By Laura Meli

This article was published in Kairos Catholic Journal

We looked over the rugged mountain ranges and saw ominous storm clouds and sheets of rain approaching.

In a matter of minutes it was upon us; pelting down, running over our faces, soaking our ponchos, and creating rivers on the rocky path. After having walked two weeks through the flat, dry and barren Meseta, this storm was invigorating. I could not help but look over at my friend Eve and give a yell of delight. We began running, singing at the top of our lungs and laughing out loud.

We were hiking along the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, a thousand-year-old pilgrimage, along the most famous route, the Camino Frances, which begins in the tiny town of
St Jean Pied de Port in the Pyrenees Mountains.

It was not long before we made other friends. One of the wonderful things about the Camino is the relationships you make along the way. You are walking 20-30 kilometres a day, so in the different albergues (hostels), or along the road, you constantly bump into the same people; like Giovanni, the Italian maestro; our 79-year-old Australian friend Dudley, who always seemed to be ahead of us on the path; or dear Hanny from Austria, who limped along with a sprained ankle and the determination of a crusader. Over the weeks we became like family; we may not always have spoken the same language but we shared meals, songs, complaints, jokes, and the rocky road together.

What surprised me, though, was that so many pilgrims we met were lost. This seems strange to say because the pilgrim route is particularly well marked with scallop shells and bright yellow arrows. What I mean is that so many people were lost interiorly.

One particular Sunday afternoon, Eve and I arrived at Mass after an exhausting six-hour walk across the Meseta in the hot sun. She had blisters the size of golf balls on her ankles and I was suffering from dehydration. As I looked around the church, I was surprised to see that we were the only pilgrims attending (pilgrims tend to be fairly easy to spot with their backpacks, socks and sandals, and bedbug-bitten extremities).

After Mass, we limped out of the church and I vented my disbelief and frustration: “Where are all the pilgrims? Why are people doing this if not to find God? There are a lot easier ways to get fit! A health spa, a gym membership, a run around the park!” But the truth is that many people walking the Camino do not know why they are walking; they say they are walking it for health and fitness reasons, to get away from work, study or life or simply as a personal challenge.

As young Catholics who were walking the Camino as a pilgrimage, we were quite open and honest about our faith and the deeper meaning of a pilgrimage for us.

One beautiful German girl with whom we were travelling was touched by Eve’s faith and said to her: “You are so lucky to have a purpose and to know why you are walking this. All I know is that I need to get to Santiago, and I hope that by the time I get there I will have answers as to why I am here!”

The aim of walking the Camino is to reach the tomb of St James in the magnificent Cathedral of Santiago. But without faith, the way becomes not a spiritual journey but a competition: “How many kilometres have you walked so far?” And, when faced with bedbugs, blisters, illness, stale white bread and sleepless nights in albergues, many people find it impossible to continue.

Along the way, I continually asked myself, ‘why am I walking to Santiago?’ I came to the deeper realisation that reaching Santiago was not the end of my pilgrimage but symbolic of the greater destination of heaven. In this light, the Camino became a poignant reminder to me of the whole of my Christian walk.

As Mary MacKillop tells us: “Remember, we are all but travellers here.” And with this, our journey takes on a purpose, and life itself becomes a pilgrimage.

Laura Meli is a Master’s student at the University of Melbourne.



Kairos Catholic Journal Volume 22, Issue 20