a siesta.
During the siesta, everyone retreated to
their private rooms, and most everyone slept.
The twenty-four Spanish professionals needed
to rest their brains. They were extremely tired
166 days on the camino Portugués
working on comprehension and speaking
in English all day and throughout the long
evenings.
The volunteers disappeared, too. Thus, it
was a time that I could break free and walk
alone to La Alberca in preparation for my
Camino the following week. Walking a couple
of kilometers to this small historic village was
peaceful, good exercise, and also an opportu-
nity to practice Spanish with locals passing by
or in the quaint little shops in town.
It occurred to me that, like many people
walking the Camino, the English immersion
participants had decided to travel away from
work and family distractions to make new
connections through the English language.
The difference was the intensity of activity
in this structured program. Here we talked
in pairs, in small groups, and played games
together. We performed role-plays, skits, and
gave presentations. We danced, sang, and most
significantly, we shared personal stories. By
the end of the week, everyone had developed
a special bond. The Spaniards had overcome
their fear of speaking in English. And we all
left happy and exhausted.
17beyond expectations
WHEN I GOT OFF THE BUS in Madrid, I was
on my own again. I hoisted my 27-liter Osprey
backpack onto my shoulders and felt a tingle
of excitement mixed with anxiety.
Navigating the streets of Madrid was a
challenge. They fanned out at angles from the
main square, and it was hard to differentiate
one from the other. They were all filled with
people, making it difficult to see signs and
landmarks. The metro was even more confus-
ing. So many steps, escalators, levels, and right
turns, taking me in different directions. I held
out my map, pointing, asking anyone who
paused long enough to listen: ¿Este tren va al
aeropuerto?
Most of the time, I seemed to be going
against the crowd of people, and I tried not to
bump into anyone. My feet felt at home in my
hiking boots. The challenge was navigating
with my backpack, stuffed with what I thought
I needed. Anything else would come to me
according to the saying, “the Camino provides.”
Train and bus service to the beginning point
of my Camino walk was not as convenient or
cheap as taking a plane, so I flew from Madrid
to Vigo, the closest airport to Tui.
186 days on the camino Portugués
WHEN I ARRIVED there were no other
pilgrims in sight. The airport seemed almost
deserted. My stomach rumbled, and I had no
one to meet, so I decided to go to the cafeteria.
I selected an empanada and some juice,
set it on a tray, and walked over to the empty
seating area. Something felt strangely out of
place, and it wasn’t me. Opera music filled the
room. I’d never heard it in an airport before.
The music was coming from an old box
television hanging overhead, and I soon learned
that la diva Monserrat Caballé had died. It
seemed that the whole country had stopped to
mourn and remember.
I watched the tributes rolling by, inter-
spersed with highlights from her career.
There was the time she sang Barcelona with
Freddy Mercury and more of her greatest hits.
Mesmerized, I listened until she was singing
something about the moon, luna, and I realized
that I had better get a taxi to my hotel, or I’d
risk arriving after dark.
It turned out that my hotel was just north
of Tui. I stood in the parking lot of the Alfonso
Hotel and looked around. There was one lone
expensive-looking car, the color of whiskey.
Tied to each of the four-door handles by a wide
19beyond expectations
ivory ribbon were pink roses, ferns, and tiny
white flowers. I imagined it was a princess on
a pilgrimage, or more likely, a wedding party.
On the second and third floors, outside of
each room were small round tables and chairs,
ornate, black, wrought-iron like the balcony
railing. Curved privacy dividers created
intimate spaces that reminded me of opera
boxes. The voice of la diva Montserrat Caballé
was lingering in my head.
Inside the hotel was a small gift shop. I
found a pristine, white scallop shell with a
bright red string threaded through tiny holes
on either side of the point where all of the ribs
came together. It reminded me of the map in my
credencial in which so many paths converged
in Santiago.
206 days on the camino Portugués
21beyond expectations
Turning the shell over in my hand, I felt
the ridges on one side and the smooth surface
underneath. Turning it over in my mind, I
hesitated. I had read that the possession of
a shell was proof that a pilgrim had been to
the sea, past Santiago de Compostela, and to
Finisterre, “the end of the earth.”
Casting off any concern of what people
might think, I made my first purchase and tied
the shell to my backpack. It felt official. I was
a pilgrim.
OFF OF THE LOBBY was a small restaurant
where I purchased my first pilgrim dinner for
12 euros. The entrée was a jumbo serving of
Spanish egg and potato tortilla. A glass of dry
white wine, a basket of crusty fresh bread, and
a pale green salad topped with hard-boiled egg
slices and canned tuna rounded out the meal.
Alone, yet not lonely, I savored my meal
and enjoyed the freedom of no one else to feed,
no one else with a mind to read.
When I felt full, I managed enough Spanish
to request a piece of aluminum foil to save half
of the tortilla; provisions for the next day.
22DAY 1
Tui to Porriño, 15 km
IN THE MORNING, my alarm went off at
5:30 am, and then everything was so quiet.
Pulling the curtain aside, I could see that it was
nighttime. Stars were still visible in the cold
blue October sky.
I had staged everything the evening before,
so all I had to do was get dressed, put my
phone in my hiking skirt pocket, and grab my
backpack. I found my way downstairs to the
reception area, where I dropped my key off
at the desk. The only light was coming in the
window from a street light, barely illuminating
a narrow wall map of the Camino. I studied the
squiggly line from Tui northward to Santiago
and noted the towns in between. Almost exactly
what I had planned. But this? Standing alone in
the dark, I asked myself why I hadn’t requested
a ride after sunrise, in the daylight.
¿Está usted lista? asked an elderly gentle-
man. Sí, señor, I replied and climbed aboard the
23beyond expectations
shuttle bus. I focused on taking deep breaths
and nervously fiddled with my backpack straps.
It was too early for me to try to make small talk
with my limited Spanish.
I expected to begin at the cathedral in
Tui. Instead, the driver stopped at a dimly lit
and empty parking lot behind a small church.
He told me to wait until I saw other pilgrims
walking along the street out front.
Distracted by the doubts swirling in my
mind, I managed to say muchas gracias as I
hopped out of the van with my backpack. He
wished me buen Camino, and then the van
disappeared down the alley, leaving me alone
in the quiet before dawn.
At that moment, I had no idea what I was
doing. It was dark, damp, and I felt disori-
ented. Which way was north, toward Santiago?
What if the pilgrims were walking south toward
Fátima? I took another deep breath and said a
little prayer for safety.
Then I saw it, a large yellow arrow painted
on a crumbling concrete wall, pointing the
way. Fátima arrows were blue, I remembered.
This yellow arrow was the only bright spot in
a shroud of darkness. Should I follow it now
or wait as I’d been instructed? I decided to do
246 days on the camino Portugués
a walking meditation around the parking lot
until daybreak.
Before long, my attention was caught by
three small lights bobbing up and down in
the distance. They seemed to draw closer, and
before long, I recognized them as headlamps
on three people walking in rhythm down the
sidewalk in front of the church.
I ran toward the yellow arrow and through
the driveway to catch up with them. As I
approached, I slowed down and joined the line
of pilgrims, barely visible by the light on their
foreheads. Not one of them made a sound. It
felt a bit strange, and yet I was relieved. I was
walking on the Camino!
When I thought about the fact that these
walkers had also started in the dark, I relaxed
a bit. Maybe I knew what I was doing, after
all. The line of pilgrims spaced out into small
groups, everyone walking at their own pace,
still in complete silence.
I sensed someone behind me and turned to
look. A small woman carrying a large backpack
smiled at me. I smiled back and whispered, “Is
it against the rules to talk?”
“If it is, I guess we are breaking the rules,”
she said wryly, and thus began a conversation
25beyond expectations
with my walking companion for the day.
Both native English speakers, we had come
from different parts of the world. Although she
was shorter, she had a nice stride. She knew how
to use her hiking poles, and we were quickly in
sync, both walking and in conversation.
I asked her what had brought her to the
Camino. Like me, she had read Paulo Coelho’s
The Pilgrimage and had been intrigued by the
story. We shared how we both had learned
that this Camino place was real and came to
discover its magic and the part of ourselves we
hoped it would reveal. Time seemed to vanish
as the conversation unfolded. One after another,
details of our lives accumulated like the steps
taking us closer and closer to our destination.
The early morning light turned into a
brilliant autumn day. Our eyes turned upward
and saw a limitless, cloudless, azure blue sky.
The sun warmed our bodies from the outside,
and the exertion of climbing the hills warmed
us from the inside.
We stopped at the first of many Spanish
cafés, oddly called bars, and admired an old
Spanish hórreo, a stone granary held up on
granite posts. It was decorated with pumpkins
and squash, lending a festive air to the morning.
266 days on the camino Portugués
Pilgrims stood in line to order fresh-
squeezed orange juice or café con leche and
toasted baguette with fruit jam. They then
gathered outside under large umbrellas. Some
people took advantage of the free wifi. The
proprietor was happy to stamp each credencial,
the pilgrim passport, and wished us all buen
Camino!
Buen Camino is a greeting often heard
coming and going. It translates “good way,”
although many use it to say, “Have a good
journey!” This applies to the Camino and to
life.
27beyond expectations
Yellow arrows tacked to telephone poles
or painted on signs were our guides. Asphalt
and dirt roads carried us between and through
villages. Old folks tending their gardens and
curious cats perched on stone fences watched
us pass. Men, women, children, and even
babies in strollers or carried in backpacks made
their way northward toward Santiago.
By early afternoon we had reached the
destination for today, the town of Porriño.
Shoulders aching, feet swollen and heavy, I felt
the best kind of tired. I was ready to put down
my backpack, filled to the brim with what I
already questioned were necessities.
My walking companion was staying at a
pilgrim hostel near the Camino. Her parting
286 days on the camino Portugués
words were thank you and something about the
beauty of the outer and inner landscape.
Because I had booked a private room
with a bath, I had another kilometer or two of
walking across town. Content to survey the
outer landscape, I eventually made it uphill to
my hotel, where I enjoyed a warm bath and a
view of the mountains from a sunlit balcony
bordered by magenta bougainvillea flowers.
The gentle mountain view reminded me of the
Blue Ridge and Appalachian Mountains I call
home. My heart was full. I felt connected to
people, this new place, and a part of me that
was reawakening.
29beyond expectations
30DAY 2
Porriño to Redondela, 15.5 km
PORRIÑO WAS ALREADY BUSTLING with
activity when I left the hotel and walked back
through the town toward the Camino. Parents
clasped the hands of their children as they
walked briskly toward school. Their gaze was
straight ahead or down, and I imagined their
thoughts deep within. The adults were proba-
bly thinking about their “to do” list for the day.
I, on the other hand, was taking in all of
the sights and sounds of the morning. Cars
and buses, barking dogs, and a brilliant light
filled the street. I greeted everyone with hola
and buenas. No one responded, but that didn’t
matter. I wanted to begin my day in the Spirit of
the Camino without any of my old inhibitions.
So I wished each person buen Camino on their
journey of life.
Once I was back on the Camino, the pace
slowed. Most pilgrims ease into the day. The
first hour or two is meditative and reflective. I
31beyond expectations
began a walking meditation using poems and
prayers that I knew by heart. It was interrupted
by monkey-mind thoughts, mostly questions.
Where had that inhibition come from
anyway? I wasn’t born with it. Was it that time
I was too loud in summer camp during seventh
grade? Or the time that I was singing at the top
of my lungs and then realized I wasn’t alone?
Is inhibition created by society’s expectations
to be a good little girl or the pile of embar-
rassments that accumulate over the years?
How much was a result of expectations that I’d
placed on myself?
326 days on the camino Portugués
The elevation changed at the edge of town,
and we ascended a small mountain through a
dark forest. At the top, a light-filled opening
gifted us with a fine view of green mountains
and sunlit vineyards. Then the path descended
quickly into a valley.
I was moving at a brisk pace and soon, I
was gaining on a couple ahead of me. I noticed
that the woman was about my age, and she was
dragging her feet. I imagined how each step
caused great pain. Still, she kept putting one
foot in front of the other. Her companion walked
alongside with his elbow bent at a ninety-de-
gree angle, palm up. Her hand rested palm
down on his and I imagined energy flowing
between them, enabling her to keep walking. I
wondered if I would have such perseverance or
patience. A twinge of envy arose as I imagined
myself with a man who supported me in such
a way.
Perhaps I was expecting too much. There
was always the underlying comparison with
my father. I had never questioned his love or
concern for my well-being. He was always
interested in listening to what I had to say and
how I was feeling. We sometimes clashed, but
he was quick to say he was sorry. I felt that his
33beyond expectations
words of appreciation were specific, genuine,
and heartfelt. I felt truly loved and valued, no
matter what. Maybe that kind of connection
just didn’t happen in marriage. My father had
been gone for a decade now, and I missed him.
I decided to be grateful to have had such
a father and for everything good in my life.
Around ten, I stopped at a bar and drank a
café con leche served with a small piece of
chocolate. Sitting next to me was an older man,
a self-described devout Catholic, who told me
that he was walking the Camino for penance.
I’d heard of this; a combination of self-punish-
ment and repentance. For what, he didn’t say.
We left the café at the same time and fell
in behind a group of pilgrims. Guided by the
yellow arrows, and sometimes a scallop shell,
we walked with an easy rhythm in comfort-
able silence. My thoughts shifted from the
present to my past as I began to survey my
inner landscape.
I thought about this idea of penance and the
way that I had engaged in self-punishment for
years. My regrets piled up like stacks of books
on my nightstand, some larger and heavier
than others. There were too many things that I
wished I had done for my children, my efforts
346 days on the camino Portugués
to save a second marriage had failed, and I
couldn’t manage the stress of my impossible
job. Finally, I had collapsed under a mound
of regrets and unmet expectations and became
acquainted with acute anxiety and deep
darkness. It cost me my job and almost my life.
I shuddered to think what might have happened
if my sister had not insisted that I come to live
with her until I was well.
My new Catholic friend began talking again,
bringing me back to the present moment. He
told me how he felt close to death and wanted
to make sure that he would be forgiven for his
past mistakes. About these, he did not speak.
Instead, he told me about meeting his wife.
It was straight out of a movie, a romance in
Paris over fifty years ago and love ever after. I
wondered if his penance was only to make sure
that they’d meet again on the other side.
As we walked, he filled in a few more details
of his long and happy life. We stopped to take
photos at a stone marker and a prayer wall
covered in scallop shells, bright ribbons, and
petitions. Mine would be a prayer for anyone
suffering from anxiety and depression.
Thank God, I had recovered. At my
lowest point, I felt totally and utterly alone,
35beyond expectations
disconnected from everyone and everything.
There was also unbearable shame until I found
the understanding and connection with people
who had similar experiences. I wanted to
extend this empathy to others and talk freely
about my story to spread hope and help end the
stigma surrounding this illness. I felt a sense of
renewed energy and purpose.
My walking companion wanted to rest here
for a while. I decided to go on alone, but we
agreed we’d look for each other at the end of
the day.
366 days on the camino Portugués
As I walked on, my attention shifted
between short conversations with people from
Spain, Portugal, Germany, and Australia, and
inner conversations with myself. I thought
about the way we pilgrims shared our stories
to make connections and to be mirrors for each
other. We were reflecting phrases, observations,
and questions that helped us make sense of our
own lives. I knew I was trying to make sense
of mine.
How is it that some people find a soulmate
early in life and enjoy a happy marriage until
one of them dies? Was it tolerance, lucky
compatibility, or some skill I haven’t yet
learned? Why was marriage so difficult for me?
The first time around, I was too young. In
retrospect, I could see that the hasty decision
to marry someone I had met only three months
earlier had been a way to escape facing the
daunting task of making my way into indepen-
dent adulthood. One of my college friends
accused me of getting my MRS degree. Isn’t
that what was expected? To get married and
have a family? That’s what my mom had done.
And when I asked my father how I would know
if I met the right person, he said simply, “You
will know.”
37beyond expectations
It felt right at the time and it took me a long
while to learn not to base a significant decision
on a feeling.
The second time, I knew I would take longer
to decide. I relied on critical thinking and had
a checklist of common interests, characteristics,
and conditions that I thought would ensure
compatibility. But over time, needs and shared
interests changed, and the points of perpetual
disagreement seemed insurmountable. After
trying every which way to improve the situation,
I was beginning to think that being alone was
better than being lonely in marriage.
Here I was, alone in another country, doing
something that I had decided to do. I had
planned it, financed it, and figured out how to
do it on my own. I did not feel lonely.
And I was beginning to see that I hadn’t
failed. There were upsides to being married.
For example, I couldn’t imagine my life without
my children, now independent adults. Hadn’t
we successfully raised them, even if it had not
always been a joint effort? And living in a
family provides not only a sense of belonging
but endless opportunities to practice communi-
cation, understanding, and putting others first.
Just because something ends doesn’t mean that
386 days on the camino Portugués
it was a mistake. Everything in my life led me
to where I am today. And I was here, on the
Camino!
My attention shifted back to the present
and the outer landscape. I was walking on the
ancient Roman Road XIX, past farmhouses
and fences built out of large slabs of granite.
I noticed the carefully tended gardens where
grapes hung in dark ripe clusters and kale grew
as tall as a meter.
39beyond expectations
Next to mail slots marked cartas were
larger ones with the word pan. Here in Spain,
bread was delivered daily like the mail!
406 days on the camino Portugués
As I walked, I admired bright red
Bottlebrush flowers and peach-colored Angel’s
Trumpets. I looked at everything with the same
kind of wonder as I did when I was a child.
41beyond expectations
Midday, I stopped for lunch at a small
bar within a hotel covered in more vines and
flowers. An outdoor makeshift shelter provided
pilgrims a place out of the sun. I ordered a
bocadillo vegetal vegetariano and was served
water in a wine glass. Elegant.
So far, my conversations were with native
English speakers. Here I heard pilgrims speak-
ing in Swedish or German. I was familiar with
both languages because my great-grandmother
on my father’s side spoke German, and the
grandfather on my mother’s side sang in
Swedish.
Growing up in a small prairie town in
Minnesota, I noticed that some people still
clung to their European roots, although in
general, speaking anything other than English
was discouraged. I decided to study German
in high school. I regretted never mastering
the grammar, but I could get by in casual
conversation.
The Germans in the outdoor café were a
tight-knit group intensely engaged in a lively
debate, so this wasn’t my opportunity. On the
other side of me was a Swedish couple, and we
quickly struck up a conversation. They told me
they had moved to Portugal. I don’t know why
426 days on the camino Portugués
it surprised me. People move all of the time.
Perhaps it was because I had spent my whole
life trying to get to Sweden.
I had always been fascinated by my ances-
tors and thought that perhaps, if I visited these
countries, I would discover some part of myself.
I wanted to get a feel for the land, the people,
and the language.
Here on the Camino, people spoke many
languages, but most of my conversations were
in English. I met a Polish couple walking with
their six-month-old baby, a mother and daugh-
ter from Holland, and two women from Hong
Kong and Dubai who hired Camino Ways to
make a plan, book accommodations, and trans-
port their luggage from town to town.
There was a Dutch couple who told me
that they thought the Camino Portugués was
too crowded. I thought it was perfect. I could
walk alone with pilgrims in my sight or have
pleasant conversations while walking or sitting
at a café.
During my afternoon coffee break, I
attempted a short conversation in Spanish with
one of the locals. It was frustrating and fun at
the same time. I could say a few things about
myself and ask some questions. To carry on
43beyond expectations
a conversation requires much more, but we
communicated in smiles, and my effort was
appreciated. Before my trip, I’d spent a couple
of weeks working on basic Spanish which had
enhanced the experience. I wish I’d practiced
more.
As soon as I reached the outskirts of
Redondela, I spotted my walking companion
from earlier in the day. Slumped over on worn
stone steps, outside an ancient church, he said
he was waiting for the albergue to open.
I knew that pilgrims traditionally stayed
in private or church-run albergues. I was not
about to sleep in a room of bunk beds with
dozens of other pilgrims. Getting a good
night’s sleep far outweighed missing a shared
meal or songfest. Furthermore, I wanted to
make reservations in advance, and albergues
were first-come, first-served.
We walked together to the Old Town, where
we met a priest shepherding weary pilgrims in
the direction of the parochial albergue. Curious,
I went along. To show that he was a pilgrim,
the gentleman presented his credencial to a
friendly nun. That and a signature were all that
was required to be given a bed for the night at
no charge, although a small sign indicated that
446 days on the camino Portugués
donations were welcome.
As he disappeared down the dark hallway,
he turned to invite me to meet him outside the
nearby church just before 8 pm for Catholic
Mass. That left plenty of time for me to find
my pre-booked accommodations at a pensión,
take a shower, and rest.
At 7:45 pm, I walked the short distance to
the church, more interested in the company
than a Catholic experience. My day two
companion didn’t show up, and I imagined
that he had fallen exhausted into bed, perhaps
without supper.
Walking back to the pensión, I found an
open bar with a pilgrim’s menu for 10 euros
and enjoyed the service of a full course meal
of soup, bread, salad, fresh fish, potatoes, wine,
and dessert. I studied Spanish and went to bed
early.
45beyond expectations
46DAY 3
Redondela to Pontevedra, 19.7 km
THE NEXT MORNING, I was ready to leave
my pensión before dawn. I tiptoed down the
stairs, through the door, and out onto the
cobblestone street.
The way was narrow and curved up a hill
between solid rows of shops with apartments
upstairs. No lights were visible from the
windows, and the only sound was a rooster
crowing. A couple of people with backpacks
were barely visible at the top of the hill.
I now understood why many pilgrims started
their walk in the wee hours of the morning
when it was dark and cool. Even though it was
October, the sun was intense, and it warmed
up quickly during the day. And for pilgrims
staying in hostels and albergues, it was essen-
tial to arrive at their destination early to get a
bed before they were all taken for the night.
The first pilgrim I met was a man who was
limping from a permanent disability. He walked
47beyond expectations
with a cane and said that it didn’t bother him.
Apparently, not much did. He fully embraced
all of life and lamented that too many people
were missing out on the richness of the Spanish
language and experience, which he described
as poetic and full of emotion. He carried a
small notepad with a plastic cover and asked
me to write something in it. As he flipped
through the pages to find a blank one, I could
see messages in different languages, presum-
ably from pilgrims he had met on the way.
Our time together was short, and so was my
message: With gratitude for our conversation.
Buen Camino.
486 days on the camino Portugués
I stopped for a late desayuno of café con
leche and toasted, thick, white bread with jam.
When I looked around the café, many of the
faces were already familiar. When I recognized
the man I’d left at the albergue yesterday, I
waved as if he were my old friend. A kind
of community develops as walkers encounter
each other at different places along the way.
After coffee, I followed many people from
Madrid, all singing and wearing matching blue
scarves. When they took a left turn, I found
myself off-trail and in a residential area. Two
local women stood in the middle of the street,
chatting. When I asked them the way, they
seemed confused, probably due to my Spanish.
When I said I was a peregrino, i.e., a pilgrim in
Spanish, they smiled and pointed down a hill
where other pilgrims were crossing the street
and heading into an area thick with shrubs and
trees.
In no time, I was back on the Camino. The
path became very rough with large stones, their
edges rounded due to the wear from wind, rain,
and millions of footsteps. I was grateful that
my sturdy hiking boots protected both my feet
and ankles.
Now there were more groups than before: a
49beyond expectations
half dozen women from Australia, five elderly
Korean men who spoke little or no English, and
a lively group of ten women from Amsterdam,
all in their forties or fifties. They were always
smiling and laughing. I felt so light and free in
their midst.
The highlight of the day is what we call
“trail magic” on the Appalachian Trail. In the
middle of the forest, a middle-aged couple
had set up an oasis for pilgrims alongside the
path. Under a small, white market tent was a
table filled with a dazzling array of homemade
pastries, fresh fruit, and of course, coffee.
506 days on the camino Portugués
A couple of long tables covered with check-
ered tablecloths and plenty of chairs were set
up for anyone who wanted to stop and rest.
The woman was wearing a crisp white
bonnet and a long brown cape which tied at
the neck. She seemed to have appeared from
another century, but her English was contem-
porary and fluent. She smiled and greeted
everyone that passed by, letting them know
that the trail split up ahead. She was more than
happy to share her recommendations about
which path to choose.
After savoring every last drop of the juice
from a fresh orange, I went to the chair farthest
away from the food and took off one of my
boots and a sock to examine a tender spot.
Until this point, I had felt no discomfort from
my feet, but that was about to change. As one
pilgrim put it, “blisters are my sisters.” I doubt
any pilgrim can avoid them. Fortunately, I had
come prepared with a sterile sewing needle for
puncturing blisters, antibacterial ointment, and
bandages.
In a little while, I was back on the path,
following the river as recommended by the
kind woman. Two hours later, I was on the
outskirts of Pontevedra.
51beyond expectations
I was looking forward to the evening and a
meetup with a Spanish teacher I’d met online.
Maria’s specialty is Spanish for the Camino,
and I had worked with her briefly to revive
the small amount of Spanish that I had learned
years before. More importantly, she was part
of a network of language teachers who were
learning to create online businesses and were
supporting each other in the process.
But first, I needed to get something to eat.
I stopped at the first café I saw and collapsed
into a chair to remove my backpack. Now my
shoulders were killing me.
After devouring a delicious mixed salad, I
rummaged around in my backpack for a small
brown envelope that I had picked up at the
hotel in Tui. On the envelope were several
blank lines and a kangaroo. Tui Transport!
I had picked up this little brown envelope
at the hotel in Tui, just in case I decided that I
or my backpack needed transportation at some
point during the week. I had planned to carry
my backpack all six days, but I hadn’t expected
to be this sore. I decided to follow the example
of those carefree Dutch women and send my
luggage ahead to my next accommodation for
days four, five, and six. No wonder they were
526 days on the camino Portugués
so carefree. They were walking without the
weight!
Refreshed, I walked through town to my
hotel in the old city near the Pilgrim Church
and the Convent of St. Francisco. When
planning my trip, I had decided to splurge on
a superior room and was delighted with my
choice. I bathed and pampered myself before
going downstairs for a glass of wine in the
outdoor restaurant seating area so I could be
on the lookout for Maria.
She walked across the plaza dressed in jeans
and a white linen shirt, long black hair flowing
around her shoulders, just as I imagined she
would look. After initial greetings, I asked
53beyond expectations
her where she had parked her car. She said
that she’d walked from her apartment and that
Pontevedra modeled European sustainability
with its car-free and pedestrian-friendly urban
planning. Impressive.
We talked for an hour and a half, and then
she needed to return to her family, so I was on
my own for dinner. By this time, I had adapted
somewhat to Spanish habits. It was after 9 pm
but not an unusual time to eat. My pilgrim meal
consisted of chickpea stew, grilled fish, piel de
sapo — the sweetest fresh melon — and thick
crusty bread. I went to bed full and happy.
54DAY 4
Pontevedra to Caldas de Reis, 21.3 km
THE NEXT MORNING, I slept until the sun
was shining in my window. The night before,
I had asked the hotel receptionist to call Tui
Transport to pick up my backpack. All I had
to do was drop it at the desk on my way out.
I placed 7 Euro in the transport envelope and
wrote the name of my pensión in Caldas de
Reis on the front.
As I came down the steps, I ran into the
group of Dutch women again. They had stayed
at the same hotel and were carrying their huge
suitcases down the stairs because the elevator
was so small. Even if I had decided to use the
transport service the whole way, I couldn’t
imagine bringing so much luggage on any trip!
I left my backpack and key at the recep-
tion desk and was soon on my way with a
spring in my step. My journal, a pen, and my
water bottle were all that I carried in the small
string bag on my back. Money and important
55beyond expectations
documents were secure in the stretchy running
belt around my waist.
Once again, the weather was glorious.
The view of the Burgo Bridge was spectacu-
lar. Decorative scallop shells dotted the point
between each of the supporting arches, and the
whole bridge looked golden in the morning sun.
I might have liked to linger and explore
Pontevedra, but I knew I only had six days to
complete my mission of reaching the cathedral
in Santiago. I would have to be content to see
the things that were directly on the Camino.
After crossing the bridge, I entered a forest
with a peculiar smell and inhaled whiffs of
menthol, pine, mint, or a mixture of all three. A
fellow pilgrim confirmed my hunch that it was
Eucalyptus. I learned that this tree was brought
from Australia in the 19th century and is now
566 days on the camino Portugués
considered an invasive species. As is often the
case, exotic invasive species have their charm
and are therefore difficult to eradicate.
I enjoyed inhaling the fragrance as well as
the sight of peeling green bark and the sunlight
shimmering on long leaves quaking in the
breeze.
It was a joyful experience to begin the day
in mindfulness. Tuning in to my senses was an
excellent way to do this. Sights were top of the
list, and the sensations in my body were next.
57beyond expectations
My muscles let me know that they were getting
stronger and also when they needed to rest.
I stopped paying so much attention to the
thoughts in my mind and paid more attention to
what was going on below my head. Freed from
my backpack, I could appreciate the warmth
of the sun on my back and shoulders after the
morning chill.
Every day I heard the sounds of different
languages and beautiful church bells. I would
see both new and familiar faces on the trail,
and every day I would have the opportunity to
walk with someone who I hadn’t talked with
before.
586 days on the camino Portugués
Conversations often occurred when strang-
ers began walking at about the same pace. I met
a German grandmother and her granddaughter
walking together and then a middle-aged man
and two women speaking in a mix of English
and German. When I asked them where they
were from, a lively discussion of US politics
ensued. No one could understand the outcome
of the 2016 election, including me. My only
explanation was that 2016 was The Year of the
Rooster on the Chinese calendar, and it was
most definitely a wake-up call.
Small talk guidelines are generally to avoid
talking about politics, religion, and personal
health. Perhaps because we were mostly strang-
ers and may never see each other again, these
small talk rules did not seem to apply. Most of
my conversations were about politics, religion,
and mental or physical health.
The German man told me about his liver
transplant. A young man from Israel, traveling
with his sister, was eager to talk about religion.
He told me about his Polish grandfather, who
had lived through the Holocaust. We spoke
freely about our beliefs, and I shared my
knowledge of The Abraham Path in the Middle
East and my favorite prayer from St. Francis.
59beyond expectations
Every day I had opportunities to talk about
mental health and share my story of recovery.
On some days, I would share it as a significant
event in my life. Other days, fellow pilgrims
would talk about their depression or their
concern for a friend or family member. Because
of the stigma, hardly anyone talks about it in
day-to-day life. Here on the Camino, it felt like
the most natural conversation in the world.
Almost the only “small talk” that I experi-
enced was the kind you use when you only
know a few words in English. Such was the
case with the merry band of Korean men who
I frequently met on the trail. The leader of the
group told me that he was 91 years old. I say
“leader” because he was the most outgoing
member. Bright, happy, and full of energy, he
would throw his arms in the air and exclaim:
“It’s a beautiful day! You(’re) my sister!” His
ways were endearing, and he made friends with
nearly every pilgrim on the trail that week.
I thought about the Polish birthday greeting
of “Sto lat” or 100 years. He was undoubtedly
on track for 100. I also learned that the Korean
greeting for long life was 1000 years!
The Koreans, the brother and sister from
Israel, and I stopped at a café and took photos
606 days on the camino Portugués
together. From that point, there was a short
side trip to Barosa Falls. Even though I was
pushing to stay on my schedule, I wasn’t ready
to part with my fellow travelers and decided to
accompany them to the waterfall. It was lovely
and it reminded me of home. However, after
one look, I felt pressed for time and returned
to the Camino.
Perhaps because I was in a hurry, I missed
the yellow arrow directing pilgrims through
a grape arbor. That is a downside to travel-
ing alone. Fortunately, I detected my mistake
before I had gone another kilometer out of my
way.
Arriving in Caldas de Reis, I passed the
famous thermal pool, crossed the bridge, and
saw many pilgrims at an outdoor café. I stopped
to ask for directions and was taken under the
wing of the café owner. He went above and
beyond expectations when he guided me to my
pensión and showed me how to get back on the
Camino in the morning. It’s true what they say
about the kindness extended to pilgrims.
The keeper of the key to my pensión was
a grumpy-looking woman tending a nearby
bar. She spoke no English and didn’t seem to
understand any of my Spanish. Just as I was
61beyond expectations
about to look around for a translator, she took
a stemmed glass and filled it with a thick pink
liquid from a blue glass bottle. I thought it was
for her, and then she slid it over to me and said,
“Vitamins. You need (this).” I took a sip of
the strawberry smoothie, and she smiled. You
never know who may be an angel in disguise.
62DAY 5
Caldas de Reis to Escravitude, 22.2 km.
MY GUIDEBOOK suggested walking from
Caldas de Reis to Padrón, but I decided to go
farther and make this my longest day. That
way, I would have more time in Santiago de
Compostela. I felt like I was almost there!
The day began with light rain, so I donned
my rain jacket and rain pants before leaving my
backpack for Tui Transport. I had been wearing
my rain hat every day because it doubled as a
sun hat. It cheered me to be able to use gear that
I’d been hauling around in my pack.
I walked next to fields of drying corn and
friendly scarecrows. October was a beautiful
time to be on the Camino. Even though my feet
were beginning to remind me to pay them more
attention, I felt more and more comfortable
walking. The night before, I noticed that one
of my toenails was becoming quite dark, and
I would probably lose it. It didn’t bother me. I
felt healthy, fit, and strong.
63beyond expectations
Before the first stop for coffee, I made the
acquaintance of a young woman from Russia
who spoke little English. Another “small talk”
connection, but I felt that we communicated
well without words. I bought her coffee, and
we didn’t need to talk because we were both
fascinated by what the German woman sitting
across from us was saying. She told us that
she frequently spent her vacation time on the
Camino because it was a different experi-
ence every time. With no interest in counting
kilometers or earning a Compostela, she had
nothing to prove to herself or anyone else. She
collected no stamps, only memories.
After coffee, I spent some time walking and
talking with a woman from Canada. Recently
divorced, she came to the Camino to heal
and to think about the next chapter of her life.
I met several people who were grieving or
going through a major transition. Walking the
Camino was a way to give themselves the time
and space needed to process the events of their
lives. Others came to celebrate. A woman from
Australia rounded up five of her best friends
to make a remarkable memory of her sixtieth
birthday.
After a while, we met the Korean men again.
646 days on the camino Portugués
They apologized for their limited English, and
I encouraged them to keep learning. I pulled
out my business card and told them to contact
me if they wanted to practice. Remembering
something I’d read, I handed it to the leader
with both hands and a slight bow. He received
it most graciously. Perhaps because he had no
business card for me, he presented me with a
large, shiny apple. I asked how to say thank you
in Korean, and we all felt a special connection.
A little way down the road, a group of
women sat around a rest area table. I remem-
bered the seven “Spirit of the Camino” guide-
lines printed in my credencial. One of them
was simply “Share.” I presented the apple that
had been given to me and asked who would
like a piece. When no one said yes, I implored
them by saying, “This apple contains the chi
energy from the 91-year-old Korean.” Suddenly,
everyone held out their hand for a slice. The
Canadian woman produced a pocket knife
from her backpack, and we were in business.
Everyone enjoyed their single apple slice
except for the girl from Russia who was tending
to her sore feet. Two Spanish women produced
bandages and lovingly wrapped her heels,
saying, “Como mi hija” (like my daughter).
65beyond expectations
And then we were on our way again, passing
old churches and pilgrim shrines: colored
ribbons, items of clothing, shells, small toys,
flags, flowers, beads, rosaries. So many people.
So much love.
In the afternoon, I found a café serving the
traditional Camino Almond Cake. Powdered
sugar is sprinkled on top through a stencil of
a flowered sword symbol. The same sword
666 days on the camino Portugués
had been painted in red on the scallop shell
that I bought the first day in Tui. Some people
say the cross and blade is used by pilgrims to
symbolically battle with inner obstacles and
discover their strength. This felt true to me.
I enjoyed the cake and lingered over a
conversation with a lovely couple from Poland.
We exchanged information with the intent to
meet in Warsaw one day.
67beyond expectations
Once again on the Camino, the path
descended into Padrón and led me on a broad
avenue through a park. From there, I could see
the Church of Saint James of Padrón. I had
miles to go but felt compelled to spend at least
a little time in the church. Inside, I viewed fine
art depicting the story of St. James in Spain.
Then I walked through the city alone and
out into the open countryside. Unsure if I was
walking in the right direction, I was relieved
to meet two young women from Austria and
Switzerland who helped me by using the
GPS on their phone. We stopped to pet some
friendly goats and shared a few stories. Then
686 days on the camino Portugués
they stopped for churros at a roadside stand. I
was not interested in trying this fried snack and
continued alone to Escravitude.
After 22 kilometers, I was quite ready to
call it a day. When I arrived at the Casa Grande
da Capellania Hotel, I thought I was in heaven.
Beautifully appointed and run by a charming
young Galician, it was worth every euro. After
69beyond expectations
a bubble bath, I went across the street for dinner.
There sat the German granddaughter and
her Oma, and they invited me to join them.
Because the grandmother spoke no English, I
could use my imperfect German to engage in a
lively dinner conversation before returning to
my room and falling into bed.
70DAY 6
Escravitude to Santiago de Compostela, 19 km
IT WAS MY FINAL DAY on the Camino.
When I arranged to send my backpack ahead, I
learned that it would cost four times as much
because I was staying near the airport, this time
on the Camino Francés. It was worth it. I had
enjoyed the experience of carrying everything I
needed on my back for the first three days. The
last two days had been so much more enjoy-
able, taking only what I needed in the present
moment.
I thought about how I’d left a small house
full of earthly belongings, transitioned to a
backpack, and then to only what I was wearing.
It had become an exercise in simplifying needs
that I hoped would carry on past the Camino.
The pensión owner prepared breakfast
which I packed for the road. I was eager to get
going, so I left in the dark. Light rain turned
quickly to heavy rain, and I was so thankful for
my Gore-tex boots and rain jacket.
71beyond expectations
I passed the Koreans and was soon follow-
ing the girl from Russia. She acknowledged
my presence, and we exchanged a few words.
I felt that she was in a hurry to get to Santiago
but didn’t tell me why. I told her that I didn’t
want to slow her down and then asked her
if it was okay to walk with her as long as I
could keep up. She agreed and then led me
past other pilgrims barely visible under large
plastic ponchos covering heads, shoulders, and
backpacks.
The rain continued in a steady downpour,
and about the only words we exchanged were,
“It’s raining!” delivered with a big smile. Today
we were to reach Santiago, after all.
Much of the day was a blur, quite literally.
Any time we tried to take a photo, the camera
lens on our phones would fog up. Finally, we
gave up that idea. It was driving rain, and we
were walking against a cold wind.
What stands out in my memory is the
comfort of stepping into a small chapel, Capilla
de Santa Maria Magdalena. Just to get out of
the wind and rain was a blessing. We walked
around quietly, too wet to sit, and then exited
underneath a semicircle of stained glass in
the archway above the door. Constructed of
726 days on the camino Portugués
yellow and shades of brown glass, it depicted a
pilgrim up on a hillside gazing down at the city
of Santiago de Compostela. There was enough
daylight on this gray day to light up the yellow
panes creating a bright spot in the morning and
reminding us of our glorious destination.
I hadn’t expected to keep up with a
30-year-old, but somehow I managed to stay
within sight of her bright orange backpack. We
stopped for coffee and saw familiar faces, but
it was a quick stop without much conversation.
Mostly, I wrote in my journal.
We hoped for a break in the rain, but it
did not come. There were fewer pilgrims on
the trail, and the young woman and I kept
passing everyone but always saying, Hola!
Buen Camino!
73beyond expectations
Finally, she told me that she was supposed
to meet a guy she met in Portugal. The Camino
Portugués begins in Lisbon, and some people
walk two to three weeks to Santiago. She had
been walking for fifteen days.
We walked in the rain at a steady pace and
arrived in the city sometime in the early after-
noon. It was nothing like the scene depicted
in the stained glass window we had seen
in the chapel. Instead, the road was mostly
flat, and we couldn’t see the cathedral in the
distance. There were fewer yellow arrows, and
we walked city block after city block until I
wondered if we’d ever get to the cathedral.
Eventually, we came to a park and began
to ask for directions. Just across a busy inter-
section was the Old Town. Still raining and no
cathedral in sight, we began to feel the excite-
ment of arriving at our destination. Now we
were walking up a narrow cobblestone street
filled with people moving in both directions.
She stayed a good six meters ahead of me, and
I managed to arrive at the plaza in front of the
cathedral moments after she did.
On any sunny day, the plaza would be
filled with pilgrims hugging and talking. There
would be happy reunions of strangers who
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