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The beginning of the #TransCantabrica was also the beginning of the Camino del Norte in Irun |
August: the dog
days of the English early autumn, a time of year many still think of as summer,
labouring under that illusion, huddled behind windbreaks as the wind whips up
the sand and the beats down with an unerring consistency. The swifts are gone
and that, I’m afraid, is that. Conferences loom; hibernation seems the best
policy.
I returned from
my #TransCantabrica hike about two months ago; a three day train journey from the
heat and graceful bustle of Leon to the failed utopian dreams of Letchworth
Garden City broken by a week with the family in the Sarthe valley, a quieter,
less anglicised version of the Loire. It was a family holiday, but I kept on
walking.
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Adios cariño Camino - leaving the Camino del Norte for the GR121. I was that close to tears! |
The
#TransCantabrica trek didn’t turn out as I’d expected, but then these sort of
expeditions rarely do. It mutated, deviated, returned and reinvented itself
over six weeks and about seven hundred kilometres. Of course, the primary modus ambulandi was just to get walking:
day after day, week after week. You might think six weeks a long time, I’d beg
to differ; I have promised myself there will come a time, once the PhD is done[1],
that I’ll set out on a hike with no time restrictions, I shall walk myself into
the ground[2].
I’ll outline the route I eventually
followed – or did it follow me? – in a future post. Here I want to address one
of the questions that’s been bugging me ever since I succumbed to the addiction
of slow movement back in 2012: Am I a hiker – a ‘thru-hiker’, perhaps – or a
pilgrim? I might as well state here and now that I still haven’t found the
answer and in many respects it doesn’t really matter; you get out on the trail
and put one foot in front of the other. The pilgrim’s destination might be
imbued with sacred properties but it might be the same as the hiker’s, who
walks for any number of reasons that might not be religious or even spiritual –
though where the religious ends and the spiritual begins is another matter
altogether. Victor and Edith Turner (1978) describe pilgrimage as being
‘anti-structural’ and ‘liminal’; the pilgrim undergoes a period of
‘in-between-ness’ before transitioning to a state of communitas – an unstructured community in which
people are equal. The trail is a liminal space which ‘allows
room for the pilgrim to reconceptualise their own identity removed from the
confines of their society, and additionally creates a space in which pilgrims
can critically examine the society from whence they came’
(Turner and Turner 1978: 2).
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The red-and-white flash of the Gran Recorrido. It's like leaving your partner for another lover. |
In a Europe of declining
religious observance is the question relevant? It’s hard enough trying to
distinguish between spirituality and religiosity in the first place; On a recent ‘A’ level field trip to Santiago we noted the appearance
of pejorative graffiti referring to ‘turigrinos’:
‘secular’ tourists who to take advantage of the Camino’s relatively cheap
infrastructure. On the same trip, my students and I attempted to introduce the
notion of ‘spirituality’ as a motive through interviews with pilgrims on the
final stage of the route; perhaps inevitably we came up with more questions
than answers.
I would
suggest that in the complex religious-spiritual landscape (pun intended) of
contemporary Europe it is often hard to draw a line between the two. Julian
Holloway’s (2003) research on the ‘sacred’ rural reflects my personal
experience of living in and around Glastonbury and exploring its
spiritual/religious landscape; where do Glastonbury’s community of ‘New Agers’
fit into this equation? Does neo-paganism qualify as a religion ‘alternative
spirituality’? As often as not, conflation is the name of the game, be it in
the syncretism of Catholicism and pre-Columbian religions in the Caribbean and
Latin America and in contemporary, religiously-pluralistic Europe with its
culture of ‘cashpoint religions’ and ‘pick ‘n’ mix’ spirituality.
Perhaps the
whole messy situation is best summed up by US pop singer Pink: ‘I love Native
American spirituality and paganism, and I've studied Buddhism - I steer clear
of organised religion and go straight to spirituality’.
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And I'm back. Off the GR121 and onto the Viejo Camino in Sodupe, Pais Vasco |
If I, like Pink, have got my work out trying to
distinguish the spiritual from the religious, heaven help me in my quest to
work where the hiker ends and the pilgrim begins. I find myself wondering
whether it’s actually necessary to separate the two; rather than being either
one or the other, perhaps it’s perfectly possible to flit between them, or even
be both at one and the same time.
Nevertheless, the distinction still bothers me.
There’s an assumption that the landscape might perform in a different way to
the pilgrim than the hiker, partly because each one is expecting something
quite different in the landscape. If we assume that the pilgrim walks with a
motive that is either spiritual or religious (or both), then might she or he be
more disposed to experience the landscape spiritually or religiously? If that’s
the case, then will the hiker’s engagement with the landscape be profoundly
different, if, indeed, it exists at all?
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I'd been here before, the previous year. A day on the Camino de Santo Toribo. In reverse. Is it all getting too familiar? |
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That affair didn't last too long. Back on the Camino del Norte again at Pesues |
Does the hiker
choose the path or the path choose the hiker? We are drawn to the qualities of
the trail so that if I decide, for example, to follow the Viejo Camino rather than the Camino
Francés it says as much about me as it does the trail: that I am, perhaps,
a misanthropic snob in search of solitude.
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![]() | I left the coast and took the bus to Leon to hike the Camino de San Salvador |
So I ask again: Hiker
or pilgrim, does it really matter? Clearly it does, to me at least, because I’m
devoting a whole chapter to the question in my thesis. I’ll sign off with one
final observation: this summer I hiked a series of trails, both religious/spiritual
caminos de Santiago and ‘secular’ gran recorridos with the aim of
exploring the Cordillera Cantabrica
and every time I forsook the yellow arrow for the red and white flash it didn’t
last long; I was back on the camino
within a matter of days. Like a moth to a flame.
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And finally, a day back on the Camino Francés, from Sahagún to Mansilla de las Mulas. 38km across the meseta; what was that all about? |
REFERENCES
Julian
Holloway (2003) Spiritual Embodiment
and Sacred Rural Landscapes in
Country Visions Cloke ed Pearson 158-175
Victor & Edith Turner (1978) Image and
Pilgrimage in Christian Culture Columbia University Press
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