Pilgrimage: A superb way to meet strangers and yourself
First published in the Jersey Evening Post 2025-10-04
The flagstones in front of St Peter’s Basilica are cool underfoot in the half-light. Sleepy baristas wipe down tables outside cafes on the road out of Rome. I shift my 7kg pack into place, feel the tug on my shoulders, and take the first step south on the Via Francigena del Sud – 1,000 kilometres to Santa Maria di Leuca.
It’s in this moment, every year, that the same question rings in my head: What on earth am I doing? Life at home in Gorey is familiar and comfortable. Why exchange it for sore feet, unpredictable beds, strangers snoring the uncertainty of not knowing who I might meet or how far I’ll walk that day? The answer, I know, will unfold in the days ahead – in dawn choruses, shared meals, and unexpected conversations.
Why Walk?
For me, pilgrimage is about deliberately stepping into a kind of jeopardy – not danger, but the daily challenge of immersing myself in the unfamiliar. Each day demands the application of a specific set of skills: reading a new place, understanding a different rhythm, learning how best to connect with those I meet.
I’m 68 now, and I’m acutely aware that each long walk might be harder than the last. The time will come when my pilgrimages will be different – perhaps shorter distances, perhaps more rest days – but for now daily discipline will be simple: walk, eat, sleep, repeat. Within that repetition lies a profound freedom.
Solitary, Not Lonely
I prefer to walk alone during the day. Solitude sharpens the senses: the scent of wild and unfamiliar flowers, the shifting light across olive groves, the quiet joy of reaching the top of a peak to see my world ahead open out. But walking alone is not the same as being lonely.
Evenings are for connection. Pilgrims naturally form what are known as “Camino families” – loose-knit groups who happen to travel at the same pace, meeting again and again in tiny towns and shared kitchens. These are the moments when experiences are shared, many from people navigating turning points in their lives: after bereavement, separation, retirement, graduation. The road has a way of drawing honesty from people. Anthropologists call this liminality – the space between one status and the next, where old roles fall away and new ones have yet to form. On pilgrimage, we are all “in between,” and it makes us more open, more willing to listen, and perhaps more able to change.
What Pilgrimage Teaches
Wisdom, I’ve learned, lies in many people in many ways. Meeting fellow travellers of all types from all nations is a constant reminder that not everyone sees the world the same way – and that this is a gift, not a problem. Walking teaches patience and humility; it’s hard to be self-important when your day’s greatest triumph is finding shade or a cold drink.
It also supports my faith in humanity. Every pilgrimage reaffirms that 99.99% of people are fundamentally good – generous in spirit, open to strangers, ready to help without expectation. This truth feels especially precious in a world that often emphasises the opposite.
Spain and Italy: Two Roads, Two Rhythms
I’ve walked several routes – the Camino Francés twice, the Portuguese, the del Norte, the Inglés, and part of the Via Francigena from Lucca to Rome. Spain’s Caminos are well-supported, with pilgrim-only hostels (albergues) every few kilometres and a steady stream of walkers. Italy is different. The roads are quieter, the infrastructure sparser, and the encounters more unexpected.
Both have their pleasures. In Spain, the community is constant. In Italy, solitude is deeper, and so is the surprise when a fellow pilgrim appears at the edge of a piazza. And in both countries, the food is as much a part of the journey as the walking.
The Journey Ahead
The Via Francigena del Sud will take me through Lazio, Campania, Basilicata, and into Puglia. I’m especially looking forward to Matera, with its ancient cave dwellings and its reminders of crushing poverty – as Carlo Levi described in Christ Stopped at Eboli – that even the poorest regions have the capacity for resilience and humanity.
The final destination, Santa Maria di Leuca, sits at the very heel of Italy, where the Adriatic meets the Ionian Sea. It was once a stepping-off point for Crusaders bound for Jerusalem. Almost a thousand years later, the world still knows conflict, though in different forms and places. To arrive there will be to stand at a crossroads of history – and to feel part of a much longer human story.
The Practicalities (and the Pleasures)
My plan for every pilgrimage is to stay in the most basic accommodation possible: pilgrim hostels, monasteries, small-town B&Bs. The stripped-down life is part of the point. With everything I need on my back, life becomes disarmingly simple.
And here’s the joy for Jersey travellers: these pilgrimages can be done without setting foot on a plane. From my doorstep, I take the ferry to France, then trains all the way to Rome. The journey south begins before the first step from St Peter’s Square – it begins as the sea glides past the ferry window and the TGV races through France.
Why You Might Try It
Not everyone can commit to weeks on the road. But pilgrimage doesn’t have to be long to be meaningful. A day’s walk, done with intention and openness, can hold the same gifts: a slower pace, fresh encounters, and the space to listen – both to others and to yourself.
As the American writer Rebecca Solnit puts it, “Walking… is how the body measures itself against the earth.” And in doing so, perhaps we measure something else too – our place in the world, and the kindness it still holds.
People often ask me, Why do you walk these long caminos? The truth – and the mystery – is that I never really know until I reach the end. Only then do the scattered moments of the road knit together into something I can carry home. Pilgrimage is a metaphor for life in that way: its purpose is not always clear while you’re living it, but its meaning often arrives when you look back.
So, as I take that first step out of Rome, I’m reminded of the quiet truth that has drawn me back to the Camino each year: a pilgrimage is not only a way to see the world. It is a way to meet it – and yourself – anew.