The Beginning

“A pilgrim on the Camino de Santiago told me, upon the completion of my 300-kilometer journey from León, “Celebrate tonight and enjoy yourself. It will be three weeks before you appreciate what you’ve accomplished.” Two weeks and more of experiences cannot be condensed into the single moment of entering the Cathedral of Santiago. Now, more than six years later and ten-thousand kilometers from Spain, the thoughts and feelings I experienced while walking the Camino are still present in my mind. The path I began walking on May 14th, 2004, is one that I continue today. The Cathedral of Santiago was a stop along the way – one which I have revisited since and will return to again – but the road has continued for as long as I have cared to walk.” (March, 2010; taken from an article I published in “Following the Yellow Arrow; Younger Pilgrims on the Camino”)



I first heard about the Camino de Santiago in a Spanish history class at the University of Michigan during my sophomore year. When our graduate student instructor mentioned that two professors were organizing a group to hike the Camino for the following summer, I turned to a friend and said, “I’m going.”
The GIEU—Global Intercultural Exchange for Undergraduates—is a program which organizes trips for undergraduate students to travel and work, in some way, to “build international community”. In 2004, one of the sites for the GIEU program was to be the 300-kilometer stretch of the Camino de Santiago beginning in Leon and Continuing to Santiago de Compostela. Student Pilgrims were to think about the ways in which community developed along The Way as they hiked, interviewed other pilgrims, and prepared meals nightly to share with fellow travelers. The Camino, however, is a very powerful experience that one can not simply analyze. Each of the fourteen pilgrims selected for the GIEU trip had his or her own personal strengths and weaknesses and, therefore, traveled his or her own, personal path.

My own personal strength and weakness were somewhat opposing sides of the same coin. At the age of seven, a pseudo tumor cerebri (a “false brain tumor) caused cerebral fluid in my head to put increasing pressure upon my optic nerves. The nerves were pinched so tightly that blood and nutrients were unable to adequately circulate; in essence, the nerves were starved to death. Although several surgeries including the installation of a LP Shunt (in the stomach and lower back) were able to finally reduce the cerebral pressure, I was left completely blind.
Blindness has always been the driving force behind my active life. Besides walking the Camino de Santiago in 2004, I have also spent eight months studying abroad in Chile, two years working in Spain as an English conversation assistant, worked in Japan for two years on the JET program and finally spent an additional year in Japan training at the International Budo University where I earned my black belt in Judo. But blindness has always been my greatest source of self doubt as well. With each new adventure, I wonder how I will be able to make things work. Each time a stranger offers me a helping hand, I can’t help but feel it is offered in condescension. I have struggled to maintain a sense of independence while placing myself in ever more challenging situations. I have struggled to understand that “help” isn’t always an expression of doubt.
The Camino de Santiago was my first real experience living and traveling abroad. It was the chance I needed to truly test my abilities: finding my way around new places, using limited vocabulary in a foreign language to express myself and dealing with peoples’ reaction to my visual impairment. These were all skills I would need if I were to have the international lifestyle I wanted. I gradually developed strategies to deal with these challenges on the 300-kilometer journey. When I arrived to each new hostel, I immediately asked the location of the bathroom. This was the most basic and important of daily necessities, so I wanted it out of the way. I then paid attention to the sounds and movements of the pilgrims around me. As I listened to the other travelers go about their daily rituals—washing clothes, preparing meals—I could quickly develop a sense of the layout and structure of each new environment. To make finding my bed or sleeping-mat easier, I began leaving my backpack at the end of the mattress. I could then let my hand drift along the foot of each bed as I entered the room until I brushed past my own space. I learned how to problem solve and adapt.
Although I found it relatively easy to deal with new places, dealing with new people was somewhat more challenging. As pilgrim after pilgrim expressed concern or, even worse, admiration at a blind traveler, I found it increasingly difficult to maintain my own sense of self esteem. When one woman gave me a polished walking staff, I held it just until we were out of her sight before passing it off to another member of our group. Another man asked simply to hold my hand for a moment as we entered an albergue nearing the end of our Camino. I was not prepared for this type of treatment; for someone who has always tried to blend in, being singled out is very discomforting.

“I arrived in Santiago on May 30th, 2004, having learned two important things about myself. While walking in the streets and plazas of this beautiful city, I was greeted by pilgrims I had met along my three-hundred kilometer trek from Leon. Amid their congratulations and well-wishes, I realized I had the strength to travel and live the life I desired. I had developed the skills necessary to adapt to new and unfamiliar surroundings, and I had found the confidence I needed to explore these places independently. But as I was stopped on the steps outside the Cathedral of Santiago by a French man who placed both his hands on my chest and wanted simply to meet me, I was forced to admit that I was not fully comfortable with how people reacted to my visual impairment. In truth, I was not yet comfortable with my own feelings toward blindness.”


During the two years I worked in Spain—October 2006 through May 2008—I volunteered for the local Camino de Santiago association in Malaga. Besides helping pilgrims fill out credentials and prepare for their trip, we also hiked parts of the Camino Mozarabe from Malaga to insure the path was well marked and clean. I also returned to Santiago along the Camino Portugués with a friend. I have always had a lingering desire, however, to return to the French Camino and walk the entire distance from the French border to Santiago.