Sun, water, air, freedom.
I’ve chosen the northern path this year since it’s the whole package: the ocean and the mountains. But like everything else, it has its advantages and disadvantages. A pound of suffering for every pound of beauty. There’s a hefty amount of difference in elevation, up to 20 thousand meters in total. It’s not a walk in a park, so to speak. It’s a bloody endeavor. The first half is especially difficult. I didn’t believe my parents when they told me about it (they wandered around here with an RV this spring). It’s an obstacle challenge, particularly if it rained the previous night. A proper adventure. You soldier through a thicket of alders, brambles and spines, following the paths by the creeks, huge puddles and mud, over provisional bridges or not at all. Even a piglet laughs at you at the end of the day because it looks better than you. Just shoot me, alright? There is a fair dose of paved roads, though.
You pass churches, parks, and secluded farms that infest the land. There’s a ton of fucked up villages and huge cities, which hikers hate for their noise. One can easily lose track and wander off-course, which means extra distance. And extra distance you do not want, especially when the day is scorching. The path may be hard, rocky, or slippery. It takes you up and it takes you down, while your knees take a toll. There’s an abundance of mud, too. You have to step through it quickly or your next step will be impossible. Live mud. But everything pays of when you see the ocean and you’re dizzy from all the beauty revealed by the wonderful coast and cliffs. You forget about the uphill battle and the sport categories of picking up lungs, downhill slalom, walking on all fours, etc. It says a lot about the difficulty when you see a centipede stowing on your leg. The first half is relentless with exertion, while the second half cuts you some slack. But that means you have to say goodbye to the ocean. I’ll admit I missed it during the second half, since it was gorgeous, and it sounded fantastic. The smell of the Atlantic, the sound of waves crashing, the chattering and blabbering of seagulls. Yup, I could move here.
You’re never really alone on the Path. You’re always accompanied by the natural lawn mowers; the donkeys, the cows, the bulls, the wonderful horses, and sheep. Naturally, stepping into horse shit also happens. I’ve been there many times. But if it’s true that it brings you wealth, I’ll be a millionaire very soon.
Oh, and the weather? IT’S MOTHERFUCKING HOT!!! Two people died due to heatstroke this year. Well, it’s also true that I decided to do this during the most horrible time possible: August. Other months are for pussies. Just kidding. I’m just busy the rest of the year. But I would love to do the Camino in the fall. Imagine all the stunning colors the nature paints. During the summer, though when the rain comes, you do the happy dance. I got a sunstroke for the third time this year. They only sample both the rain and shade. But an Englishman must not complain about the sun. Except I do, but don’t tell anyone.
You also stink. Even a skunk would find it funny. Two weeks turn your backpack into a smelly pile of horse shit and when you reach THE END OF THE WORLD – FINISTERRA, you’re considering burning the backpack. Pity those who’ll have to smell the fragrance De Camino on the plane. But there’s a solution: eucalyptus leaves have a strong and remarkable smell. But inhale it too much and you’ll turn into a koala falling off a tree.
When in mountains, the breeze takes the heat away and the walking is easier.
But when the heat is dry or the humidity strikes, it’ll take you 13 minutes to walk a kilometer. When it’s raining it takes you 10 minutes, or between two and three songs, depends on the genre of your music.
So, let it rain!!