Voices en Español

I’ve heard a lot about El Camino, about how it changes people and really gets into their psyche. El Camino de Santiago is the annual pilgrimage in northern Spain to the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela where it is believed by some that the remains of a former apostle, St. James, are buried. But until you actually do it or know someone who has, it’s just an abstract concept.

Reading the very personal and moving account of Rocco Rossi, a self-described “recovering capitalist,” it’s clear that El Camino is not a trip for poseurs or travelers solely looking to have another exotic travel story to brag about to the folks back home.

Rocco writes about how he started the trip hoping to recharge his batteries and clear his head, but El Camino had other ideas in mind. It turns out that Rocco needed to learn how to let go and release his attachment to so many things in his life. He had seen others do that on the trip and while he admired them, he was unable to do likewise until El Camino presented him with a test.

Ahead of me was a small boy of about 10 or 12 who was banging away at the side of the road with a hoe. When I reached him I said, “Good morning. How are you doing,” in my best Spanish.

He looked up at me and grunted. His face was somewhat distorted and it was clear that he was mentally disabled in some way. He looked me up and down, dropped his hoe and grabbed my walking stick.

I had bought the walking stick on my first day in Spain and it had been with me for almost 900 kilometers. Two days before, in Finisterre, following tradition, I had burned my hiking clothes to symbolize the birth of “the new man” at the end of the pilgrimage. Several of the other pilgrims had burned their walking sticks as well. I couldn’t bring myself to do it because I had become attached to it and wanted to bring it back to my father, who loves to carve wood, as a present.

Instinct took over and I wrestled with the boy for the stick. It took all my strength to pry his fingers loose. Just as I was about to “win” it dawned on me: What was I doing? I stopped struggling, put his hands back on the stick and said, “Regalo para ti.” (Present for you.)

The boy was justifiably confused. He looked at the stick and then at me for a few moments, and suddenly he smiled. “Para ti,” I said one last time as tears filled my eyes, and I knew then that my pilgrimage was done.

Read the full article here.