Walking With Your Shadow

There exists a philosophy on the Camino that you must not stop in Santiago, but walk an additional 100km to the coast and then turn and walk all the way back to where you began. The heart of this philosophy lies in the shadow. As you walk West to Santiago, your shadow is always before you, as most days you get into town around 2pm before your shadier half has the chance to lag behind.

Once you reach the coast, you must burn something of your old life of the shadow (men often shave and burn the facial hair they've grown out on the journey - I can just imagine the pleasant aroma), and just before the sun hits the water, you take off all your clothes and run into the sea. Then at the very second it falls beneath the horizon line you submerge yourself in the water and come up a pilgrim refreshed and reborn.

That is when you collect your things, throw on your clothes and begin the journey back East, now walking each morning and afternoon with your shadow behind you - the dark part of yourself no longer leading the way. I love this philosophy. Not that I plan on walking the 1000 miles back to Arles (that would require an ounce more crazy than I've got in me), but the idea of washing yourself of your dark side in the great Atlantic and leaving it behind swirling in sea foam has a definite appeal. Who doesn't want to be rid of their more distasteful characteristics? Say, for instance, the sort of characteristics that cause you to snap at your mother in the morning or throw a fit when the wifi isn't working... Just random examples.

We all struggle with our shadow, so why not take matters in our own hands once and for all and drown the dirtbag?

Not to mention, that on these blisteringly hot days of walking on endless white gravel roads that burn through your boots, swimming in the buff in the cold ocean sounds like a delicious idea. And what would I burn should I make it to the coast? Everything. Every last stitch of this seedy clothing that has become my pilgrim uniform, plus my entire backpack and all its contents... well, except the cute polka dotted scarf I bought in Toulouse. I would walk out of the ocean buck naked and board the plane home wearing only that one scarf. No bags. No shadow. Would save time at the checkin counter and airport security certainly.

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iPhone pics from Ruesta to Sanguesa:


Sun setting over the ruins outside our window in Ruesta.


Although we were boiling hot, we couldn't help but stop to watch this farmer wrapping his hay barrels, the shiny black plastic spinning round and round and round until not a single piece of straw could be seen. Hypnotic stuff. Or perhaps our fascination was a product of sun poisoning...





Crop kaleidoscope.


The Church of St. James in Sanguesa.


Streets of Sanguesa.


Mom's eye from her fall! She thinks it makes her look tough. I think it makes her look like Ziggy Stardust.

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Location:Carretera de Liédena,Sangüesa,Spain