I started writing this a week ago while I was trying to follow the late John Brierley‘s wise words.This piece is, in part, a thanks to the gentle and generous man who walked many Camino kilometres in Spain and shared not just directions but his humour and joyous approach to life with others. He died a few months ago just after completing another Camino.

The first Camino I walked, the Frances, many years ago and I really didn’t have a clue. I just thought I’d get on the road from St Jean Pied de Port and walk. Of course the very first day I took the “alternative” route, the Napoleon way, and got horribly lost. I had little Spanish, but of course thought I knew a lot, and wondered why the few villagers I passed kept on waving their hands at me, and why there was no one else behind or in front. Even 14 odd years ago there were heaps of peregrinos like me, all setting off to find or rediscover or sort out their lives. Even then I was half cynical and half a believer – only not sure in what.

Anyway I eventually made my way back down to the main route and started again. But I’d already done 20km or so, and had 20:25 to get to the first albergue. I made it, just, and collapsed into a bunk shivering. It turned out that the Napoleon route was not safe at that time of year because of the possibility of sudden snow storms. The mountain pass is high and just the day before a pilgrim had died on the Napoleon from exposure.

The caution about walking was in Brierley’s book, I think maybe his first guide. I met a woman who was following his guide.

I dismissed some of the contemplations then but not the two nuggets: walk in a relaxed manner and be vigilant. In those days there was no wikiloc and if you missed a flecha, the yellow arrow that marks the route, you could walk a long way off course.

And now, so long after that first Camino, I’m still struggling with the advice. I either walk along in a dream world, a writing/ photo world – looking for my story, or tear along trying to keep up with my companion. When I’m moving faster I’m also often full of emotions that are not really conducive to any contemplation, or composing.

The other day we started off early from Fasgar, a great little spot on the Olivado Camino in North West Spain. Me, my long suffering compadre and Elaine, an Irish peregrina we met a few days ago – a fast walker. Up the hill and early morning and a faint breeze. Some trees covered in red berries alongside. Then an absolutely magnificent view over the top of the summit. A once in a lifetime sight.

A stroll down in the soft grass underfoot to the Ermita built to commemorate the battle that took place in this peaceful spot.

Then, after looking for a while, and I swear you could feel a sort of resolution of that long ago struggle and and the many deaths, well then it seemed like full speed ahead.

Down from the soft curve in the mountains, leaving the valley on a steep path with slippery, moving rocks underfoot, still very beautiful with rain forest type vegetation, clear running river underneath, small bridges. But here I had to be mindful . Of stones underfoot, of not tripping and turning an ankle, losing balance. All those ‘be careful be careful!’ messages that resonate in an older head! I was slow.

Meanwhile my walking companions were moving at a good pace (my nasty mind was thinking, to get to the food before the Restuarante closed at 2 pm. Ha he’s upped his pace to keep level with her/ hope he trips ). Then, inevitably – Why am I so slow? Why am I last ? Again.

The last 4 kilometres were the worst, always the last few are the worst. Seemed an endless pushing through without any stops at all, down a fairly easy path, to Igüeña,

Yes. We made the food. Great meal. Great cervesa. Albergue well looked after and only us three there.

But didn’t travel the second bit in a relaxed manner. Tried.

I hazard a guess that this is how my life is anyway: a struggle to find the balance between moving in a relaxed manner and just leaping in. Also that there are others like me. There you are : Caminoing is a training for life!

And many thanks John Brierley because you have inspired, helped, challenged kindly so many of us walking Caminos. You are truly “the father of the Camino family” (Irish Times Obituary).