the goal is no goal

Five airports in just as many days.  A brief transit through London found two immigration officers shoving their fingers in my direction bitterly declaring that I wasn´t really British.  Like hell I´m not; nevertheless, the event won´t go down as one of my finer moments of dual citizenship and it was a perfect reminder of a world left behind.  Deep breath, Piccadilly Line, consumable tap water, overdue exchanges, cleanliness to a forgotten degree, and an all too familiar lifestyle that mutated culture shock into a mind blowing level of anxiety.

I was pleasantly thrust back into the comforting bosom of the unknown once I was received in Biarritz, France.  A picturesque journey was swiftly undertaken to St. Jean Pied de Port, one of the traditional starting points for the Camino de Santiago.  Other "pilgrims" were easy to spot with their over-sized backpacks, impeccable trekking gear, and a general look of bewilderment combined with excited anticipation .  Although walking the camino has been a dream years in the making, I joined the masses with substantially less mental and physical preparation.  The beastly high temperatures during the final weeks in India made it extremely difficult to bound and leap anywhere (much less an accessible mountain) or complete a test run with excess baggage. After a debut on the French news and a cosy night in a family style albergue (hostels established specifically for those undertaking the camino), I was off to cross the Pyrenees blue jeans and all.

Every passing hour gave birth to a new landscape, atmosphere, acquaintance, and realm of thought.  The more penetrative moments occurred when movement ceased and I momentarily surrendered to the still of silence.

Cliched philosophies are thrown around the pilgrim watering holes but much of what is dispensed generally comes back to the desire to live in the moment. Initially I found myself in the category of those who had an agenda or goal.  Mine was to sprint to Santiago within 27 days so as to have my cake and eat it too.  Similarly there are many whose days begin and end with the obsession of daily destination points and measurements of the hourly pace.  However, my body had other ideas of what I am meant to gather from this experience.

On day three, my right knee and ankle were in so much pain  that my companions on the trail were all able to recognise me by the time I limped into the albergue.  Contained in this day was an immense outpouring of generosity and sincere attention from my fellow peregrinos.  Medicine, walking sticks, and an encyclopedia of advice and personal opinion was showered on me without having to utter a word.

Day four saw the introduction of angels.  Hours after visually salivating over the thoughts of a massage, I was taken aback by the timely entrance of vibrant, wild-eyed Emmanual.  This French gift from God casually offered his professional skills and my legs were brought back to better form under his caring hands.  The days that passed found me in varied company from the days preceding but it has been effortless to make connections and strike up conversations that form the stepping stones for friendship or at the very least take allow me to take a token of the exchange to heart.

Nevertheless, the future of the camino hangs in the balance as my ability to walk at a normal pace has been hindered by tendinitis. A visit to the medical centre (and several unqualified but experienced pilgrims) have all prescribed rest of which I undertaken the past two days.  Tomorrow will be the test to how far I will be able to carry on and to what pace.  However, my attitude has shifted a great deal in a short period of time.  In place of possible disappointment, I own excitement at what lies ahead or rather, in the present... if not Santiago then where, what, and why?  After all, this trail will be here my whole life for the taking, and I have never been more appreciative of the moment. To quote the lovely Tili, "the goal is no goal"....so be it.