LOST AND FOUND IN SPAIN

By Sam King

I dedicate this arduous journey to my mom who took me to Spain, encouraged me to walk and persevere, and forgave me for my mistake. I dedicate this to my dad and sister for loving me. I dedicate this to my friends for supporting me and staying with me through challenging times. I dedicate this to my teachers for believing in me and for giving me a second chance. Most importantly, I dedicate this to myself for persevering and for forgiving myself.

It was day eighteen, June 23, 2018. My mom and I were stuck on top of what we later called “Shale Mountain,” composed of sharp, pointy rocks and mismarked paths. “Only seven more days. Only seven more days,” I repeated in my head, tears flowing down my face. I was done. I was tired. I felt like I should just give up. For the past eighteen days, my mom and I had been trekking across Spain on a 260-mile pilgrimage called the Camino de Santiago dedicated to the Catholic Apostle Saint James. From France, over the Pyrenees Mountains, across Spain over to Santiago de Compostela where the shrine of Saint James is housed in a cathedral, my mom and I walked with our own feet, packs on our backs, and goal in our heads: accomplish this physically demanding religious route.

On the mountain, I remembered my primary purpose for being here: forgiving myself for the mistake that I had made a few months back as a freshman. In March, I got in serious trouble at school. I considered this month to be the hardest of my life; being confronted by the principal, vice-principal, and student council administrator of my school flooded me with guilt, anxiety, stress, and sadness. My hell started during my literature class after lunch when my teacher received a phone call from the office, asking for me to go to the office. I knew it; I knew why I was being sent. A few days earlier, some friends and I vaped in the school bathrooms; someone must have turned us in. All of a sudden, I started shaking, and I began to clench my fists; my nails dug into my palms, leaving scars. “Why Sam? Why did you have to do this?” I berated myself. Disappointed faces confronted me as I entered the office grudgingly. Slowly like a sloth, I walked over to the principal’s office, knowing that this was going to be a rough afternoon. His door was ajar, and I saw three big chairs behind a desk facing one small chair where I would sit and receive my consequences and shame. When confronted, I confessed. I told the truth.

After a couple of hours of questioning and waiting, the principal presented my punishment to me. Despite understanding that a punishment was fair for the offense I had committed, I felt heartbroken. Never in my life would I have thought that I would be in serious trouble at school. I had perfect grades and perfect attendance, but now my life was over. Every part of me ached with fear and despair. At that moment, I was certain that I would never be able to rebound from my mistake.

I was wrong. Here on top of “Shale Mountain,” I knew my goal: to finish this journey and start a new chapter in my life. After a fall and a good cry, I wiped off my tears, dusted off small rocks, and continued to trail down the mountain. Despite the 350-meter descent, my body kept trailing step by careful step. Outshining the gray, sharp shale rocks below our feet, beautiful scenery of lush flowers and fields surrounded me. This adventure really was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

My mom and I reached day twenty: the 200-mile marker. With only sixty more miles to go, we quickly trudged through this mentally taxing and physically challenging fourteen-mile eight-hour walk. “Only five more days,” I thought as my blister-covered feet numbly walked up and down the rolling hills. The day was bright and sunny. Wildflowers decorated our path, along with the tall pine trees and burgeoning bushes. The hills felt endless like waves of an ocean. The sun scorched my skin; it did not bother me. I had hoped for a glowing complexion for when I returned home. The beauty of the day sparked a hope within me like a match lighting fire.

Throughout the afternoon, my mom and I passed people as we usually did because of our quick pace. Earlier, we had zoomed by an old man, dressed in a flannel jacket and hiking pants, who later caught up to us when we were taking a short break. His deep Russian accent and broken English, almost incomprehensible to us, caught my mom and me off guard. “You two walk as fast as Lamborghinis,” teased the Russian man. At first, we could not understand the joke, but after an exchange of confused glances, he more clearly said, “Lamborghinis like the car.” Uncomfortably, my mom and I laughed, but we knew it was true: we did walk very fast.

After walking the previous fourteen-mile day, my mom and I hit our final major section of our Camino: sixty miles, 100 kilometers, five more days of walking. Even though this day was our “rest day,” we still had to walk a tiring six miles. It was not much, but the pattern of walking for hours each day irritated me. I thought a lot, mainly about my purpose. Over time, I was coming to terms with my mistake, and the more and more I thought about it, the easier it was to forgive myself and move on from my past.

Day twenty-two, we walked in my favorite kind of weather: overcast, cloudy, and even rainy. Everything was damp from the night’s rainfall. Dark clouds filled the sky, and a heavy breeze blew through my hair. I felt the puddles soak through my shoes, but I did not care. Ironically, this gloomy weather made me cheerful. I am not a sunshine person; the sun darkens my mood. It drains the energy out of me like a vacuum sucking up dust from the floor. For the final three days of walking, we were going to have to walk a lot, and this day was no exception. The towering, dark pine trees surrounding us defined our path: walk straight. Sometimes I broke out in a run, for running made finishing faster and my goal closer in sight. Over rocks and tree roots, my feet skimmed the ground. The lines of trees rushed past me and the air pushed against my face, but despite the tiredness, I kept running. Determined to reach the hotel, I left my mom, who always took the scenic route, behind in the dust.

Almost six hours later, we arrived to the area where our hotel was said to be located, except it was nowhere to be found. We walked forward and backward on the path, checking to see if we had missed it, but we still could not find it. Then, I noticed a farmhouse door, but I doubted that it was our hotel. Surprisingly, it was. Behind the door was a rural restored Galacian farmhouse, our lodging for the night. I loved it. It was in the middle of nowhere. There were four rooms each decorated with interior rock walls, heavy tapestries, and dark red velvet pillows. Outside of our room, there was a stone courtyard shaded by market umbrellas. I never wanted to leave. This 900-year-old inn made me feel comforted by its isolation from towns, hidden in the depths of the forest we had earlier walked through. Who would have thought that a rustic farmhouse could bring me peace, strength, and comfort, allowing me to finish the next three tough days?

With every new hill, my muscles screamed at me, my knees buckled, and my soul ached. That did not deter us. We had two more days left, and we remained focused on our goal. The blistering sun scorched our bodies, and our blisters only got bigger, but we continued to walk. This time my mom melted down. The pain in her body started to crush her spirits and strength. Tears trickled down her face like a light rainstorm. Though I felt bad for my mom, I was secretly relieved that it was not me who had a hard time coping. Despite our struggles, we continued to walk.

BOOM! POW! Fireworks rocketed up, illuminating the afternoon sky. I had never seen fireworks midday; however, they brightened up the near end to my physical and spiritual journey. With twenty-four days of walking done, we only had one more day, twelve miles, four hours left. My heart raced for I knew that the finish line was in sight.

Knowing my mom was still distraught, I comforted her with a drink that I had bought in our rustic inn. Her face spread a smile as she gulped down the refreshing drink instantly. The drink had brought my mom a little joy which made me happy for the time being.

Most nights I cried myself to sleep. This month affected me deeply. Walking every day for at least six hours nonstop impacted me in a way I never knew possible. It was mentally and physically draining. It took every ounce of my soul to wake up every morning to walk. I spent a lot of time in my head thinking about everything: my reputation, my friends, my family, my homesickness, and the remaining distance to walk. All in all, nonstop walking and reflecting on my life not only made me exhausted but also made me strong.

My last day finally came, day twenty-five. For the first time on this trip, I jumped out of bed quickly, excited for the twelve last miles ahead. Instead of my mopey complaining, I engaged more enthusiastically with my mom and my surroundings. I felt the cold, damp air blow against my face. I saw my footprints decorate the mud. I heard the birds chirp joyfully for I thought they were celebrating the end of my journey. I smelled my achievement and success as I grew closer and closer to the finish line. Everything appeared, felt, and sounded different compared to the other days. On day twenty-five, I was happy. I bounced up and down along the path, urging my mom to walk faster.

Four hours later, my mom and I stood under the towering cathedral in Santiago de Compostela. We had made it. Tears flowed from my eyes like a rainstorm. I was done. In a month, I had walked across Northern Spain, 260 miles; I was finally proud of myself. I had not believed in myself along the way, but now standing at the finish line, I knew that I was stronger than I thought I was. I collapsed, for my body ached with both physical and mental pain. Lying in the courtyard of the cathedral looking up at the bright, blue sky, I sighed with relief. The fact that I had endured this adventure made me perceive my life differently. I knew that I could survive through any challenge in my life, including forgiving myself for the past couple of months. This day was the start of my second chance, my new beginning.

I learned a lot about myself, walking on the Camino de Santiago. Despite complaining constantly, I learned to appreciate everything - my community, my friends, my family, my opportunities, my mistakes. I began to realize that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to do. First and foremost, I wanted to create a new reputation, and to do so, I needed to push through just as I had done walking in Spain. No matter how hard achieving my goal would be, I knew that I could do it one step at a time.