Journey to the End of the World

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I see five or six large birds, slowly circling high in the sky. Buzzards! Are they waiting for me? I laugh. "You're too early in the day." I still feel fresh, in great shape after a good night's sleep. Unless they know something I don't .

This view of the world from the ground up is unique. The attention of my body to the space in which it moves leads me to believe that this way of being in the world has an elementary quality; it is somehow basic to any experience.

I find it hard to believe that somewhere out there I will reach my destination. I can see so far-and there is no village in front of me yet-that I will surely never traverse that space. Each day, however, I have reached my destination. I live in a kind of faith that the destination will be within my physical limits. Perhaps this experience of limits is very good, especially these days, when so many seem not to regard the reality of limits as important.

The experience of not knowing what kind of space I will be going through each day is something I have never known. I would have thought that this would induce fear or anxiety. Instead, I'm eager to stride out each morning. What is happening to me?

A few minutes after I lose sight of the village, the rain starts. Today, it's a real deluge with a fierce wind. It was right along here, in the 17th century, that the pilgrim Domenico Laffi came upon a swarm of locusts. They completely darkened the sky and were a considerable annoyance.

I meet no one along the road and, after what seems a long time, see a small sign: "Refugio-100 m.," with an arrow pointing left. Eventually I find a stone structure, with a metal door on the side. As I move closer, the door swings open and four raucous Spanish pilgrims welcome me in out of the rain. They have just finished eating lunch and offer me leftovers: paté, sardines, cheese, two oranges. They urge me to accompany them. A very bad storm is moving in. Staying out here alone is, in their opinion, imprudent; I'm wet, it will probably get colder, I may come down with pneumonia. How could I reach help? How can I get dry and warm right now? I see the buzzards before my eyes, patiently waiting . but this place has impressed me with a certain charm. I thank them for their solicitude and tell them I'm resolved to stay here for the night. Meanwhile, two of them have found some dry straw and wood. They start a fire for me. After this act of kindness, they shoulder their packs, wish me luck, and set out into the rain.

A Visitation of Cows
May 26, Astorga to Foncebadon 

It became clear that this road was used by no one except forest service people, and not in a long time. If I broke a leg here, I would certainly not be found. Several times I came to a Y in the road. This I dreaded, for I had to make a decision with no information. The forest showed no signs of ending in any direction. This is the first time I've been really lost--another common experience of which I have been deprived . and that perhaps can benefit me. Thoreau wrote: "Not till we are lost, in other words, not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations." On the very first day, I learned who is out here with me, who wants me to make this camino. The more I am lost, the closer I may be to them. But am I in some danger? If there is cause for fear, the journey becomes more exciting, more heart-stirring. An 18th-century document notes that the land here is so rough, the rain, snow, and sleet so continual, that the pass is closed from September to the end of May . which means now! People who lived here would watch for pilgrims, then house and guide them. But I have seen no sign of any human presence.

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