Sunday, September 20th
On my first Creative Camino trip in 2023, Covid cut my walk to Santiago short. In Ribadiso, three days before the end of our pilgrimage, two members of our group tested positive for Covid, and the next day, I joined them. How I hated seeing those two parallel lines come up on that test strip!
Brenda and Andre took up the full mantle of leadership and I took a taxi to Santiago to hole up until the end of the retreat. There, I saw a doctor at the English-speaking department of the hospital to get the documentation I needed to file a travel insurance claim. Then I waited in isolation at the monastery-turned-dormitory where we stay until the group arrived several days later. Masked and subdued with exhaustion, I conducted the closing ceremony while keeping distance from everyone. It was unfortunate and disappointing, but these things happen.
During my last day in Santiago before the group arrived, I wandered the streets of the city masked. Among the many things that drew my attention was a tattoo parlor with a big sign in the window, “We Speak English.” I went inside and paged through their big book of Camino tattoo samples. I didn’t have any tattoos and had never thought of getting one, but now suddenly I wanted something permanent to commemorate the rewarding and difficult journey I’d been on. I was about to talk to the tattoo artist about possibilities when I remembered that I was still testing positive for Covid and that getting a tattoo was not a good idea.
The second time I led a Camino trip, the following year, there were far too many wrap-up activities for me to take care of as a leader to even think about it.
But this year, 2026, tattoos had been on my mind for a while. I was diagnosed with a second breast cancer last December, eighteen years after the first one, and before the pathology report came back when I still didn’t know what I was dealing with, I thought about opting for a double mastectomy if the results showed a likelihood of my cancer returning a third time. If I chose to cut off my breasts, I knew I didn’t want reconstruction; I wanted to get my whole chest tattooed instead. I had researched tattoo artists who specialize in supporting women with breast cancer and I was deeply moved by the beautiful, personal images these women had chosen.
As it turned out, my second cancer was a small tumor that only required a lumpectomy and radiation. I was keeping my breasts for now.
But having seriously considered a tattoo to reclaim my body after cancer, the prospect of getting tattooed was still on my mind.
Just recently, at a family dinner in California, I spent time admiring the sleeves of incredible art tattooed on the arms of my son and my grandson. I asked them both what the process felt like. I asked more about their tattoos than I ever had before.
Then, just a couple of months ago, I turned 70 and wanted a way to mark the occasion of moving into the next phase of my life. Maybe a tattoo?
I was steadily warming up to the idea.
On the Way to Santiago
As we got closer to Santiago, I started noticing signs like these at several points along the way. I obviously took notice or I wouldn’t have taken this photograph.
I began to think this might be the year for my Camino tattoo. I mentioned it over dinner, and two other pilgrims, Quinn Copernicus Rose and Butter, said that they were interested in getting one, too. Getting my first tattoo with friends was more appealing than doing it alone, and over the next couple of days, our plan began to coalesce.
For the next couple of nights, staying up way later than I should, I went to Yelp and looked at reviews of tattoo parlors in Santiago de Compostela. There were a LOT of them. Apparently many pilgrims opt for a permanent reminder of their time on the Camino. I flagged a few shops that had positive reviews and started a private Whatsapp thread called “Tattoos Tomorrow.” I invited Quinn Copoernicus Rose and Butter to join and posted some possibilities.
Then on Instagram, I started looking at what other pilgrims had inked on their bodies. I posted those on our thread, too.
As we approached Santiago, there were half a dozen tattoo parlors right along our route.
Walking those final kilometers into the heart of the Old City, Quinn Copernicus Rose, Butter, and I firmed up out plans. Once we took some group photos in front of the Cathedral, the three of us would skip the group lunch, and head out to get our tattoos.
We settled on Velvet Tattoo Studio and Quinn Copernicus Rose, who speaks Spanish, called to make an appointment for the three of us at 2:30 pm. As everyone left for lunch, we said “Goodbye, see you later,” and mapped our way back to the Velvet Tattoo Studio.
On our way there, I joked with my companions, “The good thing about getting your first tattoo at seventy is that there’s not a lot of years left for it wrinkle and fade.”
We arrived after a twenty minute walk. I continued to marvel at how wonderful it feels to do everything on foot.
Velvet Tattoo Studio was large and well lit. There were a number of comfortable black lounge chairs, a waiting area, and a TV monitor on the wall playing rock and roll in Spanish. It had the vibe of a nail salon with customers coming and going.
We sat down with Nelson, one of several tattoo artists in the shop. He told us he was half Spanish and half French and his English was excellent. The three of us spent a long time talking about what we wanted, looking at sample images on his iPad, and refining our ideas. Butter and I wanted Camino related images. Quinn Copernicus Rose had a much more elaborate idea in mind that was just taking shape. She and Nelson discussed it at length in Spanish.
In the process of discussion, we learned a lot about tattoos:
- white will fade quickly and need to be redone within five years
- getting a tattoo on the ribs is very, very painful. Even Nelson, who has 175 tattoos and wants more, hasn’t yet tattooed that part of his body. He said a tattoo on the solar plexus is 10 times more painful than the arms.
- you often have to hold your breath while getting tattoos on certain parts of your body, which can be hard when you’re in pain
At first, I wanted to get some kind of Camino shell. Then I changed my mind and started considering a line drawing of pilgrim carrying a backpack and a hiking pole. The samples Nelson showed me had a male and a female image. The female had a pert ponytail. I liked the figure with the backpack, but I told him, “The ponytail makes this female pilgrim look like my daughter or my granddaughter. It doesn’t look anything like me. Can you put a cap on her head instead?”
In a few short strokes on the iPad, Nelson copied the image, took away the ponytail and with a few deft lines, replaced it with a ball cap similar to the grey one I was wearing. I liked the change a lot and started to warm up to it, but then I had second thoughts. Did I really want an image of myself with a backpack on my leg for the rest of my life?
I changed course and went back to the more traditional Camino shell. It was, after all, my first tattoo.
While Butter and I finalized our images. Quinn Copernicus Rose continued her conversation with a second tattoo artist, more skilled at design and realistic imagery. She began to realize that her design concept wasn’t set; it was just being formulated. She needed more time. She wouldn’t be getting a tattoo inked today.
But Butter and I were ready.
Nelson drew out our chosen designs on his iPad and fine-tuned them repeatedly until they were exactly what we wanted.
I’d already decided to integrate my trail name into my tattoo: Spark. I loved the name when Raven and Rogue suggested it to me midway through our pilgrimage. When I heard them say it, I felt a resounding yes inside. Spark represents the energy I’ve carried for 70 years. It represents my survival and my spunk. My humor and my audacity. The work I’ve done, the books I’ve written, the thousands of students I’ve taught. I’ve been a spark, awakening and inspiring others my whole adult life. And Spark spoke to me personally of this pilgrimage which has helped me believe in my strength and resilience again after a very rough year.
I realized I was willing to carry this name with me for the rest of my life. I wanted to ink it on my skin.
I spent a long time looking at different fonts on the iPad until I found one I liked.
Here’s the stencil Nelson created with the designs Butter and I chose.
Butter, who already had a tattoo, went first. Here’s Nelson working on her design with his chosen tool, a dermograph. It’s kind of like a fountain pen with ink that goes directly into the body.
I kept asking Butter what it felt like. She said, “It hurts and then it doesn’t. Afterwards, you don’t feel it at all.” Her tattoo took 15-20 minutes. She was smiling and delighted with the result.
Then it was my turn.
I wasn’t worried and I wasn’t nervous. I’m not afraid of pain. I’ve certainly met it before; I pushed two babies out of my body. I figured, if needed, I could draw on my skills in dissociation, breathwork, or meditation. I’d been doing acupuncture for forty years. I was familiar with needles. I’ve had to lay still in MRI machines, hold my breath while getting radiation therapy. I’ve had needle biopsies in both breasts.
I’d been thinking about this for a long time. I felt grounded, ready, and excited.
I started to climb on the tattoo couch, but Nelson told me he had to work on two new women sitting in the waiting area first. He suggested the three of us to go out and get something to eat, which we did. But when we came back at the time he’d designated, he was still working on the other women. And even when he was done with them, he was in no hurry to get back to me. We were definitely operating on Spanish time.
Finally, after a very long wait, it was my turn. And Nelson was just as fastidious and careful with me as he is with all his customers. The first thing he did was clean the black tattoo couch, making sure there were no germs or blood from the previous customer.
Here I am waiting for everything to be in readiness:
While I waited, Nelson set up his work station. Everything was done meticulously.
Once I got up on the tattoo couch, he shaved my leg. That surprised me. I have hardly any hair on my legs, but he said he needed a clean canvas. Then he placed the stencil on my calf and pressed it in place, leaving the image on my skin.
He had me get up and look in the mirror. I said it was too low. He replaced that stencil with a second one, placed higher. I nodded my approval and he got to work.
He started with the letters of my name: Spark. He obviously has a very steady hand.
What did it feel like? Like a lot of little intermittent bee stings. Like acupuncture when the needle hurts. It was a quick burning sensation over and over with gaps in between. I’d rank the sensation as moderate. A few times the sensation crossed over into what I’d identify as pain, like someone getting a splinter out.
It really wasn’t bad.
The whole time I was getting my tattoo, I felt alive and excited, and also relaxed. I focused on my breathing. I knew I couldn’t move my leg at all.
Then he moved on to the clamshell.
I lay very still on my stomach and did my best to breathe steadily and hold still.
And then it was over. He said I was done. The moment he finished, all the sensation was gone. My leg just felt normal. Nelson cut a piece of Second Skin and carefully placed it over the new tattoo, told me to run cold water over it for several minutes when I got back to my hotel room. He said I could shower after 24 hours, but no baths, swimming or submersion for ten days. And to use a hypoallergenic, unscented cream to sooth the skin. Easy.
Before we left, Nelson asked me to fill out a form in a giant logbook in the entryway, a legal requirement. The form asked for my name, address, phone, signature, birthdate and age. When I wrote in 70 for my age, I felt so proud and kick-ass!
I strode back up the cobblestone streets with my Camino friends with a new confidence, feeling empowered, alive and oh so very happy.
Now my pilgrimage was complete.