My Camino Journey: 190,000 Steps, 115 km of Revelations, Rain, and Reality Checks

PROLOGUE: Why I Walked

The decision to walk the Camino came from an unexpected source: a river cruise conversation with a stranger who became the catalyst and now someone I call a friend!

Her name is Cala D., and we met in that way travelers do, thrown together by proximity and itinerary, but quickly became friends. We were somewhere on a European river, watching castles and vineyards drift past, when she mentioned she'd walked the Camino de Santiago.

She mentioned doing the trek several times with her husband, and most recently her niece. I was intrigued because despite some physical issues and a bit older in age, she did it, so I looked it up. The yellow arrows guiding you across northern Spain. The ancient path was worn smoothly by millions of pilgrims over a thousand years. The physical challenge, yes, but also the mental space it created, just you and the trail and whatever you brought with you to figure out.

"You should do it," she said. Later I texted her and told her that I was thinking about it. "Don't wait. Don't talk yourself out of it." Hmm, that resonated. After all, I am the one who always tells others that life is short and to do it now before it is too late. Perhaps I should take my own advice!

The Body That Used to Work

I was a triathlete once. Not elite, not Olympic-bound, but committed. From age 37 to 60, I swam and biked and ran. I competed. I pushed my body to its limits and reveled in what it could do. I even did two half Ironman distance races. I looked forward to challenging myself because I was never the skinny, fit racer, but I could do it. Slow and steady still finishes.

Triathlons teach you that your body is a machine. Feed it properly, train it consistently, and it will perform. There's a beautiful simplicity to that equation. Effort equals results. Pain is temporary and glory is forever. The finish line waits for everyone who refuses to quit along with another finisher’s medal to tuck in the box.

But it catches up with you physically.

My knees became “angry” first. Years of pounding pavement, of running through pain that I told myself was just weakness leaving the body. A bike crash and a meniscal repair sealed the deal, and the inflammation became chronic.

I retired from triathlons at age sixty. It was time. But I still got out there, walking instead of running, and trying to keep my body moving forward. A body in motion, stays in motion they say.

The Research Phase

I started researching. Late-night internet rabbit holes, reading blogs and forums and Reddit threads. Watching YouTube videos of pilgrims sharing their experiences, some transcendent, some miserable, most somewhere in between. Joining Facebook groups with women over the age of 50 and regional groups who spoke of their journeys regularly, fueling my interest.

I watched The Way, the Martin Sheen movie about a father walking the Camino to honor his deceased son. I cried at the end, though I couldn't articulate exactly why. It was the kind of cry that I got every time I watched the Ironman race on TV, people working through mental and physical pain, and conquering the adversity. There is something about the journey itself being the point. Something about carrying your grief and your questions and your unresolved trauma across Spain, one step at a time, until maybe, just maybe you arrived at something like peace. Yes, that resonated with my own personal and emotional pain points.

At REI I noticed an upcoming Camino 101 session where I met two lovely people, Nancy and Tom who had done various versions of the Camino since 2014. Oh, and they started in their 70’s, and now Tom just turned 84. They were (and are) amazing. I even interviewed them for my show, Senior Travel Adventures (on YouTube), with mad respect.

The Practical Reality

My “work” is an Adjunct Professor (need to pay for my trips), but at heart I'm a travel content creator, though the "creator" part feels increasingly hollow when the metrics tell you nobody's watching. I've built a small following, hosted a cable TV show, attended industry conferences, and networked relentlessly. My goal has never been financial. I simply want to encourage others to take trips, to improve their self-confidence so that they will go and see the world. That’s me, spreading the “sunshine and joy” of travel in maturity.

But the truth is: it's not enough. The collaborations aren't materializing. The brand partnerships are few and far between. The dream of making this sustainable, of turning travel into not just a passion but getting some free trips feels more distant with each passing year.

So when I decided to do the Camino, I decided that I would approached it as a potential content opportunity. As a collaboration waiting to happen, wishful thinking...

I reached out to several companies that support Camino journeys, the ones that arrange your accommodations, transfer your luggage from town to town, provide itineraries and support. I pitched myself: established travel writer, decent following, would create content in exchange for a discounted rate or a free trip.

Camino Ways said yes! Not free, not full collaboration, but enough of a break that made me jump at the chance.

It wasn't the validation I'd hoped for. It wasn't "we love your work and want to partner with you” but they were interested and made a good offer. It was enough to make it happen.

I booked it. October 2025. Ten days. The "slow walk version", as most do this distance in 7 days. The final 115 kilometers from Sarria to Santiago de Compostela, just over the minimum 100 km required to earn the Compostela certificate, the official recognition that you've completed a pilgrimage.

Not the full 800 kilometers from France. Not the hardcore version that takes a month or more. Just ten days “slow walking”. Just 115 kilometers – my Camino, my journey, my way.

Manageable. Achievable.

Age Is Just a Number (Except When It Isn't)

Here's what I told people when they asked why I was doing this: "To prove that age is just a number."

It sounded good. Inspirational. The kind of thing that gets likes on Instagram and approving nods from other women in their fifties and sixties who are tired of being invisible, tired of being dismissed, tired of being told their best years are behind them.

And there was truth in it. I did want to prove that 68 wasn't over. That my body, despite its betrayals, could still do remarkable things. That I wasn't done yet.

But underneath that it was something more complicated.

I wanted to prove I wasn't broken. That my loneliness and self-doubt could be erased. I just needed it to be something fixable, something external, something that wasn't a fundamental flaw in my character.

I wanted the Camino to tell me: You're okay. You're worthy. You're still capable of transformation.

I wanted it to give me answers.

After months of preparation, the Camino wasn't just ahead of me anymore it was already happening. My slow walk version of the final stage of the Camino Frances was about to commence.

October 14, 2025 – Travel Day

My journey began not with fanfare, but with a marathon of flights that felt like their own pilgrimage. Much like many of my trips, Fresno to Dallas was the warm-up lap. This time though Dallas to Dublin was the long, slow crawl across the sky where time stopped meaning anything. By the time I landed in Ireland, I was dreaming of a quiet corner in the airline club… only to learn the wait list was too long to get in. Bummer.

So after walking around to get the blood flowing again, I found a nice spot in the terminal, not far from my intended gate, and that's when the magic slipped in. Scattered around gate signs and charging cords were fellow pilgrims, backpacks at their feet you could just tell they were headed my way.

By the time we boarded the Aer Lingus flight to Santiago, boredom from travel had given way to excitement. I wanted to note that I tried a product with supplements to eliminate Jet Lag that I was given for free, and I’ll add my review at the end of this story.

After months of preparation, the Camino wasn't just ahead of me anymore it was already happening.

October 15, 2025 – Arrival in Santiago de Compostela

After 22+ hours of travel time, I treated myself to a taxi instead of the bus and then dragging my suitcases over cobblestones like medieval penance. Zero regrets. My hotel, the Hospederia San Martin, was gorgeous and historic, one of those places that felt austere but charming, in a "monks used to live better than this" kind of way. It was steeped in history, dark stone, chilly, but beautiful in its own way.

Outside my hotel stood the cathedral. One part of me didn't want to see it until I was done, but it was unavoidable – it was there and it was breathtaking. I witnessed people finishing their journey and celebrating right in front of me, and I told myself that in several days, I’d be the one feeling that same joy. I wandered the town energized by thoughts of my journey ahead, loving the shops full of Camino trinkets, along with the busy streets filled with pilgrims and tourists. I treated myself to cheap pins for my backpack and a tiny string bracelet, and of course, MY SHELL, the traditional symbol of the pilgrim, which would hang from my backpack on the trail. I stopped for wine at an outdoor café, but the food looked questionable and extremely expensive. It didn’t have the vibe either. Instead, I found a grocery store for meat and cheese, always my reliable staples whenever I travel!

After a nice shower, I flopped into bed like a wet noodle and eventually managed five solid hours of sleep. (Side note, all the showers in Spain were great with good water pressure).

The morning's first challenge was the luggage puzzle. Trying to fit "everything I absolutely needed" into my smaller suitcase made me question my entire life philosophy. Did I really need all this "just in case" gear? Spoiler: probably not. Future Me might be a lighter traveler after this Camino reality check...well maybe...

I washed my hair the night before, slept with it wet, so I had to use my flat iron one last time, but makeup stayed in the bag except for tinted sunblock. Fresh-faced pilgrim chic, here I came. The flat iron went back into the big suitcase that would be stored for the duration. I’ll try the “wash and wear” life for the next 9 days (never my strength).

October 16, 2025 - Off to Sarria on the Daily Bus

Breakfast was an adventure. Picture a room buzzing with pilgrims, some celebrating, some nervous, all loud. I rode the elevator down with Spanish ladies and three women from the Netherlands. When I spotted them again with an empty seat, I thought, "Perfect! Friendly faces!"

After inviting me to join them, it sounded lovely and they asked me a few questions, but then she immediately started chatting away in Dutch to the others after telling me she preferred a "silent breakfast." Not a language barrier, a vibe barrier. The food wasn't much to write home about either; I’ve traveled Europe before and thought I knew what to expect. Spain could do many things brilliantly, but this hotel's breakfast wasn't one of them. Toast, yogurt, and one spectacular cup of coffee saved the moment. I grabbed a refill and relocated to another peaceful gathering room where only one other person existed, and the silence was nice, but isolating. Not the start I had dreamt of, but oh well.

After breakfast, I solved the luggage question. My big suitcase would stay at my original hotel in Santiago armed with a tiny lock and an AirTag; my smaller suitcase miraculously made the daily weight restriction. I'd simplified down to the classic Camino trio: one outfit to wear, one to wash, one to rotate. Raincoat, trekking poles, socks, check! Tiny victory unlocked. I was proud of myself for getting this figured out.

Google Maps proclaimed that the main bus station was just a reasonable 2 km away, but after walking about a quarter of that distance, the cobblestones said, "Woman, take the taxi." So I did. Remarkably, it was the same driver who'd picked me up from the airport. I didn't recognize him at all, but he was kind when reminding me about that, and we had a nice little reunion ride, talking about the Camino itself. Walking uphill with my suitcase would've been a disaster, so again: taxi = correct life choice.

The bus itself was like stepping into a can of eager sardines. Everyone piled forward as if this was the last bus in Spain. I squeezed on, tucked my backpack overhead, and snagged a window seat, my natural habitat. A few people were coughing (my immune system sighed, but I knew this was inevitable), and then a younger man asked if the seat next to me was free.

Enter Jason, a 30 something actuary from Cape Town with a wonderful South African accent who'd done the Himalayas and had Paris on deck. We talked about travel, aging, and following your passions, basically all the deep Camino stuff before the Camino even began. He kindly followed me on Instagram, so hey, bonus connection.

The two-hour bus ride really highlighted just how far I'd be walking back. Thanks for the reminder, universe (but the countryside was beautiful, and the ride made it come to life).

Behold - Sarria, the beginning of the Final Stage of the Camino Frances

Sarria finally appeared, and I walked about 1 km to the Hotel Villa de Sarria, which was easy, scenic, and I got my first taste of the Camino route, complete with signs and arrows. It was electrifying. I saw the official starting place and I took pictures like the enthusiastic pilgrim I was. My hotel was lovely, with a view of the river, though the front desk person seemed sick, blowing her nose and coughing while checking me in (yikes).

I sorted my backpack, went exploring, and picked up Paracetamol (Tylenol in the EU) and back cream from the pharmacy because my back was already expressing angry opinions. I wandered past outdoor cafés, crossed the river, and eventually met four spirited older women finishing their Camino. They were so sweet, giving me "Buen Camino!" and hyping me up for doing this solo, a little pocket of encouragement right when I needed it. They invited me to join them, but the restaurant was closing. I discovered quickly that many restaurants were closed between lunch and dinner (which was often 3-8 pm).

I made it into another place, just before closing at a lively spot where the staff spoke minimal English, which honestly made it better. I had my great first “pilgrim” meal: yes to the beef fillet, potatoes, heavenly bread, olive oil, and a cold Estrella Galicia. No to the Octopus (although the couple next to me had it, and it reinforced that I made the right choice). The place was warm, loud, happy, filled with locals, exactly the atmosphere I'd hoped for. A taste of the real Spain. It was obviously a local favorite where they welcomed pilgrims among the neighborhood regulars. I smiled the whole time I was there.

I secured my first two pilgrim passport stamps: one from the restaurant, one from the hotel. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to start collecting today or tomorrow, so I figured "more was better." Very on-brand.

Back in my room, I laid out clothes, organized my backpack, and set my suitcase by the door for tomorrow's transport. At 8 a.m., it would go downstairs. I'd grab breakfast, wait for light to settle over Sarria, and begin.

That night's goal was simple: sleep. Good sleep. Tomorrow, the walking would begin. Sleep was needed, but the excitement level fought back.

October 17, 2025 – Day One: Sarria to Morgade

The night before... oof. The room and I were not spiritually aligned, and being next to the elevator meant every pilgrim in Spain walked by my door wearing what sounded like medieval armor. Because I was so excited, sleep was fleeting. The bed was comfortable though, so that was positive.

I headed downstairs early to drop off my suitcase and grab breakfast, and spotted Jason, my actuarial friend from South Africa, warming up with yoga stretches in the lobby. His tour group looked incredibly hearty. I was glad I chose to walk solo but watching them stretch made me briefly consider joining for one forward fold, and I contemplated how different the journey might be with a guide the whole time.

Not far along, I met Belinda from Australia, young, tiny, adorable, sweet, in bright red hiking pants, a bucket hat, and rocking a tiny clear backpack that looked like it belonged at Coachella, not on the Camino. She was walking double my distance, so after chatting for a bit, we hugged and she zoomed ahead like a woman on a mission (we did have a brief café reunion later).

Shortly thereafter, I fell into step with Jamie and Laura from Pennsylvania, who were absolute gems who'd started way back in St. Jean-Pied-de-Port and got ENGAGED on the Camino. She had five kids and six grandkids, which he happily inherited when they became a couple. They sparkled; they were filled with joy. It was touching in many ways and reminded me of how we could feel as older adults in love. We walked together for a while, chatting like old friends, one of those moments that felt meant to be. Just a few hours in and I'd already met some wonderful people: a couple from Portland who'd moved recently to Spain, a mother-daughter duo from Georgia and Weaverville, CA (the mother recognized my accent: "You're from the US!" I volleyed back proudly, "California!"). Everyone felt like community dropped onto the trail at exactly the right moment. This was part of the experience that I had hoped to have.

I also chatted with Gwen, Jeff, and Kathryn from Los Angeles and Cape Cod, who were also using Camino Ways like me. Turns out they'd paid a little extra for significantly nicer accommodations WITH dinner included. My content collaboration with Camino Ways brought them significant value, so a small upgrade would've been a nice gesture. But hey, I appreciated the opportunity and took responsibility for not asking for more for myself as a content creator (devaluating is a frequent problem for newbies like me).

The day itself was a postcard, sunny, crisp, fresh air, and downright smug about it. I wandered past rolling fields drenched in green and gold, old stone buildings that looked like they’d been waiting centuries just for me to walk by, and farms bursting with life. Every bit of flora seemed to wink at me as I passed. I kept seeing these small buildings that looked interesting in their design, it turns out they are storage for corn! I soaked it all in, openly, like a sponge on a mission.

I stopped at a cute café, had a delicious coke and a bag of chips, but then I checked my app and discovered I was only 500 meters from my stop. Under 8 miles for the day. I'd taken it slowly, snapped tons of photos, genuinely soaked it in. Could I have gone farther? Sure. Should I have? Probably not. I wanted this Camino to be gentle, intentional, unhurried, and that day, it was exactly that. Time to rest. Space to think. Space to be. Stop rushing through life.

My accommodation for this night, Casa Morgade appeared like a pocket of stillness tucked into the Galician countryside. A converted farmhouse, rustic, charming, surrounded by fields, stone buildings, and a quiet so deep it almost buzzed, until 100 teenagers showed up (that panic and angst was brief, they kept moving). There were several buildings, a small outdoor restaurant and a larger one inside. The registration desk was inside a small souvenir shop. Sadly, I came back later to buy a few things, and they had already closed. Once all the pilgrims were checked in for the night, the helper closed!

Lunch was still being served, but dinner wouldn't be until 6:30 PM. In California, I was basically eating dinner at 4:00 like a happy older person, so 6:30 felt "late." In Spain? That was practically an early bird special. I debated: lunch now, or wait for wine and dinner with other pilgrims? The social pull won.

That afternoon, I wandered into what I thought was an outdoor common room... only to realize, after admiring the toys, they were someone's private residence. The homeowner came out and scolded me. I tried apologizing in frantic tourist Spanish, then scurried out.

I eventually found the actual guest lounge, chatted briefly with a few other guests, then headed out for fresh air and the last bit of sunshine before tomorrow's predicted rain on the beautiful outdoor deck.

The terrible Wi-Fi was testing me. No photo uploads that night, but thankfully I'd downloaded books, an audiobook, and Netflix. I was used to being always connected, this was like digital detox against my will. It forced me to disconnect, sit with myself, and realize how uncomfortable silence could be. Maybe that was the point. Maybe this was where clarity started. Why did we always need to be entertained? Why was sitting in silence with ourselves so uncomfortable? It was like solitude poked at all the little thoughts we avoided.

Later, I sat again on the deck looking out at rolling green hills, stone fences, and cows living their best lives. I felt something unexpected: contentment. Real, uncluttered contentment.

Dinner at Casa Morgade: Meeting Terry

At 6:30 PM, I headed to the dining room, ready to be social and maybe have one of those magical Camino dinners where strangers became friends.

The room was small, cozy, with maybe a dozen pilgrims scattered around. I immediately spotted Jeff, Gwen, and Kathryn, Americans I'd seen on the trail. Pleasant people. Familiar faces. We'd chatted on and off throughout the day.

In my optimistic bubble, I assumed we'd sit together. I walked in and asked for a table for four. The server set it, and I sat down, waiting for them to come in. They appeared moments later, saw me, saw the empty chairs. I smiled, gesturing to the table. "I got a table for four if you want to join."

Then... the pause. The kind that lasted two seconds but felt like it was mocking you in slow motion. But they'd already shifted away, whispering to each other. I got it. They wanted their trio. I wasn't part of the plan. For a moment, I just sat there feeling foolish, like I'd misread the room entirely.

Then I noticed a woman about my age sitting alone at a table for two. She had that fit-but-tired look of someone who'd been walking for weeks. I picked up my menu, walked over, and asked, "Excuse me, are you solo?"

She looked up and smiled widely. "Yes."

"Would you like company?"

"Oh, please, that would be wonderful."

And just like that, everything shifted. Karma stepped in.

Terry was wonderful, and we talked for ages and like we’d known each other for a long time. For €13.50, dinner was shockingly good: melon and prosciutto, chicken with salad, cheesecake, bread that deserved applause, and wine.

She was from Santa Clarita, California, basically a neighbor in pilgrim terms. A retired nurse walking the entire Camino Frances. Not just my 115 kilometers. The full 800 kilometers from St. Jean Pied de Port in France, the true beginning. She was nearly 60 days into her journey when we met.

"Sixty days," I repeated, trying to process it. "I'm doing ten and already wondering if I'm going to get bored."

She laughed. "You stop counting days out here. You stop thinking about the end. You just... walk. You meet people, you talk, you enjoy the experience”.

We talked about solo travel as women. The vulnerability. The freedom. The odd moments of loneliness. The way the Camino stripped you down to essentials physically, mentally, emotionally.

"Do you ever feel isolated or lonely? Homesick?” I asked.

She thought about it. "Not really. But I think solo travel can be isolating sometimes. That's part of the experience. You need to be okay with your own company. I talk to my family daily, and live with my sister, who I love dearly, but sometimes I enjoy the solitude”. We had a short conversation about sisters, and how both of our sisters tried to invite themselves into this experience, and how we both politely declined their company, not wanting to hurt them, but honoring our own reasons for undertaking this personal journey.

She'd organized her walk with a company called Find My Camino and raved about how personalized it was. She told me that she worked extensively with a person in their customer service to get exactly what she wanted at the price she was willing to pay. Every place she stayed was lovely, quiet, and comfortable. I felt a small pang of envy - not competitive, simply curious about how different this journey could look. She stayed in private rooms, but often in Albergues where she got to enjoy the communal dinners too with a chance to meet others and hear their stories.

By the end of dinner, almost 9 PM, we'd exchanged WhatsApp numbers and promised to keep in touch. We'd cross paths again; I would make sure of it.

Walking back to my room, I felt lighter. Connected. Grateful. I'd made a real friend who understood this moment in life, this strange mix of courage and vulnerability.

Big Day One Reflections

I absolutely loved that day. It was calm, green, and the right mix of dirt paths, rocky stretches, pavement, and rolling hills. I used both trekking poles but quickly realized I only needed one, the next day, the second one was going back in the pack.

Wildlife lineup: cows, bulls, roosters, horses, some kitties, and goats whose smell deserved its own Yelp review. One star: would not sniff again they smelled "baaaddd…" (pun intended).

I snagged three more stamps that day, bringing my total to five. Enormously proud.

My current room at Casa Morgade was small, historic, comfortable, and praise the Camino gods, initially so noticeably quiet. BUT that was short-lived as the family home I'd infiltrated earlier shared two of my walls. Quiet time for them was close to midnight. The bed was comfortable, except dogs barked, kids screeched, and adults talked loudly. But honestly, this was their home. I was just passing through. Thousands before me had slept here, and thousands after me would too. It was part of the story.

My mind wandered to all the things I wished I could fix in my life but couldn't quite get there. As a self-professed control freak, that was frustrating, issues in my life that I couldn’t work out. I was trying to redirect that energy toward what was possible. Maybe that was one of the lessons brewing. Maybe it was just the goat smell affecting my emotional equilibrium.

The next day was only 11 km basically a morning stroll. The weather was still holding out, but it would turn after that, and naturally, my longest day was lining up with the worst forecast. Because of course it was.

No grand revelations yet, no thunderbolt wisdom, but it was good. Really good. The trail was gorgeous. The walking felt meditative. The physical challenge was manageable: my back complained a little, my toes filed formal protests, but nothing dramatic.

I fell asleep feeling like maybe, just maybe, I belonged out here.

October 18, 2025 – Day Two: Morgade to Portomarín

I slept about six hours, which on the Camino felt like winning the sleep lottery. I packed up, brought my suitcase down for pickup, and found Terry already at breakfast. Of course I sat with her. We chatted like old friends even though we'd only met the night before. That was the Camino time which moved differently; people folded into your life faster. Terry was extremely optimistic, and I envied that. Her glass was always “half-full”, something I work on that consistently. Writing this journal brought my lack of optimism more in focus. That was good for me to see that.

I wasn't in a hurry to go. I only had 11 km to walk, and for once, I didn't want to power through like I was late for the airport. I left around 9 AM, the sun was already spilling across the countryside. Everything felt softened by morning light, magical, really. The kind of morning where you naturally breathed slower. I stopped and looked back taking a few photos to remember the place in more detail.

Only a handful of people were ahead of me, a few behind. We came to a small farm with some very cool buildings, and I stopped to take some photos. This stage was usually well-marked, but it shared space with a cycling route. At one fork, I saw a yellow arrow, then another sign, then a bike symbol... and made what I thought was a confident decision. Another couple there were pondering the same thing. I went one way; they went the other.

Spoiler: I was confidently wrong.

It took about 20 minutes to notice it felt off, no pilgrims, barely any markings, no cement mileage posts that were evident elsewhere, and a road that had traffic (not busy but obviously not the Camino trail). A runner came by asking me if they were going the right way, I shrugged my shoulders. It felt wrong. I pulled up my Camino Ninja app, and sure enough... bike path. Classic. If that was my only mistake during this trek, I would have been good with that!

Fortunately, I was only 700 meters from reconnecting with the correct trail. When I saw the familiar signs and other pilgrims again, I could have hugged someone. Camino Ninja app, lifesaver.

A few steps later, I spotted a small roadside café, the exact kind of Camino moment I'd been craving. I sat outside with a Cortado coffee and croissant, absorbing the peacefulness like fuel for my body and my soul. I watched many pilgrims passing by wondering about their journeys and their reasons.

As I got back on the trail, I saw Kathryn, one of the trio from the night before, and walked with her for a bit. She moved slower, and I tried matching her pace, but my natural rhythm kept wanting to speed up. So I stopped to photograph old stone farm buildings and set up my tripod for a self-portrait. Before I could, a young woman walking by asked, "Do you want me to take your picture?"

I lit up. "Yes, actually, that would be great."

And just like that, I met Kimberly.

She was from Australia, traveling for four weeks already with several more to go, in a vagabond sort of way. She was doing the same distance as I was, just at double the speed. She looked much younger than she was, and turns out she was in her early 40s, an Art Therapist with her own practice and the ability to stretch her trips longer than most people could owning a business.

We fell into step together and walked the entire way to Portomarín. It was easy conversation, the kind you didn't have to force. We crossed the river, and walked up the stairs, seeing the giant Portomarín sign ahead. Her Albergue ended up being near my hotel, so we swapped WhatsApp info and made plans to meet later for wine.

"Wine" turned into wine and food and a two-to-three-hour deep dive into everything: friendships, aging, the loneliness that crept in when your circle wasn't local or lifelong, and even politics. Nothing like bonding over mutual exasperation at we both knew too well in global headlines.

When I finally headed to my hotel, Villajardin Portomarin, I was delighted to find a huge room, three times the size of the night before, with an enormous bathroom, a tub, a real counter, and even an outdoor balcony with chairs. I couldn't open the door to the deck (apparently it required Olympic-level strength), but honestly? I didn't mind.

I ended up flipping through TV channels and landing on Minions dubbed in Spanish, which hilariously made perfect sense. Minion talk was basically its own foreign language anyway. I couldn't find anything in English, but there was something comforting about watching nonsense in a language I half understood. Plus, no CNN, no Sky News, no BBC. That break from the constant stream of world worries felt like a small blessing.

Physically, I felt surprisingly good. My toes, the usual troublemakers from my running days, were sore even with silicone caps. I'd probably lose those toenails. Camino souvenirs, I guessed. My back didn't bother me much while walking, but later in the evening it kicked up again. I'd bought this miracle cream the pharmacist recommended, though I was still not convinced it did anything except smell medicinal. The psychology of smelly medicine.

I thought a lot that day, as I always did on long walks, and Kimberly and I talked about my feeling of loneliness and lack of friends at our ages. She said, "Sometimes it's them and not you." While that was kind, I still told her the truth: some days I felt like I couldn't make friends, that I was too much or not enough, somehow always just outside the circle. It made me feel isolated. Like people who didn't really like me, and I know that I am not for everyone, I am an acquired taste. Thoughts that were self-defeating continued to spill out. She listened, and sometimes that was all you really needed.

The next day was supposed to bring rain, then one day of clouds, then more rain. The temperature would drop, too. I was incredibly grateful I packed my puffy vest; it might be about to earn its keep (spoiler, I never needed it, but it had a great vacation).

That night, the walls around me echoed with scraping chairs and random hallway noises. I thought there was a floor above me, and pilgrims were rearranging furniture like they were staging a remodel as the floor was tile, not carpet. I pondered why I had such good hearing. Portomarín was the stop for people who walked straight from Sarria 23 km, so fingers crossed the fatigue hit them fast.

Day Two was in the books. And little by little, this Camino was becoming less of a trip and more of a transformation. Part of that was keeping a running journal in Google Docs, where I used voice to text, filling the pages with all of my thoughts – those which would be refined for this story.

October 19, 2025 – Day Three: Portomarín to Ventas de Narón

The noise finally died down around midnight. Turns out I was staying right above the dining hall, prime real estate if you enjoyed the soundtrack of chairs scraping and people shouting over dinner. My “bad room karma” continued.

I headed out around 8:55 AM into pouring rain and high winds. It was still dim outside, the kind of morning where you wondered if the sun overslept but knowing that sunrise there was quite late. A few pilgrims were ahead of me, and as the trail continued, more appeared, much busier than the day before, more like Day One. I thought I was in that sweet spot where distances overlapped, so the next day might quiet down again.

I chatted with Kimberly on WhatsApp. That poor woman left at 6:30 AM and didn't reach her new accommodation until 4:30 PM. She admitted it was too long of a walk for one day, but at least that night she had a single room. She'd had the "never again" moment at the 24-bed Albergue. Small victory.

As it turned out for me, the upcoming night's Albergue was small but decent and super cute. My room was surprisingly large, and the TV even had two English channels, a true Camino miracle. It was chilly, and I could not, for the life of me, figure out the heating system. There was this odd mechanical sound that came and went, not bothersome, curious. Turns out they control the heat, not the guest. Across the hall, an eight-bed dorm was filling with a few ladies checking in. I checked the guest laundry; the dryer was out of service. Next stop maybe.

I booked the pilgrim dinner for 6 PM, but earlier, I was hungry, so I treated myself to a glass of wine and French fries. Heaven. Turns out fries were a staple there.

People I Met That Day

I met a group of Finnish ladies early on, traded a "Buen Camino" and moved on. Then I ran into the pilgrims I'd seen the last couple of nights, also booked Camino Ways. No sign of Kathryn; they said she was pretty far behind, and I hoped she was okay.

At one stop, I grabbed hot chocolate, got a stamp, and met Mario from Miami (originally Chile)¸nice guy, mid-40s, walking solo. Then I met Alex and Laura from Tucson, ex-Denver, former teachers turned tech folks. We had a long talk about genealogy, digital storytelling, and how to preserve and simplify a lifetime of family research and share them effectively with family who weren’t tech savvy. I tossed out a few ideas and promised to let him know if something brilliant came to me later. It was unexpected fun to talk about a subject that I was so involved in and knowledgeable about.

The Weather Report Nobody Asked For, But Here It Was

Windy. Rainy. Brutal in the open stretches. Rinse (literally) and repeat. The walk today was different in many areas. Long stretches that were adjacent to a busy road. I did catch a gorgeous full rainbow, with both ends visible and that felt like the Camino throwing me a wink.

My Merrell trail shoes with Gore-Tex were champions. Dry socks. Warm feet. Zero drama. What a wonderful choice I made with those. My sleeves got a bit wet where the poncho didn't reach, and my hat was drenched, but the poncho hood kept my glasses dry. That was basically the only metric that mattered. I needed to see where I was going.

The next day there should be more on-and-off rain. Then things would go downhill fast, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday all looked rough on the weather predictions. Thankfully those last two days were shorter in distance.

Dinner: A Gift

Dinner turned out to be a gift, my new friend, Terry, was here! We were even staying at the same hotel the next night. I'd been worried I'd offended her somehow when I didn't meet her in Portomarín for dinner, and she declined my invite to join me and Kimberly, but clearly not. She was speaking to her family which it turned out happened each day for her. How nice to be so close to your adult children I thought enviously.

As I settled into my chilly room, listening to my mystery mechanical companion hum on and off, I pondered important things. Why was I here? What was I doing? What was I hoping to find? Would I find anything at all?

October 20, 2025 – Day Four: Ventas de Narón to Palas Del Rei

I started thinking the last two days with just 6 miles, may well be too short, and I could combine them. I might be able to finish in Santiago, celebrate, then taxi back to whatever village my reservation was in, sleep there, and taxi back the next day. That might become the plan (but later, it turns out it wasn't a good plan due to many factors).

I started the morning with breakfast alongside Terry, which sounded nicer than it was (the company was good). They brought me rock-hard bread, a couple slices of meat and cheese and called it a meal. Pretty disappointing. In hindsight, I should've paid for eggs.

Both weather apps promised zero rain, just clouds. Lies. The Weather App was a chronic liar. It poured from the moment I stepped outside until I reached that day's hotel... and it was still raining then. My gear struggled, my pants got soaked, my raincoat almost gave up, but my feet stayed dry. Miracle. That day was only 7.6 miles, but it felt longer with the weather. But it was part of the experience.

That night's hotel was lovely though, O Cruceiro Ventas. No English TV channels, The Big Bang Theory shown in Spanish, but they had radio. Two full-size beds, I'd claimed one for sleeping and one for sitting, like a queen surveying her kingdom.

Honestly, I wished I'd brought true rain pants. They would've made that day more comfortable. I also took my jacket off again, and even though the temperature dropped, I felt completely fine. The cold ahead didn't bother me, the physical activity offset the chill.

People Along the Way

That day I chatted with a group of eight friends from Los Angeles, San Diego, and Kansas City, college friends doing the Camino slowly through Macs Adventures, they had stayed at the same place I was at the prior night. One took my business card, so maybe they'd follow along.

I ran into "that other couple" again, the ones I'd seen several times, from the Midwest, wearing yellow raincoats, and still didn't get their names, my personal Camino mystery. They were using Camino Ways too, but they were not staying at the same place.

Then I met Emma from Toronto, who had been talking with an older Australian gentleman whose wife was walking far ahead. I had been following them for some time unable to distance enough to not hear the ongoing conversation where he was providing her career advice. Emma was a writer hoping to work more in film, but with the industry so rough, she feared she'd need to teach for stability. His perspective was “interesting” and bit self-centered. I also shared a bit about my many careers and mostly listened rather than become too active in his monologue.

The Toes. Oh, the Toes.

My second toes were back on their nonsense. There was significant up and down walking on the Camino, and the down was problematic. I was wearing double silicone caps, but they still hurt. But NO blisters!

Dinner and Observations

This place, Hotel Alda Palas de Reis, didn't serve dinner until 7 PM, but the bar opened at 3. After that awful breakfast, I treated myself to coffee and a chocolate crêpe mid-walk, plus a chocolate bar later, so I was good.

I tried pinging Terry on WhatsApp, but no luck, she was calling her sister and daughters, and with the time difference it might be too early.

Dinner was buffet-style: fried fish, pork, chicken, fries, a few sides. It did the job. The desserts in glass jars were delicious, and of course there was wine. Terry came in, and we had another good talk. She told me that she would finish on the 25th too, so we'd end around the same time. My plan to combine 2 days into 1 day was not needed. I wanted to finish and celebrate with her.

I'd been scrolling TikTok and Facebook reading everyone's Camino reflections, what they learned, what it meant, and there I was, heading into Day Five wondering... what was going to happen for me? What was I going to take away from this?

October 21, 2025 – Day Five: Palas Del Rei to Melide

I started the day meeting Andrea from Minnesota, a pediatric dentist walking with a spiritual leadership group from Notre Dame. She was warm, easy to talk to, and her group included people from San Diego. A little early-morning Camino community to start things off.

As I walked under a canopy of trees, the wind shook loose leftover raindrops nature’s way of reminding me more rain was coming. The trail was wet and slick. Someone I met earlier told me that in just a couple of days, one person in their group had sprained an ankle, another got sick, and someone else twisted their knee. The Camino giveth... and sometimes the Camino taketh away.

Between the mossy stones, puddles, and the occasional bike flying by silently (bells or verbal warnings were nonexistent here), I noticed tiny purple crocuses lining the path, little pops of new life in all the dampness. There were some beautiful flowers all along the Camino.

The taverna stops were comforting, water, snacks, espresso, passport stamps. I had to stop for water after dropping my hat in the mud, using half my bottle to rinse it off. I was still not drinking enough because I was trying to avoid bathroom breaks, though honestly, on the Frances, you could find a bathroom every 2-4 km.

The weather app again claimed no rain until afternoon, but it rained all morning. It lied for the umpteenth time showing ZERO rain on radar. That water coming from the sky wasn't imaginary. I ended up taking my jacket off and unzipping my raincoat so the wind could cool me down. My hood was clipped on, the air was misty, and I could feel another wave coming. I ducked into another tree-covered stretch.

The trail was quiet that day. After my early chat with Andrea, most people passing were small groups speaking various languages. We exchanged the Buen Camino greeting, but otherwise it was a peaceful, solitary walk.

I ran into Andrea's group again, took their photo, and they returned the favor. A little further on, I saw Eric. He said Kathryn was taking a taxi that day and Gwen was far behind because of her feet. Part of me thought taking a taxi was a tiny bit wimpy, but everyone's Camino was their own. I shouldn't judge; it could have happened to me.

He went ahead, but then suddenly backtracked. He told me, "Oh, this is where we're staying," which surprised both of us because I still had three miles left. Their spot did look lovely compared to mine, which brought me to...

That Night's Hotel: Carlos 96 Melide - One Star and not earning even that!

This hotel was... something. Walking up it looked nice, like a real hotel. Inside long wooden hallways, lights that flicked on when you walked past, thin walls even though half my room was exterior. I could hear everything. The room felt odd, dingy, almost eerie.

The bathroom was passable and had a bidet (no thanks as the cleanliness was suspect). They did offer two washers, but the laundry setup confused me, I didn't realize the machine automatically added soap, so I added more. My clothes should be extremely clean the next day. The washer and dryer were quite speedy so that was nice.

While waiting for dinner (not served until 7:30), I had a sangria, a few mushy olives, and some stale chips. Terry ended up eating at her hotel because the weather turned, so I walked alone to a restaurant called Pulpería Gazar. I was practically the only person there while they cleaned and clanged around, between lunch and dinner. I ordered steak and fries for €12 and wine for €2.40. The steak had good flavor, and the fries were a flop. Octopus was their specialty - hard pass.

On my way back, I found a small grocery store and picked up water and a pastry. It was raining on the walk to dinner but not on the return, small kindnesses.

The Vibe Check: Not Great

This hotel gave me the creeps. The bar downstairs had an elderly woman sitting there for hours with a wheelchair beside her. She was there when I arrived earlier, and still there after dinner. Sometimes she was using an iPad, other times she seemed to be crying. People that seemed to be involved with the hotel came and went, each sitting by her for a time. Eldersitting? The whole atmosphere was just strange. Industrial. Gloomy. Not like the other towns I'd stayed in.

I checked the bed for bedbugs thankfully I saw none. But when you could hear people peeing through the bathroom walls, you started counting down the hours until checkout.

The next day I'd decided that I would leave the same way I came in so I'd rejoin the Camino properly. I could cut over from the upper street, but I wanted to continue exactly where I left off.

Heavy rain and 40 mph wind gusts were forecast for the next day. Not thrilled. But the apps had been wrong every day so far, maybe they'd surprise me.

I happily heard from Kimberly, she was a few towns ahead and doing well. The recently engaged couple I met sent me a photo from Santiago, they finished that day, and I was so happy for them!

On the lighter side, I saw a few adorable cats that day. I even popped into a church for a quick moment, but I felt awkward with the candles. I needed to keep my coins in an easy-to-reach pocket for moments like that. And yes, I treated myself to another real Coke that day, delicious and totally worth it as I crossed the halfway point of the journey.

I wasn't sure what the next day would bring weather, insights, surprises, but I was open to whatever this Camino wanted to toss at me. That was the intended goal from the time I committed to the journey.

October 22, 2025 – Day Six: Melide to Arzúa

I started the morning meeting two more people from the Notre Dame leadership group, Theresa and David. They lived in Park City but were originally from Carlsbad, small world! They were warm, gracious, and invited me to walk the rosary with them, which I politely declined. They also had a priest guiding them along the Camino, and honestly... that was cool. I have never been religious, but I have mad respect for those who are and genuinely believe in their God. I identify as an Agnostic, believing there may be a higher power, just not sure.

Leaving town was such a contrast. One minute we were waiting at streetlights with cars buzzing past, and ten minutes later we were in countryside again, though you could still hear construction equipment off in the distance, reminding you the city was close. Even out here, the world hummed along. I spotted several cats along the walkway, as usual. The Camino always delivered cats.

The bikers kept zooming along the same path. I was convinced half of them were auditioning for stealth missions, no bells, no warnings, just suddenly behind you, telepathically willing you out of their way.

Along the trail, I met a few people briefly, then fell into a longer conversation with two guys from London. One of them, Darren, worked for a travel agency and was familiar with World Travel Market (WTM) where I was headed after Morocco, so we had plenty to chat about. He was so nice. When we reached a stream crossing with slippery rocks, I asked them to spot me so I didn't end up taking a surprise bath. They were very gentlemanly about it.

The weather started mostly cloudy and windy, then shifted into that on-again, off-again drizzle. The last hour and a half featured full-on rain with fierce wind. Classic Camino mood swings.

I stopped for chips and a tiny glass bottle of Coke, my new favorite. While there, I met Doris from Bavaria. She just turned 60, had back surgery to repair two discs, and decided she wasn't going to wait for "someday." She said she used to be a “couch potato” and wanted something meaningful to challenge herself. Normally traveling with her husband, she surprised him by wishing to go alone. She was carrying her full pack every day. Meanwhile, my 8 lb. pack was already more than enough for me, and honestly? I liked the way I was doing this. Everyone's Camino was theirs to undertake.

That Night's Room: Hotel Arzua - Better Vibes, Noisy Location

My hotel that night was at least brighter and felt much cleaner than the last one, thankfully. But of course, I was right on the main street and outside the elevator. Lots of traffic and trucks in the rain. I swore they saw a solo woman and thought, "Ah yes, let's give her the noisiest room." Terry was there too but in a different room. There was a little café next door, which was convenient.

I wandered next door for a tiny sandwich and a glass of wine to tide me over. They were about to close. Then I heard someone say, "Debbie," which startled me, who knew me here? I am so bad with names, I wondered who remembered mine! Turns out it was the guy who'd been talking with the young woman from Toronto the other day. We chatted for a few minutes. Small world, Camino edition. They gave me a few bites out of the case that had been there for some time, but the thought was nice.

Later, I found a place for dinner and arrived early to grab a seat for Terry and me. As I walked in, I heard another "Debbie!" It was Darren from the trail, the one walking with his brother Casper. I joined them for wine, and when Terry arrived, the four of us ended up having dinner together. It was genuinely lovely. The food was interesting (but good), and it was nice to be together.

That was one of the best parts of this journey: the friendships that sparked instantly. You talked about why you were here, where you were from, what you hoped to learn or heal, and suddenly you were sharing a meal like you'd known each other for years. The conversations were deep. Maybe it was because you felt you wouldn’t see these people again, maybe it was something else.

The Nighttime Noise Parade

Back in my room. Terry was directly below me in 101, and I was in 201, facing the busy street. It was 9:36 p.m., and it was loud, people at outdoor cafés, smokers chatting outside restaurants, cars going by. I was hoping everyone would decide to go home soon. Turns out her room was even noisier. I did find a side window that was opened, so upon closing, which helped bring the noise down. Unfortunately, I can’t wear earplugs which is always a challenge when I travel. Noise sensitivity is a beast.

On top of that, I had a tiny tickle in my throat and felt stuffy, so I took an immune vitamin just in case. If I was getting sick, I'd mask up, but nothing was stopping me from finishing this walk. I know from my medical experience that wetness and cold doesn’t cause illness!

My knee also decided to file a formal complaint that day and cussed me out. I put some cream on it and took an anti-inflammatory that night instead of my usual morning dose. I'd need to stop at a pharmacy the next day and stock up. I also found my knee brace, so that was going on first thing in the morning. I'd be using both trekking poles from then on, no more pretending one was enough.

October 23, 2025 – Day Seven: Arzua to O Pedrouzo

I woke up with my knee feeling better, but as soon as I stepped onto the trail, the familiar ache returned. My paracetamol was already packed away, so I made a quick stop at a pharmacy in town and replenished my supply. I looked at my small piece of KT tape but wasn't sure how I'd cut and apply it properly, so the elastic knee brace came to the rescue instead. The pain fluctuated: sometimes sharp, sometimes manageable, but with only 20 kilometers to cover, I knew I could tough it out and hoped that my knee would quiet down.

The trail was busier than I needed right then. For the first three hours, it felt crowded and chaotic, people talking loudly in Spanish, schoolchildren darting around, bikes zooming past, and even a few dogs in the mix. After the initial crush, the crowd thinned, and I paused briefly for a cappuccino. A few friendly exchanges of Buen Camino here and there, but mostly, I walked in my own rhythm.

I finally stopped to get my wax stamp for my passport (these were offered in various places along the Camino and were lovely) and to check on Terry, but she had already turned off to her accommodation after eight miles. I still had another two and a half miles, and we wouldn't meet again until Saturday.

Along the way, I ran into the college friends having a beer, they were already at their nightly stop, and Doris from Bavaria again. She was still navigating logistics on her own, and reported having had a rough night at her previous lodging. We took a quick photo together, I wished I'd done that with everyone I met. Seeing her picture makes me smile.

Near my destination, a couple from Indiana walked by, and we began talking. He had a knee replacement not that long ago and was happy how good he felt. His wife offered me a piece of tape for my knee, practical kindness that might save the day. I appreciated their concern.

Once I arrived at the Casa de Acivro Rua Pedrouzo, I found Eric, Gwen, and Kathryn had already settled at that same place. Gwen, being a practitioner, offered to tape my knee at dinner, which I gratefully welcomed. By sheer coincidence, Darren and Casper were also there just finishing their afternoon snack; their glamping site restaurant next door had closed for the season, so they'd returned here to have a late lunch. I hoped they'd join me for dinner, company always made the Camino feel warmer and I enjoyed speaking to them.

The Room Situation

The room I was given was... questionable. Small, cold, and in considerable knee pain, I felt every ache more acutely. The wine I brought over from the lounge lasted barely ten minutes before the room's damp and very musty smell overtook it. I even tried to switch rooms, mentioning the horrid smell but the desk said no – I had already “used” it. The toilet had a mind of its own, flushing sporadically. There was a newer, nicer section of the hotel I wasn't allowed to access. Dinner wouldn't start for another hour, and the prices were high. The room felt dark, smelly, and particularly rustic, not at all the cozy retreat I'd imagined after a long day.

Yet, despite the discomfort, I found small moments of meaning along the trail. I came across a place with ribbons tied by pilgrims, and I added the one from my backpack, making a quiet promise to myself to enjoy life more. Walking and interacting with people brought real happiness, even if the room and my aching knee reminded me that comfort mattered too.

As I lay under the covers, attempting to escape a persistent mosquito, checking for bedbugs, and dodging a giant spider who should have had his own room, I reflected on my own preferences. Call me bougie, but I was not a rough-it kind of person. I loved walking through nature, experiencing adventures, connecting with people, and exploring, but at the end of the day, I needed a comfortable bed, a functional bathroom, and no unwelcome nighttime visitors. Luxury might seem indulgent on a pilgrimage, but it was what allowed me to fully enjoy the journey. Remember, everyone's Camino journey is different, and wanting more doesn’t diminish your purpose.

October 24, 2025 – Day Eight: Pedrouzo Rua to Lavacolla

I got an early start around 9 a.m., and the trail was blissfully quiet at first. Only later did it start to pick up with a few people out walking. I met John from the East Coast; he'd started from St. Jean on September 20-something and was finishing that day. I congratulated him.

I truly felt like I was the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde of hiking as I recounted my last night’s stay. During the day, I loved it, all the trail threw at me, rain, heat, sun, it didn't matter. But at night? I needed comfort and luxury. I wasn't sure how to merge those two things in this type of experience, but it was something to ponder. I know that having what you want can help you get to what you need. There must be a way to balance.

A large group of students came by, making a lot of noise, which wasn't exactly pleasant. I stopped on the trail giving them some distance before I started walking again. I saw a cute hungry kitten and all I had was a protein bar, so I gave it some, and it gobbled it up. I lost count of the cats on the Camino and hoped that they were all loved and well fed. I walked through an area where everything had been cut down. We were close to the main airport; I heard several planes taking off. The cleared land didn't smell of burning, so I wasn't sure why it had been cleared. I made a mental note to look it up but failed to do that. That group of students all stopped for wax passport stamps, which kept them busy for a while. I tried to walk as slowly as possible because my knee hurt, and I didn't want the day to feel too short. Could it have been that I didn’t want this to end quite yet?

A group passed me with two beautiful German Shepherds, or maybe a mix, wearing little vests. I thought they were being trained for something. I'd seen a few dogs along the trail with their owners.

It was very cold that morning, but it warmed up nicely. My knee hurt like crazy that morning, but it hung in there, thankfully, the paracetamol kicked in. The tape was peeling off, and the brace exacerbated the matter. I’ll live. This problem was not unexpected.

I couldn't believe how quickly I got to my stop that day. I thought about continuing all the way to Santiago to finish, but the next day was 10/25/2025¸a cool number. Plus, taking a taxi back would've been a hassle. Terry also planned to finish on 10/25, so I was glad I decided to stay the original course.

The Airport Hotel: Ruta Lavacolla - A Welcome Change

The hotel was older but well-kept. My room was magnificent compared to some places I'd stayed on the Camino. It was an airport hotel, not a Camino stop, but it was perfect for me. Much like the hotels I stayed at over my years of business travel. I had a short walk of about 600 meters to get there, and it was right near the freeway popular with airport travelers.

The restaurant downstairs was lovely. I went down for food and got seated at a big table all by myself, facing away from the windows and other customers. It felt odd, but I figured it was just part of being a solo traveler. They brought me bread, which I didn't touch, and I realized I didn't want a fancy €58 lobster salad or any of the other expensive items on the menu. Luckily, they had a small bar area where I could get something simpler.

I ordered a salad with crispy ham, walnuts, raisins, pineapple, mixed greens, tomato, burrata, and a pesto dressing, it was excellent. Two glasses of house wine came to €3 each. I still couldn't get over how cheap wine was there.

I looked at the dessert menu, but everything looked huge. The ladies next to me from Germany ordered something enormous. I went for a small cup of cocoa instead, it was perfect, along with a little chocolate. After the dismal dinner I had the night before with salty pork and unpleasant fries, this fresh green salad was a delight. I ate every bite.

I contacted Terry; she’ll call me when she finished the next day. I couldn't even find her accommodations on the map. Apparently, her stop was so remote that they had to order food delivered to the hotel.

My stop that day was exactly six miles from the start, with another six miles to go the next day. I'd probably go back to the same spot I left off rather than cut across the trail, just to be sure I hit the kilometers correctly. I also needed to find a stamp from this hotel, I only got two that day, and it was better to have one extra than to come up short.

Knee Update and Looking Ahead

My knee... well, my knee. I knew eventually I'd need a medical fix, but for now my goal was just to calm it down so I could make it through Morocco, London, and Antarctica (my upcoming trips) in moderate to no pain. I already had a doctor's appointment when I got back. I'd probably get some gel and a cortisone shot, which should help (note: I got the gel, and it feels great).

After day eight, I was still waiting for some big revelation, some "aha" moment. So far? Not yet. Many trivial things though that had added up. I loved the outdoors, the walking, the adventure, and meeting people, but I still didn't love roughing it at night. The Portuguese route kept calling to me; it was flat, near the ocean, and the ladies I spoke with at lunch yesterday also confirmed it was beautiful. If my knee held up, that was next on the list for 2026.

I didn't sleep well the night before, so I was hoping for the best in this nice room. It was quiet, the bed was comfortable, and the pillows were nice for a change. Fingers and toes crossed.

There was a large party in the dining room downstairs, just one floor down and to the right of my room. I could hear people, who knew how long that would go on, but for now, I was happy to be there. They quieted down quickly, and I was warm, comfortable, and peaceful.

October 25, 2025 – Day Nine: The Final Day

The final day. My phone buzzed at 5 a.m., waking me. A message from Billy with a picture of a Pumpkin Martini. It was okay, I felt rested. Immediately, thoughts of Morocco and repacking stressed me out. Two-week trips seemed to be my sweet spot; beyond that, I missed my cat and my bed. The next day, I'd approach Morocco like a fresh trip.

Breakfast at the hotel was good, one of the staff was there showing me all the food and speaking to me in mostly Spanish. I smiled and nodded. He was so nice and eager to please. No one else was there yet, so I ate again in solitude.

I left the hotel and returned to my previous day's turning point to preserve mileage. Missteps at a small church cost a few minutes, and the weather app lied again, it rained briefly, and I had no raincoat in my backpack. Gray, cloudy, cool weather made for good walking, though knee pain was sharp at first.

This part of the trail had pockets of interaction: a Smithsonian tour participant took my picture, a military-style singing group passed, but mostly it was quiet. Near Santiago, the city appeared suddenly with its overpasses, traffic, and people, it was jarring compared to the peacefulness of the prior Camino trails. Just like that I was in the city.

The Reunion

I crossed the overpass and kept walking, passing by some historic buildings, shops, restaurants, all looking quite beckoning. I considered stopping for a coffee, but I was so close to the finish. By chance, I stopped to look at my phone, and when I looked up, there was Terry! We ran up to each other with big hugs.

We thought I might finish ahead by an hour or so, but she told me she left early and went fast to try and catch up! We were thrilled to celebrate together and walked the final stretch side by side. We walked through the busy town heading towards the cathedral, high on adrenaline for sure. I felt such pride not only in myself but in Terry, I did this for 9 days; she did it for more than 60 days.

We rounded the corner and heard the bagpiper playing. It was magic as we walked down the stairs. I captured the moment on video and couldn’t hold back my emotion – for me and for Terry. We made it.

The Cathedral

We missed the pilgrim service. Terry was staying there longer, so she would get to go the next day. I chose to wait in line to be able to go in and experience its grandeur after the service concluded. Inside the cathedral, I lit a candle for Dolly, my late mother-in-law, a deeply religious person, a tearful, meaningful moment. The pilgrim's office nearby was efficient, I filled out my info on the app, certificates acquired, rocks representing burdens tossed in the fountain, small gestures of completion and reflection.

Back to the real world - retrieving my bag from the original hotel proved challenging: no taxis available as I had planned, and they had their phone lines turned off, so it was dragging the 45-pound suitcase across cobblestones, including some stairs! My new hotel was small and smelled of cleaning supplies but had a window that opened. The fly that had become a joke (seemingly following Terry on her journey, to the point we joked he was her “pet”) was now in my room! I repacked and organized my suitcases, hoping Iberia Air would manage my checked luggage smoothly for the flight to Casablanca. I was happy when they said they were offering to check cabin bags for free. Yes, please…

Dinner and Final Reflections

Dinner together with Terry was delightful, albeit tricky, places closed, meat service delayed, but we made do with cheese plate and wine to start after checking multiple restaurants and doing a bit of shopping. They would allow Terry to order her well-deserved steak at 8 pm. So we waited! She earned that steak.

The Camino's end was full of lessons: patience, resilience, and appreciation for comfort. I learned to survive without makeup or curated appearances, to navigate foreign countries, and to rely on myself. To know myself and accept who I am, what I like, and what I don’t. It is no crime to be true to yourself.

Lighting that candle in the cathedral for my late mother-in-law, Dolly, brought tears, and tossing those stones into the fountain felt symbolic, letting go of burdens, giving thanks, sending thoughts to friends fighting their own health battles, and embracing the journey. Collecting my Compostela certificate confirmed the accomplishment, and the small moments, the kindness of fellow walkers, quiet reflections, laughter over meals, made the Camino more than a walk.

Final Thoughts: What the Camino Taught Me

Would I use a service like Camino Ways again? Yes, I would, but next time I'd choose accommodations carefully: solid beds, clean bathrooms, decent food. This was too much of a mix of good and bad. I learned from this experience what worked for me and what didn't as it related to sleep and comfort. I am not good with “roughing it”. I never really have been, and at my age, not likely to change. My ability to “go with the flow” isn’t all that fluid.

The Camino wasn't just about reaching Santiago. It was the people you meet, the laughter, the struggles, and the quiet moments of triumph along the way. It’s about the beauty before us, the history of those who’ve gone before. No deep revelations, no sudden peace, but full of experiences, friendships, and moments that mattered me.

I learned I was the Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde of pilgrimages - loving every moment on the trail while craving comfort at night. I discovered that sometimes isolation was just part of solo travel, not a personal failing. I found that walking created space for thoughts I usually avoided, and that sitting in silence with yourself was uncomfortable because it was supposed to be.

I met Terry, who walked 800 kilometers with grace and determination. I met Kimberly, who reminded me that deep conversations with strangers could be gifts. I met Jason, Andrea, Doris, Darren, Casper, and dozens of others whose faces (maybe not all the names though) I'd carry forward. What I know is this: walking the Camino, I had moments of genuine connection.

I learned that sometimes you made plans to sit with people who didn't want your company, and sometimes a stranger at the next table became a dear friend. I learned that the Camino had a way of putting the right people in your path at exactly the right time.

On the Camino, I kept having this experience: I'd meet someone, we'd walk together for hours, have these deep conversations about life and purpose and pain. We'd exchange contact information. We'd promise to stay in touch. But once you return to your separate lives, in your separate cities, with your separate daily routines, what's the foundation? What's the reason to keep reaching out? It doesn’t usually happen and that is just the reality of making friends as an older adult: it's hard. Harder than it should be. Harder than anyone acknowledges. Maybe I need to try harder. Be more vulnerable. Reach out more. Stop expecting people to do the work of maintaining friendship and do it myself, consistently, persistently, without keeping score of who initiates and who responds. This isn’t just about the Camino, but all of daily life. I will remind myself to not wait for someone else to make the effort.

I learned that goats smelled terrible, that cats appeared at the perfect moments, and that Spanish wine at €3 a glass was one of life's great joys. I discovered my Merrell shoes were champions, my second toes were drama queens, and my knee had angry opinions it wasn't afraid to share.

I learned that I could walk 20 kilometers in the rain and wind and feel alive, even if I needed a warm bed and a hot shower at the end. I learned that luxury wasn't shallow, it was what allowed me to show up fully the next day, ready for whatever the trail offered.

Nine days. 115 kilometers. 190,000 steps. Memories I'd carry forever.

By the end, I was officially a Peregrina.

And somehow, that felt like enough… until my next time.

Current update: Even now, as I revisit my journey and edit this story, not a day goes by that I don’t think about the Camino. Its simple rhythm: wake, walk, breathe, repeat, and it still hums somewhere inside me. I miss the quiet beauty, the small surprises, the way each day felt both purposeful and wonderfully uncomplicated. If I could snap my fingers and drop myself right back onto that trail, backpack and all, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

LET"S GO! With that in mind, I am putting together a small group of women (6) to walk the final stage of the Camino Portuguese, from Vigo to Santiago de Compostela in late September of 2026. This will take approximately 9 days/8 nights. There will be a few days in Porto ahead of traveling to Vigo. After SDC there will be an option to go to Finisterre (2 days). Anyone who is interested can do as little or as much. Details and pricing will be published in January. This will be a supported journey that includes accommodations, luggage transfer daily. The tentative dates are Sept. 10-21, 2026 for the 2 days in Porto and 8 days on the Camino.

My Thanks...

Camino Ways

They provided a discount for this journey in exchange for honest feedback and media coverage.

Saily eSim

As an affiliate, they provided me with 10GB Global SIM card which worked well on the Camino picking up local cell coverage along the way.

The Spotminders tracking card kept my luggage safe with Apple Find My location service while I was on the trail. I also used their Passport cover with a built in tracker - a great idea!

Spotminders Trackers