A pilgrim’s year

Travel has many purposes. The travel writer Rick Steves categorizes travelers into three broad types. First, there’s the tourist, who seeks the excitement of shopping, sightseeing, and snapping selfies to share online. Next comes the traveler, eager for immersive experiences, hoping to blend in as a temporary resident in another country. Lastly, there’s the pilgrim—one who journeys to discover something deeper about themselves.

These categories, of course, are not mutually exclusive. One person might embody all three types at different moments of the same trip. But Steves’ distinction serves as a reminder of the underlying motivations behind travel: some seek escape, while others search for connection—whether to the external world or to their inner selves.

In my youth, travel often meant attending conferences or delivering academic papers. Along the way, I indulged in the typical tourist itinerary—visiting landmarks, tasting local cuisines, and collecting a few mementos. Later, as bird-watching became a quiet passion, I found solace in solitary walks in search of avian life, moments that felt both grounding and meditative.

This past year, however, was different. It became, quite unexpectedly, a pilgrim’s year.

In June, I embarked on a journey with two of my daughters and a son-in-law, walking a portion of the French Camino from Ponferrada to Santiago de Compostela. Over 10 days, we traversed 215 kilometers of Northern Spain’s vineyards, woodlands, and ancient villages, following the medieval pilgrimage route. We had no explicit religious intent, but the journey called for reflection nonetheless—a pursuit of self-awareness, albeit without the certainty of reaching it. In previous columns, I’ve written about the Camino’s lessons: the gift of presence, the joy in unexpected moments, and the quiet calm of surrendering to the journey. (see “The Camino experience (1),” 7/7/24)

Then, in September, I joined a trip to India with the Ramon Magsaysay Award Foundation, where I’ve served as a trustee. The itinerary included visits to projects and renew connections with our past awardees, but the highlight was a visit to Dharamsala to meet His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. Exiled since 1959, the Dalai Lama was one of the foundation’s earliest awardees. Our group presented him with a commemorative seven-volume book celebrating 65 years of the foundation’s work.

Despite recovering from knee surgery, the 89-year-old spiritual leader of the Tibetan people greeted us with radiant energy. He emerged in a wheelchair but insisted on walking unaided to his seat. With a face alight with kindness, his penetrating gaze seemed to see us as much as through us. What followed was a brief yet profound reflection by him on three Buddhist principles: non-violence, altruism, and emptiness.

Our time was limited; outside the hall, over 3,000 Tibetan pilgrims awaited their turn to meet their highly revered leader. As I stepped out into the courtyard, I was struck by the devotion of the crowd—women, men, and children dressed in their finest traditional clothes, their faces bearing the weight of a shared struggle. In their eager anticipation, I glimpsed the resilience of a people fighting to preserve their identity against overwhelming onslaughts of a neighboring power that had annexed their country. On seeing them, I felt, in the words of philosopher Richard Rorty, a sublime moment of solidarity with their plight.

Just when I thought the year’s spiritual encounters were complete, an unexpected piece of news arrived in October: my younger brother, the bishop of Kalookan, was being elevated to cardinal by Pope Francis. The news felt almost surreal, and my thoughts at once turned to our late parents, whose tacit wishes seemed to beckon all of us siblings to witness our brother join the 20 other new cardinals receive their red caps in Rome from the Supreme Pontiff himself.

That journey brought me twice to within a few meters of Pope Francis, seated by the altar of St. Peter’s Basilica. Each encounter felt like a blessing—a reminder of grace and of life’s inexplicable unfolding.

Looking back, this year’s travels were unlike any I had taken before. They were not just journeys across distances but inward explorations that reminded me of the power of presence, the mystery of faith, and the enduring search for meaning in life’s moments, whether quiet or grand.

A blessed New Year to one and all!

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