Camino Days

It's safe to say that I will never look at a yellow arrow as a simple sign ever again. Spotting one in town the other day, I can't deny that I felt a serious urge to follow it! Then again, I was lacking the heavy rucksack and pilgrim shell.
Those Camino days were wondrously enjoyed.  Nothing compares to the breathtaking experience of trekking across that lustrous crispy sun kissed land. Loosing yourself in absent thoughts, falling into the soothing rhythm of your own footsteps. Many in pursuit, others that lead, every worldly nation surrounds us as we walk. A united front adventuring towards that cloudy city.
Walking with the rising sun, early morning leg cramps pulled you back beneath the sheets. The first few kilometers strapped into a two-tonne  load, lead feet destroyed by sheer agony. Gradually you sink, into the rough soles, leaving only footprints behind.
Never will I forget those we met along the Way. Many names were never discovered, but their faces won't be lost. Each individual with their own motives for walking, but all with the same destination in mind. We met people who had found each other in St. Jean pied de port and had been walking together ever since. Stories of unrequited love and the mystery woman dressed in ghostly white. The Irish Heinz Beanz cycling team, and the lone ranger who introduced us to the wonders of the Way.
I was never so relieved to see a church in my entire life when we reached Santiago de Compostela. As my Dad joked, "I've never seen so many people rushing to mass before!" Jammed into a pilgrim packed church, we were astonished to see people who had journeyed along with us, some of whom we hadn't seen in a day or two. Saying our final goodbyes, we planned to reunite in the future.
Now I'm truly determined to adventure from the very beginning. Through the snowy Pyrenees, across the desert of the Meseta and along the Way to Santiago de Compostella. Nothing beats the thrill of a Camino odyssey.