It hasn’t yet been 2 weeks since I set out on this adventure of a lifetime, to walk the historic Camino de Santiago French Route, a distance of just under 500 miles across a good portion of NW Spain. I can tell you this because I count from my departure from San Antonio on August 21 and it is now . . . what?

One of the numerous surprises so far is how time slips away from you when every day your purpose is to lace up your boots and walk. I suppose everyone anticipates such things – isn’t this why many of us are out here, to clear our minds of routine and other burdens of our regular lives – yet the way it happens is something miraculous. And every reaction I’ve seen to this is amazing as well, usually a laugh, then a river of laughter, when a group of people speaking to each other admit that no one has the slightest idea of time of day, the date, or sometimes even the hour. As Willie says it: Funny how times slips away.

The varied topography through which one walks along the Camino is similarly deceptive. It has been a new surprise, a new horizon, every day and beyond every turn in the road. Surfaces are hard, sometimes unstable, hard asphalt, harder cobblestones; when lucky a hardened earthen trail stretches out in front of you. I have walked along paths with head high reeds along either side of a slender footway. I have walked through oak and pine forest, providing welcome relief from the brilliant light of the sun.

The past several days have been through agricultural areas, mostly vineyards, but with hay, sugar beets and who knows what else in the mix. The earlier days of passing a variety of livestock, many of the animals hung with deep, resonant bells, much as Mahler must have had in mind, are gone. This land is now with a reddish tint to the soil and distant horizons, mountains and foothills still visible. The distance disguises itself such that what appears a 10 or 15 minute walk away becomes an hour or more. Small villages appear in the distance, sometimes three or more depending what way you are looking. One afternoon I was mesmerized by a village atop a hill, nature providing it some of the defenses it needed from those of ill intention. It was hours before I actually climbed the hill to walk the narrow streets.

I ran into a 78 year old German lady today, walking alone. She remarked on the intensity of the sun, but also of the promise which takes such a long time to mature – to reach a village suspended in time and distance.