Yearning

I apologize in advance, but I need to talk (maybe whine a little) about the Camino again. Two years ago, my Dad and I were about one week in to our 34 day walk through Spain.  By the end of that walk, I remember that I was completely and thoroughly ready to be done with the whole Camino experience. But, one of the many pseudo-spiritual cliches that you hear along the way actually turns out to be true: the Camino gets in you.  Two years later, I am sure that I am not done with the way.  I'm trying to work out why, even as I dream of a time in the future when I will once again set my foot on the trail and follow those yellow arrows and scallop shells.
The first thing about it is the raw simplicity of the journey.  Don't get me wrong, the Camino is by no means an austere exercise in minimalism.  You do not live without too many creature comforts along the way.  Sure there are sketchy beds and crowded albergues along the way.  Sure you might get rained on, blown about by the wind, burnt by the sun and have your feet subjected to rather more punishment than they are accustomed, but you will have a good meal and a cold beer or a nice bottle of Rioja, and of course Orujo, whenever you want.  What you will be without is the constant pull of things or the keeping of any schedules.  You will have one thing to do: walk.
The second thing is the sense of purpose in your movement. I don't know about you, but in modern life I feel like I do a lot of scurrying.  Back and forth to work, to the grocery store, to take the kids somewhere or get the kids from somewhere.  Having a constant direction, and never going backwards is a sort of refreshing experience.  The loss of that constant purpose I think hit me first when we were on our lengthy, indirect train journey from Santiago back to Madrid.  We were passing through Astorga on the way to Leon and we saw some pilgrims on a foot bridge over the train tracks, we remembered walking over that, and both Dad and I felt a sort of ache, an ache that has become all too familiar.  That was only a few days after we had finished our pilgrimage. It gets worse.
The third thing is not exactly unique to the Camino, but it is a powerful experience, and that is the sense of community.  On the way you are with people rather more than you expect in advance.  Introvert that I am, I found myself truly appreciating the people we met along the way.  Some became friends, others were just sort of there, but the sense that we shared of doing something unusual was a bond that is hard to replicate in such a short term.  It is the way that does this to you.
I have tried to explain these things to people (notably Michele), but I usually end up rambling on and getting lost, even when I do get some part of it out, I'm not sure it sounds like I am in possession of my complete mental faculty.  I think the incoherence that surrounds some of this is a result of the fact that such a journey can never be put fully into words.  There is no shortage of books and reflections written about the Camino de Santiago, and I read some of them before I ever started my relationship with the way.  I can't say I liked them much.  I like them even less now.  The bad ones seem insipid and the good ones just make the ache worse.
There is no substitute for being in the Camino and having it be in you. So until the time is right and the seasons of life allow me to go back, I guess I will just have to ache.