I am overdue for my next trip update for you, but I need to take a moment to honor and remember a great man who left us suddenly last weekend.

It was just over a year ago that I set out on the trip that would bring me around the globe. If you followed me along the first stage of that adventure you must remember my dear friend from the Camino de Santiago, James Hart. He has also continued to adventure and travel over the last year; overstaying me in Europe and recently following my path through Southeast Asia. Last weekend in Cambodia he became ill and suddenly and mysteriously collapsed. (Eulogy) He died in the hospital of unknown causes; officially a cardiac arrest. Perhaps malaria or some other parasite. We may never know. He was 29 years old.

I feel intermittently crushed by grief and mourning, and lifted up by his spirit of freedom. The most striking realization has been that some of my best memories on the Camino were with him (He recently wrote me, “Walking in hail, taking the back way into Burgos, and eating watermelon. No one had it better than us.”), and now I am the sole carrier of those memories. I will remember them twice as strongly, for the both of us. What follows is a piece of that story, a reflection, for you, for him, but honestly mostly for me. In our memories his spirit and inspiration will live on.

After my stint healing in Barcelona I started walking again from Pamplona. I met Margherita Mariposa that first day. She was my angel and protector until the job was passed on to two men; my second night with Margherita we were in a strange albergue on top of the hill outside of Puente la Reina (Bridge of the Queen) an ended up eating dinner at the same table as James and Mark. James was from outside of Philadelphia Pennsylvania. Mark was British. I liked them immediately. James chatted me up about Vermont. Mark sheepishly asked me if I had any bandaids for his awful blisters. They had just met the evening before. And so began our friendship.

The next day Margherita and I set different paces. (She told me later she expected not to see me again… ha!) I knew which town James and Mark were planning to stay in that night and without really planning to, pushed myself to get there. There were maybe five different aubergues in that town and somehow I managed to walk into the right one. I didn’t even remember their names but I shuffled in, sunburned, dehydrated, exhausted, to be greeted by these two dashing men “We’ve made you dinner! Come down here and eat with us!” There were no sweeter words they could have spoken to me. We chatted all evening and I believe it was that night that I met Kristy and Danny, a couple from Michigan (although they both work in Antarctica!) And so the Fabulous Five was born.

I have no idea why, but the next morning James waited for me. He knew my knees were messed up; he knew I was walking slowly. The man was over 6 feet tall; he could almost double my stride length (we measured steps per kilometer at one point… oh the things you can do with too much time). And yet he walked beside me that day and for many days after.

 

James was many things. The first thing you notice were his kind eyes and big, broad and easy smile, almost always accompanied by this wonderful belly laugh that giggled you from the inside.

The next thing was his love. He gave it freely. He talked for hours about the people that he loved; his friends from home, his family, especially his Mother. I don’t think there is anyone he would ever meet that would impress him more than his Mom.

He made friends ridiculously easily. He especially loved kids. One night we were trying this ridiculous bar game trying to toss a coin into the mouth of an iron frog from 6 feet away for hours. James was single-mindedly DETERMINED. And then a German family with two young kids came and sat down to eat some food. He was like a magnet for those two little boys, and suddenly getting the coin in the frog didn’t matter anymore; all that mattered was helping the kids have fun.

Everyone was a friend to him.

Except if they threatened someone he cared about. He was also a protector. He walked in front of me through a hail storm to block the wind. That creepy guy that got drunk and climbed into my bunk? After hearing what happened a week later, James put that man in line. He and Mark were my big brothers. I knew they had my back. And I know I’m not the only one.

However he was, predominantly and at his core, a gentle soul. He gave great hugs. He played Louis Armstrong for me at least once a day. He introduced me to Edith Piaf. He said he thought he belonged in an older, more simple time. He was like a little kid when he found ice pops or watermelon at the market. He had a lucky hat. He chased butterflies. He led me on an hour long search for pizza. He challenged me to 50 piece puzzle races. He never met a bridge that he didn’t want to jump off of.

The most lasting aspect of James Hart was simply the way he lived his life. He lived big. He had also quit his job shortly beforehand; he had also given up his apartment, his things, the nine-to-five life. And he was GOING FOR IT. He always stayed out later than I could; talking, drinking, singing, anything. He was always hunting for the next piece of fun; the next friend; the next adventure.

This is why I say that I have occasionally felt simple and powerful gratitude and freedom in the last two days. As far as I could tell he did not live his life with regrets.

The story I have told the most in the last few days is of our epic day crossing the Dragonte mountain range. This was roughly a week from the finish so we were conditioned, but getting tired. There were three paths to O’Cebreiro; the short way, the “mountain way,” and the Dragonte way. This third wasn’t even in many guidebooks; it was the old way through tiny mountain villages (he managed to find us a lady who could make coffee in a town of literally twenty residents) and up and over multiple mountains. We walked with three other friends, but when we reached the last valley before the climb up to O’Cebreiro (itself considered a difficult stage) our friends were done for the day. But not James and I. We pushed up the final 600 meter climb, which usually takes three hours, in two hours flat. We hiked 27 miles that day in 13 hours. It was the most physically demanding task I have ever accomplished in my life. (You can read more about that day by searching “Dragonte” in the search box to the right.)

We were literally chasing the sunlight up that last piece of the mountain. And when we reached the top we turned and looked back across those mountains, with the last tendrils of day at our backs, and HOWLED for the sheer joy of it.

That is how I can best describe James’ life. He chased the sunlight. He howled at the beauty of the mountains. He was our friend, our protector, our comedian, our brother. He had “Mad to Live” tattooed on his arm, and he was.

May he rest in peace, in the knowledge that he affected many with his life well lived. Buen Camino, my friend. May this next adventure be a great one.