Free A Million Steps by Kurt Koontz Page A

We must have watched them for at least an hour. We spoke hardly a word during that time. Tom was from Ireland. I joined him and his friend Jimmy for dinner.
    Jimmy was originally from Ireland but had been living in South Africa for the past 10 years as a practicing Catholic priest. He was on a one-year sabbatical, which allowed him the opportunity to walk the Camino. The evening flew by as I listened to stories about Ireland and his endeavors in South Africa. These two men had met a few days ago and ended up walking the rest of the Camino together. They wove in and out of my life for the remainder of the journey. After the trip was over, I discovered Jimmy and Tom were in two photos before we were acquainted. Both of the shots were from parish group dinners at Villamayor de Monjardín and Grañón.
    Their company helped me appreciate the special meaning that the Camino holds for Catholic and other Christian pilgrims. They have a spiritual connection to all those who walked the trail over the centuries for devotion, purification, and penance. Many Christian peregrinos attend a daily mass in towns where it is offered. (Evening mass generally started at seven or eight in the evening and lasted 30 minutes.)
    The many beautiful Christian churches and cathedrals along the route attract people of all faiths and beliefs. The physical structures are works of art with intense and intricate craftsmanship. Religious or not, a step inside provides a feeling of serenity. The music of the Camino includes the ringing of church bells, which can be heard and felt well beyond the confines of the villages.

Day 9

    Burgos Blister

    I was up early, gathering my belongings in a room near my sleeping quarters. Five women in their mid-sixties sat at the table, all looking at me with serious concern. One of them finally broke the awkward silence by making a request of me.
    “We have a problem,” she said with great solemnity. “The women’s restroom is without paper. We are wondering if you would do us the kind service of swiping a few rolls from the men’s bathroom?”
    With this, they all broke into gleeful, somewhat embarrassed laughter. Relieved that the need was so easily met, I consented and made the transfer. Upon receiving their rolls, the ladies had still more mischief up their sleeves.
    “Thank you and we now christen thee the Saint of Rear Wipe,” they said, with more howls of laughter.
    As a newly anointed Royal, I began my solo 24-mile day’s walk in the dark.
    My first new friend for the day was Eugina from Greece. I remembered seeing her on the first day and then hearing her spectacular solo at Grañón. As we walked together, I learned that her country has a population of 11 million people, with half living in two cities.
    She had a lot going for her at the young age of 23. She had graduated from a local university with a degree in accounting. For fun, she was a lifeguard in the summer and taught skiing in the winter. She did tell me about having some financial struggles on the Camino. I found the trip to be rather inexpensive ($30-$50 per day covered food and lodging), but everything begins from a different perspective. When we came across our first small village, I offered to buy her coffee and toast. She graciously declined my offer. Her pace was much faster than mine, so she took off while I enjoyed my breakfast.
    Eugina was using her time on the Camino to contemplate her next move in life. I was always impressed to meet people in her age group on the walk. It made me wonder how my life would have been different had I undertaken this challenge in my twenties.
    Would this spiritual refreshment have allowed me to confront my alcohol demons at an earlier point in life? Would my fears of intimacy have been eased at a different time? Would I have taken the same career path? Would I have walked the entire 500 miles in a cast-iron shell to prevent new ideas from seeping into my soul? I also wondered if the even-older crowd thought