There’s No Wifi Here

Disconnecting on the Camino de Santiago

I spent most of July and August walking the Camino de Santiago, eight hundred kilometers from the French Pyrenees to the tomb of St. James in northwestern Spain. I brought my phone to take photos, and to stay in touch with my family and friends. I was not intending to be tied to it. One afternoon, I walked up to a bar where some Italian and Spanish pilgrims were sitting. My friend Francisco greeted me saying ‘sorry man, there’s no wifi here.’ I started to protest, but his point was made. In fact, my group had developed a routine. We would grab coffee, walk all morning, and take a late lunch break. Then we would walk for a couple more hours, and stop in the nearest town. We would find a bar or hostel with wifi (none of us had phone service), and spend the late afternoon not quite hanging out, not quite by ourselves; it’s a state I’ve heard people describe as alone together.

A few days later, I had another realization. While I spent most of the time every day walking by myself, the only moments when I was bored on the Camino were when my phone was out, but there was nothing new to see. I would refresh Facebook just in case, then switch over to Instagram or What’sApp. Nothing. Email? Nope. Eventually we made the decision to have defined ‘phone time’ and ‘together time.’ Still, sitting at dinner together, I would wonder what was happening on Facebook.

When I got home I had cell service again. And with reception returned the now-nearly-universal gesture of boredom: hand to hip. I am not being dramatic when I say that, sitting at my desk away from my phone, I can feel its absence in my left hip pocket.

I don’t regret bringing my phone with me at all; it was a great way to stay in touch and share photos. But I spent a lot of time simply waiting for something to entertain me, instead of being where I was. That is what I would do differently next time. And I want to do that differently now, too. I want to spend more time ‘walking the Camino,’ and less checking for meaningless updates.

That is the purpose of Sapwood; to be immersed totally in reality, and not hold it at a distance; to ask big questions and share real stories.

Patrick Tomassi writes from Portland, Oregon, where he teaches middle school and high school science and math. He walked the Camino de Santiago in the summer of 2014. If you enjoyed this story, follow Sapwood on Medium and Twitter!