As I shuffled across the final stones of the Camino de Santiago into the iconic Plaza del Obradoiro, I was overcome by a tsunami of emotions. Physically drained yet metaphysically renewed. My calloused feet ached, my ankles were swollen and my backpack felt heavier than ever, but my spirit had been lightened by this incredible journey.

For 35 days, I had been a pilgrim.

This ancient 824 km journey across northern Spain has transformed me in ways I'm still struggling to articulate. Perhaps that's the point - the Camino is a great mystery that words alone can't capture. It must be experienced soul-first.

But let me try to share a glimpse...

The Camino de Santiago, or The Way of St. James, has drawn spiritual seekers from across Europe for over a thousand years. According to mediaeval lore, the remains of St. James the Great (one of the 12 Apostles) was miraculously transported to north-western Spain. Upon this revelation in the 9th century, a cathedral was constructed to enshrine his relics in what is now the city of Santiago de Compostela.

For centuries after, travellers undertook the treacherous journey from everywhere - France, England, Italy, Portugal and beyond - to experience the legendary miracles and spiritual blessings conferred.

The trail fell out of favour during the modern age until experiencing a renaissance in the late 20th century. Today, over 300,000 pilgrims from around the world walk the Camino each year, continuing this unbroken human tradition that has traversed the bloodied history of the Iberian Peninsula and the surrounding regions. It must be remembered that this region has gone through a seemingly endless series of conflicts from the Mediaeval period and the Crusades through to World War II.

Some walk the Camino for sport (it certainly is a physical challenge). Others out of cultural or religious curiosity. Many for deeply personal reasons after major life events or periods of crisis. But the common thread is a search for spiritual growth or connection.

As an Anglican school principal, my own Camino journey began with modest intentions. I was looking forward to an extended physical challenge, a technological detox, to explore another environment, to connect with people from different cultures and to refresh my mind and soul during some well-deserved (and appreciated) sabbatical leave. More importantly, I wanted to spend some uninterrupted time with my 22-year-old son, Tom, who has endured a difficult period with his health in recent years.

The two of us are already close. I am blessed with a loving, caring and supportive family. However, our father-son relationship is evolving and I wanted to share my passion for seeing the world through a lens of awe, hope and gratitude. Would the Camino help open those doors?

As our journey neared, I had niggling doubts if this 53-year-old body (with a dodgy right knee) could endure an 800 plus kilometre trek with a 10-kilogram pack. Tom too was apprehensive but he didn't show it. We'd heard plenty of horror stories about the relentless pace, gruelling distances, blisters, injuries and the sheer mental stamina required.

Those first days proved to be some of the hardest.

Setting out from St. Jean Pied de Port on the French side of the Pyrenees, the trail immediately ascended the mountain range separating Spain and France. This trail is also famous for the Battle of Roncevaux between the forces of Roland, nephew of Charlemagne, and the Saracens. The history of the struggle and the sometimes harmonious relationship between the Christians and Muslims is embedded throughout this region. As we slowly wound our way through the dense beech forest, every corner we could see the next even steeper hill.

Six hours of climbing later, we arrived in the village of Roncesvalles, exhausted and already sporting blisters. We collapsed onto our bunks, silently questioning how we'd make it another 790 kilometres in this state.

Yet adversity is a peculiar beast. It either breaks you or unlocks a reserve of resilience and perseverance you never knew existed. As the pain and challenges mounted over those first two weeks, Tom and I stopped merely surviving and started thriving. Our bodies adapted to the incredible daily demands and we settled into the Camino's rhythms and routines.

We'd rise with the sun, reorganise our backpacks, vaseline our feet (very important), fuel up on cafe con leches, tortillas and tostadas. By 7:30 am each morning, our backpacks were shouldered, hiking poles in hand and we'd set off along the trail into the bird song of the new day.

The first steps of each day were agony as we fought through discomfort. Doubts screamed in our heads and every uphill battle felt like a spirit-crushing endeavour. But eventually, usually around the three or four kilometre mark, we'd settle into the routine and just let the day happen. By embracing and even seeking out the difficulties, we stopped resisting and surrendered our egos to The Way. Only then, by being present in the simplest of actions, did we find our daily Camino flow. It was a meditative process.

The physical and mental transformations were tangible. We watched as our bodies hardened into finely-tuned hiking machines. Along with the yellow arrows and shell markers we walked with the statues of past pilgrims and knights. The seeming endlessness of the route actually became a comfort. There is an element of certainty about the trail. Your trust is given.

Across northern Spain, we passed through countless tiny villages suspended in time. Stone huts and farms, mediaeval churches and cathedrals, vineyards, flocks of sheep, and herds of cattle, we walked along Roman roads and over countless stone bridges unchanged for centuries. The Camino winds through these living museums of civilization, enabling a connection with the past that you don't just observe, but breathe and experience across every sense.

My favourite moments were the early mornings before sunrise. I'd awake, throw off my sleeping bag and slip outside to watch the day's first light splash across the landscapes. Pale golden rays would wash over ancient fields and vineyards, illuminating the dew-soaked grasses and trees with a primordial glow. Everything was quiet at first and then came the birds calling you to embrace the day and of course the clanking of pilgrims’ backpacks and walking poles as they gathered their belongings for the day's journey. In these transcendent moments, I was a part of nature's rhythms, not the master of them. A universal solace washed over me - despite the human constructed complexity of our “real world”. A feeling of something eternal, something divine moves through this place or this state of mind. A feeling that we are all connected.

In the afternoons, the landscape transformed into a theatre of impossibly vibrant hues - emerald fields fading into golden hills that flowed towards rosy snow-capped mountains. My eyes drank in these visuals rendered more intense by the relaxed fatigue of my body. Tom and I would often pause and stand in silence, grinning at each other as we beheld such intense natural beauty.

Despite these soul-stirring panoramas, I was most moved by the myriad of human interactions that defined life on the Camino trail. Early on, Tom and I bonded with two remarkable women who became like family: Claire from England and Brittany from the US. Claire was a fellow Gen X'er filled with warmth and laughter. She is a celebrant and I've no doubt that she carries this role with dignity, grace and wisdom. Brittany was a fountain of youthful energy and infectious joy, yet with wisdom that belied her age.

While our diverse backgrounds could have erected walls, the opposite occurred. Long days of walking together revealed we were all pilgrims united by a shared curiosity about life. Real talk about relationships, careers, family, meaning - it all got unpacked as we unplugged from our daily social masks. Social intimacies were accelerated in a way I'd never experienced in my modern life back in Australia. Meals became celebratory affairs filled with uproarious laughter, debates, profundities and frivolity. We swapped unguarded tales about our lives, loves, regrets and hopes in a way rarely possible in normal society. These relationships were amplified by the crucible of both time and shared experiences.

Whenever someone's injury flared up, the rest of us adjusted our pace to match theirs - a true band of brothers and sisters looking out for each other. Our Camino family shared stories and broke bread with pilgrims from the US, Australia, England, Ireland, Canada, Hungary, Taiwan, South Korea, Germany, Wales, France, the Netherlands and Denmark. We were united by that unique trail camaraderie. Cultures and age differences dissolved under the great equaliser of a shared mission.

As the miles accumulated, layer upon layer of modern life's stresses slipped away. The mental noise of meetings, emails, social media, student issues, staff worries and parental expectations quietened. Simple matters like finding nourishing foods and moving forward became our only imperatives.

During those final weeks on the Camino, something profound occurred between Tom and I. The generational barriers and invisible walls that can divide fathers and sons dissolved completely. We were no longer defined by our traditional roles, but as fellow pilgrims travelling the same path humbly together. Shedding the pretences of modern life, our vulnerabilities and strengths were laid bare before one another. Flaws, traumas, and fears - all mutually accepted without judgement.

Some days we walked for hours in restorative silence, alone with our thoughts yet in sync with each other's cadence. At other times, we ranged fearlessly across life's biggest questions - love, purpose, ambitions, politics and faith. Exploring topics often avoided or too fraught for discussion back in our everyday roles. Out there on the Camino with only our backpacks, we openly admitted our hopes, struggles and deepest doubts without repercussion.

I was in awe of Tom's resilience in the face of his health struggles and our world's turbulence. He showed incredible courage simply by choosing to embrace such an arduous experience. In turn, I hope he saw in me not just a father, but a man still filled with curiosity, passion and dreams for the future.

Those treasured conversations and quiet comradeships will remain with me forever. On the surface, the Camino was the landscape's gradual unfolding - ever more churches, villages, hills and valleys with each new day's journey. But its true magic was an internal transformation, a stripping away of the superficial. With every hard-fought kilometre, another layer was shed to reveal our most authentic selves to ourselves, each other and the world. No longer father and son bogged down in traditional roles, just two weary yet wondrous souls united by a singular mission - to walk, be present, and embrace every ounce of life this ancient pilgrimage could offer.

I'm travelling back home to Australia as I pen this article. It's been just over two weeks since Tom and I entered the square of Cathedral de Santiago at journey's end. An enduring memory is that of dropping our packs to the ground in the centre of the square with the Cathedral basking in the afternoon sun and embracing my Camino family. We gave thanks for the incredible gift we had experienced. We had followed in the footsteps of pilgrims past and joined a historical continuum of humanity's spirit.

Now I find myself in a liminal space, caught between two worlds. One part of me burns to rush back to Spain and keep walking...to keep chasing the indescribable highs of that minimalist pilgrimage existence. Each night I dream of sunrises over misty vineyards, cafe con leches with new-found friends, and the star-filled nights of Galicia.

The other part of me yearns to integrate the Camino's powerful lessons into my daily routines and relationships back in the "real world". I want to retain that openness, vulnerability, presence and zest for life amidst the busyness of work and life.

Most of all, I pray the bonds forged between my son and myself on the Camino trail remain. That we continue relating as fellow journeymen in our life's adventure together rather than lapsing into preordained family roles. I want to keep that door of candid communication and acceptance wide open between us.

So as I ease back into my duties as an educator and leader, I am taking steps to safeguard the Camino's transformative impacts on my being. By starting each morning in quiet meditation and journaling. By scheduling regular outdoor walks to replicate the Camino's rhythms. By focusing on one appointment, one task, one conversation at a time rather than sprinting between obligations. By embracing vulnerability, I aim to inspire others to shed their masks and lean into life's great adventures and uncertainties with courage.

Looking ahead, I see the Camino not as something I've checked off my bucket list, but as an initiation into a new phase of life guided by different principles. A phase centred on presence, simplicity, kindness, curiosity, human connections and embracing the unknown.

Already I find myself drawn to planning our next great family pilgrimage, perhaps Camino Finisterre or the Portuguese Way or the legendary Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. Not out of accomplishment or achieving grand feats, but for the shared experience of wonder and struggle that strips away the inessential and exposes our truest selves.

At the same time, I feel an urgency to cherish each ordinary day back home as the profound gift it truly is. To see the Camino's yellow arrows everywhere - in a child's curiosity, a stranger's act of kindness, and of nature's eternal cycles of birth and renewal unfolding around us.

My eyes have been opened to the reality that we are all pilgrims in constant transition between this life and the next, between who we are and who we can become. Every step is a choice to seek out the extraordinary within the seemingly mundane.

To any of you feeling called to explore the Camino for yourselves, I say listen to those nudges from your soul. I've been indelibly marked by this ancient Way. Embrace the discomfort of pushing beyond your limits into the realm of transformation. For as I learned, it's only by shedding our shells of modern security that we can be reborn with clearer vision about what matters most.

Buen Camino.

Canon Nick Johnstone
Principal of Bishop Druitt College​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

One Pilgrim's Journey

I.

With weathered boots and burden borne,

We trod the ancient hallowed way,

Doubts whispering, convictions worn.

No turning back, come what may.

Each day a march relentlessly task,

Blisters bloomed, joints screamed in pain.

Yet body hardened to the Camino's ask,

As confidence grew, muscles drowned the strain.

Vistas grand of this distant land

Awoke in me a wondrous awe.

With every league, my spirit fanned,

Tuned to nature's song, and history's roar.

II.

The plains rolled on toward horizons drawn,

Stirring memories of years long past.

Could I endure what lay before?

The Camino's crucible, vast.

But bonded tight with kindred light,

New friends to share in laughter's reign.

We voiced our strife, bared truths of life.

A family formed to quell the mental strain.

My values cured, perspectives reared,

Weighing paths behind, those yet to be.

With each sweet tale upon the trail,

My soul unburdened - winged and free.

III.

As Santiago's towers neared,

The deepest questions then appeared:

My spirit's bent? Where was I sent

Upon this journey I've long steered?

Grace, kindness, gratefulness rose,

Forgiveness lent its gentle hand.

Tears streamed more free than ever before,

Laughter too with my pilgrim band.

For family, friends, love did extend

Its tendrils warmed by rain and sun.

Of pilgrim souls with spirits bound,

One hive emerged when truth was won.

Within Santiago's sacred heart,

Arrival's essence washed my being.

The thrills profound from this Holy ground!

What wonders wait on pathways freeing?

We shall see. Buen Camino.

Written by Nick Johnstone
2024