In almost every pintxo bar in Spain, there are two sandwiches that sit side by side; kindred spirits of the breakfast menu. Both rest on blackboard trays, have an enticing mixture of bacon and egg, and are presented on soft, small bocadillo rolls dusted in a fine sprinkling of white flour. As far as I can tell, there is but a single difference.
One features a fried egg with bacon on top, while the other has diced bacon cooked into the egg mixture and folded into a neat square. They taste exactly the same, and aside from their minor preparation discrepancies, I can find almost no other distinguishable contrasts between the two, other than one costs €2.20 and the other is €3.
And yet, everyone chooses the pricier, egg mixture option.
I’ve been watching this remarkable phenomenon play out since we arrived. Every day when we finish our 20-kilometre walk from one tiny Spanish town to the next, we roll into the plaza square and make our way to the closest pintxo bar, looking for a well-earned beer and a quick bite to eat. Without fail, all the egg mixture sandwiches will be gone and there will be a healthy amount of fried egg rolls left in the box.
It doesn’t bother me, I’ve been eating pretty much anything that isn’t nailed down since I got to Spain, but it has got me thinking about human nature and the duplicitous way our brains seem to work against us. When presented with two almost identical paths, we often choose the one that is the most challenging, expensive or unexpected, as if that somehow makes us worthy. It’s the reason why we feel a sense of shame when we ask for help, get a leg up or secure some kind of free ride.
I also suspect it is the very reason why so many people walk the Camino.
I’ve met countless pilgrims on this trip who are walking the Camino to find something; whether that be a sense of freedom, spirituality, religion or hope. I myself started this journey in much the same fashion. To me, this trip was about solitude and the profound, if not slightly absurd, concept of having some actual time to think. My hope was that I might somehow wind up with a spark of creativity, a jolt of energy that would reignite my passion for writing, creating, crafting or whatever it is that I think I do. Strangely enough, it is working and I wonder if that is because I feel like I’ve earned it.
To borrow a biblical term, walking every day and coming home with blisters and heat exhaustion feels like penance; a necessary challenge that must be overcome in order for me to feel creatively free. Which is asinine and insane, but in some small way, I definitely believe that. I don’t think I am alone.
Two days ago, I was speaking with another pilgrim in Santo Domingo, sharing horror stories about chafing and sweat-rash (you know, all the good stuff), when he revealed something shocking to me. This mid-sixties man had been carrying his bag, all his belongings, for the entire time. Teaghan and I started off that way, but about three days in, we made the executive decision that avoiding a lifetime of back pain was probably worth the €7 bag transfer.
But what shocked me wasn’t that he was carrying his bag up the Pyrenees and along these enormous journeys, but why.
”I want to feel like I’ve earned it,” he explained. ”I don’t want to cheat.”
Almost immediately, I understood why he needed this trip. I realised that if he was going to find whatever it was he was looking for, he would first need to overcome his ego. And just as quickly, I realised we were more similar than I thought.
There’s not necessarily any problem with carrying your bag, but the idea that happiness must be earned and that struggle is the only thing that gives something value is a barrier to growth. Like two egg sandwiches at the pintxo bar, we suffered the same affliction in slightly different ways. If we wanted to move forward, we would both, quite literally, need to let go of our baggage.
In that way, walking the Camino is the ultimate rarity; the challenge that signifies both the cause and antidote to ego.
There is no right or wrong way to walk the Camino. How you do it is your choice, your pathway is not defined by the footsteps of pilgrims who walked before you, but by the very destination that you wish to arrive at. The Camino is about giving yourself permission to put your goals first and the freedom to make your own choices. It’s an opportunity to examine the path you are on and make a decision, once and for all, about where you are headed.
And there is every likelihood that you won’t need to change anything. You might already be where you need to be, with no requirement to stray from the beaten path, and that’s the beauty of clarity. Walking the Camino, by its very nature, is an exercise in emotional diaspora, a shock to the system that allows you to make sense of where you are.
The very act of walking proves that sometimes, a change is as good as a holiday, you just need to be brave enough to take the first step. So, next time you are in a pintxo bar in Spain, dare to be different and go for the fried egg sandwich. It’s cheaper anyway.
This is an edition of The Camino Diaries, an ongoing series from MADE Journal founder and editor Nicholas Hall about his experience walking the Camino de Santiago. The weekly columns are matched with a daily social media series that sees him release one frame from the road, exploring the process of walking 800 kilometres from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in southern France to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. Each day, he shares honest reflections from the trail, the people he meets, the struggles of the journey, and the moments that slowly pull him back to himself.
