Two years ago, I started to think about walking the Camino.

It soon became a fixation.

In Mudgee, in the small country town where I live north west of Sydney, I’d go walking each day out into the lanes through the vineyards, and I’d imagine myself walking the Camino.

Sometimes farmers and vintners would stop and ask me why I was walking.

I’m training for the Camino de Santiago, I’d tell them – and they’d look at me strangely as I walked off. Back then, I didn’t know when I’d do it, only that it was inevitable I would.

People who knew me, people close to me, would rib me, believing it was a phase I was going through and soon I’d get over it. I never did. In fact, I could feel the pressure building. This inexplicable need to walk the Camino in Spain.

I read books, I looked at YouTube videos, I watched documentaries. I bought boots, I bought hiking gear, I went and bought a backpack and began doing 12 km mountain treks with the pack fully loaded.

I started to get fit. I wore my boots in. I weighed everything that was likely to go into my pack. If anyone asked, I could tell them down to the gram how much my undies weighed.

No-one asked.

And then one morning the dam burst and I decided on a date.

I made a booking and paid the airfare, and within a couple of hours I received an unexpected royalty cheque for exactly the amount I’d just spent, plus $200. Down to the dollar. The $200 would cover taxis and incidentals to and from airports.

Weird.

Still, I had no idea why I was doing this walk across a country on the other side of the world. And when those people who’d chuckled at me asked, I couldn’t give them any sensible answer. Only that it was something I just had to do.

As I began the Camino, I decided that I wanted The Way to answer three questions for me:

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

It’s been about ten days since I arrived in Santiago, and so I don’t have the perspective of distance and time yet to fully answer these questions, however I do believe in the notion of the Three Stages of the Camino – LIFE, DEATH, and REBIRTH.

I believe that I’m at the start of the rebirth stage. And it’s crucial that as I begin to re-enter my everyday world, I adhere to the concept of being a pilgrim, and making each day a pilgrimage.

If ever I’m confronted with a situation where in the past I might have responded with anger or conflict or disappointment or envy, then I must remember what I’ve learnt from the Camino: Humility, gratitude, need / not want. And keep on putting one foot in front of the other, and eventually you’ll get there…

Okay –

• Who am I? I’m a story teller.
• What am I doing here? I’m here to communicate to others, in a way that I hope will be affecting.
• What really matters? As I said in one of my last posts, love matters. And truth. And beauty, in all its forms. Beauty is a function of love, and love is a function of truth.

Why did I walk the Camino? Maybe it was to do this blog.

So that one day you too might walk the Camino…

Thank you to everyone who’s followed this blog. In a month I’ve had in excess of 35,000 page views, which is quite amazing.

I’ll put up a contact page on this site, so that you can get in touch – but my email address is:  pgstheway@gmail.com

I am considering doing an e-book, based on this blog and my photographs. And of course I hope soon to be making the film, PGS.

(We’re looking for money right now, so if you know of any investors who might be interested, please put them in touch with me and I can provide more information. There’s also more info on: http://www.pgsintuitive.com)

This blog helped me through the Camino. It gave me strength and purpose each day. It helped me see things I would have otherwise missed. It helped me consider things I would otherwise have dismissed.

Each day with your comments, you helped pull me up that hill, helped guide me down that mountainside. It was you, really, who gave me the strength.

So until the next Camino, my knee willing…

Bill Bennett – May, 2013

I started out this blog saying that I was going to walk the Camino with my PGS – which is what I call my intuition. My Personal Guidance System.

Usually, I'm very organised and I plan everything, particularly travel, down to the minutest detail. I don't leave anything to chance.

Not the Camino.

I was going to let The Way guide me. I wasn't going to plan anything. I was going to totally “wing it.” I was going to feel each moment and decide what felt right and what didn't, then act on it.

Also, I was determined not to walk with fear – fear of not having a bed for the night, fear of getting blisters or sustaining an injury, fear of rain or snow. I didn't want fear to stifle my walk. To corrode the experience.

How did I go?

I went pretty damn well.

To give you some examples: I never worried about where I'd end up of an evening, or if there'd be a bed. I figured out early on that at the very worst, I could sleep in a field under a tree. That was a liberating moment for me – to know what was the worst thing that could happen to me. Knowing that, and knowing that I could handle that, freed me up enormously. So then I didn't worry.

Invariably I got a bed anyway, and often it seemed to be the last available bed in the town or village. But still, I didn't have to sleep in a field. And if I'd had to, then it wouldn't have been a big deal anyway.

Later, on a couple of occasions I sensed that I should pre-book, and I'm glad I did because O Cebreiro for instance on a Sunday was packed. I walked 32 kms that day, I wanted a private room and I knew I'd be in late. Again, I used my intuition, my PGS, to tell me what was the right thing to do.

I can talk about how I'd allow my PGS to guide me to absolutely the right place to have breakfast, or the right albergue to stay in, or the right people to meet along The Way – but I also used my logical mind too.

For instance, I never worried about the weather.

A lot of pilgrims were very fearful of what the weather would be like the next day, or next few days. They'd watch the forecasts on the tv in a bar, or they'd often refer to their iPhones which gave them up to date weather reports. Many times they told me with foreboding that there was snow up ahead, or heavy rain.

I never worried. I refused to worry about things I couldn't control. If it snowed, it snowed. If it rained, it rained. I had gear to handle both. But it never snowed, and it hardly ever rained. I figured why get concerned over a weather forecast? The weather is so unpredictable in that part of the world, nine times out of ten the forecasters are wrong.

There were a couple of times I over-rode my intuition as well. The one I regret the most is not staying at the small town before Sahagun, and hanging out with Ben (the South African chemical engineer) and Boris. I would have enjoyed their company and learnt things, I'm sure. Instead I walked on and had a very ordinary evening by myself.

Using your intuition means you have to trust. I trusted that I would have a wonderful Camino. With good weather and trouble free. I had good weather. But I also had some problems. A knee that went bad on me a couple of days into the walk.

But here's the thing –

Two years ago, my wife and I were in Spain, working, and during that time I drove as many sections of the Camino Frances as I could. I wanted to scope it out, thinking even at that stage that later I might come back and walk it.

I remember driving along a narrow back road west of Sarria, through some farming land, and I distinctly remember seeing a fellow with a big knee bandage limping heavily.

That image stuck with me. During the intervening two years, I thought about that bloke a lot. How much pain he appeared to be in, how much determination he must have had to have come so far, and to be continuing on. Often when I thought about walking the Camino, I thought of that injured man.

Did I create my own knee problem? Did I manifest that image, that suffering, for myself?

I can't say. All I can say is that it was something I remembered vividly, then two years later, there I was – limping along that same back road, wearing a similar knee bandage.

You have to be so careful, because what you focus on, you can create.

Overall though, spending those 31 days letting go – having no control over outcomes – was truly liberating. I trusted that the Camino would provide.

And it did.

There are so many lessons I've learnt that I can now apply to my Post-Camino life.

If what Ivan's Italian priest said is correct – that the first stage of the Camino is life, the middle section, the Meseta, is death, and the arrival into Santiago is rebirth – then I have now shifted into my new Self.

And already I can feel it.

My PGS guided me to do the Camino. I'm not a walker as such, and as I've stated before, I'm not Catholic and not religious. But I did have a strong need to do this walk. To do this pilgrimage.

Why?

I think i now know the reason. I'll tell you in tomorrow's last post for this blog.

Here are my top 10 favourite shots.

They don’t necessarily tell the story of the Camino, but they are images that sing to me.

Following these shots, are a further 10 that I like…

And here are a further 10 shots that I like –

I’m only going to do two more “audits,” – one about Walking with PGS, and the other about why I walked the Camino. Then that’s it for this blog.

(Until the next Camino!)

Bill

Here are photos of some people whom I met on my Camino, and who had an impact on me.

There are some others that I didn’t get photos of – like Boris, Renata, Meta, and some others too, and some whose permission I forgot to get, and so won’t post their pic.

Then there were those who I met who I never got their names – but their memory will linger. Like the bloke who’d walked from le Puy, and was walking to Santiago then Lisbon and back. And Pieter, from Holland, who I only met briefly outside Ponferrada but he showed me that walking could be effortless.

If I’ve got the names wrong, or the spelling wrong, please forgive me… But know that you had a strong influence on my Camino experience.

Balazs – from Hungary, who I met in the taxi to St. Jean, and who lent me his towel to ice my knee.

Laszlo – who was also in the taxi. The man most likely not to succeed, and he nailed it.

Rosa, also in the taxi to St. Jean – a beautiful soul…

The crazy Korean couple –

Balazs and Laszlo in Pamplona –

Bruce – a retired Professor of Veterinary Science from University of Southern California.

My Santa Domingo Angel – Estrella (she helped me with my infected heel blister)

Ivan the Terrible and Giovanna (outside Burgos) Ivan guided me into Burgos through the parkland, avoiding the terrible traffic of the main route in. He and his wife became my very good friends throughout the Camino.

Bob and Joan ( first sighting!) Bob and Joan, from Berkley California, also became close friends, and dinner companions. Wonderful extraordinary people – you can tell in this wide shot, right?

Emmanuel – an aspiring Austrian filmmaker. I gave him some advice on his career.

Soren and Francis (These guys helped me in Pamplona)

Rosa –

A wonderful couple from Boadilla –

Fernando (an Aussie) and the lasses from France and Romania.

Frannie and Lucy, sisters, from the US

Ben, the Chemical Engineer from South Africa who saw errors in the Universe. I wished I’d spent more time talking to him.

…. from the San Fernando Valley, California.

The Five Stork trio, from Australia. (These blokes classified the towns they walked through by the number of storks nesting in the church bell towers.)

A wonderful Spanish lady, from near the Iron Cross

The gorgeous Italian lass (Luana?). A bloke carried her backpack for her because she had bad knees. Why wouldn’t you?

Caroline and Francis

Caroline leaving Burgos – Caroline was from Australia too.

Andy and his wife Roberta from Newfoundland. Andy couldn’t see beauty in the crappy shack I was photographing…

Gordon – his second Camino within a year, because he felt he missed things the first time…

A Canadian couple carrying their 11 month old baby on the Camino. They started in Leon.

A Japanese cyclist I photographed on the Meseta. He wanted to know why I was photographing him, and I told him he looked like an alien. He laughed all the way to the next village.

Dwayne – a terrific bloke from the US who was very kind to me, and we became close friends. He was a very strong walker and would always pass me, then be amazed the next day when he passed me again! (I walked longer hours than him!) He too developed knee issues.

Catherine, a beautiful Irish woman who, through vigorous conversations, helped me walk 22kms one day without stopping!

I’ve forgotten the name of this young lady. She was from Finland, and had recently finished her studies. We walked for a few hours and had a good chat. Never saw her again. That’s the Camino.

Ivan the Terrible. You can see from this shot why his parents named him so…

Nayoung and her mother – they were from South Korea and we traveled some distance together. Nayoung was very emotional when she saw me in the Cathedral in Santiago. She really didn’t think I would make it.

Sigrid, a wonderful lady whom I met in O Cebreiro, then bumped into her again a few days later. We had some good chats too… and she took my photo at the 100km mark.

The Spanish girls who invited me to join them for breakfast!

Soren, from Switzerland, who steamed past me going up O Cebreiro.

Laszlo, about 80 kms from Santiago. My goodness he’s lost some weight!

The two Irish girls who kept me laughing on the last day’s walking…

Some shots of reunions at Santiago –

The Five Stork Trio doing a side on shot to show their wives how much weight they’d lost –

Ivan the Terrible greeting me in Santiago –

Bob and Joan were exceptional walkers, and wonderful human beings –

The Taxi Trio reunited –

The symbol of the Camino on the side of a building in Santiago –

To walk the Camino is to do a pilgrimage.

That’s what I did – I became a pilgrim. I followed in the footsteps of millions of other pilgrims who, over the years, the decades, the centuries, have made their way to Santiago.

I am now a pilgrim. What does that mean?

GRATITUDE:

As I was walking the Camino, being a pilgrim meant, to me, being grateful. Grateful for simple things. I was grateful for a bed at night. I was grateful to be able to put on clean clothes the next morning. I was grateful it wasn’t raining. I was grateful on those days when the pain receded.

I learnt the meaning of gratitude.

Before the Camino, whenever I travelled and I checked into a hotel, I was never happy with the room I got. I’d always ask for a bigger room, or one with a better view, or on a higher floor, or I’d try and wrangle an upgrade.

I was a pain in the ass. I was ungrateful.

No more. In future, I’ll be grateful for whatever room I’m given.

If I can take that concept of gratitude back into my everyday life – if the Camino affects that fundamental change in me – then the pilgrimage will have been worth it.

HUMILITY:

I wanted to learn humility on the Camino. Believe me, Humility with a capital H blindsided me. I was fit, I’d trained hard, I was all prepared. Yes I was anxious, but I believed that I’d get through it fine, and I’d fly across the Meseta.

My knee gave out on me on Day 2, and the rest of my Camino was difficult. Very difficult. I was the slowest person on the path each day. Everyone passed me. There were days when every footstep was like a hot knife stabbing into my knee, or my shin, or my heel. I was dosed up on painkillers but they had no effect.

A lot of people saw me struggling, saw that I was in pain, and felt very sorry for me. Many helped me. Many were sympathetic. I’m sure, (and they later told me) that they thought I’d give up. I was humbled. I wasn’t the fit strong guy I thought I was.

Yet I remeber thinking, one day when I was really doing it tough, that if I kept on putting one foot in front of the other, eventually I’d get to Santiago. All I had to do was keep on putting one foot in front of the other. And that’s how I could repay the sympathy and kindness of my fellow pilgrims. Simply by finishing.

I was also humbled by other people’s achievements.

I met people who had already walked over a thousand kilometers before reaching St. Jean Pied de Port. One fellow took one rest day in St. Jean, then he kept going to Santiago. His plan was to then walk down to Lisbon, and back to Santiago again. More than 2,000 kms in total.

I met several pilgrims who were walking back from Santiago. Back to St. Jean. And then there was the couple who had walked from their home in Nimes, France. Their Camino would be 1,300 kms. They were in their early 60s. These people humbled me.

Ultimately though, I was humbled by the occasion. By walking the Camino. In being a part of something very spiritual that has existed for a thousand years or more, that has attracted millions of pilgrims, and that goes beyond my comprehension. That in itself was humbling.

BIG GOALS, SMALL STEPS:

I also learnt that huge goals can be achieved with small steps.

I walked over the Pyrenees, and across Spain, taking small steps. A lot of small steps. I’d set myself the goal of reaching Santiago de Compostela from St Jean Pied de Port. When I looked at the journey on a map before I left home, I wondered how it could be possible. It seemed so damn far.

But, by putting one foot in front of the other, and by doing that hour after hour, day after day, I did it. I got there.

Now, if I can take that concept into my life as well, what a huge benefit that would be. What else can I achieve in my life by taking small steps? By just keeping on putting one foot in front of the other…

Fascinating thought…

MY POSSESSIONS ARE MY BURDEN:

This thought occurred to me time and time again as I walked the Camino.

Everything I needed was on my back. I was carrying it. Which made me examine and question everything I “owned” for that period of my walk. Because I had to haul it up and down mountains, and across endless plains, and every ounce mattered.

I heard of a woman from Finland who was carrying 6kg of cured reindeer meat in her backpack. She was fine with it. She needed it. My mate Balazs carried an espresso machine, a grinder, and coffee beans. It wasn’t a problem for him. He accepted the weight, and the burden, because he needed good coffee. And he made coffee for other pilgrims, and this was a way of him saying thanks to his friends.

I also heard of a woman from California who carried 2kgs of cosmetics and a hair dryer. She had to pull out and go home prematurely. Her backpack was too heavy.

On the Camino, none of us bought anything from shops along the way, other than essentials such as food or pharmaceuticals, because we’d have to carry it. What a great way to approach the disease of consumerism. Only buy what you’re prepared to carry. Only buy what you really need. Because your possessions are your burden.

Now if I can take that concept back home with me, wouldn’t I be so much “lighter?” Wouldn’t I be able to walk through life so much easier, with more freedom, with greater agility and sense of ease?

I’ll go home knowing that I don’t need so much stuff. I thought I did, before the Camino, but now I realise I don’t. If I can live for nearly 5 weeks with just 8 kgs of belongings, why can’t I apply that notion of need as against want to my life back home?

I think I’m going to be giving a lot away to the Salvos when I get back.

JUDGE NOT:

There were so many times I misjudged people, or underestimated them.

Like Soren, the 67 year old bloke from Switzerland who whooshed past me going up O Cebreiro. I thought he’d take three days. He’d showered, done his laundry, had dinner and watched a game of footy on TV by the time I got in…

Then there was Laszlo, my Hungarian mate from the Taxi Four. Laszlo was carrying a lot of weight, and I wondered early on whether he’d go the distance. He did. He lost 20 kgs on the Camino, and he kicked on to Muxia and Finesterre hoping he’d lose another 5 kgs. What a remarkable man he was.

I learnt that you must never judge, and never underestimate the capacity of others, and their propensity for charity and kindness. The Camino engenders extraordinary acts of generosity, sharing, and care. Why can’t that spill over into life back home?

It actually can.

WE ARE MORE CAPABLE THAN WE REALISE:

Every day I saw pilgrims reach within themselves and find something extra to go up that steep hill or go that extra 10 kms to reach the next town. I talked to people who couldn’t quite believe what they’d done in reaching Santiago.

I saw pilgrims in their 70s climbing up mountains carrying 10 kg backpacks. Without real effort. That’s what the Camino does to you. It infuses you with an energy that makes you capable of things you wouldn’t believe possible.

Personally, I discovered that I was stronger and more resilient than I realised. I dealt with pain simply – by turning a switch in my brain and telling myself that pain didn’t exist. That it was simply something that had been put in front of me to test my resolve in reaching Santiago. I wouldn’t let it stop me.

I refused to go to a hospital. I knew the doctors would tell me to rest for several days, or perhaps even go home. I didn’t need them to tell me that. I would ignore them. So why go?

Miracles occur. My pain left me on the Meseta. It was truly a miracle. The thing about the Camino, you have to leave yourself open to miracles entering your life. That’s what happened to me. If I’d gone to a doctor, the miracle would never have happened.

EVERY DAY IS A PILGRIMAGE:

This now is the challenge for me. To take being a pilgrim back to my normal life. To approach every day as being on a pilgrimage.

What have I learnt so far? ( because the lessons will keep on a comin’… )

I’ve learn that the only thing that really matters is love.

That’s what the Camino has taught me.

Photography enabled me to fully “see” the Camino as I walked. It became a very important part of my Camino experience.

I saw things with my camera I simply would not have otherwise seen, had I not been shooting. And I experienced things – interactions with people, particularly local Spanish people – that wouldn't have happened had I not photographed them.

But that's just me.

It wouldn't be so for everyone.

Some people think that taking a photograph robs you of the memory – that it's an easy way to grab a moment and consider it later, and in doing so you're not fully experiencing the moment when it's presented to you.

That's true in some cases. You can use the camera promiscuously by snatching a shot and quickly moving on, believing that by taking the photograph you've captured the moment for later appreciation: the scenery, the vista, the church, the sunset, the village square.

But you find later that the photograph never truly captured the beauty or the magic of that moment, or that scene. It's always a disappointment, and you feel you should have stopped just a little longer and looked, and fully absorbed it with all your senses; not only your eyes, but you should have smelt it, and heard it – things a photograph can never capture – and then you should have filed it away in that data storage bank called your brain.

All this is true. But it depends on how you use your camera. And your purpose in taking a photograph.

For me, taking a photograph takes time, and engagement. I can't take a photo “promiscuously.” I know the shot will be superficial and technically inept. There's just no point. So as I walk, I look around and I try to really see things. I'm looking for the discordant, the idiosyncratic, the visual malapropisms.

I'm looking for the stuff that makes no sense, or that tells a story.

As I've said in a previous post, it takes me between 30 seconds to 90 seconds to take a shot. And I've taken now close to 5000 shots. For instance, I took several shots of a white horse in a field full of trees.

I followed that damn horse for about 10 minutes as it moved from one section of the forest to the other, trying to get the perfect shot. Ultimately I was never happy with any of my pictures. (That's the day it took me 5 hrs to go 11 kms!)

Equally, when I photograph local Spanish people, I walk up to them and ask if it's ok if I take their picture. If they say no, then I thank them and walk away. If they say yes, then I begin to photograph them. And when I've got a shot I'm happy with, I show it to them on the LCD screen, so that I'm not only taking, but also in a small way giving back.

Invariably then they speak to me in Spanish, which of course I don't understand. Then I tell them I'm from Australia, which delights them, and i show them my Sydney Swans cap, which confuses them, and then I shake their hand and leave. All up, between 3-5 minutes.

So in other words, there's engagement. With the people, and with the subject. Sometimes I wait for clouds to clear so I can get better light. Sometimes I have to wait for quite a while for the background to clear, so I can get a clean shot. It takes time. But that time means I have a connection with what I'm photographing.

It doesn't mean each shot is a “keeper.” Of the 5000 odd shots I've taken, I'm only really happy with about 10 of them. But, more importantly my photography has helped me experience the Camino in my own unique way. It has allowed me to truly connect with it.

TECHNICAL –

I used a Fujifilm x10. I chose this camera because it's small, it's light (with charger and spare batteries, the weight was about 650 gms) and I really like the Fuji sensors. It has full manual control, and a manual zoom. It's also not an interchangeable lens camera – I wanted a closed system camera so that I didn't have to deal with dust on the sensor.

I shot JPEG, which was probably a mistake. I always shoot RAW normally, however shooting RAW on the Fuji would have chewed up the batteries, and the SD cards. Also the Fuji RAW software is dodgy. Despite all that though, I wish now I had shot RAW. It would be nice to have that extra data to pull from.

The camera's focal length is (35mm equivalent) 28 – 109mm. f2 is its widest aperture. Useable ISO up to 1600, with later noise reduction in post.

I often wanted a 20-24mm lens, and also a 200mm or 300m telephoto. The camino screams out for very wide and punched in shots.

I kept the camera slung to my chest via an elastic cord on the backpack. That way I could access it quickly and easily. When it rained I simply put it under my jacket. I took 3 extra batteries, and 2 extra memory cards. I changed the cards at third intervals during the walk, just in case the camera got lost or stolen, and I lost my shots.

The only way I could back up my shots was on my iPad – but I didn't have a great deal of memory so I just backed up selected shots. I also did a select backup on Apple's Photo Stream, however backing up to the cloud takes time – and one thing I didn't have was a lot of time, because my walking days were usually so long.

If I was to do the Camino again, I'd probably take an entry level DSLR, like the Nikon D3200. It's light, small, yet has a terrific DX sized sensor (24MP) and all the bells and whistle's I'd need. I'd use the Nikkor 16-85mm zoom. (a cracker lens). I'd offset the extra weight by not taking a third pair of undies…

My shots of the Camino I'm sure are not to everyone's taste, but it's the way I saw it. And my photography allowed me to experience it in a very intimate way.

Here's a selection of my favourite yellow arrow shots –

Actually, it's a few more than ten…