The Pilgrim’s Call

With a rhythmic consistency it rolls to the sands of time, the ocean in her mind’s eye. It calls, always it calls. She doesn’t know when or why it started, but the sea has been a love for most of her life. Early memories of a childhood where the beach and shorelines played a role, in Africa, Europe and South America. Moments of calm contemplation looking out at the infinite scale of the water with its gentle swaying or wild waves systematically rushing to shore in stormy weather. It has always mesmerised her, soothed her, caressed her and helped her to see the infinite. The infinity and importance of life’s cycles swirling all around her and all too often tucked away in the mind’s busyness, in the loss of connection to that we are a part of and belong in. The sea brings her back to what is important; to what should be centred in her mind, offering up clarity and peacefulness.

This ocean, the one in her mind's eye, is new to her. She can hear its sounds, the waves crashing on rocks at a promontory, and rolling more gently to the sands of the small bays that dot its shoreline. The constant backdrop and lifeline of the small fishing communities along its shore. Its call is strong and persistent. The walk she will embark on was planned with this ocean in mind; the wild northern coastline of Portugal. A rugged and untamed coast, with the Atlantic Ocean blessing its length with scenery that draws you in with its raw strength of character. It literally pulled her in, luring her to its embrace. From the moment she looked at its beauty along a path she might wish to walk, it shaped her choice of the route she would take as she immediately knew that it was a shore she needed to experience and feel. She yearned to walk along its beauty, on the pilgrimage path that was a long time in the making and, for her, a long time coming.

The ocean would be an enticement, calling her forward towards it, as she would first traverse the old Camino pilgrimage route from Lisbon to Porto, through the rural heartland of Portugal.

Walking through the strands of time, along paths that have collected the history of each footstep, her pilgrimage adds to the essence and energy of those who have come before. Many thousands have walked this path before her, their mark left not only by their footsteps as they wandered northbound to Santiago de Compostela, but also with their dreams, wishes and reflections that were left swirling in the spaces around them after they had passed. It would be a long and diverse journey, offering nature in its many forms, from flat open agricultural planes to olive grove clad hills and, finally woodlands on steep hills and mountains. Nature would embrace her with all of its faces, keeping her warm and secure as she journeyed through her own time reflecting on what had been and what might be.

Forgotten in her reflections and the distraction of the variety of the path with its beauty, the ocean faded in its significance as a centrepiece for this walk’s attraction. Infinite flatlands of vast vineyards and agricultural fields, contrasting against the blue skies and horizon, provided a big picture of what was to come, villages in the far distance and slowly coming towards you step by step. Days later, dry rugged hills with twisted gnarly old olive trees, neatly set out on rows in tall grassy fields, spotted from small cobblestoned roads and paths through tiny villages of old, now sadly half abandoned and derelict, captured her mind. The northern steep wooded hillsides and lush river valleys with their bright green growth of late spring and old water management stoneworks paused her, as she stood breathing in history within nature’s vibrancy and life energy. Surrounded by nature, her focus on the daily trail in its individual context was consuming and energising. The sounds of birds, water gurgling and bubbling in streams like music guiding her along. At other times, the silence of standing in awe on the apex of a climb, with the walk spread before you into the mountains heading north.

The towns and villages, lived in for centuries by different peoples intrigued her, and she could feel the depth of time lived there. The remnants of the old Roman Empire in many cases still standing strong, but ruins in others. Notorious road and bridge builders, their water management systems evidenced in stunning woodlands. The ruins of old settlements, set amongst the newer yet still hundreds of years old medieval, and finally, the functionality of the modern which somehow had misplaced the need for beauty in its architecture. She reflected on how much has been lost from across the ages in our modern world which many of us proudly hold up as ‘progress’.

The experiences of the trail and the reflections they ushered into her mind swirled around and filled her cup of intrigue, and formed a collection of tidbits in a daily journal, as a scant reminder of a deeply lived experience. Somehow, despite their clarity, the words and photos would barely scratch the surface of the impact of the journey. A journey of reflection and connection to nature, of love of history and that sense of presence of old in new and new in old. The intermingling of ancestry and lifetimes.

Finally, after hundreds of kilometers, she came to the river that would take her out to sea. A long walk along its northern banks, filled with anticipation and excitement at the images returning to her mind. The Atlantic Ocean. It would be her companion and guide as she continued north, always on her left, to the west. Its call became strong, inserting itself back into its vibrant role in her mind. A lightness entered her step with the anticipation of its presence up ahead.

With a slight haziness and change of tone, the sky seemed to be signalling a proximity to the coast. She listened for the first sounds of the notoriously robust waves crashing to shore. Her mind saw them connecting with the rocky outcrops and sands of this rugged coastline. Notorious for its beauty and its fishing villages of old. Finally, she heard it and she couldn’t help but question if, after all this time, it would reflect her vision of its offering. The brightness of her imagination had worked on the edited photography offered up by her research and had hooked her on to this route. Would it deliver the promise of that imagination?

As she rounded the corner, the grey of the concrete and stone esplanade was no longer noted, nor was the square castle on the point at the end of the river. The placing of her feet on the shore was not relevant as she found the ocean before her. Her backdrop had faded, as she finally looked west over the expanse of water before her.

The vastness of the Atlantic immediately captured her, with a strength of presence as it collided with the rocks and onto the sands. The sounds, the smell of salt in the air, the clarity of the water yet the haziness of its mists swirling in the spray. It all embraced her warmly, saying hello and welcome to my side.

Full of anticipation for the next few hundred kilometres, she looked north to see the length of its companionship heading far into the distance. The skies were vast and clearly showed the weather that would be ushered in, big skies with big clouds ahead, charcoal and white against the ocean’s horizon. This was what she had yearned for, the calling she had heard for so many months. She sensed it would bring her peace as she continued her journey. The rhythmic strength and the ocean’s presence walking alongside her, offering her daily comfort and extensive variety, undulating against the rugged landscape of northern Portugal. The daily vistas were big and varied, with endless kilometres of eyes feasting on the vibrancy and beauty of the ocean answering her dreaming. The call had been strong and lived well.