Every morning for nearly three weeks now, I've got up before sunrise, in the freezing cold and the dark, I've put on my boots, I've hauled on my backpack, and I've set off to walk some 20-30kms that day, which will get me incrementally closer to a place called Santiago de Compostela.

In the gloom, and as the sun rises and it begins to get lighter, I see ahead of me a beeline of several dozen others like me. I turn and see more behind me.

Elsewhere along this well trodden path of some 800 kilometers, at this same moment, thousands of people are doing the same thing – we're all following little yellow arrows pointing us towards a distant cathedral on the west coast of Spain, where supposedly lie the bones of a Saint.

We're all walking the Camino de Santiago.

Why?

That's the question I ask myself each morning, when I see all these people.

Some of us are limping, some of us are bandaged, some are on strong painkillers, some of us have a jaunty lilt in our step and look like we're out on a brisk Sunday morning stroll.

Some of us have started from Pamplona or Burgos, some have come from Le Puy in France or even further, and already have walked over a thousand kilometers.

We're old, we're young, some of us are sick, and some of us are dying. Some of us have our whole lives ahead of us. But we all share a fixed and common purpose – to walk to Santiago.

Why?

The statistics are interesting:

Last year, (2012) 192,488 people received their Compostela, which is a document you receive when you complete the Camino. You don't need to have walked from St Jean Pied de Port or Roncesvalles to receive the compostela, you need only to have walked the last 100 kms.

Of those nearly 200,000 people, 49.5% were Spanish. The next highest group was German, at 8%. Italians were 6%, Americans came in at 3.6%, British were 1.9% and Australians made up 0.98%. That's about 2,000 Aussies walked the Camino last year.

The majority of those that walked were aged between 30-60 years, at 57%. Under 30 was 28%, and over 60 was 15%.

The genders were almost equal – males at 56%, females at 44%.

The majority (21%) started at Sarria, 108 kms from Santiago. The next most popular starting point was St Jean Pied de Port, (nearly 800 kms), at 11.5%.

These statistics are somewhat misleading, because they're only those that actually got their Compostela. Many thousands more drop in and do stages, and don't go all the way through, often because they don't have the time. They come back the next year and do another stage, and then another, until they complete the whole camino.

So it's not inconceivable that last year, around a quarter of a million people walked the Camino de Santiago.

Why?

Why didn't they hike up Mt. Kilimanjaro? Why didn't they do the Appalachian Trail, or the Coast to Coast walk in the UK? What drew them to the Camino?

If you ask them, as I've done on my walk so far, they'll mostly shrug and smile and say they don't know. Some are walking with their sons or daughters, or other family members. They see this as a way of bonding.

Some say they do it for the social interaction – it's a way of meeting new friends. And I'm surprised at how many people cite the film The Way, starring Martin Sheen, as the trigger for them deciding to do the Camino.

But with all these people, if you dig deeper, you'll often find there are more profound reasons.

Many are in a transition point in their lives. They've quit a job, or been fired. They've had a relationship break up, or someone close to them has died. Some have simply reached a point in their lives where they've looked back at what they've done, they're not happy, and they need time out to take stock and reassess.

Many have retired, and see the Camino as a way of finding a deeper meaning in their final years.

Very few will openly tell you they're walking the Camino for religious or spiritual reasons. Yet you'll see them discretely mumble Grace before a meal, or cross themselves to give thanks before eating.

Sometimes as you walk you'll see someone linger at a roadside cross, or a memorial, and say a quiet prayer. Others, often the most unlikely, will be found heading off to a Mass in a village church at the end of the day.

In the evenings, after they've had a shower and done their laundry, many pilgrims will sit down and assiduously write up their journals. You can see the intensity in their concentration as they recall all those moments during the day that were significant to them. You sense that this Camino will stay with them the rest of their lives.

It's extraordinary, really. All these people. What's called them to walk this path? There are other cheaper much easier ways of having a holiday or finding new friends. They tell me the internet's good for that…

No, there's something else going on.

Okay, why am I doing it?

I still don't know.

I went to the Leon Cathedral this morning, a magnificent structure with lots of high stained glass panelling, and I sat in a pew and I found a quiet place in my mind and asked that very question: why am I doing the Camino?

I was hoping that a dove would flutter down from the high vaulted ceiling with a message tied to its foot giving me the answer. Or a wizened old homeless man would shamble up and sit beside me and, with pure clear eyes, would stare into mine and give me some mumbled utterance, in English of course, that would have me racing out straight to my iPad so I could include it in this post. At the very least, I was hoping that I'd suddenly get an unexplained and mysterious text message from an unknown sender that would snap everything into place.

None of that happened.

I left the Cathedral still not knowing why I'm doing this walk.

But I'm changing. I can feel it. People who know me tell me I am. I can feel subtle shifts in thought patterning, in attitudes, in judgements.

I'm smiling more. I'm laughing more. I'm limping more.

Ha ha

But… There's a rejigging that's happening within me at a molecular level. There's no doubt that I'll be a different person at the end of this, I know that. And I suspect that will be permanent – that the changes I'm talking about won't melt away after a few weeks or months.

One tangible thing – I've realised how little I actually NEED. I carry everything on my back that I need to survive. All down to 8kgs. If it rains, I'm covered. If it gets cold, I'm covered. If I need to eat or drink, i have food and water. It's incredibly liberating, knowing how little you actually need.

Also, I've already learnt that life is better uncontrolled. I was a control freak. Now I'm just a freak.

I have another two weeks to get to Santiago, and they won't be easy. There are a few tough stages coming up. Plus I'll soon be moving into Galicia, where it rains heavily, and possibly into snow too.

I bumped into three retired Aussie engineers today. They're funny buggers. They've rated each town according to how many storks they see on the church steeples. They were ecstatic walking out of Boadilla, saying that it was the first “five stork town” they'd been through.

We had a wonderful lunch together and I mentioned that today's post was going to be about why we're walking the Camino. One of them shook his head and said: For me, that's easy. I'm too bloody old to climb Mt. Everest.

Something though is calling us.

All these people.

All that way.

Perhaps I'll know once I get there.

Today was another long day – 39 kms. But I really wanted to get to Leon.

I love this city.

I was here two years ago with my wife, looking at the pilgrims clustered in an old cobblestoned courtyard near an ancient church, and I wanted to be one of them, one day.

Today I was.

I left El Burgo Ranero early this morning. I'd stayed in a beautiful little hostal that was only marginally more expensive than the communal albergues in the town, but what made it special was the matron who ran the place. She greeted me with such genuine warmth and affection, and then took my laundry and washed it, hung it out to dry, and insisted on no payment.

This kind of generosity of spirit permeates the Camino.

As I was walking into Leon this afternoon, an elderly man, all dressed up in his Sunday best, approached me. As he got closer he tipped his hat, in a mark of respect – presumably because I'm on a pilgrimage.

I felt truly touched by this small but significant gesture.

Anyway, I left at 7am, before sunrise again, knowing that this would be my last day on the Meseta. I knew I had a long day ahead of me, but I wasn't in any rush.

When I'm steaming, I do about 4 kms / hr. That's fairly slow. Most times i average about 3.5 kms / hr. That's geriatric. I've said it before, but EVERYONE passes me.

Actually, I retract that. I did pass someone yesterday. For the first time since starting the Camino. I felt really chuffed. I saw this person up ahead, and realised that if we continued at our relative speeds, that in about 15 minutes I would pass them.

Which I did do.

As I passed this person, I looked across and realised that they must have been at least 80 years old, and needing life support.

Still, it goes down in the record books regardless.

Today was hard work – not because of the mileage. It was the wind. I had four layers on till about 2pm. The wind was strong and bitterly cold. The temp was about 7-8C. But the wind was debilitating.

Most of my walking mates dropped off at Mansilla de las Mulas, after about 19kms. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to get to Leon. It was another 20kms.

I regard anything less than 20 kms a day as a “pussy” walk. So far I've only had one pussy walk day. That was yesterday, after the 41 km day.

I should explain that “pussy” in Australian parlance is different from the US meaning, which is a bit rude. Pussy in Australian slang means “sissy.” In Australia if you want to cast aspersions on a bloke's masculinity, you'd either call him a pussy, or a “big girl's blouse.” Same thing.

So, I've had one pussy walk day. I didn't want to have another two. So I just joined the two pussies together – 19kms & 20 kms – and there you have it – today's pussy free day.

I felt sad leaving the Meseta. To me it's been the highlight of the Camino so far. It was where my pain left me. It was where I shifted into another realm.

The space, the metronomic quality of the walking, the way the light was always changing. It loosened things held tight inside me. It enabled me to disassociate thoughts. I haven't used an iPod on this walk. I've wanted to be totally in my thoughts. The Meseta gave me the space, the solitude, the resonance to think about those three questions that keep arising for me:

• Who am I?
• What am I doing here?
• What really matters?

People talk of the Meseta being boring. I didn't find it so. For me, the country was changing every hundred meters or so. The light was always changing. There were always different sounds. Different colours. The perspectives were always in a constant state of flux.

I loved it.

I became strong on the Meseta.

If that story that Ivan the Terrible told me is true – that an Italian Priest told him the first part of the Camino is your life, the Meseta is your death, and from Leon to Santiago is your rebirth, then I can understand that. The Meseta for me was transcendent. It was like shifting into another dimension.

I'll miss it, and when in later years I think back on my Camino, probably my most vivid memories will be of the Meseta.

I have a rest day in Leon tomorrow. And I will do a post tomorrow reflecting on my thoughts so far.

I'm loving this walk…

Further to my previous post on injuries, I woke up in the middle of the night thinking that it's all about respect.

You have to respect the Camino, respect your body, and respect your reasons for walking – whatever those reasons may be.

If you carry that respect with you, then the Camino will be a time of joy.

I met up with a bloke today who I've seen on and off the last 2 weeks or so. We've said hello each time we've seen each other, but today walking into El Burgos Ranero, we got to talking.

He's 44 years old, he works in the oil industry doing hard physical labour, he's fit and strong. And he's having real difficulties with the Camino. He’s limping heavily.

Two days ago I saw a bloke up ahead going even slower than me. He was a young Frenchman – about 30 years old – a good looking and strapping fellow. He was limping heavily too. Bad knee.

I spoke to a 25 year old lass today from Canada. She'd had to go to hospital a few days ago. Lymphatic issue from walking.

Right at the moment I'm in a bar writing this blog, and there's a pilgrim looks strong as a bull, and his left leg is strapped with bandages.

No-one tells you how hard the Camino is.

There are some people who fly through it. Mostly they're the older folk, who either have more stamina, or more wisdom, than the young 'uns.

But I can't begin to tell you how many people I know already who have dropped out because of injury, or who've had to go to hospital, or are walking each day with painful injuries.

A lady I met in the first week, a 30+ woman from Denmark – fit and strong – had to bail because of pain in her back. I've since heard she's bitterly disappointed.

I'm not trying to scare you, or put you off. But this is no walk in the park.

You have to train, you have to approach it with respect, and you do have to listen to your body.

All that said, a lot of people each year do the Camino and they overcome their blisters and bad knees and other physical issues. And as I said, some sail through without any probs at all.

But, this is 800 kms, (if you start from St.Jean), with a heavy backpack, walking long distances each day, up and down mountains, and it's little wonder that it will take a toll.

But hey, it's worth it.

I woke up cautiously this morning.

I gingerly got out of bed, and realised that I could still walk. Yesterday's mammoth stretch of 41kms hadn't taken a toll after all. I think the secret was that I'd done some yoga last night before I went to bed, then did some again this morning.

For the first time since Santo Domingo, about 10 days ago, I didn't put on any bandages or creams this morning. I put some Sellick 15 on my feet, to stop friction, but basically I was about to set off today without painkillers, without knee supports, without antibiotic lotions, wihout bandages.

I had some brekkie in a little coffee shop on the outskirts of Sahagun, and then headed out onto the Meseta.

I felt good. No pain. Easy stride.

Today was a special day for me. Let me explain: two years ago, my wife and I drove from Burgos to Leon. We took the motorway, and at times it ran very close to the Camino. I remember looking out at these pilgrims crossing this vast expanse of nothingness,and marvelling.

I knew then that I wanted to walk the Camino.

This stretch is defined by a row of trees beside the path, and that's what I remember – this row of trees, and these pilgrims walking to Santiago.

I also remember that in a car, it was a long way between Leon and Burgos. What was compelling these people to WALK it?

Today I had a choice. I could have walked by the motorway, or I could have taken a more scenic, and easier route. I chose the motorway route.

And a weird thing happened. At one section where the Camino path got close to the motorway, I looked up and saw my car. The same car I'd driven in two years ago. Same make, same model, same colour. (Citroen C5, dark grey.)

I had this extraordinary sense of deva vu.

And I knew then that I had been destined to walk this Way. For whatever reason, I still don't know.

(Short day today – 18 kms. Shortest day I've had so far. Didn't stop early for reasons of pain – no pain. Just found a nice place, and thought I'd stop.)

As I was walking today, I saw this snail on the road. With its big shell and slow pace, I thought ah ha. Perfect visual representation of me walking the Camino.

So I put my camera into super macro, lay down on the road all spreadeagled out, my backpack still on, my sticks abandoned, as I tried to get this shot of the snail with the road and the horizon in the background.

Then I heard all this shouting behind me!

I didn't bother to look at what was going on – I was too intent on getting my shot. But then I heard these heavy footsteps, and huffing and puffing, and more shouting.

I got the shot and turned around. These two blokes were racing up to me.

Oh mein Got, oh mien Got, they said. Do you need ein docktor?

They were two German blokes, and they'd seen me splayed out on the ground and thought I'd collapsed! This was Nolbert and Josef.

As I got to my feet, I thanked them but said that I was just getting a shot of the snail. By this stage a car was coming along the road behind us too, so Nolbert quickly picked up the snail and put it safely on the side of the road.

We had a good laugh. They were both very much relieved. The snail lived, and I got my shot of me!

Today has to be the most glorious days of my walking life.

I didn’t set out to walk 41kms – it just kind of happened. But I have to say, it was truly memorable.

I made a big mistake though with my intuition, but we’ll get to that later.

I woke up late – 7am. And what with my repacking my bag and general rooting around, I didn’t leave Carrion until 8am. The light was flat and uninteresting. High cloud, which once again was fantastic for walking, but uninspiring for photography.

Today was defined by a 17km stretch from Carrion to the next town. No villages in between, which meant no food or drinks. Everyone had stocked up at the supermercado the previous evening, including me. I bought two pears, a huge apple, some sliced ham, some sliced cheese, some dried apricots, and a baguette. Also 750mls of water to augment the 600mls I always carry.

I had a quick coffee at a bar, then another one, then left.

I dawdled leaving town, trying to wrench a half decent photo out of the crap light. I had no set destination – vaguely I was thinking of a town about 27kms away. Of course because I was late leaving, and because I was slow, all my friends had either left before me, or soon overtook me.

But as I got out of town, and the path stretched out ahead, something very strange happened. I realised I had no pain! I was walking freely, and quite swiftly. It was cool, there was no sun, the countryside was breathtakingly beautiful, and I felt great!

I felt the best I’d felt the entire Camino. Because I’d slept in, I was fully rested, but walking without pain was a completely new experience for me. I was walking with the ease and joy and speed that I’d been doing in my training hikes back home.

The other thing about today – I passed the halfway mark!

At around about the pace where I estimated the halfway point was, I felt a small stone drop into my boot. How did that happen, I wondered. It was aggravating my little toe something fierce so I found a place to sit down by the side of the track. I took off my boot, took off my sock, but couldn’t find the damn stone.

I then realised that I had a blister on the bottom of my little toe that was as big as the toe itself! It hadn’t been a stone I’d felt, it was this bulbous blister.

I put some Sellic 15 on it, a lubricant, (thanks Wayfarer!), put my socks back on (liner and Icebreaker merino), put my Asolo boot on again and set off. I wasn’t going to use Compeed after what it did to my heel blister. I was just going to ignore it.

It was as though the Camino, at the halfway point, was throwing one last bouncer at me. (Cricketing term). I let it go through to the keeper. (Another cricketing term.)

I wasn’t going to let a measly blister spoil my wonderful day.

It hurt, for a while, and then when it realised that I wasn’t going to stop and bawl my eyes out, the hurt went away. And I returned to my Pain Free Zone.

I got to the 17km village and kept walking. When I’d stopped to take my boot off, (about 11am), I’d had something to eat, so there was need for me to stop. I was feeling strong, and not at all tired.

At about 1:30pm. I stopped to have some lunch. I sat on the edge of a stone bridge, pulled out my Opinel knife, cut open the baguette and had a sandwich of ham and cheese. There were no pilgrims on the trail. But there were several Cuckoo birds. There have been Cuckoo birds all along the Camino!

Just a side note – most pilgrims stop walking about 2pm each day. That’s when the albergues open, and they like then to do their laundry and relax. So if you’re walking after 2pm or 2:30pm, chances are you’ll have the path to yourself.

I then got to the 27km town, (Terradillos de Templarios) where everyone had stopped, but I was having such a great time walking I decided to keep going. By this time, it was about 3:30pm, and other than the 15 minute blister break and a 15 minute Cuckoo bird break, I’d not stopped and rested.

What kept me going was that the light had become very dramatic. Rain was coming, there were big dark clouds roiling, and it was such a lovely day to walk! i was having a blast!

When some rain did start to fall I stopped and put on my jacket, and my rain cover for my backpack. There were two more villages coming up, and I figured that if I wanted to, i could stay in one of those.

I met up with two sisters from the US, and we walked for a few kms together, but they decided to stay in the albergue in the first village, Moratinos. That to them represented about 30kms for the day.

I kept going. I was still feeling great, the country was looking amazing, and I was still having fun!

I decided to get something to eat in the 2nd village, San Nicolas del Real Camino. In the town’s albergue/restaurant, I ordered a ham and cheese sandwich, and two Diet Cokes with ice.

I got talking to a fellow there, his name was Ben. He was a retired chemical engineer from South Africa, and we very quickly connected, and he started explaining his theories of how there are errors built into the cosmos.

Interesting guy.

I would have liked to talk to him more. And then Boris from Slovakia walked in. Boris and I became friends after I did a video for his daughter telling her what a “true” pilgrim he was!

I had it in my mind though to to go the next town, about 7kms away, called Sahagun. I’d seen pics of this wonderful medieval place, and it called to me.

Big mistake.

I overrode my intuition.

I arrived in Sahagun at 7:30pm. I’d been walking 10 and a half hrs, excluding a total of about an hour during the day for rests. I didn’t walk 41kms to prove anything, I did it because it was so beautiful walking in the afternoon, all by myself, and because I still felt good.

But the walk into Sahagun was ugly, through the commercial zone, and I ended up in a place where the receptionist was rude, and the room has a view of a brick wall.

I should have listened to my intuition and stayed at the previous town, and talked more with Ben and Boris.

All things to take on board, and learn from.

Here is a selection of the pilgrims I met today:

Fernado from Australia and a lass from Romania who had spirited discussion with me on intuition –

Nolbert and Josef from Germany – (more on them in a separate post!)

Two lovely ladies from Alberta Canada, both 68 and ripping it!

Frannie and Lucy from America. Frannie lives on a boat in Sausalito, and Lucy is soon to become a doctor in New Orleans.

Ben, the retired chemical engineer from South Africa.

Again, today was one of the most sublime days of my “walking” life!

I hope I don’t pay for it tomorrow!

Yesterday turned put to be really interesting. As it turned out, the albergue where I stayed is one of the most famous, and celebrated, on the Camino. I know why – it was beautiful. Gorgeous grounds, sculptures and pool, and good food.

I came in late – about 5:30pm – and as I walked in a bloke who I’d met in Pamplona shook his head and said they’re fully booked. They’ve been turning people away, he said. I said I’d just go check, just in case. And they found a bed for me. As the hospitalero ( the person who runs the albergue) was leading me to my room (shared by about 20 others!), the bloke from Pamplona shook his head and yelled out to me: The Camino Gods must be with you Bill.

Now, why did I get a bed when others were turned away? I have no idea. Here are some options:

1. Perhaps the others were in a group and I was alone.
2. Perhaps I looked so pathetic and in pain that they took pity on me.
3. Perhaps it was my Sydney Swans cap and they were Swannies supporters.

I have no idea. But I later started to think – what if I knew at the start of the day that I was heading to one of the great albergues of the Camino? How would that affect my day?

I’d be tense, wondering if I’d get a bed. Wondering if those French dudes passing me were going to beat me to the last beds. I would go fast, I could possibly put undue stress on my body. I could possibly make my injuries worse. I wouldn’t stop and take photos. I wouldn’t see the beauty around me. My whole day would be geared solely towards getting to the cool albergue and making sure I got accommodation.

Now, as it turns put, there was another albergue in Boadilla, but it looked skanky in comparison. But it was a bed. You see, I purposefully haven’t read any reviews or forums about what albergues are the best ones to stay at. As I’ve said, I’m doing this walk with my PGS – my Personal Guidance System – and I’m just letting that plug into The Way, and have it guide me.

So when I walked into Boadilla yesterday, I walked past the skanky albergue, followed my instincts, and ended up at the cool place, where in fact about a dozen of my faster walking friends were already settled. I got my bed, and I had a good meal, caught up with some friends I hadn’t seen in a while, and the hospitaleros even did my washing for me! €6 for the night.

Things could not have worked out better.

But, last night as I was settling down to sleep, I started to freak out. What if I couldn’t get a room tomorrow night? Everyone was descending on this town 25 kms away – Carrion de los Condes. Did it have enough rooms to hold us all?

So I went online and checked hotels in Carrion. There was only one taking bookings – with only 2 rooms left though! – and a single room was €60. I considered it briefly, then went nah. If I’m to do this walk intuitively, then I can’t let my fear take hold. I’ve got to play by the rules.

So I didn’t book the hotel.

The next morning, this morning, everyone was up and out early. The light was exquisite, and I stopped a lot and took photos. I was walking extra slow because this morning I decided to go cold turkey on the painkillers. I’ve been on 600mgs of Ibuprofen 3 times a day for nearly 2 weeks now.

Maybe that explains my grey hair.

I also didn’t put my knee bandage on, and no Voltaren cream. I wanted to see how I went. The first 10kms were great. The last 15kms were painful. Very painful. And of course everyone streamed past me.

I began to wonder – would there be a bed for me in Carrion? Should I have booked that hotel? But my emotional body was testing me. It was playing on my fears, more exposed possibly because of my pain. I deserved a nice bed tonight, I thought. I’m suffering.

What crap.

I don’t deserve anything. And if I’m suffering, then it’s my own stupid fault.

About 4kms out from Carrion, I turned and saw a big group of pilgrims about a km behind me. I found myself going faster, even though it was hurting me to do so. These were the people who were going to take the last beds. These were the people who would have me sleep out in a field under a tree.

Spain may not have deadly spiders, or snakes, or great white sharks, but they have gypsies. And everyone knows that gypsies inhabit the night and steal things off pilgrims sleeping under trees in fields.

What crap, all of it.

I slowed down, and walked into Carrion – a beautiful little town – and left the way-marked path and found myself outside the Santa Clara Monastery. A glorious ancient building.

I walked inside, and they had a bed for me.

Now, consider the Camino as a metaphor for life. Consider how we approach our lives each day with such fear – fear that we’ll miss out on whatever it is we consider important. Imagine how that affects us each day.

Imagine what it must be like if we could release ourselves from that fear…

A quick post of a beautiful Spanish couple in Boadilla del Camino.