My Second Camino: Heat, Hills, New Friends and One Very Unwelcome Souvenir

There is something slightly irrational about deciding to walk another Camino when you already know exactly what the Camino requires.

Long days. Hills. Weather. Sore feet. Questionable accommodations. Carrying things you suddenly realize you absolutely did not need – both tangible and intangible.

And yet, there I was again.

This time I would walk a portion of the Camino Portugués, beginning in Vigo, Spain, and making my way north through Galicia to Santiago de Compostela. I had walked the final portion of the Camino Francés the previous year, so I wasn't exactly a novice.

Or so I thought.

My actual journal is 46 pages long, so this blog is really a snippet. Every day I used voice-to-text in Google Docs, from the trail, from the hotel, from lunch. Thoughts, feelings, complaints, little discoveries: I recorded them as they happened. Reading them now brings back both the woman admiring the scenery and the woman wondering how much farther she had to walk. Both were very much me.

A Little Portugal Before the Pilgrimage

I started the adventure in Porto, where I wisely scheduled a little sightseeing, and Port wine tasting before beginning the serious walking.

A day trip into the Douro Valley turned out to be spectacular. The terraced vineyards climbing impossibly steep hillsides above the river were unlike anything I'd seen in Napa or Tuscany. There was Muscatel wine, Port, a quick river cruise, beautiful scenery, an “interesting” lunch (but good company), overpriced water and, because apparently I attract adventure wherever I go, a bee sting!

More importantly, I met Michelle, another solo traveler who had just finished her Camino, and was sharing this tour. We immediately connected, and she would end up helping me before I'd even taken my first official step.

The next day I took a FlixBus from Porto to Vigo, where I discovered my first Camino challenge:

I couldn't find the Camino start. I searched for familiar yellow arrows. Nothing. I asked people. Nobody seemed to know or speak English. Finally, I texted Michelle. She told me Vigo wasn't particularly well marked and suggested using my Camino app. Problem solved. Technology to the rescue of a supposedly ancient pilgrimage. Wise Pilgrim to the rescue then (and many times thereafter).

The next morning, September 17, I put on my walking shoes, grabbed my trekking poles and officially began Camino Number Two.

And We're Walking…

My first day from Vigo to Redondela delivered exactly what I'd hoped for: beautiful scenery, pleasant weather, other pilgrims and that wonderful feeling of being back on the trail.

It also delivered hills, aching toes, a sore shoulder and 27,353 steps.

Oh, and I lost my hat within the first two blocks and had to go back for another one. Thankfully, my luggage was still waiting for pick up and I extracted my other hat! It wasn’t an omen… and it turns out I passed two or three stores where I could have bought one, but my hat was particularly important each day.

Buen Camino! Let’s go.

I quickly rediscovered something I love about the Camino: you can be surrounded by people without necessarily traveling with anyone. You might walk beside someone for ten minutes, two hours or three days. You talk. You separate. Sometimes you meet again.

I met two women from Texas, women from Ireland and North Carolina, three women from New York, a Canadian determined to make sure everyone knew she was Canadian by wearing a huge maple leaf necklace, and eventually people from all over the world. The trail was much busier than I expected too – there was never a time where you couldn’t see a pilgrim. It appears September is still immensely popular.

I also rediscovered something else about myself. I am a bougie pilgrim.

My first night's so-called “superior” accommodation in Redondela was decidedly not superior. I don't require a 5-star hotel after a day of walking, but apparently I do have standards involving decent towels, comfortable beds and rooms that don't make me question my life choices. Lesson learned. The tiny thin towel and traffic 30’ out the window was a bummer. Negative stars – would not recommend.

Fortunately, the next day's short walk to Arcade was lovely. I arrived early enough to sit beside the water, watch families and couples enjoying the afternoon, have an incredibly good tuna salad, bread, and wine lunch, and do absolutely nothing but watch the world go by. Those quiet moments became some of my favorites. There was no need to hurry through lunch or turn the afternoon into another sightseeing checklist. Just the water, people enjoying their day, and me with a good meal and a glass of wine. Traveling solo gives you that freedom, and that afternoon I was very happy to use it.

The Camino Has Other Plans

By Day Three, I was settling into a rhythm.

Walk. Look for arrows. Talk to strangers. Collect stamps in my pilgrim passport. Admire the scenery. Wonder why everything seems to be uphill. I look at every monument with the kilometers along the way – that’s my thing.

On the way to Pontevedra, I crossed a bridge and heard bagpipes.

I stopped.

Bagpipes have always affected me emotionally, and standing on a bridge in Spain, listening to this man play while pilgrims passed, brought tears to my eyes and reminded me of last year when my friend (met on the Camino), Terry and I finished with the SDC bagpiper playing in the tunnel. Sweet memories.

For a moment, last year’s finish with Terry felt close again. I was on a different route, walking on my own this time, but that sound connected the two journeys.

That is the Camino I love, the unexpected moments you couldn’t possibly schedule.

Unfortunately, shortly afterward I encountered another unexpected moment. I climbed awkwardly over a low wall instead of taking the alternate route and hurt my left knee. Of course I did. I'd had surgery on that knee before, and although I could continue walking, I knew I needed to pay attention to it. I bought tape at a pharmacy, iced it and hoped for the best. I felt stupid for not seeing the road ahead and tackling the small wall.

The tape turned out to be a terrible idea. My adhesive allergy apparently decided to make itself known in dramatic fashion, leaving my leg looking like a medical experiment. So much for that plan (fast forward, two days later, no knee pain!).

But Pontevedra itself was wonderful, with shops, restaurants and a terrific pilgrim meal at O Camino for €12.50 that came with an entire bottle of Alberino wine. For the record, I did NOT drink the entire bottle. I also met Ed and Linda from New Hampshire (but out of the UK), had a conversation with the owner’s young adult son, did some desperately needed laundry and continued my Camino the next morning.

Then came the heat. We knew it was coming – the excessive heat warnings were on our phones.

Welcome to the Camino Death March

There is hot (hey I am from Fresno). And then there is walking for hours across exposed sections of Galicia in relentless sun hot. September 20 was brutal.

The morning started beautifully, cool air, greenery, farmland and those picturesque Camino scenes everyone posts on Instagram. Then somebody apparently turned on the furnace.

There were kilometers with almost no shade. I was soaked from head to toe, running low on water and beginning to feel the effects of the heat. What made it better, my new friends, who I named the Camino Bambinos – Pedro, from Portugal, Evelina and Vassi, from Greece, three young adults that I am so happy to have met. After a few hours they invited me to detour about 500 meters to see a waterfall.

Under normal circumstances, absolutely. That day? You could have told me that Pierce Brosnan was waiting at the waterfall holding a chilled glass of wine and I still might have said no.

I had a lot of kilometers left to walk.

The final stretch reminded me of competing in the Vineman Half Ironman many years ago, when I'd run 13.1 miles in triple-digit heat after cycling 56 and swimming 1.2 miles. I remembered exactly what that kind of heat felt like, and I was starting to feel lightheaded. But during Vineman, cold water and ice was offered each mile – not here! Where was that aid station? Oh, the Camino doesn’t have those.

A tiny taverna, with a slushie machine of all things, a water fountain and a little rest eventually revived me enough to finish. That was THE best slushie ever. Forget the wine tastings for a minute. On that stretch of trail, something cold to drink and a place to stop were the highlights. I could appreciate the scenery again once I stopped feeling quite so miserable.

That night I stayed in what was essentially someone's converted home. It was quirky, there was no air-conditioning, my freshly washed underwear was hanging outside, and a rooster apparently worked a split shift: off duty around 9 p.m., back on the job at approximately 5:30 a.m. The owners were an older couple that spoke no English. Thanks to Google Translate. They had a hardworking helper named Maria who was awesome and the homecooked dinner quite tasty.

Pilgrim luxury.

My Camino Bambinos Return

The next day was almost as hot, but it became one of my favorite days for a completely different reason.

I ran into my young friends from Greece and Portugal again. They were in their twenties, decades younger than I am, but we spent much of the day walking and talking together.

The name Camino Bambinos had stuck.

They had stopped for bocadillos, coffee and, for me, an increasingly beloved Camino Coca-Cola. I was so happy to see them. We talked about travel, careers and life. They asked thoughtful questions about what I would do if I were their age and wanted to make a difference in the world. And I loved hearing their perspective. It was such a pleasure to have a conversation that went beyond where we were staying or how far we were walking. Here we were, from different countries and different generations, talking about what we wanted to do with our lives while making our way toward the same city. They were well versed on the geopolitical situation, two of them with degrees in international relations, and one in software training.

This is one of the things I find fascinating about the Camino. Age matters much less out there. I've seen young people, older people, people carrying everything on their backs and people like me having luggage transported. I've seen couples, friends, solo walkers and families.

There isn't one correct way to walk a Camino.

It is your Camino. YOURS.

I eventually said goodbye to my Bambinos knowing they planned to walk all the way into Santiago the following day. I made them promise to send me a photo when they finished.

I was sad to see them go. A few days earlier, we hadn’t known each other existed. Now I cared about their arrival in Santiago and wanted to hear that they had made it. That is a lovely thing to come home with from a trip.

A Kilometer Too Far

Not every Camino memory needs to be profound. Some are simply annoying.

After another brutally hot day, I discovered my hotel was approximately 1.4 kilometers off from the Camino and outside town. That doesn't sound like much until you've already walked all day in the heat. Then it feels like 200.

When I finally arrived, exhausted, I discovered my room was up two flights of stairs and there was no one to help with my 45-pound suitcase. I was wiped out and cranky.

Enter Skip and Maddy from Utah. Skip, who was probably in his seventies, carried my suitcase upstairs and offered to help me bring it down again the next morning. That simple act of kindness meant so much. I could manage plenty on my own, but right then I was tired and grateful someone had noticed. Sometimes the best part of a hotel stay is another guest.

The hotel also had a pool. The water was absolutely freezing, and I couldn't have cared less. I climbed in and let that icy water work on my exhausted legs.

That night at dinner there was my “solo” table in the middle of the room. Maddy and Skip were sitting nearby at a table for two. They asked whether we could all sit together, and the staff moved my table adjacent to theirs, good enough. After such a frustrating arrival, it was lovely to have company over dinner. A little kindness had changed the whole evening.

The accommodations throughout this Camino continued to be a mixed bag. I'd specifically booked “superior” lodging, yet several properties were well outside town, inconvenient for pilgrims or simply not very good.

By this point I'd reached a conclusion: If I ever do another Camino, I'll seriously consider booking the accommodations myself, arranging my own luggage transfers and keeping my walking days to about nine or ten miles.

Bougie pilgrim? Guilty as charged. I won’t deny this; I like my comforts. Throw the heat, the dirt, the endless steps all day long, but at night, I need what I need to recharge.

Getting Closer to Santiago

The final couple of days became shorter, which my body appreciated.

My knee had survived and in fact, other than the allergic reaction, feeling pretty good. My toes were complaining. My legs developed various mysterious marks and rashes. My clothing seemed to be in a perpetual cycle of being washed in sinks and hung wherever I could find a place to dry it.

But I was almost there.

On September 22, the trail once again looked like the Camino I loved - stone structures, churches, dirt paths, trees and tiny villages.

I even got hit on the head by a falling chestnut. I considered that an authentic Camino experience.

That day I stopped at a kilometer marker and left two small stones I'd been carrying for personal reasons. It was a quiet moment of hope for something in my life that I can't control. I shed tears, took a moment, and moved on. The Camino doesn’t magically solve problems. But walking gives you a lot of time to think about them. I left the stones there, but the people never, I have power over my own memories – those can’t be erased. Some things are too personal for a blog, but they were part of this walk, too.

Later, as I entered a small town, I glanced into a café window. There were my Bambinos! I was ridiculously happy to see them. They were just leaving, so there were hugs and one more round of “Buen Camino.” Then they continued toward Santiago.

My own accommodation that night was another failure, very worn, poorly maintained and definitely not what I'd envisioned when I paid for “superior.” No air conditioning. My ladies from NY met on Day 1, using the same company as I was, were on the 3rd floor with air conditioning. That was annoying.

But by then I had exactly one more night before reaching a very nice hotel in Santiago. I could survive anything for one night.

The Last Walk

On September 23, I started my final 11 kilometers to Santiago de Compostela. And suddenly I was melancholy.

Despite the heat, the bad hotels, my unhappy knee and all my complaining, I didn't really want the walking part to end. That morning was beautiful. The sun filtered through the trees. Ferns and purple flowers lined the trail. Pilgrims walked with a little extra energy because everyone knew where we were headed.

At one point, a man walked along carrying his backpack and playing Beatles songs on a guitar. How can you not love that? There were those ferns, the purple flowers, sunlight through the trees, but now a soundtrack of “Here comes the Sun”. Perfect. After all those hot, difficult kilometers, I wanted to hold on to this morning a little longer.

The closer I got to Santiago, the more crowded the trail became. Happy faces. Tired faces. Backpacks. Trekking poles. People who had walked far longer than I had and people finishing shorter routes. Different Caminos. Same destination.

And then Santiago. First the city – suddenly you were in an urban area, still on your journey, but no more trail. As the approach was different than last year, I didn’t know what to expect, but then I recognized the stores and looked up - The cathedral straight ahead.

My second Camino was complete. Was there some enormous revelation waiting for me at the end? Not really. I was both glad and sad that I was done. I wasn’t as emotional as last time for sure. I don’t do this for spiritual reasons, I am not religious, but I do have an internal voice that encouraged me to return.

People love to say, “The Camino gives you what you need.” Maybe it did. Maybe I won't know exactly what that was until later.

What I do know is that I walked it. Again. Happy to be done, happy I did it. I could be proud of finishing and still miss being on the trail. Apparently, both feelings could arrive at the cathedral together.

I was still very excited to go to the Pilgrim office with my beautifully stamped passport and obtain my Compostela certificate. 2964 pilgrims finished on 9/23/2026 and I was one of them.

Santiago Without Trekking Poles

I gave myself extra time in Santiago, and that turned out to be an excellent decision.

After some of my Camino accommodations, the NH Collection felt positively luxurious, and its breakfast buffet was spectacular. It was a modern well-equipped hotel and the only drawback – 1 km away from the center of Santiago!

Yes, I realize I just finished writing about the mystical experience of walking a pilgrimage and immediately transitioned to a breakfast buffet. I told you. Bougie pilgrim.

My first night I returned to the cathedral for the Pilgrim service – got there early and stayed for most of it – although it was totally in Spanish. It was the experience that I had missed last time. Sadly, no Botafumeiro – taken out for refurbishing as prep for the Holy Year in 2027.

The next day, I took an excellent walking tour with Sandra from Galicia Tours, who showed us something I'd completely missed: the shell and plaque in the cathedral square marking the true Kilometer Zero. Naturally, I returned later for the required shoe photo. I did learn new things about Santiago de Compostela during the tour – always a delight.

Although I visited the souvenir shops, there was nothing specific to add this time, like last year with my Ultreia ring. I bought a few tiny things like a cheap bracelet with the shell.

I wandered through the Mercado de Abastos and loved watching locals shop for fish, meat, cheese, fruits and vegetables. I was especially struck by the older Spanish women. They dress beautifully, even to go to the market. I approve – it’s nice.

Then I sat outside at a café with a cerveza and did something shocking. I ate peppers. I don’t eat peppers. These were the famous Padrón peppers, fried and sprinkled with salt. And I liked them… a lot. They also brought back a memory of Terry feeding me Padrón peppers last year. A small connection to our first Camino, sitting there in Santiago after my second.

Sitting there watching people stroll past, eating crusty bread with olive oil and salt, drinking my beer and having nowhere I needed to be, I thought I could live like this.

I returned to the cathedral one more time, visited the tomb of Saint James, enjoyed the hotel pool and sauna, and began packing for Madrid. The walk was over.

Although I had intended to take the train from SDC to Madrid – the train service was not working on 9/25, so off to the airport I went for my flight.

The shopping portion of the pilgrimage was about to begin.

From Pilgrim to Shopper

My suitcase weighed 48.5 pounds when I left Santiago. Eek. This was problematic because I had two days in Madrid and a Primark approximately 100 feet from my hotel. Obviously, another suitcase was going to be necessary, but Primark has inexpensive options.

I stayed at the Hyatt Centric Gran Vía and did site inspections of both that property and the adjacent Thompson Madrid. The Thompson particularly impressed me, while the Hyatt Centric had one absolutely unbeatable feature:

Location. Did I mention Primark AND Zara were across the street? Gran Via in Madrid is a renowned shopping area.

I shopped, took a walking tour, wandered through Madrid, had churros with chocolate and logged another surprising number of miles considering I'd supposedly finished my walking vacation.

Madrid is enormous, energetic and crowded. After the quiet villages and green trails of Galicia, the contrast was startling. Hundreds and hundreds of people filled the sidewalks. My attention had gone from yellow arrows and kilometer markers to shop windows and rooftop city views. I enjoyed it, but it was a lot to take in after the rhythm of the trail.

By my second night, however, I knew I was ready to go home. My neck and left arm were increasingly painful, I was exhausted, and when I found myself surrounded by fabulous stores without much enthusiasm for shopping, I knew something was seriously wrong. The rooftop restaurant at the hotel was closed for a private event and that bummed me out as I was looking forward to a nice sunset again.

BUT Debbie too tired to shop? Call the authorities.

Going Home Should Have Been the Easy Part

On September 27, I headed to Madrid-Barajas Airport for my flight home. Madrid Airport deserves its own Camino credential.

Check in. Walk. Follow arrows. Go through duty-free. Walk some more. Take a train. Find passport control. Discover that the automated system once again doesn't like you. The EES departure process was much worse than the arrival! Those machines never work for me, and that giant red “X” shows up.

See an agent. Walk again. Get to the gate. Go downstairs. First bus is packed, so wait for the next one. Get on a bus. Ride to the airplane.

I spent more than two hours navigating the airport and didn't even have time for the lounge.

My advice after that experience: give yourself plenty of time at Madrid.

Once aboard Iberia, things improved. Business class meant good food, excellent wine and a comfortable flight. I even gave up my seat so a couple could sit together, only to discover my new seat wasn't quite as private. Apparently, that was my reward for being nice. Then we reached Chicago. And everything fell apart.

Air Force One was in Chicago, creating air traffic restrictions and delays. My flight was delayed approximately two hours, which caused me to miss my connection home when I got to Phoenix. By the time I reached Phoenix, I was exhausted and stranded. American Airlines' answer? Essentially: tough luck.

Because the delay was attributed to air traffic control, I was told there would be no hotel voucher and no food voucher. So late at night, after an international travel day, I found my own hotel and paid $117 for it. Surely after all those questionable Camino accommodations, the travel gods would give me a decent airport hotel. Nope. The bed was acceptable. The air conditioner sounded like a 747 preparing for takeoff.

And the room smelled like mildew and stinky feet. Perfect. Even worse, I was starting to feel sick. I slept fitfully for about 2 hours.

The Souvenir I Definitely Didn't Buy

I finally arrived home around 9 a.m. on September 28. I asked to go to breakfast, but I was starting to feel awful. And it turned out I'd brought home one last souvenir.

COVID. Seriously? After all that, this was the souvenir I brought home?

I managed to walk another Camino, survive the heat, nurse an injured knee, navigate Spain and Portugal solo, deal with some truly questionable hotel rooms, conquer Madrid Airport and survive an airline stranding…

…and COVID got me at the finish line.

I'm now home recovering, and as usually happens after a trip, the difficult parts are already beginning to fade.

I don't remember every hill. I remember the bagpiper. I remember getting my wax passport stamp. I don't remember every painful kilometer in the heat, I remember the two older Asian men sitting under the only shade tree with me for a rest. I remember my Camino Bambinos. I will always remember them. I remember some of the conversations, and some of the people along the way.

I remember Skip carrying my suitcase. Cold Coke when I desperately needed it. That tiny Slushie. Morning light coming through the trees. Padrón peppers at the market. A guitar-playing pilgrim on my final morning. The cathedral appearing at the end of another Camino.

And I remember how much I still love being out in the world.

That is what I hope comes through here, along with the complaining. I was tired, overheated and occasionally very cranky. I was also curious, moved by music, delighted by new friends and happy sitting outside with something good to eat. The hard parts belong in the story. So do all the little reasons I would go again.

Would I walk another Camino? Yes. But this time I am considering other options with walking. Turns out there is no shortage of walking trips.

Would I choose my accommodations much more carefully?

ABSOLUTELY. I am a two-time Peregrina – I think I can do this on my own.

And the good news: after nine days, I just tested negative for COVID and can return to my regularly scheduled life. Including Mahjong, which I truly missed!

Prologue

Today I washed my backpack and shoes and put away my trekking poles. Out comes the trail dust, the sweat, the evidence of all those kilometers. It feels like the last small act of this Camino, taking care of the things that helped me get there.

I can wash away the dirt, but the hard work is still mine. So are the friendships, the kindness, and that beautiful final morning when I was ready to finish and reluctant to stop.

Soon my shoes will be clean and my backpack dry, ready to be put away. I'll hang my passport and certificate on my wall in my office next to my original ones. I’ll leave a little of myself on this Camino and carry a little of it into whatever comes next.

Until then, they’ll wait for me.

Until next time.

NOTE - More pictures will be shared in my next Ageless Adventures Podcast in late October on YouTube

About

Contact

Submit a story

Senior Travel Adventures © 2024

Ageless Adventures is about empowerment, encouragement, and support to take the trip! We respect your privacy.

Please sign up for our newsletter below :

Terms & Conditions

Privacy policy

We care about your data in our privacy policy.