Walk
Like a Templar:
Trekking
2600-Miles to Jerusalem
by
Brandon Wilson © 2008
They often say, “Be careful what you wish for—you just might get
it.” Well, little could I imagine six years ago when the idea of
walking to Jerusalem first entered my addled brain that I’d find
myself actually attempting that trek—but life had other
plans.
It all began
innocently enough. I’d
backpacked through nearly one hundred countries, but after checking
the “must-sees” off my list I was looking for something more.
Challenging? Intense? Satisfying? Well, a thousand kilometer trek
across Tibet in 1992 with my wife Cheryl allowed me to glimpse the
possibilities outside the usual traveler’s box. While exploring the
remote Himalayan countryside and turmoil in the oppressed Land of
Snows, we discovered personal, global and philosophical answers. We
encountered extreme physical challenges. After forty days of
pushing our bodies and minds to the limits, at altitudes up to
17,000 feet thru blizzards and dodging bullets, my wife and I
actually survived. Staying with families along the path, we
wallowed in Tibet’s nuances one step at a time. We talked with
weary monks over far too many cups of yak butter tea. As they
revealed their faith in the Dalai Lama’s return, we re-discovered
my own. Between cups, we found time to marvel at nature with
childlike wide-eyed wonder. Plus, we enjoyed the meditative
solitude and chance to disconnect from the frenzy of the outside
world, if only for a little while.
Most importantly, for me it emphasized the necessity of traveling
lite on the trail—and in life—as walking became transcendental, “a
trampoline for the mind.” Unfortunately, it ended all too soon. I’d
become an addict. For years, I longed again for that pleasure of
the trail.
Finally in 1999, I
decided to drop everything to
follow my restless wanderlust. That fall, I set off trekking across
Spain for 500 miles on the famous Camino de Santiago. Surprisingly,
it brought back that rush of satisfaction on so many levels and
made me wonder why I’d waited so long? Plus it forced me to
reconsider how much I’d packed for the thirty-day trek, as I
whittled down my load from twenty-two to just fifteen pounds. Each
day, after walking alone or in a small group, we’d run into the
same folks at the albergues and share laughs over a bottle of wine.
Call it fate, but I kept running into one fellow in his sixties.
Émile was a likable Frenchman with bushy white beard and amused
blue eyes. One day he shared his plan to walk with his wife from
his home in Dijon to Jerusalem, some 4,500 kilometers. Although I
admired his fantasy, people’s dreams and realities seldom meet.
However, we managed to stay in touch over the next five years as I
continued to walk historic long distance trails, including the St.
Olav’s Way across Norway and the 1,100 mile Via Francigena from
Canterbury, England to Rome. My wife and I even managed to trek the
Camino together again in 2005.
Imagine my surprise one morning when out of the blue I heard from
ol’ Émile, saying, “My wife is unable to trek to Jerusalem as we’d
planned. Would you like to come along?”
It certainly took
me by surprise, but what could
I say, other than, “Of course!” It was already December and he
planned to leave in April. Although I offered my assistance, by
then he’d chosen the route and rough stages along the
4500-kilometer trail since he’d been planning the journey for six
years. Our path would loosely follow that of the old Roman way that
was later trekked by Crusaders, pilgrims and Templars on their way
to Jerusalem. It would take us across two continents and twelve
countries. Then as now, the trail was fraught with
uncertainties.
We might not have to face wolves,
roadside bandits, brigands and Moors, but we had our own
challenges. A thousand years ago, people often traveled together
for safety and support. Escorting pilgrims safely to Jerusalem was
one of the original duties of the Knights Templar. However, we
would be on our own, unsupported for up to seven months.
Next there were the packing challenges. How could I carry fifteen
pounds and still be prepared for temperatures ranging from near
freezing in Germany to brutal one hundred degree days in Turkey’s
Anatolia? Then since we were traveling lite, we’d walk without a
tent and would rely on finding safe, affordable accommodation every
night. At times, given the distance between villages, this might
force us to walk nearly sixty kilometers a day in Turkey. Plus, on
a modest peregrino budget of just thirty dollars each per day, we’d
have to hone our negotiating skills—and rely on the kindness of
strangers.
Then, of course, there were the language challenges. We could do
well in English, French and a smattering of German, but what about
Serbian? Bulgarian? Turkish? Arabic?
Personal challenges aside, in these times of escalating wars and
increased suspicions, I chose to trek this trail for an additional
reason. I wanted it to be a trek for peace along a path once
associated with war. I wanted to talk with others about choosing
peaceful methods to settle our differences. From past experience I
knew that once people walk a trail together, share food and wine
around a table and learn more about each other’s lives, they
realize that our needs are not all that different. Although our
cultures and religions vary, we all want about the same things for
our families. Once you peel away the fear and paranoia, it becomes
much harder to kill them. So this became my quest—to pioneer this
pathway so that it might ultimately become a trail for peace for
others in the future.
Finally, before
setting off it was essential to tweak my gear to make it as lite and flexible as possible. So I
chose a lightweight ultra-marathon shoe, instead of boots more
appropriate for the Appalachian Trail. Montrail, now part of
Columbia, supplied water repellent Susitnas® for the first rainy
months. I’d switch after Linz, Austria into their Continental
Divides® with a breathable web top for the sizzling road portions.
LEKI US donated lightweight Nordic poles similar to what they’d
supplied for my cross Norway hike. Then I got a pro deal from
GoLight to add some clothing to their backpack, weighing just
twenty-two ounces. The rest of my gear was basic. I’d take a
Polarguard vest, Capilene shirt and Goretex rain shell and pants
for layering. I’d send these home with my wife after we met in
Budapest and switch into hot weather gear: shorts and two
breathable nylon t-shirts. I’d carry just a sleep sheet. Otherwise,
I’d bring a first aid kit designed for possible foot problems, a
compact digital camera, journal, synthetic camp towel,
MagLite, compass, a concentrated
energy drink and a few odds and ends that brought my total pack
weight in at about fifteen pounds. I’d pick up any food and liquid
I needed along the way.
April 23rd arrived
all too quickly and after a
going-away party for us in Dijon, we set off. Our trek began along
the canals of France, paths once used by mules pulling barges from
village to town. Even from the start, we hit a reasonably quick
pace, averaging about thirty kilometers a day. Although experienced
walkers, Émile and I were not exactly “joined at the hip” and set
our own pace. I took the lead until reaching an intersection where
I stopped long enough for him to catch up, since his gear was best
suited for shorter distances on rugged terrain. His pack was twice
my size and his boots were heavy leather. So he worked all that
much harder each day to keep up.
As anticipated, the
weather in France and western Germany dogged us with numbing rain and then snow through the Black
Forest. Then more frequent showers had us donning rain gear several
times a day, keeping us on our toes. As always, improvisation was
key.
It’s ironic. You take journeys to break routine—only to find that
you’ve replaced them with another before you know it. After
spending a night in a local “privat zimmer” or guesthouse, we’d
have a hearty Bavarian breakfast and then head back on the trail by
6:30 or 7:00 a.m. Then we’d stop to warm up at 10:00 and again for
lunch at noon. Averaging between four and five kilometers an hour,
we’d try to arrive in a village large enough to have accommodation
by 2:00 p.m. Some days this was more successful than others.
Although the canals took us through some beautiful areas, we were
relieved to finally arrive in Donaueschingen, Germany—the source of
the Danube River. The Donau Radweg, or Danube bicycle path, is an
enviable example of what countries can do to promote fitness and
outdoor sports. Well maintained, mostly flat and well marked, it
spans a total of 1,367 kilometers along the Danube Valley through
four countries all the way to Budapest. Even though I’d brought a
Cicerone guide to the trail, we also bought local cyclist guides,
helpful especially for finding villages with “zimmer frei” or
private rooms.
Fortunately, for as busy as it might have been, we were alone on
the trail most of the time. Cyclists, inline skaters and joggers
were (sensibly) inside, out of the frigid rain. So we continued to
walk undeterred six to eight hours each day, slogging through rain
for eighteen out of twenty-one days in Austria. However, it wasn’t
all torture.
We also explored
sites along the way, taking
one day off about every ten to rest. It was a movable feast from
the baroque grandeur of timeless cities like Regensburg with
Walhalla, its Grecian-like temple dedicated to Teutonic prowess to
the serene monasteries of Weltenburg; from the shocking
concentration camps of Mauthausen to the crown jewels of Linz,
Vienna and Bratislava. Life was different every day, unpredictable
and unforgettable.
Even from the start, we met people along the path whom we called
“angels.” Spotting us wet, famished or bedraggled, they’d invite us
into their homes for a bowl of lentil soup or bottle of wine. After
learning we were “pilgrims,” sometimes they’d offer us a free or
discounted room. Or maybe direct us to the right path at a critical
junction in the trail. Some days, it was almost too easy. However,
soon all that would change.
Once outside
Budapest, we became true pioneers. The “radweg” ended. In Serbia, our sleek bicycle
path deteriorated into badly maintained two-lane roads littered
with memorials to those who’d passed away in the process of getting
from there to here. One day I counted twenty, just in a morning. It
became harder to find food (although beer was more plentiful). Each
night we had to search longer for a place to stay and then
negotiate harder for a “local” price, versus the higher non-Eastern
one.
To make life even more difficult, midsummer temperatures soared to
eighty and then ninety degrees. Although we attempted to stay along
the Danube River, in Hungary the paths swarmed with mosquitoes. If
we stopped longer than twenty seconds, we’d be covered in a black
itchy blanket. And then, there was the humidity so thick that we’d
be drenched in sweat by 9:00 and remain that way until well after
sundown. So we were eager to head into the hills and make do with a
little more climbing
Still, even in
countries as poor as Serbia and Bulgaria, we were aided by folks nearly every day. After
finding someone who spoke English, I was even able to chat more
with them about our peace trek. Invariably their response was warm
and often emotional, as they’ve suffered from wars for centuries.
Not surprisingly, we were asked to do newspaper or television
interviews in the larger cities, reaching millions with a message
of peace.
In reaching Belgrade, it was an ironic shock to learn that Israel
and Lebanon were again bombing each other. Some news pundits
speculated that it was the beginning of World War Three. So
although we promised to re-evaluate our route when we reached
Istanbul, for me the writing was already on the wall. To risk it
all and walk through a war zone seemed reckless—even for me. It ran
contrary to my belief that adventurers take extra time to make good
plans and smart decisions—so they can live to tell the tale, right?
However that was only the first surprise.
By the time we
reached Bulgaria, the sweltering weather and fatigue were clearly taking their toll on
Émile. He was ready to stop by noon, was dehydrating and becoming
more disoriented. Yet I knew the hardest part of the journey
remained—crossing Turkey. Well, by the time we reached the new
Constantinople, Émile regrettably decided to return home. It was
his choice and I didn’t try to talk him out of it. He had given it
his best. Considering his earlier walk from Dijon to Finisterre, he
had now walked the width of Europe—excellent for sixty-eight years
old.
As for me, after a
few days rest, I continued alone across the high, barren plains of Turkey. With
the possibility of war spreading to Syria, I decided to head
directly south to Alanya on the coast, steering clear of a new
Ebola-type virus infecting parts of Anatolia. This route also
coincided with the Crusader trail to Cyprus and then on to what was
once Palestine. I was initially uneasy about folks’ reaction to an
American trekking through a Muslim region, since our government’s
policies are strongly criticized throughout the world these days.
However, once we had a chance to talk over çay, or sweet tea, the
Turks were surprisingly hospitable. Hardly a day passed that I
wasn’t taken under someone’s wing and welcomed. Alanya’s television
station even insisted on shooting an interview before I caught the
quick ferry to northern Cyprus.
This option “B” as
I called it was never absolutely guaranteed. The notorious Green Line had only recently opened
for travelers between the north and south of partitioned Cyprus.
So, I was relieved to cross without a problem. Trekking another
three days along country roads through sleepy mountain villages, I
arrived in Limassol, a city once captured by Richard the Lionheart
on the island’s southern coast. Then hopping the weekly cargo ship,
I made the overnight crossing to the recently shelled port of
Haifa, Israel.
Fortunately while in Turkey, I’d learned about the new Israel
National Trail transecting the country and had a chance to meet its
founder in Haifa. Dany was very generous with his time, supplying
me with topographic maps and a list of “angels” to assist along
that final stretch to Jerusalem. This path was a welcome change, as
it took me off-road into the rugged hills, then along the beach to
Tel Aviv, and finally southeast toward Jerusalem. Although the
country was on a high state of alert, my hosts were inquisitive and
equally generous, giving me a rare glimpse at modern Israeli life.
They were a varied cast of characters: from the freewheeling young couple living in
their van to the war-hardened Army colonel; from the chicken
farming couple to the lady with kids living on a kibbutz. Once
again, I discovered that people are similar, no matter what their
country, culture or religion.
Finally on
September 29, 2006, after
trekking 137 days over 4,217 kilometers (2,600 miles), I entered
through celebrated Jaffa Gate into the Old City of Jerusalem. There
was no fanfare and no welcoming committee. Only one solitary peace
pilgrim entering a city held sacred by three major religions; a
trekker grateful to all those who helped him realize another
“impossible” dream.
If anything was accomplished beyond
personal fulfillment, I hope I planted some seeds along the trail.
Perhaps they will take root and this will someday become a true
international path for peace that all may walk “lite” in
brotherhood. Ready to join me?
about the
author: Brandon Wilson is a
Lowell Thomas Award-winning author/photographer/explorer. He has
walked ten long distance paths, including the Camino de Santiago
(twice), the Via de la Plata, the Via Francigena to Rome, and the
St. Olav's Way across Norway. In 1992, he and his wife Cheryl
became the first Western couple to hike an ancient pilgrimage trail
650-miles across Tibet, as chronicled in his IPPY award-winning
book, Yak Butter Blues. In 2006, he and a friend founded a
pilgrim's path following the route of the First Crusades from
France to Jerualem, naming it the Templar Trail. Their adventure is
told in Brandon's book, Along the Templar Trail, named 2009 Best
Travel Book by the prestigious Society of American Travel Writers.
His other books include: Dead Men Don't Leave Tips: Adventures X
Africa and Over the Top & Back Again: Hiking X the Alps. They
are available from Amazon.com or from your favorite bookstore.
Visit http://www.pilgrimstales.com for a preview, photos, excerpt
and more.
