'Irreligious pilgrim' Mary Russell embarks on a nevertheless spiritual journey along Spain's medieval path, the Camino de Santiago - starting with a cycle to the Guinness Brewery in Dublin, where the saint's feast day is celebrated tomorrow
First you look out for a nice little bar, not too far from your refugio, or hostel. Then, when you've checked in, got a stamp in your card, your credencia, the boots and socks off and the feet tended to, you return to the bar and order a lovely cool glass of wine. Even holding the glass in your hand is bliss, and your just reward for having walked anything from 14 to 40 kilometres along Spain's great medieval pilgrimage route, the Camino de Santiago.
This walking business started when James the Apostle was martyred in Jerusalem in 41 AD and his body miraculously transported by sea to a place somewhere near the end of the world. The place was later named Finisterre; James became Iago and the final resting place of his shell-encrusted body was Santiago de Campostela, a few kilometres inland from Finisterre. (The scallop shell is the symbol of the Camino.) Now, if you want to go to Santiago de Campostela, you have to get there under your own steam. No miraculous transport is laid on for the thousands who make their way every year along this well-trodden path, travelling as pilgrims, tourists or recreational walkers, some energised by faith, others by curiosity. And this is the great strength of the Camino - its all-embracing spirit welcomes walkers, cyclists, horse-riders and yes, OK, even car-drivers, regardless of their spiritual orientation.
The cathedral of Santiago de Compostela lies on the site of a former Roman temple and the road to it was originally a Roman trade route. Some 700 years after his death, the body of St James was rediscovered and given the title Matamoros - the killer of Moors - because he had miraculously appeared nearby during a battle and helped to hack off the heads of the invading forces of Islam. A statue depicting this event still stands in the cathedral, and while I was walking the Camino last year, a controversy broke out about the four severed Moorish heads used in the coat of arms of Aragon. Such images, it was felt, did little to promote the present-day idea of tolerance and co-existence.
My journey to Santiago started last August with a bike ride to the Guinness Brewery at St James's Gate in Dublin, where I got my credencia stamped to show I was a bona fide traveller. Without it, I would not be able to stay at the many refugios along the way.
The next stop - after journeying by plane, bus and train - was Pontferrada, halfway along the Camino, where I was greeted at the railway station by thunderous rainfall and at the refugio with a welcoming glass of fruit tea.
That first day was one of the best because I learned so much. One thing to get right is the walking rhythm: one, two, left, right, going at your own pace. Another trick is to gauge how long to walk beside a fellow peregrino (pilgrim) for a chat and when it is OK to stride out ahead or, more likely, to drop behind.
Christopher Dillon, Abbot of Glenstal, did the walk in May last year, disguised in shorts and a wide brimmed hat. "One of the things you learn," he told me, "is never hold on to someone. You may have a really good chat with them and then never see them again. Or, you may bump into them three days later and resume your conversation."
In fact, the Abbot's experiences had me green with envy. At one refugio where he stopped, the hospitalero washed the tired feet of all the peregrinos before they sat down to a communal meal. And this is the thing: though everyone is walking the same route, each will have a different experience. Take the refugios themselves. Some have rows of boarding-school beds and communal kitchens. Some have no kitchen. Some have men and women segregated, others not. Some are dormitories crammed with bunk beds, others have two beds to a room. Some apply a small charge, others accept donations. One or two think it wrong to take money at all. Some have people you'd rather not be with. "In one of those big dormitories," said Dillon, "the snoring and the farting was just awful." This is where your pilgrim's staff comes in handy, at least for the former offence, when a good poke in the back can jolt the snorer into silence.
Cacabelos, with its storks' nests and its narrow cobbled streets, had a marvellous refugio with a series of small two-bed cabins built around the churchyard, with half-doors to let the sun in. I had mine all to myself. There was no kitchen, but in the company of two Spanish women, I found a cafe that served the most sinful hot chocolate drink I have ever had, which got me up a long, slow hill, through vineyards heavy with grapes, beside spinach fields and others bursting with huge pumpkins.
Local people nodded and said "Buen Camino", even though they'd said it a 100 times already. A short, fat pilgrim woman laboured past me - "Hola," we said to each other - and I noticed she had a pink potty tied to her rucksack, for emergencies. A few hours later, I overtook her. "Hola" again. A woman from Canada with her daughter and daughter's boyfriend drew level, then a man from Korea, followed by a man from France. Then a Dutch woman walked with me for an hour and we all met up that evening in the refugio: "Hola! Bonjour! Hi!" Goethe said that Europe was made by walking to Santiago.
Christopher Dillon felt the best way to travel was alone. "People talk to you and you to them." I had to agree. People chatting in their own language create barriers. On the Camino, it was a challenge to guess what language you'd be using next. Stung by my ignorance of Spanish, I started translating the backs of holy pictures. When I bought a tiny dictionary, I found everyone in the refugio wanted to borrow it. I learned that ruchila is rucksack, cansada is tired but - careful - casada is married.
"I saw a woman," Dillon told me, "with copies of the bible and Don Quixote strapped to her rucksack. "Lady", I said, "you'll soon get rid of those." And she did. He gave away his copy of the Glenstal Prayerbook, though he held on to his staff, made for him by Brother Anthony, the man responsible for the trees at Glenstal and known also as the provider of wood for the fires at the Shannon Airport peace camp. I had a telescopic walking stick, but passing through Ambasmestas I saw that they had quite tough ones for sale, so when I'd checked in to the refugio in Vega de Valcarce, I walked back again and bought one. Next morning, I woke then went to sleep again as the early birds set out in the rainy darkness, while flashes of lightning silhouetted the surrounding mountains. When everything had calmed down, I set off, left, right, tock tick. The wooden staff resounded against the cobbles much more loudly than the metal walking stick but the rhythm was great, giving me time to think. Dillon said the rosary while he was walking alone, but I talked to my children in my head, wrote a play about a woman doing the Camino, and practised my various Spanish phrases.
The guide book said the next part included an arduous two-kilometre climb, and as I turned off the road to cross a small wooden bridge and onto a narrow track darkened with undergrowth, the rain started to fall, densely and heavily, closing in on me. Then I was up and into the light of the sun, with the cobbles, worn smooth by 1,000 people, gleaming in the rain.
I stayed the night in a German hostel in La Faba and ate in the village in a makeshift shelter with a woman and her former boyfriend, who made me a necklace for my granddaughter whose name he wrote on a grain of rice.
Next day, I walked up towards O Cebreiro along a high mountain path bordered by yellow gorse and purple foxgloves, haws glowing red as sanctuary lamps in the bushes. A stone marker told me I had crossed into Galicia, where the spelling was different and Jacobeo became Xacobeo.Far below, a white mist lay across the valley and the world was still and silent as if holding its breath. There was no one to be seen in any direction and then, suddenly, rounding a bend in the track, I came upon a bizarre sight: a cold drinks dispenser, chained to a huge rock, offering cans of coca cola and bars of chocolate.
In O Cebreiro, they carried a rough-hewn wooden statue of the Virgin through the crowd, the priest's voice on the tannoy competing with the men in the drinks tent. At a long table, people sat to eat octopus chopped up and cooked in wine, while a fife and drum band from Lugo played a rallying marching tune.
At the end of the day, the floor of the church gleamed with red candles, and people circled the statue on their knees. For old time's sake I lit one too. And then I went to have a glass of wine with a long-haired troubadour who thought he might take himself and his guitar to Ireland to seek his fortune. And that was another good day on the Camino.
My only problem is that, while the Abbot of Glenstal will surely go to heaven since he walked the whole of the Camino, I will have to wait in the annexe because I only did part of it. Unless, of course, I go back and do the whole thing, which I surely will. One day.
BEFORE YOU GO . . .
The French Camino starts in the south of France, goes through the Pyrenees and crosses the north of Spain to Santiago de Campostela.
Length: 783km or 500 miles.
It takes about 36 days to do the whole trip, but you can join it anywhere along the route.
To get to the start, fly to Biarritz or Pau and get a bus to St-Jean-Pied-de-Port. To begin at the middle, fly to Valladolid and get a bus to your starting point.
The average cost of a bed in a refugio is €5. You cannot book in advance and preference is given to walkers. It is possible to book hotels en route.
The best time to go is May/June and September/October.
Many towns have first aid centres for walkers.
An estimated 350,000 people walked the Camino in 2004.
The Irish Society of the Friends of St James (secretary: John Costello, 01-6603325) will give lots of practical advice and is celebrating the Feast of St James tomorrow at 11am in St James's Church, next to the Guinness Brewery in Dublin
Useful website: www.caminoguides.com
Book to read: Cees Nooteboon's Roads to Santiago.
Most useful guide book: Millan Bravo Lozano's A Practical Guide for Pilgrims, which comes with day-to-day maps showing distances and places to stay.
WHEN YOU'RE THERE . . .
Keep rucksack weight to a minimum
Go prepared for rain and sunshine
Bring your own blister treatment kit, or buy one en route
Remember, whether you're a saint or a sinner, the Camino is fun to do
Drink red wine while in the Rioja region. Among the best is El Coto, otherwise known as the Pilgrim's Pleasure
Local taxi drivers will sometimes deliver your rucksack to the next refugio for about €2