I’ve viewed New York from the top of the Empire State Building, and Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower. I’ve walked along the southern rim of the Grand Canyon, seen the sunrise over Cappadocia from a hot air balloon, looked up in wonder at the Hollywood Sign, and jostled through the crowds at the Taj Mahal. I’ve been fortunate to have had the opportunity to travel far and wide, and to brush up against locations that have come to symbolise the world’s collective sense of hope, awe, beauty and wonder. NYC is the centre of the world for many, and the Empire State is the epicentre of that great city. When I stood on its observation deck and looked down at the tiny patch work of yellow cabs flowing along Fifth Avenue I knew I was at the heart of a racing, pulsating metropolis which drew people from all around the world seeking to get a tiny little share of the big prize that this big city seemed to offer. In the shadow of the Hollywood sign I could also sense the hopes and dreams that these nine letters pitched on the northern hills of Los Angeles came to symbolise. Millions of people had stood here before me and, looking up at that sign, hoped that they would one day become stars. Those places were indeed iconic, epic, awe-inspiring, magical, and unforgettable. These were among the locations we have deemed to be the centres of our Universe, and I participated in their legacy with my visits, but their status was not of my making. That had already come prepackaged, and in spite of their renown these famous sights were just regular places, and when I was there I was still just a regular person susceptible to all the same emotions and moods as everyone else. I might have been aware of the magic associated with these locations, but I also found it possible to be depressed in Hollywood, be tired in Paris, and be cranky in Rome.
Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s been a truly great privilege to be able to leave my own shores and go off in search of adventure. Many of my most truly memorable experiences, and some great friendships, have occurred during my time on the road. I wouldn’t have swapped those opportunities for just about anything. But I have often travelled in search of something that cannot be found with either a map or a guide book alone. Those items will take you to some very interesting places, but if want to find your heart’s real desire, or the centre of your Universe, you have to be prepared to discover it in the most unlikely of locations
When I walked my first camino I had been warned by many people of the monotony of a section called the Meseta, a vast flat plain in the north of Spain that was reputed to be dull and lifeless. Some suggested I get a bus from Burgos to Leon, cutting the bulk of the Meseta, and about six days, out of my walk. “It’s just so boring”, everyone said. “Days upon days of walking through cornfields and scrub land, with just windmills and canals to keep you company. And it’s flat. Very, very flat.” When I signed on to do the camino I planned to walk every step from my starting point to my destination, and I would endure the good, the bad and everything that came in between. Consequently, I was not going to listen to the advice of the naysayers and skip the Meseta, and I’m very glad I didn’t.
Outside of Burgos, a beautiful city whose epic gothic cathedral is a UNESCO World Heritage Sight, the Meseta begins in earnest. An almost lunar, post apocalyptic landscape greets the pilgrim on the first day. The tiny stone village of Hontanas was my preferred stopping point for the night. The comfortable albergue and good food charmingly complimented this idyllic little hamlet, which was as quaint and serene as any to be found in the Old World. The next night’s sleeping place was the equally appealing Boadilla del Camino, a quiet little village where time appeared to move at a slower pace. From there I moved on to Carrion de Los Condes, a place with a little more activity but still a relaxed town whose tranquility would be suitable for those recovering from major surgery. The Meseta may not have offered bright lights, big city razzmatazz. There was no neon sparkle or Hollywood signs here to wow its visitors, but this was a timeless land of picturesque sleepy villages, a place where the winds whistled through the vast cornfields to create the haunting music of desolation on the ground, while in the skies overhead the low clouds were hurled about, creating an enticing visual symphony of nature. It was an enchanting landscape, a place in which every step was to be savoured.
The road out of Carrion de los Condes is one of the longest and flattest of the entire camino. There is one stretch about 17 KM in length where there are no changes, twists, turns, digressions, diversions or distractions. Beyond this the road curves a little, and there are a few hills in the distance that illustrate there was some tectonic activity in this area a few years ago. Some local eccentric decided to jazz up the landscape by building a cross out of a few old barrels. We may rightly marvel at renowned monuments like the Statue of Liberty, the Sagrada Familia, or the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, but where else in the world would you see something like a cross made out of old oil barrels? I salute the ingenuity of the builder. This person was truly the Antonio Gaudi of the Meseta.
It was somewhere along the route that day when I would reach the halfway point on my journey. A tiny little middle of nowhere village called Ledigos was that day’s destination, and with a few kilometres to go I stopped for a couple of minutes to take a drink. At the side of a relatively quiet main road I unstrapped my backpack and sat down on a railing to quaff some water. The backpack was now as much a part of me as my arms and legs. It kept me balanced and grounded, and without it I felt like I’d topple over. I sat at the side of this nondescript road for a few minutes. There were a scattering of other pilgrims in the region, but largely it was a quiet and isolated spot. I had made similar stops several times a day since I’d started, but there was something about this place that deeply resonated with me. This quiet roadside had nothing to distinguish itself from any other point on the camino. In fact it was possibly one of the more bland and indistinctive places along the way, but I felt a strong connection with it. In a peculiar sort of way it started to speak to me, and I sensed that this place, in spite of ordinariness, could just as easily be the centre of the Universe as Broadway or the Champs Elysees. Or maybe it was because of its ordinariness.
I had many reasons for walking the camino. Looking for a transformative life experience was one of them, and in that regard it certainly didn’t disappoint. However, transformative life experiences can be small and seemingly insignificant, and if we don’t pay enough attention to what is happening all around us we can miss out on them entirely. At this insignificant bend of a road, which led to God knows where, I found the place where I was supposed to be. I had been wandering for a lot of my life, and would continue to do so for a long time, but for a brief moment, here in the vast plains of Castilla Y Leon, I found the centre of my Universe. I had as truly authentic an experience of present moment awareness at that point as I’d ever had elsewhere. For a moment, the past and the future, which are always in a tug of war for our attention, no longer mattered. The only things that were real were the warm autumn sun, the gentle breeze, and the sights and sounds of my surroundings.
Nine years later, I found myself on the camino for a second time, and again I found myself looking for a transformative life experience. While I walked the same path, I viewed my surroundings through a different pair of eyes, those of someone a little older, more world weary, and with a heavier soul. But the camino breathes life into all those who follow its path, and it offers gifts and lessons that one should accept with gratitude. During my second walk along this way I discovered old places anew, noticed other spots that I had overlooked my first time, and also sadly failed to find other areas that left an impression on me from my previous excursion. The second journey was revelatory, but throughout I felt like I was simultaneously running away from things that I didn’t want to apprehend me, or chasing after things that didn’t want to be caught. Mentally, I was always behind or ahead of where I actually was. I seemed to be permanently out of step with the Universe. If I was to find salvation, I presumed I would find it at the journey’s conclusion. Or failing that, shortly thereafter. I expected that whatever it was I was looking for was either around the next corner, or else it was something that I had left in the past that could not be retrieved. Then one morning I came to a nondescript bend in the road that looked very familiar. I sat down at that spot, took off my backpack, drank some water, ate a little bread and took a deep breath of air. I looked all around me and realised that what I had been searching for had been with me all along. I may have been as close to the middle of nowhere as it was possible to get, but I was right in the centre of my Universe.
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