No Complaints… Shut Up & Walk

A Calm on the Inner Lake Publication

Highland Lakes, New Jersey

www.calmontheinnerlake.com

Copyright May 2013 by Emmett Williams and Monica Y. Mason

First Edition, May 2013

Second Edition, January 2018

ISBN: 9781626756359

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publishing company, Calm on the Inner Lake.

Book cover design by Calm on the Inner Lake

No Complaints… Shut Up and Walk logo by Personalized by Design

Dedicated to

Lemonté, Olyvia, and our future family lineage —

Always have a spirit of adventure and courage, so you may explore

and embrace enriching new experiences for your mind, body, and spirit.

Dad loves you.

and

In fond & thankful memory of

John “Al” Ravera Chion

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Thank you to my family and friends who read my blog and encouraged me to write this book.

Thank you to Kristine Banek at Personalized by Design (www.personalizedbydesign.com) for her assistance and direction on the creation of my logo.

Thank you to Mary Loudin (Hewitt, New Jersey) who guided Monica through the initial editing process.

Thank you to The Sussex Bards, a local writer’s group who critique our writing, made editing suggestions and recommendations to enhance our storytelling.

Thank you to the many people who purchased and read our eBook released in 2013. This new version is mostly because of the feedback we received from your comments.

Most of all, thank you to my wife, Monica (Jasmyne Emmerick), who on many occasions has set aside her personal projects to help me to realize this dream. She worked diligently to acquire the knowledge and find the resources needed to produce and market this book.

Author’s notes

We wanted to respect the privacy of the people we met along the way and have changed their names in this book. However, their original names will always be affectionately remembered.

The US dollar/Euros in this edition are based on our 2011 pilgrimage. Those considering a Camino, should consult modern guidebooks, or resources, and use the current conversion rates.

Our Story

A short note before beginning

by Jasmyne Emmerick

I am proud to write this introductory and compile this book for my husband, Emmett Williams. I don’t think a young twenty-five-year-old, street-wise Emmett could have imagined he would become an author, let alone walk El Camino de Santiago de Compostela. El Camino, as it is also called, is a network of ancient Spanish routes leading to a cathedral in Santiago de Compostela in Spain, where the remains of the Apostle James are said to be buried. Its name may be translated as “the path of Saint James by way of the field of stars, or Milky Way.” In addition to El Camino, it is referred to as The Way of St. James, or simply The Way.

El Camino’s most well-known origin is from the Catholic religious practice of plenary indulgences, or penitence emerging from the eleventh century. Even though there are over a thousand years of Christian influences on the Camino, the route allegedly predates Christianity to pagan cultures that revered the earth’s natural energy, or ley lines. Over the centuries, travelers of this ancient route have flourished and waned. In the U.S., the acclaim of the nearly forgotten passages became popularized with the release of Shirley MacLaine’s book, The Camino, in 2001. Since then there has been a world-wide resurgence of interest, and people of all nationalities are drawn to trek the pathways leading to Santiago.

The Camino Francés is the most popular route and stretches five hundred miles traversing northern Spain. The traditional starting point, provided one has the time (approximately thirty-five days) and resources, is St. Jean Pied de Port in France. Beginning there isn’t a requirement, but doing so provides what Carolyn Myss refers to in her book, Sacred Contracts, as an “incubation period” and gestation for spiritual insight and revelation; and in some cases, physical, mental, or emotional healing. The route is well developed to accommodate and support pilgrims (persons walking the Camino) with a network of many albergues (inexpensive places to sleep), cafés, and water fountains. Anyone who completes a minimum of a hundred kilometers (62 miles), will receive a Compostela on their arrival in Santiago (a document written in Latin confirming their completion). Often people will extend their pilgrimage to the coastal towns of either Finisterre, or Muxía; each an additional eighty miles. In ancient days, Finisterre, was known as the “end of the earth.”

Following blue signs, yellow arrows, and scallop shells, pilgrims hike over the Pyrenees Mountains, through farmlands, pastures, woodlands, wheat fields, endless vineyards, fields of sunflowers, medieval and modern cities; and across streams and Roman bridges. Nature shrouds pilgrims in hues of blues, browns and greens of the Basque countryside; the golds, browns, and reds of the desert meseta; and the plush and fertile greenery of Galicia.

The appeal of the Camino varies from person to person, and there are no sacred prerequisites to walk The Way of St. James. Some walk to fulfill their religious devoutness, some in quest of spiritual enlightenment through disconnecting from trite routines of everyday life; and others for merely a unique travel adventure. The seed for the idea to walk The Way came to me after reading Shirley MacLaine’s story about the Camino while we lived in Garfield, New Jersey. Shortly after, Emmett’s job required him to fly to Georgia, every Monday, and return home on Friday. While packing to leave one Sunday, he asked if I had a book he could read. His question surprised me. I had never known Emmett to read novels, as he preferred the local newspaper, National Geographic and Smithsonian magazines. I gave him The Camino. When he finished, he commented, “I can do that [the Camino] one day.” Somewhere in 2001, a mental note went onto our joint bucket list.

Life moved along and in 2010 my subconscious began to whisper to me. My career had stalled, and there was no potential for advancement in my current position. I wanted to leave my situation and re-invent myself, although it terrified me what this decision would mean. How could I leave my job security at an unstable time in the economy? Gas prices soared, unemployment climaxed above ten percent, and I had no post-secondary diploma or certified qualifications. Nonetheless, the unhappiness of my circumstances suffocated me.

In December, during a casual conversation, a friend mentioned James Michener’s book, The Drifters. It is about six young adults who wandered in eastern and southern Spain in the late 1960s. The romantic notion of drifting—an escape from my mundane and limited reality, captivated me. At the end of Michener’s book, one of the characters decided to write a thesis about the children of the Camino. A bell went off in my head. The Camino! A respite to clear the cobwebs of corporate stagnation and my addled-brain existence. It was an unconventional idea but my exasperated professional life allowed me to grasp at the possibility of a transformational journey promised in anything I had read about the Camino.

Two months later in January 2011, Emmett was forced into an unexpected and premature retirement. He was not mentally prepared for the watershed life event. In addition, the environment at the company where I worked had worsened for me and allowed the faint call to the Camino to louden.

I explained to Emmett I needed to do this, but it was up to him if he wanted to tag along. “Of course, I’m going with you!” He responded with a mixture of concern about my undertaking such a long and difficult trip alone, and his own love for traveling. He was determined not to sit at home waiting for updates on my welfare and emails with pictures of Spain reading, “It’s so beautiful here,” “I wish you were here,” and the like.

By spring, it was clear a window of opportunity had presented itself. It was the right time to consider the adventure we had mused about a decade ago. There would be no better occasion to walk the Camino together as a couple. There is a sixteen-year age difference between us; Emmett was 61, and I was 45, so to wait until my sixties would have been unrealistic.

In the spring of 2011 we began making our plans. I purchased our airline tickets, researched and bought our gear (backpacks, boots, sleeping bags, etc.). We took mini-hikes in the wooded areas and parks surrounding our home while we discussed the sojourn ahead of us. We began letting family and friends know about our upcoming adventure. It took my mother some time to wrap her head around the type of trip we would take; after a few weeks she playfully asked, “So, that’s your idea of a vacation?” A friend of Emmett’s mockingly asked, “Why would you walk 500 miles, when you could drive?” Most people did not fully comprehend our decision, but most replied it was “cool,” although not their type of vacation.

I went in search of an epiphany about my life and its direction, and Emmett wanted to travel to some place new. This is an important distinction, as we would learn unanticipated joy, magic, and blessings can be found without defining expectations.

We walked the Camino Francés in September and October 2011. If it had been possible, Emmett would have returned to the Camino again in 2012. I remembered a passage from the Brazilian author Paulo Coelho’s audiobook, The Pilgrimage, where Petrus encouraged Paulo to tell the story of his journey once he completed it:

“This [El Camino] is the road of the common people… if you don’t know how to paint, write something… then regardless of where they are, people will be able to walk the Jacobean route, the Milky Way, the strange road to Santiago.”

On the anniversary of our Camino start date, September 1, 2012, I urged Emmett to escape into his memories and relive each day of his Camino in a blog. He did this for himself, but as I reviewed his story, I began to delight in the reminiscence of our adventure as told from his perspective. Every day we made a post about Emmett’s Camino. Our friends and people from the American Pilgrims on the Camino (APOC) Facebook group began reading Emmett’s story. We were encouraged to consider authoring a “travelogue” book, and we did. Our eBook was our third shared experience of the Camino. Although we knew little about publishing, an overwhelming synergy of circumstances and people presented themselves to put many resources at our disposal. As you will hear in Emmett’s account, “the Camino provides,” even when you are no longer walking.

This book uses the daily entries written by Emmett in his blog. We have read and polished the entries to correct for grammatical errors, the overuse of some words, and its overall flow. The original version of our book was released in May 2013. In 2016 we decided to undertake another edit, based on customer feedback. However the original information and essence is unchanged. It is important to Emmett his original writing style and tone be maintained. He relishes in being an “every-day” man and wants his persona to be conveyed. The Camino is, after all, for every man and woman, not for an elite, or pious few.

As I reflect on Emmett’s entries, I find it to be a story of mindfulness, renewal, perseverance, and even love: love of life, and between husband and wife. It is a memoir of a sexagenarian’s personal freedom and the joy he found once he faced and embraced the challenges of a five hundred mile foot-trek across northern Spain. I will always cherish my memories of the struggles and accomplishments with Emmett on our pilgrimage along El Camino de Santiago de Compostela.

Days 1 & 2

Highland Lakes, NJ – Madrid, Spain

Highland Lakes, New Jersey (USA)

On September 1, 2011, my wife, Monica, and I left our home in Highland Lakes, New Jersey, to begin our walk on El Camino de Santiago de Compostela (The Camino). Our plane departed in the evening from Newark Liberty International Airport. Before leaving, we had to finalize our packing. Everything we needed for our trip would be carried on our backs for the duration of our six-week journey, and our goal was to pack no more than ten percent of our ideal body weight. I guess as a man this was an easy task, but Monica had difficulty and had to make some last minute omissions.

The contents of our backpacks were: two changes of clothes, sleeping bag, sleeping mat, casual shoes, shower shoes, sleepwear, socks, first aid kit (with over-the-counter medicines and prescriptions), toiletries, a small Spanish language book, Camino guidebook, journals, duct tape, clothesline and pins, water bottles, and walking sticks. While it’s not recommended for a complete spiritual experience, we took a pocket camera for Monica, my video camera, our cell phones, in case we got separated; and an iPad. Finally, there was the paperwork — our plane tickets, passports, credit card, money, a pilgrim’s credencial (a passport for pilgrim-status verification), etc.

We took one last look at our checklist, agreed everything that could be done, had been done, and were driven to the airport by our house- and pet-sitter, Al. I sensed Monica’s anxiety, but for some reason I had no excitement. Don’t get me wrong, I was glad we were going. But how could I be overly eager about an experience of which I had little knowledge?

Madrid–Spain

We landed in Spain on September second at ten-thirty in the morning. We were immediately challenged to find our way to our accommodations for the evening, in a country where we did not speak the language and had no guide. Although expected, this uncertainty did not sit well with Monica, but I thrive on experiencing the unknown and feeling my way through. Since we needed to catch a train to Pamplona the next day, Monica had general information about a hotel (Lope de Vega) near the Atocha station. We went to the helpful tourist information desk at the airport. Thankfully, the lady spoke enough English to tell us which bus we should ride into the center of Madrid.

Once in the middle of the city, we walked to another visitor’s station to find the exact location of our reserved lodgings. After some back and forth walking, and with the use of a city map, we found the hotel and checked in. We were tired from the last-minute preparations, the long flight through the night, and the haphazard walk around Madrid. We wanted to take a much needed nap, but we were also hungry. This was to be our first encounter of trying to find a place to eat between two and four in the afternoon. During this time, nearly all of Spain shuts down for siesta. “Shut down” may be a bit of an exaggeration, but there is a noticeable drop in activity. The best we could manage was an outside café with a limited menu.

When we finished, we delayed returning to the room, fearing we would fall asleep too soon; so we walked in the vicinity of our hotel. We sat in the square by the Prado Museum and took pictures. We watched a grand wedding procession outside a cathedral on a hill while listening to someone play an acoustic guitar. After a while we grabbed a few snacks and headed back to our room. We could have spent two days in the historical capital, but the Camino was calling.

In our hotel, we unpacked the items of our backpacks and repacked them more efficiently (or so we thought). Using the iPad, Monica looked on the internet for information about the train we should take to Pamplona the next day, and at the bus schedule from Pamplona to St. Jean Pied de Port, France. With this done, off to sleep we went. It would be the last night we would have a private room, bath, and share the same bed for a few days.

Day 3

Madrid and Pamplona, Spain – St. Jean Pied de Port, France

Madrid

We woke up at five, and did some last minute packing, checked out of the hotel, and walked out into the darkness. Like most major cities, there can be questionable characters around at this time of the morning. I insisted Monica stay in front of me while I remained aware of our surroundings.

Once we arrived at the Atocha train station, we found the place to purchase our tickets to Pamplona. While we waited, we noticed other pilgrims (people who walk the Camino) who had come from all over the world to take part in “The Way of St. James.” Pilgrims were easy to spot with their backpacks, boots, and hiking sticks. We were looking at fellow initiates of the ancient fraternity of the Camino whose ranks we were joining. Although this is a hindsight realization, it did occur on a subconscious level. It’s a unique and special feeling. The moment was broken when we heard the announcement to board our train. I had heard and read so many good things about the trains in Europe, so I was excited about the ride. It turned out to be an ordinary train; similar to Amtrak lines back home, and the scenery disappointed me. I had anticipated picturesque towns with large cathedrals, and canvas landscapes of rural life; not the mundane passage through the outskirts of cities, and industrial areas into solitary desert regions. It was drab, and not at all what I expected.

Pamplona

We disembarked in Pamplona and had to find the central bus station that chartered buses to various destinations, including St. Jean Pied de Port. One thing we found out about Spain was there are so many helpful and patient people. The gentleman at the information desk told us we could catch a city bus to the central terminal. In our attempt to decipher the posted schedule, we met a Spanish couple who were starting their pilgrimage in Roncesvalles, Spain. They were going to the same terminal which was about 5 km (3 miles) away. This was not a typical distance we would normally walk, but how could we complain, when we were about to undertake a 769 km (almost 500 miles) journey by foot? We accompanied the couple to the depot. The man spoke excellent English, and we exchanged small-talk. They would complete their Camino in two week segments over the next three years. The Camino route we were taking would bring us back through Pamplona in a few days, but this was a chance to glimpse the city that hosts the annual “running of the bulls,” the San Fermín Festival.

At the station, we said our farewells and Buen Camino, to the Spanish couple. “Buen Camino” is a customary and traditional expression we would exchange many times during the day as we passed fellow pilgrims, and townspeople would express the same to us. It communicates the sincerest and best wishes for a “good walk.” It is more than words as at times it felt more like a blessing was exchanged or conveyed.

By now it was after two, and we were hungry. Yep — everything was closed; except the Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC) in the terminal. Although KFCs are plentiful in the United States, it had been over ten years since either Monica or I had anything from the franchise, but we succumbed to our hunger and ate at this, our only option. As in the states, there were pictures of the platters, so all I had to do was point. I was amazed when I asked for ketchup and found out there was an additional charge. I held back my typical response, “Are you kidding me?” After lunch, we sat in the waiting area and noted the increasing number of pilgrims.

When the boarding call came, we stored our backpacks and poles in the storage compartment under the bus and took our seats. The scenery was noticeably different from our train ride from Madrid. We climbed the mountains of the Basque countryside of Spain and into France. The trees were green, and on the side of the road were occasional sharp drop-offs with views of valleys and streams. We waved to the pilgrims we spotted along visible portions of the Camino, and they waved back. We didn’t want to miss a moment, but we were tired, so we slipped into catnaps along the way.

St. Jean Pied de Port (SJPdP)

We arrived in SJPdP, a town at the foothills of the Pyrenees, at four-thirty. We located the pilgrim’s office to get our first stamp, or sello, for our credencial, and to find accommodations for the night. It was late, and because many pilgrims start from SJPdP, most albergues were already full. The office stamped our credencials, provided us with a scallop shell to carry on our backpacks, and placed a call to reserve a space for us at an albergue that still had vacancies.

I’m going to pause here and provide some definitions of Camino language used in the above paragraph. It is important for the reader to remember, the Camino Francés has a supportive network for its pilgrims. First, there are things pilgrims do to identify themselves, such as tying a scallop shell to their backpack. The scallop symbol has various interpretations. One explanation is the myth of when St. James’ body was sailed to Galicia. His corpse was said to have fallen into the water and when later found was covered in scallop shells. As the Camino traditions and legends have evolved, so has the shell’s meaning. Its lines can represent the many roads to Santiago as pilgrims walk towards the setting sun.

Second, and this is important, to receive their Compostela (a certificate of completion) in Santiago, pilgrims carry a “passport” called a credencial. The credencial is a folded document made of weighted sturdy paper. Each day the pilgrim obtains at least one stamp, or sello, to evidence their progression on the Camino. Most pilgrims will receive a sello from the albergue where they will stay each night, and they may obtain additional stamps from town churches, cathedrals, bars, or other sites.

Third, and lastly, albergues (sometimes incorrectly referred to as refugios) are places where pilgrims sleep, and can often receive a meal. They can be found along the Camino, and cost anywhere from 5 to 10 Euros ($6.50 to $13.00 US dollars) a night for a bed in a large dormitory style room with a shared bathroom.

In SJPdP, we ambled along the thirteenth century cobble-stoned street to our albergue. It was old and in need of renovations. We paid for our stay and were shown to a room where we chose our beds. We washed out a few items by hand and hung them out to dry. We then went out to explore a small section of the town. This was another place I could spend an extra day; it was old-world with a nostalgic atmosphere and a medieval center. It is a common starting point where various nationalities converge to begin the Camino.

Monica purchased bread, cheese, and grapes for the next day at a market as nothing would be open at six in the morning. I bought a red and a black tam. How French, I thought, and they are still cornerstones of my wardrobe. We sat at an outside café and savored our first glass of wine. I soaked in my surroundings while Monica obsessed with her notes and tomorrow’s walk as outlined in the guidebook.

In our Camino life, we would learn, unless we were in major cities, the earliest we could have dinner was at seven. We ordered a standard pilgrim’s meal. A pilgrim’s meal is a special priced meal for those on the Camino that costs about 10 Euros ($13 US dollars). It consists of three courses with wine or water: The first course is a hearty salad, pasta, or soup; the second is meat or fish with potatoes, pasta, or French fries; and the third is a dessert which can be yogurt, fruit, ice cream, or a pastry. We shared our mealtime with two women, one from Canada and one from South Africa; and a gentleman from Newfoundland.

Most of our meals would be shared with other pilgrims. I have always enjoyed meeting people from various countries. I relished learning about them as we talked about what brought us to the Camino and why we were walking. I learned there were many reasons people would decide to walk The Way—religious observation, walking vacations, period to disconnect from the hassles of life and gain some perspective, etc.

About nine we said goodnight to the others and headed back to the albergue. There were more people in the room, and everyone was getting ready for bed. We put on our night clothes and slipped into our sleeping bags. In albergues, it is common for all lights to be shut off between 10:00 pm and 11:00 pm, and they close by eleven. The earliest the lights were turned back on is six the next morning. If anyone needed to get up in the middle of the night, most albergues have sufficient lighting to see in the dark, but we could use our headlamps. I quickly fell asleep, but was awakened unexpectedly about two in the morning when new people, who were late getting to SJPdP, were allowed in. They sounded like a herd of buffalo, but it didn’t take them long to settle in, and I went back to sleep.

Day 4

St. Jean Pied de Port (SJPdP) – Orisson, France

St. Jean Pied de Port (SJPdP)

We awoke at five thirty, and aided by the light of our headlamps, washed and dressed. We rolled up our sleeping bags on the floor in the hallway, careful not to disturb “the buffalo” who got in late the prior night. I went down to the kitchen ahead of Monica. I was excited to start my journey, still with no thought of what to expect. Since this was my first day of my walking, it was a perfect time to take stock of my physical preparedness. I was 61 years old, 6′2″, and weighed 255 pounds. I have no meniscus in my left knee, and I take injections once a year for the osteoarthritis pain. I bowl and do home and yard work as my form of exercise. I did minimal preparation for the Camino. I had taken a few short hikes and walked a maximum 13 km (8 miles) with Monica. My lack of physical readiness would quickly become apparent.

I found out for me breakfast was going to be a lot different from what I was used to. I’m not a big coffee drinker, but I do take pleasure in a good cup with my cigarette to begin my day. As Monica came into the kitchen, I left with a look of disappointment. I mentioned to her there were no cups, and I didn’t have any idea what to do with the jar of coffee and hot water. When I returned, I was pleasantly surprised, Monica had made some decent coffee with the grinds and powdered creamer in a glass bowl. It was not quite America-style, or café con leche, which I would become accustomed to later on, but acceptable. The albergue served toasted French bread with jelly, and that was the extent of my first breakfast. I never liked sweet food early in the morning, but I would learn my body used the sugar to help get me going.

Afterward I put on my backpack (9 kg; 20 lbs), we said our farewells to SJPdP, and stepped out into the dark onto the road leading us to Santiago. An excited chill ran through my body, and all I could say to myself was, “Let’s do this!”

As soon as we walked to the edge of town, the sun began to rise over the moorlands, and we began our ascent. Although it was gradual, there was no doubt we were going upward. I would occasionally stop to appreciate the panoramic views — cottages dotting the hillside, and mist rolling through the meadows and over the mountain peaks in the distance. Farm animals grazed in grasses soaked in morning dew, and we occasionally overheard low conversations