For Dr. Kelly Denton-Borhaug, a Professor of Religion at Moravian College, the prospect of making a pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago was irresistible. She had studied at the University of Madrid as an undergraduate in the early 1980s and was eager to return to Spain. In addition, the hike would be a refreshing break from her academic research and writing on war culture. In general, a pilgrimage would allow her to step away from the busy and familiar and embrace a challenge.

So early last June, she set off for northern Spain to walk the Camino de Santiago, the Spanish name of any of the pilgrimage routes to the shrine of St. James the Great, where according to tradition the remains of the saint are buried. Her journey began in Burgos and ended at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostella in Galicia. By the time Denton-Borhaug completed her journey three weeks later, she had walked 300 miles.

Denton-Borhaug began each day's hike of 12 to 14 miles by sunrise, so she could escape the worst of the day's heat, and ended it at an albergue, a hostel reserved for pilgrims along the Camino (the Spanish word for road). Upon arriving, the pilgrims have their certificates, "passports" for the Camino, stamped with the date of their arrival. At the albergues, which date back centuries, hospitality was paramount and most welcome after the challenge of the day's hike. Many people who staffed the albergues were former pilgrims who had experienced its hospitality themselves and come back to continue the tradition.

The albergue also provided "communitas," opportunities to socialize with other hikers and sometimes enjoy a spontaneous party with them. They could also commiserate with one another on the rigors of the hike while learning how to treat the inevitable blisters on their feet. In the spirit of communitas, pilgrims would help each other or simply listen if someone needed to talk.

In addition to the albergues, there were hospitality stations along the trail where pilgrims could get a drink and a snack. "Take what you need and leave what you can," read a sign at the hospitality station. As with the albergues, former pilgrims who had benefited from the availability of the stations would come back to offer hospitality to others.

To Denton-Borhaug's surprise, she had lots of company. While pilgrimages were quite popular during the Middle Ages, interest in them subsequently waned. In recent years there has been a resurgence of enthusiasm for them all over the world. Nearly 220,000 people made one in Spain alone last year, with more pilgrims from South Korea than any other nation. Two pilgrims, one from Germany and another from Switzerland, had hiked from their native countries to make the pilgrimage.

Along the way, Denton-Borhaug was able to gain some insight into the motives and thinking of her fellow pilgrims. A couple from South Korea made the journey to prepare spiritually for their upcoming marriage. Some of the pilgrims were of no particular religious tradition. Along the well-marked trails of the Camino, many had left messages. Some wanted to live life more freely - "let the wind carry you," one message read.

Some wanted to step out of their routines and think about changes they wanted to make in their lives. Others wanted to experience the world in more authentic ways rather than through traditional tourist travel. Toward the end of the trail, the messages took on a more sober tone. Some pilgrims named things in their lives they needed to let go of. One message was a remembrance of a boy killed at Sandy Hook Elementary School.

While Denton-Borhaug has been walking meditatively for many years, she felt "unbelievably privileged" to have made her journey last summer. She called "a strong body and an ability to walk" a gift. She had relished the solitude that the long hours of walking afforded.

"Once you do this it bites you," she said, "and you want to go back."