Before the First Step: From 6,157 to 500

Planes, trains and automobiles—all the modern ways we have invented to move farther and faster—carried us across an ocean and a continent to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, a small medieval town at the foot of the Pyrenees in France. From here, we will do something very different: walk nearly 500 miles to Santiago de Compostela.

Saint-Jean feels almost as though it was designed to prepare a pilgrim for what lies ahead. Steep cobblestone streets wind between centuries-old stone houses with red shutters and tiled roofs. The River Nive runs quietly through town, while the Pyrenees rise dramatically beyond it. Everywhere there are pilgrims carrying backpacks, scallop shells and walking poles, preparing to follow a path that people have traveled for more than a thousand years.

Perhaps the most meaningful place for us was the old Notre-Dame-du-Bout-du-Pont.  Parts of this beautiful Gothic church date to the 13th century. Built of local pink sandstone, it has welcomed generations of pilgrims on their way toward the mountains, Roncesvalles and ultimately Santiago.   Inside, we lit candles for our children and grandchildren, carrying each of them with us in prayer as we begin this journey. We also received a pilgrim’s blessing—a simple but deeply meaningful moment before taking our first steps toward Santiago.

Standing inside, I couldn’t help but think about all those who had stood there before us. They came from different places, in different centuries, carrying different burdens, hopes, prayers and reasons for walking. Yet I imagine many arrived with the same mixture of anticipation, uncertainty and faith.

There is something wonderfully ironic about traveling 6,157 miles to choose to walk the final 500.

Modern transportation is about getting somewhere as quickly as possible. Pilgrimage asks something very different of us. It asks us to experience every mile between where we begin and where we hope to arrive.

Perhaps that is our first lesson of the Camino:

Sometimes the fastest way to get somewhere isn’t the most important way to arrive.

We traveled 6,157 miles to reach the place where we could finally slow down.

And standing in that ancient church at the foot of the Pyrenees, it felt as though the traveling had ended—and the pilgrimage was finally beginning.