Everything You Need to Know Before Walking the Camino de Santiago

 

When you travel the way we are, without the use of any jets, you stumble across places that don’t show up inside the Rick Steves or Frommer travel books. Vigo, Spain would be an example of that. It’s is a gem of a mid-sized city along the Atlantic Ocean just north of Portugal that also happens to be on one route of the famous Camino de Santiago, also known as the Way of Saint James or El Camino, the holiest and most popular of all Catholic pilgrimages in Europe. Given its importance, we knew we had to walk it. Part of our goal as we travelled the planet was to trek as many pilgrim trails and holy places as we could — Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, Christian.  Not that we knew much about the Camino Way, except a few insights from Wikipedia.  If we were going to go, Cyn and I agreed that we might want to do some research.

It’s not easy to describe the Camino Way because it isn’t really one, single pilgrimage trail that leads from point A to point B. It is a whole array of ways, more akin to the junctions and pathways of the human brain spread out all over western Europe with some tendrils linked to the Middle East where St. James, the Apostle of Jesus Christ, was beheaded. You can therefore tread over any number of Camino Ways. The main thing is that in the end you make it to the apostle’s grave.

St. James - Peter Paul Rubens

James was a first cousin of Christ and, along with Peter and John (James’s younger brother), considered Christ’s favorite. After Jesus was crucified, James made a point of spreading the word about his cousin’s remarkable story and beliefs, and at one point made his way clear to a Spanish port now known as Camino Finisterre, a cape beyond Santiago, meaning “the end of the world,” literally; a place where the craggy igneous rocks of the north Spanish coast meet the thundering waves of the Atlantic Ocean. (We visited there later and it surely did look like the end of the world, but that’s another story.)

St. James had also apparently spent time in a little village nearby eventually given the name of Santiago de Compostela and the locals developed an affection for him. After James’s unfortunate death, the story goes that his disciples brought him back from Jerusalem to the place they felt he loved most. The name Santiago comes from the Latin genitive Sancti Iacobi, “the church or sanctuary of Saint James” and evolved through Portuguese into Sanct-tiago, from its derivatives Diego/Diogo. Now, more than two thousand years later, a massive cathedral sits over the saint’s simple grave, and during that time millions of saints and sinners, beggars and kings, even Charlemagne himself, have walked the Way of St. James in all of its iterations.

Anyone can walk the El Camino any time he or she likes and after we poked around at a Spanish map, we decided Vigo would make an excellent place to begin. It was one of the shorter routes — 100 kilometers, a 60-mile hike along the far western edge of Spain, and it was just north of where we were at the time in Portugal.

First job, get from Portugal to Vigo.

Getting to the Beginning

Through much of June we had been working our way from southern Portugal north with stops to Porto, Braga, Nazarre, Fatima and Aveiro, known as the Venice of Portugal. We had now settled briefly in a lovely beach town called Costa Nova, which seemed to have dropped like a gift out of the sky. Its huge sandy shoreline was as empty as nuns in a brothel, and we loved its striped homes, quiet streets and cool breezes. We set a July 4 deadline, which made it time for a return trip to Porto there to deposit our rental car at the Campanha Railway Station and hop the 7:10 PM train to Vigo. Once aboard, the train rattled and screeched us north on rails that would take us just a hair beyond the Portuguese border. We passed small homes, with their orange terra-cotta roofs and then as the sun dropped over the Atlantic threaded our way through hills of pine, peach, eucalyptus and towering birch trees that danced in the stiff evening wind.

It was dark when we made the half mile walk to the Hotel Atlantico, our home for the next few days. Behind the hotel desk we found an elderly man with thinning hair and the serene face of a Capuchin monk who signed us in. He moved with the speed of a tombstone, or maybe it was that after the day we had had we simply wanted to get immediately in our beds. But there is always the credit cards and passports and the mangled interlocutions of unfamiliar languages and, inevitably, “how long are you staying.” By now it was now 11 PM. But once in our comfortable room, “nature’s soft nurse” as Shakespeare put it, had us soon snoring away.

Camino de Santiago Packing Tips, Preparations and Camino Way Credentials

We spent the next two days prepping for our self-guided tour of the El Camino. We needed to re-provision basics like shampoo and deodorant and figure out the bare minimum we would need. Then there was the problem of transferring our excess baggage while we trekked the pilgrim trail. I wanted to investigate new shoes too. We were looking at walking an average of 10 miles a day on our 60-mile hike.  (I didn’t buy the shoes until AFTER we arrived.) And we needed our “passport,” our El Camino credentials. Nearly anyone who walks the El Camino carries this piece of paper that can be stamped at villages, restaurants and hotels where you stay; proof you truly made the spiritual pilgrimage. Generally, you picked these little pamphlets up at a local catholic church.

Luckily, there was a cathedral directly across the boulevard from the Hotel Atlantico. Cyndy and I crossed the street three times to pick up our passport, but it wasn’t until the third try that we found the church doors open. Once inside I was fear-struck. But why? Was it my childhood as a catholic altar boy mixed with the dread and power of the enormous church inside that was the culprit? Hesitantly I walked to the sacristy door, certain that when I knocked a rogue nun would slap my wrist or shake me by the shoulders and waggle her finger at me for daring to invade the sacred privacy of the place.  But finally, I did knock on the big wooden door, very quietly.  Me, a heathen agnostic, fallen from the Church, wanting not a soul-cleansing journey to a sacred place, but nothing other than a credential for some personal adventure. I had interviewed Nobel Laureates, shaken hands with Henry Kissinger and met who knew how many celebrities, but here I was petrified.

The door opened. An elderly, kindly priest stood before me. He wore his cassock and collar. His hair was dark and thinning. He smiled at me. I stuttered out my purpose for being there in a few syllables of mangled Spanish. A two euro contribution was usually expected in exchange for the passport, but I only had one euro or €20. Did he have change? He gently waved his hand away. The money was unnecessary, and then handed me the “passport.” I felt right then that he must be the kindest man in the world, and thanked him far too many times. Outside I showed the piece of paper to Cyndy and grinned. I knew now that we were officially on "The Way."

Packed for six days of nonstop hiking. Everything a pilgrim could need.

Exactly how we would make our way along the Camino remained unclear since I could find no detailed map that pertained to our specific route. We only knew there were small towns and villages we would try to reach by day’s end. How we connected the dots was another matter, mostly left to our phones. The afternoon before departure, we did take the time to find the Vigo Trailhead and then we headed back to re-organize our bags. The Hotel had kindly agreed to let us keep most of our possessions with the two bags we normally carried everywhere in a locked room. All of the rest we stuffed like sausages into our little REI daypacks — a few pairs of pants, shorts and shirts, caps to protect us against Spain’s hot summer sun, power cords and enough toiletries to get us through six days and nights.  The next morning, we would head out and join the other millions who had made this pilgrimage.

We had no idea what was coming. But that’s the way it is with journeys. You never know what lay before you.

July 4 - On the Way and a Bagpipe

We walked out of the Hotel Atlantico, a full breakfast in our bellies, and headed north. Three miles in, on the outskirts of Vigo, we departed the urban pavement and the tan adobe houses and apartments capped with terra cotta roofs that surrounded us. Now it was only the crunch of sandy, rocky soil beneath our feet.

Brimming Garden near Vigo Estuary

On our right, we rose into steep hills brimming with small gardens; on our left the immense Vigo estuary, and its cargo ships anchored in the nearby waters. Once we crested the hill we found ourselves in a forest along a ridge high above the water. It was already 80º Fahrenheit, but cooler here. We could have been walking through the very woods that thousands had trekked 300 or 400 years in the past. We saw not a single sign of the 21st century. And then we heard the strains of a bagpipe. A bagpipe! Slowly the sound grew, and when we rounded a bend, there among the trees, near a babbling creek, we saw Maria, a young, dark-haired woman, cheeks puffed and fingers flying as she played a lovely Scottish melody. What the …!

Maria greeted us as though we were old friends and just happened to be passing by. She spoke excellent English with a Celtic lilt and explained the bagpipes. This part of Spain is known as Galicia, an area settled by early Celts even before the Romans showed up over 2000 years ago. (Galicia derives from the same word as Gaelic.) Celts ran this part of the world south to Porto and as far east as Léon. The bagpipe was an interesting musical move, I thought. Personally, I might have preferred a guitar or piccolo; a little easier on the ears, but the squawk of the old instrument made an undeniable statement. There was no mistaking it was Celtic because I have yet to hear a bagpipe anywhere else in Spain except in the arms of this uncommon woman. And for her part, it happened to be the instrument she knew best.

Beginner’s Rules for Walking the Camino Way - Avoid Blisters

We couldn’t spend too much time with Maria, delightful as she was. We had another 10 miles to cover if we were to make the little town of Arcade north of the estuary. So we gulped down some water, gobbled a handful of gorp and made a contribution to Maria before waving goodbye. A few more miles brought us down a wickedly steep paved street, back to sea level. That was where the blisters started. At first it began as a slight burning, but after descending several hundred vertical feet, I was pretty sure my right toe had caught fire. Luckily Cyn’s feet remained intact, at least for now. We walked through the small town, trying make sure we were following on the right path. This was not always easy. Sometimes you would see a sign that looked like the yellow rays of the sun against a blue back drop (often described as a clamshell) or sometimes simply a bright yellow arrow pointing you in the right direction. But here, passing through this village, we were back on urban streets and there was no sign to be found. We had seen some other pilgrims and followed them, hoping they knew their way around better than we did. My feet were scorched, and I had no desire to add to the day’s mileage.

In between creative ways to guide pilgrims, Cyn walks the 14 miles on our first day

I’ll spare you the details, but after another seven miles, through hills, cobble-stoned streets and the along a major highway where massive trucks whipped by in the afternoon heat (yes this was part of the El Camino too), we finally saw the edges of the small town of Arcade. We had both begun to feel we might never get there. The heat had wrung us out, our dogs were yelping and the blossoming blisters on my right foot felt as though they had been blow torched.

Thankfully, Cyndy had found a fine little restaurant/hotel in the center of town right across a tiny church where the statue of a medieval pilgrim stood, a reminder of our roots. Our pedometer showed we had walked 14 miles.

Nothing to your average Roman foot soldier, but it had decidedly taxed our physical endurance. It was stupid of me to have failed to bring the moleskin I almost always carried so once in our room I had no choice but to split the blisters and wrapped them with a few band aids. We showered and made for the little restaurant below, ravenous.  Our kindly waiter, handsome, 55, with a great head of thick, gray hair atop his square body immediately saw to our needs. He was almost as kindly as Said, the waiter we had gotten to know in Fez, Morocco. The specialty for the evening was cuttlefish, a cousin to squid and octopus, so we ordered it, and then consumed it as if we had never eaten before, which made the restaurant’s tiny chef no end of proud. It really was delicious, pulled, I suspected, directly out of the bay nearby and flash grilled to perfection with roasted vegetables and potatoes. That, chilled white and bread with olive oil made us both almost forget our cranky feet.

Next up: Day 2 of the Camino where we meet a priest and his delightful, trekking entourage of Philippine teenagers. And some revelations about journeys as an allegory for life.

If you are interested in learning about other routes you can take to Santiago de Compostela throughout Europe, explore here …

Other Camino Pilgrimage Routes in Europe

These are the primary pilgrimage routes leading to Santiago de Compostela:

Camino Francés (French Way): The most popular route, starting from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in France and spanning approximately 780 km to Santiago de Compostela.

Camino Portugués (Portuguese Way): Begins in Lisbon or Porto, traversing northern Portugal into Spain.

Camino del Norte (Northern Way): Follows Spain’s northern coast from Irún to Santiago, covering about 817 km.

Camino Primitivo (Original Way): The oldest route, starting in Oviedo and merging with the Camino Francés in Melide.

Camino Inglés (English Way): Traditionally used by pilgrims arriving by sea, starting from Ferrol or A Coruña.

Via de la Plata: A longer route from Seville in southern Spain, covering approximately 1,000 km.

Camino Finisterre: Extends beyond Santiago to Cape Finisterre, historically considered the "end of the world.

Le Puy Route (Chemin du Puy):A French route starting in Le Puy-en-Velay, joining the Camino Francés in Spain.

This is Dispatch XXXVII in a series about a Vagabond’s Adventures - journalist and National Geographic Explorer Chip Walter and his wife Cyndy’s effort to capture their experience exploring all seven continents, all seven seas and 100+ countries, never traveling by jet.

If you’ve enjoyed this dispatch, please take a look at Chip’s other adventures (and misadventures) … and don’t forget to check the Vagabond Journal and our Travel Recommendations to help you plan YOUR next adventure.

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Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/camino-de-santiago-europes-most-famous-christian-pilgrimage-what-to-expect

 

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The Ultimate List: 10 Greatest Travel-Adventure Books of All Time

 

10. Into Thin Air - By John Krakauer

Despite being a true story about a misbegotten group of tourists attempting to climb the summit of Mt. Everest, John Krakauer’s book often leaves even fine novels in the literary dust. The story he tells rises, like the great peak itself, slowly, and then builds to a remarkable climax. Each of the characters is brought alive by Krakauer’s careful and detailed descriptions as they make their way upward; their backstories carefully tossed like seeds throughout the book so that when the climax (or multiple climaxes) arrive, the effect is horrifying, sad, exhilarating and satisfying all at the same time. The research Krakauer did to write the book places him in the pantheon of great narrative non-fiction writers like Tom Wolfe and Truman Capote. If you haven’t bought it, do so now and enjoy every minute. On Barnes & Noble.

9. Seven Pillars of Wisdom - By T. E. Lawrence

In this book T.E. Lawrence, the inspiration for the epic David Lean film Lawrence of Arabia, relates his own rise among the Arab tribes to help overthrow Ottoman rule during World War I. It’s an astounding story and whatever you may say of the outcome, it stands as one of the most remarkable military and human tales of the 20th century. Lawrence describes his role in what he called “a procession of  Arab freedom from Mecca to Damascus;” a series of battles that changed the face of the Middle East and helped meld tribes into the nation states we know as the Middle East. The experience tried his own mental and emotional mettle as he endured torture, thirst, horror and personal loss as well as military success. His writing, which can occasionally be overly dramatic, is also moving and eloquent. “For years we lived anyhow with one another in the naked desert,” he writes, “under the indifferent heaven. By day the hot sun fermented us; and we were dizzied by the beating wind. At night we were stained by dew, and shamed into pettiness by the innumerable silences of the stars.” The story does not digress; it is detailed, realistic and unflinching, and it pins you to each page like a spell because the cultures, climate, locations, politics, dangers and remarkable characters are unlike anything the world ever seen. On Amazon.

8. South - By Sir Ernest Shackleton

In 1914, veteran adventurer Ernest Henry Shackleton set sail to anchor his ship Endurance on the ice of Antarctica and then walk the length of the new and unknown continent, a feat that had never been accomplished or even attempted before. He dreamed that fame and fortune would follow. He was right, it did, but not for the reasons he thought. He failed at his goal, but then went on to lead one of the most remarkable rescues in the history of human adventure. Shackleton’s team was undone before they began when ice floes destroyed the Endurance and forced them to abandon it. Though they unloaded provisions from the ship, they were without shelter, limited food and nowhere near any sort of help. For  nearly 17 months they trudged across ice floes, hauling three lifeboats with them until in April 1916, Shackleton decided to plunge the lifeboats into the sea and sail for some spit of land. Five days later they found Elephant Island, a place never inhabited by humans. It was the first time the 28 men had stood on solid ground in 497 days. But Elephant Island was hardly a safe haven. On April 24th, Shackleton set out with five other crew members into the open sea with one of his 20 foot boats. The other two he left with the remaining crew. They promptly flipped them over into makeshift cabins where the 22 men planned to live until rescued.  For 800 miles Shackleton’s little lifeboat fought heavy seas, frigid cold and Force-9 winds. Yet, somehow, after 18 days at sea, Shackleton and their skiff made it to the island of South Georgia. But they had arrived on the opposite side of help. So with two other crew members, Shackleton spent the next two days crossing the island’s treacherous landscape until at last he found a whaling station. From there, after several failed attempts, he managed to get back to Elephant Island on a tugboat to rescue the remaining 22 men. When he arrived August 30, 1916, in the dead of the astral winter, every one of them was still alive.  This story doesn’t carry the elegance and force of a masterful writer like Saint-Exupery or Ted Simon or John Steinbeck, but it doesn’t have to because the story itself is so remarkable. Drama is on nearly every page, and you can’t help but want to know, how will they make it! And the photos that accompany the book are remarkably stark and beautiful. (You can buy an e-book version of this book with original maps, pictures and drawings for $2.99 at our Vagabond Adventure store.

7. The Great Railway Bazaar - by Paul Theroux

The 1970s were a time when baby boomers were growing into adulthood and some of them did not want to spend their days in faceless factories or corporate offices. That included Paul Theroux who decided to travel from London across Europe, through the sub-continent, down Southeast Asia, then circle back to London by way of Japan and and the length of Russia, all by train. He wrote The Great Railway Bazaar in 1975  when travel books had a dirty name, and along with Bruce Chatwin and Ted Simon brought back the thrill of new cultures and dangerous deeds like Patrick Leigh Fermor and Richard Halliburton did when they mastered the form in the 1930’s and 40s. Theroux is a writer with guts and a remarkable eye for the significant detail. The pages of this book bring the story alive with beauty and insight and absolute honesty. He never shies from the truth as he sees it, which can be brutal, funny, surprising and moving, the very elements you want to see in any story. On Amazon.

6. Alive: The Story of the Andes Survivors - By Piers Paul Read

British writer Piers Paul Read’s Alive is one of the most riveting escape and rescue stories yet written. In some ways it surpasses Ernest Shakleton’s South. In 1972 a jet with 45  members of an Uruguayan Rugby team and their families and friends crashed in the Andes mountains. Sixteen people, traumatized and injured, somehow survived, but their prospects for living very much longer were long. They faced temperatures well below zero at 11,000 feet with little food. The two and a half months the group lived together created a crucible out which extraordinary decisions were made. They survived storms, frigid cold, an avalanche, and the anguish of losing so many loved ones by creating a miniature social system that was an object lesson in human in courage, determination and the finest in human behavior. Daily duties were divided, and food was rationed, including the grisly decision to eat the bodies of the crash victims, often members of their own families. There were squabbles and deep concerns over the eating of the victims of the crash, and not everyone pulled their weight, but the system worked. In the end, the group agreed to increase rations for two leaders, Roberto Canessa and Nando Parrado, so they could attempt to hike out of the mountains and save the group. For two weeks, carrying make shift sleeping bags and gear created by the survivors, they scaled a 15,000 foot mountain peak and hiked for ten days and 38 miles to the valleys of Chile where exhausted they finally found help. Read tracked down the survivors when the world heard their story and interviewed all 16 in immense detail. He toyed with fictionalizing some parts of the book (he was a novelist, former writer for the BBC and the Sunday Times), but decided that simply telling the story as clearly as possible was enough. He was right. If you aren’t utterly smitten but this book, I’ll buy you dinner. On Barnes & Noble.

5. In Patagonia — By Bruce Chatwin

For shear beauty of phrase and description, Bruce Chatwin’s book is difficult to top. But even better is his remarkable story telling ability. Once you begin to read In Patagonia, the book becomes your companion. And even when you put the book down, his words reverberate.  With the publication of this book in 1977, Chatwin helped revive travel writing when publishers had lost interest in the art. Chatwin himself said he didn’t see the book as a travelogue. Instead he meant it as a series of stories he wanted to tell as he worked his way by foot and bus and thumb across some of the wildest territory on earth. And he succeeds somehow weaving in tales like tracking the house down where Butch Cassidy lived, to mesmerizing fables about unicorns and Bigfoot like creatures shared by the people he meets. As he travels, you have  the sense of movement and travel, but you would be hard pressed to know what route he took precisely though the vast land. It doesn’t matter, though because in so many ways the book is a journey, but one of the mind. You’re enthralled with geology and history and myth, and above all the remarkable people he stumbles into. In this way, the book is utterly unique and unfailingly engaging. On Barnes & Noble.

4. Travels with Charley: In Search of America  - By John Steinbeck

Not long after Steinbeck wrote My Travels With Charlie (1962), he was awarded the Nobel Prize for his remarkable and considerable body of work (The Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men to name just two of his masterworks). My Travels reminds you why. The book was Steinbeck’s personal effort to reconnect and understand America by circling the nation during the 1960s in a camper of his own design with his dog Charlie. On their journey he reveals bits of nation, its people, its varied cultures and himself, one simple story at a time to create a timeless mosaic. It’s not a travel adventure in the mold of South or The Worst Journey In the World, but its is a quietly powerful adventure nevertheless, steady, engaging, always insightful in the Steinbeck’s beautiful and direct language, and his unerring ability to capture dialogue.  Don’t think that the time difference makes the story stale. As with all of Steinbeck’s work, the writing is direct, but deep. Especially in this book you feel as though you are sitting down with a close friend as he reflects with disarming humor and intelligence all that he sees and experiences with the wry and authentic eye of a true genius. On Barnes & Noble.

3. Wind, Sand and Stars - by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Wind, Sand and Stars - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s most famous book is his children’s classic, The Little Prince, but his most beautiful and exciting book is The Wind, Sand and the Stars, tales of his days as an aviator for Aeropostale (later Air France) in the 1920s and 30s. It is simply one of the most beautiful books ever written, unless you don’t care for enthralling human insight, epic vision or love of the written word put to the pen of a master story-teller. Saint-Exupery was among a group of early aviators who faced danger the way knights of old slayed dragons. A flier first and a writer later, he skated through the skies on single-wing, sing-propeller craft at a time when by-the-seat-of-your-pants was the primary way to get to and from exotic locations like Casablanca, Tangier,  Cairo, Dakar, Argentina, Paraguay and Chile. The book is rich with daredevil adventures, near death experiences, stark beauty and the wonder of flight when flight was still a miracle. A key theme is that while flying these early contraptions annihilated time and distance unlike anything else before. It also opened the world to unknown cultures and people, and forced an appreciation for nature’s stunning and awful power.  Each chapter is broad and varied, but Saint-Exupéry fuses them with common themes of courage, honor, empathy and high purpose.  They read almost like fables, but stunningly rich fables, because in the end it is Saint-Exupery’s extraordinary mind and heart and command of language that raise the book far above mere autobiography or memoir. Yet, he is always humble and modest. His love of the common man is in every word. To learn more, read my article “A Prisoner of the Sands” about Saint-Exupery’s near death experience when his airplane crashed in the Sahara Desert. On Amazon.

2. The Worst Journey In the World - By Apsley Cherry—Garrard

It’s an unlikely title that lead National Geographic to choose  Worst Journey as the greatest adventure book ever written, but it is a classic, and absolutely true to its title. In 1911 Robert Falcon Scott, already a redoubtable British explorer, brought 11 men with him to Antarctica to become the first humans to reach the South Pole.  Scott would be racing another expedition, Norwegian Roald Amundsen’s competing party who were just as determined to succeed. Scott lost the race to Amundsen, but the story of his heroic effort lives on in this book written by one of the survivors, 23-year-old Apsley Cherry-Garrard. At least as astounding as the race to the pole, is Cherry-Garrard’s telling of another hair-raising expedition that began before the polar run with Scott. Cherry-Garrard and two others man-hauled two sledges into the teeth of Austral winter to locate and return the unhatched eggs of emperor penguins.  Nearly every day for weeks they fought temperatures 50 degrees below zero and winds of 100 mph. At one point winds whipped their tent away. Somehow, through all of this they, survived. Both of these stories, and Cherry-Garrard’s frank and powerful first person descriptions of what he and the members underwent, make for riveting reading that still stands up despite being exactly 100 years old. Included are unique maps and the stunning drawings and sketches Edward Wilson created to reveal a frozen world like nothing the human race had seen. Maps and photos of the team, even as they neared death, are also included. That alone makes the book worth reading. For me, this is truly one of the world’s most memorable adventure stories. It brought both the fear and exaltation of hazard and courage directly into my hands and I found it mesmerizing. I think you will too. (For more information read my article describing the remarkable journey in the dead of the Antarctic winter. An e-book version of this book with updated preface and original maps, pictures and drawings is also available for $2.99 at our Vagabond Adventure store.

1. Jupiter’s Travels - By Ted Simon

The last I heard Ted Simon is still alive at 90 and still riding his motorcycle. But in 1973 when he convinced the Sunday Times to back his idea of traveling the world on a motorcycle, he didn’t even have a motorcycle license. (After failing the test once, he did manage to pass shortly before departing.) The experience took Simon 64,000 miles, across 45 countries and through every adventure imaginable from being thrown into a Brazilian prison for ten days, to wrecking his motorcycle in Africa, to moments of ecstasy in Peru. He even fell in love in a California commune. Simon’s special talent (he has so many) is not simply his ability to describe what he sees, but to reflect on his experiences in profound, moving and often hilarious ways. His ability to look inside his own mind and then relate those thoughts and feelings to his readers is truly remarkable and often as powerful as any insight you might hear from the novels of Tolstoy or James Joyce. Sometimes his descriptions, internal or external, are so beautiful, that I found myself putting the book down not to stop reading, but to savor the phrases like an excellent wine.  Never egotistical, his unique and eloquent insights teach us about ourselves as much as about him and the people he meets. That he managed all of this on a single motorcycle in the span of four years is both remarkable and courageous, and you feel it on every page. The book never flags. On Amazon.

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/the-10-greatest-adventure-and-travel-books-ever

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The Hunt for Butch Cassidy’s Ranch: Chasing a Wild West Legend

 The Legend of Butch Cassidy

When you’re a fugitive, with the best detective agency in the Americas on your trail, being 16 hundred miles from anywhere important is probably a good tactic.

It was 1901 when Butch Cassidy, the affable leader of the Wild Bunch gang, known for a streak of railroad heists and bank robberies in the American West, took his “winnings” to Argentina, a country that would cultivate a reputation for concealing notorious refugees. Seeking a quieter life, Cassidy and his two companions Henry Longbaugh (The Sundance Kid) and Etta Place (Sundance’s girlfriend and possible wife) settled in the town of Cholila at the base of the Andes known as the Pre-Corderrilla, near the Chilean border. There they bought a homestead and 12,000 acres of land, determined to go straight and lay low.

The Pinkerton Detective Agency, who had been after the gang in the United States, was not directly involved in tracking Cassidy to South America. Pinkerton could not close the deal to finance Butch’s capture. But by 1903 they knew his whereabouts in South America, and there was a bounty of $10,000 on the heads of the Wild Bunch.

The “family of 3” managed to scrape out a living with a few hundred cattle and a thousand sheep, becoming well-respected in the Corderrilla. But two factors made a peaceable life impossible. The first was the bounty. The second, of course, is that trouble finds troublemakers and after five years as a citizen, Butch reunited with some former “colleagues” who found their way to Cholila.

By 1905, the re-minted Wild Bunch was at it again, taking their act to a bank in Santa Cruz and two years later another bank in San Luis. With the increased scrutiny from law enforcement, it was time to go. Etta returned to the States while Butch sold the ranch and made for Bolivia with Sundance.

How the legendary outlaws died is a mystery. Historians favor the murder-suicide theory while the pair were trapped, surrounded by scores of soldiers, in Bolivia. Other legends have them meeting their fate in Uruguay. The most intriguing theory is that Butch faked his own death in Bolivia and simply went home to Utah. A credible account by Cassidy’s sister places him in Circleville, Utah in 1925 and later dying in Washington State. Unfortunately, all attempts to find his remains have failed.

The most popularized fiction has the men dying in a Bolivian firefight, trapped in a building and surrounded by the Bolivian Army. That’s the version told in the 1969 movie Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Tired, wounded, out of options, the men burst from the structure to meet their fate in a blaze of glory. If you haven’t seen the movie yet, it’s worth a watch. Ironically, however, the movie did not include the gang’s time in Argentina.

As is the nature of folk heroes, following his death, Cassidy could be found fraternizing with Pancho Villa in Mexico, driving model Ts through the American West, prospecting in Alaska, and touring San Francisco, probably with Elvis.

And the fate of the land? Although occupied as recently as 25 years ago by a Chilean family, today the Cassidy ranch is abandoned. Bruce Chatwin, in In Patagonia, described his own hunt for the Cassidy ranch in 1974. “The countryside had not changed much since the turn of the century. The cabins were in decay, but the structures still stood.” Although there isn’t much left today, fans of the movie would be enthralled by this site. That is certainly what drove me and Cyndy to track down the ranch. I wasn’t easy …

Crossing the Chilean - Argentine Border to Bariloche

The border crossing from Puerto Montt to Bariloche is 8 hours, partly because it takes a long time to get through two border crossings: one at Chile and another in Argentina. I have never seen such a border crossing. Each one takes an hour, at least. This turns out to be a more challenging passage than we originally expected. Taking a rental car across the border into Argentina is prohibitively expensive. Even “puddle jumper” service between the cities is absent. The least bad option seems to be a bus.

These are some pictures of the Argentine border with its towering mountains (and a flag), desiccated forests and motorcycle enthusiasts who drive through Patagonia. Mostly they come from Germany or France. We’re not sure why the forests were destroyed. Possibly from a volcano eruption about 10 years earlier.

On Our Way to San Carlos de Bariloche

San Carlos de Bariloche, or Bariloche, is a city in Argentine Patagonia, located at the edge of Nahuel Huapi National Park. Founded in 1902, it aimed to capitalize on the region’s natural beauty, attracting European immigrants, particularly from Germany and Switzerland, who influenced its distinctive Alpine-style architecture. The expansion of the Argentine railway system helped make Bariloche a popular tourist destination, especially for winter sports at Cerro Catedral, which opened in the 1930s.

The city also became notable during World War II, serving as a refuge for various expatriates, some with controversial backgrounds. Today, Bariloche is famous for its chocolate shops, vibrant food scene, and outdoor activities like hiking and skiing. With a population of around 100,000, it blends its rich history with a lively modern atmosphere, making it a captivating stop for those exploring Patagonia.

The bus finally got us to the charming tourist town of Bariloche. It sits along the glacial, alpine lake Nahuel Huapi. It is immense and absolutely pristine. It reminded me of Tahoe but prettier, deeper, bigger.

From there we picked up our rental car to begin the search for the ranch in Cholila, 3.5 hours south. They had bought the property with the money they made robbing banks in Montana and Utah. That was when The Union Pacific hired the Pinkerton Detective Agency to bring them in dead or alive. The bounty was over $10,000 for the two bank robbers. More on that later.

Late in the afternoon, we skirted the dusty road of Bariloche and headed South with Nahuel Huapi on our right. The sun was descending as we drove and made the Pre-cordillera mountains fierce and fiery. The sky felt like passion and love.

Very soon afterward, it was dark. Nothing buy us, the winding road and the occasional 18 wheeler.

Arrival in Cholila

Cholila was founded in the late 1800s, primarily as a settlement for settlers drawn to the region’s fertile land. The town became a key location for agriculture and livestock farming, which remain significant to its economy today. Throughout the early 20th century, it developed a reputation as a rugged frontier town. The surrounding area was once home to indigenous Mapuche communities, and remnants of their history can still be found. Cholila's remote location contributed to its slower development, allowing it to retain a more laid-back atmosphere compared to other Argentine towns. This blend of history and natural beauty continues to shape its identity today.

We arrived in the town of Cholila in the dead of night.

Our GPS told us to drive across 10 more miles of dirt roads to get to the place we’re staying - La Pilarica. Mostly fisherman go there to relax and fly fish the nearby river. Bill and Vivian run the place and were there when we arrived close to midnight. Bill had hand built the hostel 19 years ago and he and his wife run it. They did quite a job!

Through bits of Spanish and English Bill told me his family had come to the region early in the 20th century. His grandfather ran a mule team (160 mules) that hauled wool from Cholila to Puerto Madryn on the Atlantic coast. Nasty work. Bill said, he was known as the best mule team operator in southern Chile. And he probably knew Butch. Everyone did, because everyone in the town loved him, Etta and Sundance though they probably didn’t know who, precisely, they were, including the mayor and sheriff. One hundred and twenty years later later the town hasn’t changed much.

The Search for the Butch Cassidy Ranch

After breakfast provided by Bill and Vivian, we began searching for the outlaws. We passed some local gauchos down the road, waved and then bounce onto Cholila. We knew to look for the police because the ranch house is supposedly near by.

On the road outside of town, we found Cholila’s one local policeman. He seemed terrified to see me. I ask if he knew where Cassidy’s ranch was and he indicates up the road to the right but I don’t understand a word of detail and he doesn’t understand any of my English. “Donde esta casa de Butch Cassidy” is the best I can do. We continue into the pampa. See the video for more.

On the search we find a small ranch. I think maybe this is it. But it isn’t. A local, quite toothless but very helpful, sits with me. I suggest a map and we work on that, drawing pictures in the dirt. Then we head off again in a new direction. For miles we bounce along until we hit a creek too deep to risk fording in our little VW. As we prepare to head back, we run into some German tourists who speak English. They give us specific directions. And we head back another way much closer to the police station!! That’s me talking to them in their car.

Found Butch Cassidy’s!!!

We made it! Signs all around saying “Cassidy” confirm our hunch. The grounds are unattended, but we are helped along by arrows pointing to the closed, but inviting gate. We pass through to wander the remains.

The ranch features several original structures, including a main house built from sturdy timber and stone, reflecting practical construction. The house is simple, unadorned, with a sturdy porch offering sweeping views of the surrounding landscape, which is breathtaking. Inside, the layout is modest, with basic living spaces that would have accommodated Cassidy and his gang. It is mostly walls and spaces, however. Little remains besides the structures.

Other buildings on the site include old barns and stables, used for livestock and storage. I cannot tell which were for cattle and which were for horses. These buildings are showing signs of age, the wood weathering and the metal rusting. The remnants of corrals and fencing can still be seen, hinting at the ranch's functional past. It is not much different, I imagine, than what Chatwin saw nearly fifty years earlier.

Please watch the video series to take a stroll of the grounds and enjoy the photos below.

Pretty nice for 1901. Here are some still interiors of the living room, kitchen and a bedroom (I think).

Departing the Ranch

Afterwards we find a bar nearby that has a museum loaded with details about the ranch and the Hole in the Wall Gang that Butch Cassidy ran.That’s where you see the color video of Butch bottom right and Sundance bottom left. The other picture gives you a view of the mountains from the ranch. Looks a lot like Montana where Cassidy grew up. It’s easy to see why Butch would have liked it here.

I am catching up on some notes about tracking down the ranch that Butch Cassidy, the Sundance kid and Etta Place bought in Argentina after they were forced to leave the United States when they robbed so many banks and trains that an elite private posse was created to them down. They bought the ranch in 1901 and lived there five and seven years give or take. They actually became real citizens in the small town of Cholila, Argentina. They knew the mayor and became friends with a former sheriff from Montana (possibly inspired by the sheriff they meet in the movie). They lived a relatively quiet life - until some of the posse began to get close. At the time there was a bounty on each of their heads of $10,000 which was an enormously high price in those days. They sold the ranch, Etta Place returned to the United States, and Butch and Harry (the Sundance kid) headed north to Bolivia. Their time living in Argentina at the ranch isn’t mentioned in the famous movie Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid but they did eventually work in a mine in Bolivia and they may have robbed that mine, or they finally went back and made a big bank robbery in Bolivia and that was win the Banditos Yanquees were gunned down in that country. Or at least that’s what most people think. But some say that both survived and Butch Cassidy’s sister swears that her brother came back and visited her in Montana in the 1930s.

Of course, our inspiration for taking this side quest into Cholila comes from the love of both history and western cinema that naturally includes the 1969 Butch Cassidy film. If you enjoy stories of outlaws, the wild west, gangs, and heists, it’s probably your kind of movie too. Our contributor Drew Moniot (of Drew’s Reviews) kindly agreed to review of the film for us. Read his review of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and then go watch the movie again!

Lovers of cinema, history and the wild west will also enjoy our Dispatches from Deadwood, South Dakota and Monument Valley, in particular (plus all of those in between). We talk about gunfighters and movie magic. Please check those out.

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/the-hunt-for-butch-cassidys-ranch-in-cholila-argentina

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