“Should we stop and give him some water and snacks?” Glenis was the first to speak. “Yes!” Of course. We turned the car and returned to stop on the opposite side of the road. “Should we all go?” Lulu took a tentative approach and Glenis agreed, “Yeah I think I’ll stay here, maybe it would be weird if all three of us ran across the road.” “Ok Bianca come with me.” We didn’t have much; a few bottles of cold water, some Gatorade and a fruit and nut bar.
As we approached we were greeted with a smile when we asked if he’d like some water and snacks. It was hot and there wasn’t a town close-by. By my reasoning he’d been walking for some hours. We asked how long he’d been walking for and casually he replied, “Oh I’ve been walking back between Queensland and Victoria for about 30 years now.” We didn’t expect that. I was at a loss for what to ask without sounding like a naive child.
I’d walked across a pilgrim route in the north of Spain, the Camino de Santiago, in 2011 and met many pilgrims who’d embarked on a journey; personal, religious, spiritual.. whatever. There was something special about walking. It gave you time to think. And many pilgrims return many times to walk again. I came to enjoy the peace, the solitude and the absolute mental clarity I found along ’the way.’
I was always unsure of who to call a pilgrim. Who to call a traveler. Traditionally a pilgrim is someone who is on a journey to a holy place for religious reasons. Some say the concept of a pilgrim or a pilgrimage refers to experience of life in the real world. Someone who embarks on a quest for something sacred; who seeks the meaning of existence.
With very few items on his back and far from the Camino we’d encountered John. John Cadoret. He’d embraced a life lived simply and had very little dependance on material items. He had plastic sheets under which he slept. Folded towels slid under hard leather backpack straps. His toothy grin radiated warmth and self-assurance. A pilgrim. This wasn’t a man troubled by the pressures of modern society.
We were inquisitive and asked a few questions which he answered calmly and matter-of-factly. He slept under shrubs. That dirty water was collected from a nearby dam. Every couple of years he’d clean out his backpack and throw things away. I wanted more time to ask him about everything. A man who’d been on a journey for 30 years would know a thing or two.
We thanked him for his time as we were about to leave. “All we’ve got is time,” came his casual response behind a toothy grin. I smiled.
