Today is the 38th day since my 38 day Camino. I'm on a farm in County Sligo, Ireland, having traded my backpack for a golf bag, my baston (pilgrim staff) for a broom, and my feet for a rented Ford Escort. It's taken this long for the emotional dust to settle. (Photos)

My Camino began the very minute I decided that I would do it...all the obsessive training and planning are part and parcel of the Camino itself. The moment you start buying Camino books from Amazon and dropping in on Camino chat-rooms, you are hopelessly hooked with the challenge. When I finally took my first step on the actual Camino, on April 19th, in St Jean Pieds de Port, I abandoned all notions of self, determined to press on with an open mind. It was a little like that great American basketball player, Lebron James, who before each game, walks over to the scorer's table, grabs two handfuls of resin, and throws it into the air with complete abandon and delight.....as if casting his fate to the wind.

The Scotsman, Robert Mullen, in his book, "Call of the Camino", writes, "The Pilgrim, simply by setting off, initiates a change, and even more important than what the Pilgrim carries, is what gets left behind. A change of scene and routine awaits the Pilgrim, and much of what was hither to the case, ceases to be so. The pilgrim, in setting out, is set adrift."

What was once a comfort zone, so carefully crafted in my pre and post-retirement years, was no more. No longer was there a roof over my head when it was raining, or the privacy afforded by my own bedroom and bath. An unfamiliar language (despite a 90 day crash course), currency, and customs, provided additional stress, as well as the absence of family and friends. No longer would TV, sports, and entertainment insulate me from self-examination.

But Mullen then talks about the upside, when he says "The changed circumstance with which the Pilgrim is faced, at first confusing and disorienting, also brings about new stirrings, awakens what may have lain dormant, and accommodates unaccustomed thoughts. New ways may appear for telling old stories."

The first 2 weeks on the Camino provided five threads for me;

1) There is no such thing as 'training' for the Camino. My friend Peter says that we took 1.1 million steps in walking the Camino. That's 1.1 million decisions, because every time you take a step, it could be the one that rolls an ankle or tears a meniscus...remember getting old takes courage. I was amazed how I broke down physically, after training like a man possessed for over a year. Just the mule-like repetition of putting one foot in front of the other was difficult.

2) On the Camino, the past is just a memory and the future only imagined. You live intensely in the moment, so intense that sleep becomes difficult.

3) Time, finally and mercifully, slows down. A day is a week ago, last week a month ago...remember those endless summer days when you were ten years old?

4) The sometimes romantic notion of being ‘solitary man' or 'rugged individual' is no longer cool...or advisable...you will seek the company and camaraderie of fellow Pilgrims because you need and respect them. We were all little twigs floating along in the same river to the sea, and it was comforting.

5) The spiritual side of this endeavor is real, if you have an open mind. From the moment the priest at a Pilgrim mass in St Jean called all of us Pilgrims to the altar for his blessing, there was a sense of something greater than self, and something humbling.

The mountains of Navarre and vineyards of Rioja lasted for nearly two amazing weeks. It was like your first year in high school or college, full of awe, discovery and awakenings. But after Pamplona and Burgos came the Meseta of Castile and Leon. Nearly two weeks of high, treeless plains with wild weather and a surreal sense of isolation. Urban areas were replaced by small, dusty, spaghetti western-type villages, where life centered around the Pilgrim trade. Some characterize the Meseta as dull, boring and demanding. Many 'pilgrims' simply get on the bus in Burgos and ride the 150 miles to Leon, the next awesome Spanish city. If your concept of pilgrimage is to send your backpack to the next city, or walk half a day and ride the other half on your tour bus, or do one leg a year for five years, then you may find the Meseta boring. But this was where the rubber meets the road. If the first part of the Camino breaks you physically, the Meseta breaks you mentally. This is where you confront your demons. Many Pilgrims, including our little group, would walk alone, but always within a mile of each other. The time for introspection was at hand, and this was something I wanted. I began to think of my backpack as the sum total of who I am and what I needed. The people I was walking with suddenly became as important to me as any friendship I had known...Every moment was at once intense, but also soothing. And time stood still.

My walking partner from Day 1 was a German banker by the name of Manfred. He was my age and the most determined, practical, efficient and disciplined Pilgrim on the trail. He was spiritual, brilliant and extremely well-read. Shortly after meeting Manfred, I met Peter, a bison rancher from Wyoming and his most significant other, the beautiful Marion, a former model and world class photographer. At about the same time, I met Sherry, another photographer and professional travel writer, whose website draws some 30,000 hits a month. She was in the lower bunk, across the room in an albergue (hostel) with a nasty blister that Dr. Manfred had to attend to. He was honored along the Camino as the best amateur blister surgeon, possessing a mysterious white, unlabeled cream that had you on your feet the next day. Nobody lanced a blister better than Manfred, as the grateful Sherry would attest to. Into this group walked Ray, a Nabet technician for NBC Los Angeles. We all met him at Casa Molina, a rural guest house outside Burgos on first day. The place was used for three shots in the movie "The Way", with Martin Sheen. Ray and his friend Patricia rounded out the group that would walk the next 250 miles together. They were also the group that threw a birthday party for me in Sahagun, on May 9th. It started with a Pilgrim Mass (thank God for Peter, cause he never missed Mass), which morphed into the most delightful birthday supper. A dusty town square was the setting for our two tables, with Spanish kids playing soccer while their parents watched from their flowered balconies.....Oh, happy day it was.

The downside of the Meseta was just as real. There were times when Ray and I talked about our fierce desire to make it all the way to Santiago. Ray talked about the end justifying the means while Manfred muttered, "Ve vill not fail!" There were times of unexplained rushes of joy and tears of happiness, followed by an examination of all your failings and weaknesses. The Meseta both exalts and humbles you.

Leon marks the 300 mile point...you are now well over half way there, and the clock begins to assert itself again. You begin to let go of each day reluctantly, and they become more precious, with each expiration. This feeling is enhanced by the fact that the Camino always heads due West, so the sun is always setting.  But the Camino is also in its last act, and it is a worthy crescendo. Between the beautiful cities of Astorga and Ponferrada is the Cruz de Fero, the most sacred of Camino sites. It is 1500 meters above sea level and consists of a 30-foot iron cross on top a mountain of man-placed stones and pebbles. Pilgrims bring these stones across Spain with them and place them at the foot of the cross. They remember why they made the journey and pray for the disabled and sick loved ones in their life, as well as the departed. Manfred and I had just walked through the half deserted village of Foncebadon, rumored to be rife with wild dogs, before arriving at the Cruz. The mist was creepy as we walked around a deserted house in front of a fog-encircled albergue, only to hear the strains of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. We had a cafe con leche as Manfred directed the vocals in Schiller's Ode to Joy. It was absolutely surreal and set the table for the Cruz to follow.

If one mountain weren't enough, O'Cebreiro was next, it too at 5000 feet. But this mountain was also the gateway to Galicia, the fourth and final province in the Camino, and home to the fabled Santiago. Once again, you trade in your tee-shirt and tan for a fleece that seems far too roomy for you, after 400 miles on the Road.

Sarria is 75 miles from Santiago. Sometime ago, the powers to be decided that if a Pilgrim walked from this town to Santiago, they would earn the same Compostelo that my group had walked 500 miles for. Aside from sour grapes, this also meant that there were many more Spaniards on the Road, and albergue beds would be at a premium. The NABET guy, Ray, had to go back to LA early to prep for the London Olympics, but he made sure that Manfred and I were booked in all the hostels he stayed in walking two days ahead of us. The bison rancher had done this eons ago.......and Sherry played everything by ear. Before becoming a travel writer, she used her MBA in the business financial world of NYC, and had a sign on her desk that read, "Do something dangerous today!"  This motto had led her from the heights of Kilimanjaro to the plains of Mongolia, from the albergues of the Camino to the 5 star hotels hoping for a kind word from her. If you want the last word in the Camino, with the most fantastic photography in tow, check out her website at www.ottsworld.com

Manfred, Sherry, Peter, Marion and I walked into Santiago together. I cannot adequately describe the sense of joy of seeing the cathedral Santiago from a distance. Sherry sent us all emails the night before with the you-tube clip of the Yellow Brick road from the" Wizard of Oz" ....and maybe she wasn't far wrong. When you walk into the square fronting the Cathedral, you realize that you have done something terribly important in your life...and you really feel elated when, after proper inspection of your Pilgrim's passport, with all the proper stamps along the Way, you are rewarded with your Compstela. The inspector asks you where you started, whether you walked all the way, and why you did it...if satisfied, he writes your name in Latin, and hands you a prized possession.

That night we all celebrated. While walking through the tunnel next to the cathedral, two Italian tenors were singing for their supper. They started the unmistakable notes of "Nessum Dorma", made so popular in Europe after Pavarotti had sung it to open the winter Olympics at Turin. We all stopped. When they got to the part where they sing "Vinceros!", Vinceros!"(we have conquered!), we all joined in.

Before I sign off, I want to thank my wife, Eileen, for letting me do this...for supporting me fully. She always was my better four-fifths.

I also want to thank Santiago (St. James).  There were many moments when I thought I could not finish...then Peter and Manfred would take me to Pilgrim mass where I would always search out the statue of Santiago. He never let me down.

On the inside of my Pilgrim's passport, it reads, "God, you called your servant Abraham from Ur in Caldea, watching over him in all his wanderings, and guided the Hebrew people as they crossed the desert. Guard these your children who, for love of your name make a pilgrimage to Compostela. Be their companion on the Way, their guide at the crossroads, their strength in weariness, their defense in dangers, their shelter on the path, their shade in the heat, their light in darkness, their comfort in discouragement, and the firmness of their intentions; that through your guidance, they may arrive safely at the end of their journey and enriched with grace and virtue, may return to their homes filled with salutary and lasting joy."