In October last year I walked around 320 kilometers on the Camino Frances, to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, as well as one of the most difficult, and it challenged me and affected me in ways I did not anticipate.
Landing in Madrid, I discovered that 3 things had been taken from my backpack while in transit: my pocket digital camera, the cord for my iPhone charger and my travel power adaptor (to convert from Australian to European plugs). The camino hadn’t even started yet, and already my trials were beginning. This set the flavour of the next three weeks.
I had only a few hours in Madrid to get myself sorted before catching an early afternoon train to Leon. I managed to find a replacement cord for my iPhone, and the camera didn’t matter, as I had a digital SLR as well (which was not stolen). But nowhere could I find a power adaptor.
“Silly, stupid me. Why did I put important, useful things into the unlocked, easy-to-open top pocket of my backpack?” I wrote on Monday 5 October, sitting on the train to León, trying to fight the homesickness and tears. “Right now, I don’t feel like walking the camino at all. I really just want to go home.”
Spain was a shock to me. It was the first country I had travelled to where I didn’t know any of the language, and most people didn’t speak any English. Luckily I had some basic Italian, which served me in an emergency.
My first impressions of Spain: “The country is brown, dry, much like Australia. There are green trees alongside the railway tracks, and windmills on a hill to the left. I am sitting here thinking of all bad things, when I should be excited that I am finally beginning this thing that I have wanted to do for ages…. I am really surprised at how easily I am falling apart lately. This is quite unlike me. I am actually really sick of travelling and just want to go home.”