Walking
Nine to Five:
London to Cape Town
By Paula
Constant
On the
morning we left Trafalgar Square in London, I received a text message
from a friend: “It’s easy,” he wrote. “You just
put one foot in front of another.”
And we
have. For 4,000 kilometers, 10 months, through 5 countries, and in weather
ranging from subzero snowstorms in the Pyrenees to the arid heat of
Andalucia and Morocco, my husband, Gary, and I have done exactly that.
In one month’s time we will have completed the first stage of our
planned walk from London to Cape Town, South Africa. For two people
who had never walked further than the local supermarket it is something
of a shock to realize that we may actually pull this off.
It seemed
straightforward enough. We wanted to travel — but at a local pace.
To see the world properly, rather than through the television view of
our windscreen; to meet local people, rather than fellow travelers in
vehicles. To walk the earth, inhale its scents, and feel it unfold beneath
our feet. We wanted to do something extraordinary with our lives, and
give ourselves a chance to try our hand at the creative pursuits we
had always dabbled in. Nonetheless, it came as something of a shock
to realize how much organization was involved in planning our little
expedition. The preparation took us from our home in the remote North
West of Australia, to inner city London, where we lived and worked for
three years as we came to grips with maps, packs, routes, and boots.
There were
literally endless problems.
Nobody
wanted to sponsor us. Why would they? We were over 30, unfit, overweight,
and unprepared. Despite having spent many months setting up our camels
and guides for the trans-Sahara leg, and even more navigating the bureaucratic
nightmare that constitutes African visas and travel, it was plainly
obvious that we had a high chance of failure. We had already set our
date for departure. With less than a month to go, and no sign of sponsorship,
we re-mortgaged our house to fund the first stage to Morocco.
And so,
on the first of August 2004, with packs that exceeded recommended hiking
maximums by about 20 kilos (approximately 44 lbs.), we set out. And
never, not once and despite all of the subsequent hardship, have we
ever looked back.
It took
us 12 days to get to Dover, by which time our feet were torn to shreds
and we knew without a doubt that this was no walk in the park. It took
another six weeks to reach Paris, where we were forced to stop for a
month, losing nearly all of the gains we had made in fitness and endurance.
We were in Chartres before we finally accepted that our packs were too
heavy, and dropped almost 20 kilos between us. By then, the winter was
coming on fast, and we had yet to cross the Pyrenees.
But by
the time we reached Southern France we were two very different people
from those who had waved goodbye to friends and family over Champagne
back in London. We could speak French, for one thing — albeit rather
badly.
And we
were tougher. To discover, after a 30 kilometer hike in the rain, that
the town that looked substantial on the map has neither rooms to let
nor official campground, and that the nearest alternative is 10 kilometers
away; to be walking for the sixth day straight after rough camping in
strange woods and dark sports fields, fearing detection by local authorities;
to enter a major city after those same days, with everything you own
caked in mud and without bathing for close on a week — facing down
these challenges begins to fundamentally alter how you see yourself,
and each other. We were more of a team than ever before in our marriage.
But fortunately,
before we became too engrossed in our solitude, we reached the Pyrenees
— and the beginning of the Camino de Santiago. Since the alleged
discovery of the holy relics of St. James the Apostle in the ninth century,
pilgrims from around the world have travelled to Santiago de Compostela,
in Galicia, Northwestern Spain, to worship at his tomb. Over the last
20 years the Camino has enjoyed a massive resurgence in popularity,
due in part to the potent combination of spirituality, culture, history,
and natural beauty offered by the trail, which winds across Northern
Spain from the pass through the Pyrenees and takes in the historical
cities of Pamplona, Burgos, and Leon, as well as the sublime rural tranquillity
of the Asturian mountains and the Mesetan plains. It is well resourced
at regular intervals with pilgrims’ refuges — known as albergues
— which offer youth hostel type accommodation either by donation,
or at a nominal rate.
Our time
along the Camino was a blissful interlude of mixing with like-minded
walkers from around the world, and worrying about nothing more pressing
than reaching that day’s designated albergue. We covered 800 kilometers
in just over a month, and emerged in Galicia feeling confident and positive
about the walking still to come. That resolution has remained with us
all the way through Portugal, Southern Spain, and into Morocco, where
we are now reaching the end of our first stage at last. There is a lot
of work ahead of us still, not least to organize funding for our next
leg; but the last months have taught us that nothing is impossible.
In the
final analysis, it is not the walking itself that is the difficult part.
Sure, it’s tough, and no matter how many times you do it, after
25 kilometers everything is going to hurt. But the pain is something
that becomes so familiar, you just accept it, and walk on through. No,
it isn’t the pain.
Rather,
it is the sheer will that is involved in getting up every morning and
putting the pack on. It is walking out of Seville on a beautiful spring
Sunday morning, when the whole world is drinking coffee and reading
the papers, and watching the world pass by. It is sticking to a budget
all the time, even when you can’t cook for yourself because the
room has a fire alarm, and fast food is all that the budget will stretch
to. It is wearing the same two outfits day after day, whether you are
in a city full of fine fashion or out on a remote track. It is putting
one foot in front of the other when all you want to do is put both up
on a couch and read a book.
But when
the rewards are walking through the beauty of the changing seasons,
or into villages unchanged for centuries; when we wake under our fly
sheet to see the dew glistening on olive trees, and listen to birds
singing the day into being; when I look out at night at the stars bright
in the desert sky, and hear the faint call of the muezzin in the distance
— then I feel a deep contentment in my soul, and I know taking
that first step was the best thing we have ever done.
To read
more about Constant’s adventure go to www.constanttrek.com. To
learn more about the Camino de Santiago walking trail, contact either
the Confraternity of St. James at www.csj.co.uk or go to www.caminosantiago.com. |
