Lessons from a chance encounter

Adam Brocklehurst describes how walking the Way of St James gave him a lesson which changed his life.

In June 2024 I undertook my first Camino, a gruelling 500-mile pilgrimage that started in the French Pyrenees and wound its way across northern and central Spain towards Santiago de Compostela, traditionally considered the burial place of the apostle James.

I too wanted to ‘hug the saint’, a saying which refers to the custom whereby pilgrims who have completed the route give a hug to a statue of St James situated above the cathedral’s main altar. Pilgrims have been doing this for centuries. Indeed, in the Middle Ages Santiago was one of the most important shrines of Christendom.

And they’re still at it today. According to the Santiago Pilgrims Office 446,077 pilgrims completed the Way in 2023, though not everyone is happy about this mass influx of foreign visitors. As I write this there have been large scale protests across Spain regarding the impact of mass tourism on the country. The BBC tells us, rather gleefully, that the Spanish are fighting, ‘against a tsunami of tourism threatening to consume all in its path’.

And while I guess that the number of hard-walking hikers making their way to Santiago is nothing compared to all those lounging on Spanish beaches, the Camino is still somehow a sign of contradiction. But I discovered that the Way has the power to offer real change to those who seek it and that, if you’re looking for more, the Camino can provide you with exactly what you need.    

I like to think I’m an active Christian. Rather blithely I suspect, I keep my eyes open for ways I can practise my faith. I also enjoy walking and travel, and anyone who’s read any of my previous Adamah Media articles will understand that art and history play a big part in my life. 

Walking the Camino, I therefore thought, would offer ample opportunities for spiritual growth, whilst also allowing me to indulge my passions (La Voz de Galicia reported in 2023 that just under 50% of pilgrims walk for overtly religious reasons.)

I’d purposefully avoided saturation in the many articles, books, films and podcasts on how to undertake the Camino. It’s not surprising there are so many, considering they’ve been writing them for a long time – the earliest guidebook, the Codex Calixtinus, dates from the 12^th century. I wanted to experience my journey on my own terms, I wanted spiritual renewal, perhaps to have questions answered and return home changed, refreshed, but at my pace, in my way. 

Very early into my pilgrimage I can remember basking in the beauty of the mountains. The walking was proving much easier than I had anticipated, and as I stood admiring another magnificent vista, it was extremely easy to feel close to God. 

An almost luxurious sense of sanctification came over me which then persisted as I wandered through one glorious mediaeval city after another. It was there as I entered yet another darkened church and knelt before what was nearly always a magnificent altarpiece, there as the priest began the pilgrim’s Mass. 

Evenings would be spent chatting convivially with my new pilgrim companions, while sipping (in my case) an alcohol free beer and nibbling delicious tapas on a lovely terrace with views over a gracious boulevard, watching the attractive and well dressed Spaniards go about their lives.

Rather naively, I had started to believe I’d stumbled into some kind of Catholic five star walking holiday. I was in for a shock.     

The Northern Meseta is an area of the Camino within the Spanish region of Castile-Leon that stretches between the great mediaeval pilgrimage cities of Burgos and Leon. For many miles there is nothing but vast skies, asphalted roads, sun scorched wheat, maize and low juvenile sunflowers. 

I was warned by Camino veterans of the importance of not avoiding this part of the way. Many do, some because of the uninteresting, repetitive, nature of the landscape, others because it’s in the bleak monotony of the Meseta that our intentions known and unknown are revealed. It can also play with your perceptions as time and distance become distorted. For those who are open to it, it’s the crucible that forges the greatest change in us.

I can’t remember at what point along the Meseta the strain of the pilgrimage began to tell on me. There had been a notable lack of beauty for a while. What there were now in abundance were flies, coupled with the pervasive stink of animal waste. Occasionally I thought I heard distressing bestial sounds, perhaps originating from one of the animal processing plants along the Way, though it’s possible my memory is playing tricks. 

For the previous three nights I’d been sharing a room with snorers and was suffering from sleep deprivation. I’d fallen out of step with the cheerful group of English speaking pilgrims who had been my occasional companions thus far and was walking alone and feeling isolated. 

To make matters even worse my last meal had been a truly awful bowl of vicious brown lentil soup and my mind was definitely aware that the next toilet was over five miles away. 

Unsurprisingly, issues from home I foolishly thought I’d been dealing with had begun to haunt me: petty resentments, unresolved grief, doubts over myself, all raised their ugly heads. As a result, those pilgrims foolish enough to wish me a light-hearted ‘buen camino’ in passing, elicited most unchristian thoughts.

As I stepped into the modern and inviting roadside café, I was tired. I was soaking wet and chilled, the rain having insinuated itself through all my waterproof clothing and reached my skin. What I really wanted was the toilet, then a nice cup of strong English tea with milk, instead of the insipid Spanish variant. 

It wasn’t to be. Taking my weak green tea, I sat down at a shared table with a rather innocuous looking man. It’s not unusual to get chatting to complete strangers along the way, the sense of camaraderie is real and important and often gives you the boost you need when your morale is low, and that’s exactly what I was hoping for. The universe had other plans. 

Almost immediately the man started complaining about the state of his life back home, using the kind of invective with regards race and gender that was guaranteed to challenge my long-held liberal principles.

Like the apostle James, whom Christ – perhaps humorously – referred to as a ‘son of thunder’, I’ve been known to vigorously defend my position on occasions, especially when challenged over something I might regard as being ineradicably correct. 

Already in a bad mood I prepared to ride into battle. I was certain a few carefully chosen words, forcefully and publicly expressed, would not only disabuse him of such appalling ideas, but would educate him too. It didn’t take much to convince myself that I’d actually be doing him a favour.  

Strangely, and in retrospect, I realise he was exactly whom I had been looking for. What I needed just then was a scapegoat to unburden all my pain onto, to purge myself of my negative thoughts. It’s a truism that the Camino provides what we need when you need it, and here was exactly the right person. And to allay any twinges of conscience, he so very obviously deserved it. What a gift!

I can’t explain why, but instead of launching into an attack, I paused. That pause in many ways changed my life. In those few seconds, I had a vision of what the fruit of my hostility would be. I have no doubt that I was being warned that should I invite hostility to join me on my pilgrimage, it would remain my close companion for the rest of my journey, and perhaps even follow me home.

Cruelty is very easily applied when disguised as virtue, and I could, I was certain, have hurt this damaged man.

Compassion on the other hand, comes much less readily. But at that moment, thankfully, it came to me.

It occurred to me that he was frightened, that he was yearning for an illusionary past where everyone knew their place, and everything was seemingly stable. Truthfully, it’s something I can relate to. I too yearn for a less confusing kind of liberality, devoid of the strangeness and anger which pervades society now that boundaries have become so blurred. 

Anyway, the wisdom of that self-restraint made itself crystal clear when over the remaining weeks of my pilgrimage this guy turned up again and again at the hostels I’d chosen, and I’d have to face an upset and angry individual night after night over the mixed salad and empanada of the shared pilgrim’s dinner. Instead of rejecting or avoiding him, I got to know him in a limited way, and beyond his fears he was good company.   

When I arrived in Santiago de Compostela thirty-three days after I started, I was physically and mentally bruised. Lessons had definitely been learned, and in more profound ways than I had imagined. There was also great joy and lightness as I was reunited with many of the pilgrims whom I had met along the way, and great peace as I prayed in front of the apostle’s shrine. 

For those thinking of walking the Camino, rest assured it has lost none of its potency, that even in the twenty-first century, in a world that has unquestionably exploited it for commercial purposes, something like love walks besides those who travel it, guiding you along your pilgrimage, away from the dangers and pitfalls which threaten you, and leads you benevolently along its narrow paths towards your ultimate destination. 

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