Q: How many weeks until you are finished walking the Camino de Santiago?

A: Too many. 

Q: I am confused why anyone would feel the need to walk 500 miles. Is this Camino a religious experience for you? 

A: Depends on what you mean by “religious.”

Q: Are you doing this for God?

A: No. For me. 

Q: So what are YOU expecting to receive out of all this? 

A: I expect nothing. 

Q: Then why do it?

A: I travel to Santiago to pay respects to the bones of James, one of Jesus’s closest earthly friends, first apostle to be killed in the name of a cultural belief system I was raised in.

Q: You don’t ACTUALLY believe Santiago contains the actual bones of Saint James, do you?

A: Then, I travel to Santiago to pay my respects to some random guy’s bones.

Q: Doesn’t this make you feel pretty stupid?

A: No. I always feel stupid.

Q: Why walk this path? Aren’t you basically just another annoying American tourist?

A: Pretty much. Even so, mankind has been walking this same pathway since this road was an ancient Roman trade route. Throughout history, millions of humans walked this route when they needed a miracle. It was their last and only hope. I follow—literally—in their footsteps. 

Q: You’re writing these dispatches too often! Shame on you! I want to pull my hair out each time you write and say to you, “This is your life! Put your damn phone away or you’ll miss the experience of living!” You should be taking a break from your technology, not writing this! 

A: Pot, meet Kettle. 

Q: How are you writing these 800-word columns/dispatches every day while walking the trail?

A: My thumbs. 

Q: You mean while you’re actually walking you’re writing on your phone? 

A: Sometimes. Mostly, however, I write in the mornings, then we pack up and walk for 10 hours. My phone rarely gets touched after that. Although occasionally I will write while I walk if I am particularly overcome with the desire to get injured. 

Some purist pilgrims on the Camino scowl at ANY use of technology on the trail and cast their judgment on you for using an electronic device. These purists, among the close-knit brotherhood of pilgrims, are commonly known as “buttholes.”

Q: I don’t get it. Isn’t this a spiritual experience? You shouldn’t be writing about it. It’s for you personally! 

A: Too bad Matthew, Mark Luke, and John didn’t heed your advice 

Q: Seriously, why write at all?

A: Everyone writes out here. It’s almost a mandatory exercise. I have not met a single pilgrim, thus far, who doesn’t carry a journal in their pack and scrupulously document their experiences. Too much happens out here while walking the Camino—both internally and externally. 

Q: Can you name a few ways this trip changed you already? 

A: Yes. I now eat a chocolate bar every day. 

Q: Seriously?

A: Everyone on the Camino eats chocolate. It’s a thing. You can see pilgrims on every street corner, wolfing down chocolate, with giant coca-colored smears on their faces. The tiendas and mercados sell several tons of chocolate every day to pilgrims. There are boxes of chocolate bars in every place of business. I even bought chocolate—this is true— at the police station. 

Q: Are there any other amazing things you have experienced? 

A: I drank beer for breakfast with a Southern Baptist preacher, a Muslim, and a retired nun. 

Q: What!? 

A: Welcome to Europe. 

Q: Any other changes that have affected your overall outlook on life?

A: Yes. When I came to the Camino, I mistakenly thought the experience would be all about the exotic locale, the majestic scenery, the religious history, the trail itself, and all accountramenss of colorful local Spanish culture. Not so. The trail is just dirt. And this is not a holy place, it’s just Europe. The sacredness of this experience, as in life, is all about the pilgrims you meet along the way. 

Q: Are all the pilgrims treating the Camino as a spiritual endeavor like you?

A: No. Some pilgrims aren’t really traditional “pilgrims” at all. They’re 19-year-olds looking to do something fun. They all stay up late, into the wee hours, making lots of noise in the albergues, keeping other pilgrims awake by singing songs and having loud laughing contests. Everyone loves them. 

Other pilgrims started the trail and fell in with the wrong crowd, and the experience is sort of tainted for them. They feel loyal to one group and feel “stuck” with these people, and can’t move on. 

Also, a surprising amount of pilgrims have romantic flings out here. They start off solo, and they end up in a relationship. They are lonely, and it seems like a good idea at the start. You can tell the Camino immediately becomes different for them than it was in the beginning. Not necessarily in a good way—although it’s not my business to say. Before, these pilgrims were inwardly, and spiritually focused; now they are only worried about how their breath smells. 

Likewise, a great many pilgrims out here are endurance athletes and marathoners. Some are middle-aged cyclists who wear tight, junk-revealing Lycra tights, peppered with the logos of many corporations although these corporations do not pay them to ride their bikes, and they are constantly telling you in a foreign language to “Get out of the way, dammit!” as they rush up behind elderly pilgrims while cycling at the same speed as a Peterbilt semi truck. Everyone loves these people. 

Q: What has been your main takeaway from the Camino? 

A: God is love. Everything else is filler