Author Archives: thelongcamino

Today I fly from Santiago to Bilbao and then catch a bus to San Sebastián. It was a quiet morning in the city, low cloud making it gloomy and cool. The streets had more delivery vans than people. I found a bar for a coffee and a bite to eat. Afterwards I wandered the laneways back up to the cathedral. I decided to see if I could enter.

There seemed to be three ways open. At the first two I was turned away with a brusque wave. “Other entrance.”

I eventually found the correct entry. A small service was underway. It was heavily guarded, I counted four security guards, and fenced off. There was a pathway open around toward the remains of St James. I wandered around. It was peaceful in the cathedral, the only sound being that of the sermon being given in Spanish. I wandered to a point, there being no signage or barriers in place, when a security guard approached me and told me to turn around. They did so in a manner that suggested that I knew I was breaking some rule. For some reason I was drawn to look at their shoes, Vans. Vans! Oh come one, told off by a security guard that was tiny and wore skateboarding shoes in one of the great cathedrals of the world.

I suddenly felt how cold this place is without my pilgrim family in it, a reminder that buildings are just stone and glass and metal, their meaning and feeling given to them by people. Screw this, I thought, if you can’t smile at a pilgrim from the other side of the world, who can you smile at?

The Plaza was slowly filling up, with buses and cars. At one point I had to jump behind a barrier as a huge tourist bus drove into the plaza to deposit a load of wealthy tourists at the from door of the Parador.

I found a place on the other side of the Plaza to sit and watch the goings on. The cloud seemed heavier and the wind colder as it whipped around the square. After a while, I looked up at the cathedral and bid it a fond farewell, I’ll see it again when I complete another Camino.

Back at the hotel I packed my gear and passed time before the midday checkout by listening to podcasts and downloading the film Emily about Emily Brontë. Claire and I had visited the Brontë house at Haworth a week ago. I first read Wuthering Heights while attending Mulwaree High School in Goulburn and fell in love it from that first read. I prefer it over all the other books.

Eventually it was time to checkout so I returned the key and wandered down to the station. Bus 6A arrived and I jumped aboard, card at the ready to pay. “Only cash,” the driver said. I had no cash so I shrugged my shoulders and got off the bus, another one would come along in 25 or so minutes, no boing deal.

Then I heard a voice, “I’ll pay for you.” I turned and a girl of about 18 or so had already handed the driver money and the ticket was spitting out of the machine.

I stood in disbelief. “Thank you. Gracias , muchos gracias,” I said. “It’s nothing,” they said.

Though the ticket was only 1 euro, the kindness to pay this so that I wouldn’t miss the bus was overwhelming. After this morning’s experience at the cathedral, it felt like Santiago had set the record straight with me. Yep, I still love this place.

Perhaps the world can be divided into those who like to watch people and people who like to be watched. I fall well and truly into the former camp.

From a table in a cafe on the other side of the world, I can sit peacefully and watch people go about their afternoon.

The locals walk their dogs. Lovers young and old hold hands and sneak the occasional public kiss. Joggers jog by, intent on their footfall. Pilgrims pass, some with crutches, many with a limp from sore feet, blisters and tired muscles.

What a joy it is to just sit and enjoy all that humanity has to offer.

And that’s where I find myself this evening, sitting in the Alameda Park enjoying a cool drink, relaxing and watching people.

I’m tempted to walk up the narrow and very busy laneways to the Plaza del Obradoiro to gaze upon the cathedral once more. But it’s busy and I didn’t walk into Santiago today, so feel that experience is best left for those who have.

People watching in the Plaza is a wonder. Pilgrims enter the square and cry, sing, hug each other, jump or just drop to the ground, not to move again for some time. It is a very emotional space to sit in. One can’t help being caught up in the joy, the pain and the sheer volume of love that this special place holds each day.

No, today I rose late, rising to wander down to the Main Street of Muxia where I enjoyed a strong coffee. Afterwards I obtained my certificate for completing the Santiago to Muxia leg of the Camino.

Then I packed, enjoyed another coffee and then boarded the bus to Santiago with a group of pilgrims. What had taken three long days of walking passed in a little more then an hour. All that effort, sweat and pain disappearing in the rear view mirror.

At the train station I said my farewells to Katja who begins her journey back to Porto then home to Frankfurt.

I had shared a brief few days with Daniel and Katja and two finer people you could not find, both true of heart, strong and full of life though they had travelled different paths to be on the Camino and no doubt would take different things from the experience.

I wish both of them a Buen Camino! May their lives be full of love, laughs and more walking.

As I sit at the cafe in the park, I can hear many different languages and accents. Is that mother encouraging or scolding her child? Are those two sharing a bottle of vino blanco on their first date? Is that voice behind me southern or northern England? I think southern.

Walking back up the hill from the station into Santiago feels like walking into my town, I now know these streets so well. There’s the Galician Parliament on the right, a little further the cafe where Hamez and I said farewell to Leo and James. Then the store where Leo got his guitar. Then a small park on the left, then into the labyrinth like laneways that lead to the Plaza del Obradoiro.

Today the laneways are a river of humanity. Tourists, locals and pilgrims wade along looking for a place to eat or something to buy. There are lively restaurants and pinchos, sorry, tapas bars here, but they are all overflowing with people.

I decide to see if the little Italian restaurant where Hamez, Mikal, Mads, Leo, James and I ate last year was open. It is, but there will be a wait for a table. I like the food and the people here, so I wait. The ten or so minutes pass quickly as I try to arrange a bus ticket from Bilbao to San Sebastián for tomorrow.

Claire decided not to stay in Paris because of the rioting and ended up in Bilbao then San Sebastián. I’ve rearranged my Friday flight to Paris to a Thursday flight to Bilbao. Thanks heavens for smart phones and Rome2Rio.

Back at the park a small boy proudly rides past on a toy motorcycle, his parents gently encouraging him to keep moving. The rotunda is adorned with pride colours – Compostela Diversa. I watch as a group of teenagers break dance. I love the energy.

Two men walk by holding hands. Yes, Santiago de Compostela welcomes diversity. In the end, there is only love.

After a late lunch, I checked into the Nest Hotel. The reception area creates an aura of modern styling, the rooms feel like something from the 1970’s. But, it’s comfortable and close to the centre of the city. They are also very helpful when I mention that I’ve had to reschedule flights and need to cancel my room for tomorrow night. The policy is no refund, though the lovely chap on reception shows me how I can get around this. I make the request on my phone, he receives it immediately and accepts it. Have I said thank heavens for smart phones?

Walking around the Alameda Park, a breeze in the air, soft warm light from the setting sun, I stumble across some enormous Tasmanian Blue Gums.

Almost the whole of Camino in Galicia is through Eucalyptus forest. Interestingly, many pilgrims believe them to be native. Doing some research I find out that seeds were brought from Australia by a Galician monk in the 19th century. The trees thrive here, much like Australian pilgrims.

It does make me wonder what the landscape would have been like before the Eucalypts were here. The small remnant patches of oak forest are so much darker as the trees have a lower and fuller canopy. It would have been frightening passing through such a dark forest as a pilgrim several hundred years ago. Robbers, wolves and bears on the prowl.

The cafe where I sit includes a small modern building that has been built around existing oak trees.

As the sun slowly sets, it’s time for this tired old peregrino to head to bed. Young people dressed and preened are just heading out for a night on the town. Sunburnt pilgrims in new t-shirts move in packs from bar to bar, celebrating their arrival. Locals sit casually watching a scene that plays out for many months of the year.

In my room it is quiet. I could be anywhere. But I’m glad to be here. Glad to have spent a little more time back in Santiago.

Only a few minutes into the movie The Way, I turned to dad and said, “I’m going to do that one day.”

The (almost) end of the movie sees the four pilgrims standing on the rocks at Muxia, staring out into an angry Atlantic Ocean. They’ve each started the Camino for reasons they believed obvious to them. As they walk, the true motivations come to light as their Camily goes from being a cranky old American, a party hard Dutchman, a cynical Canadian women and a mouthy Irishman.

Tom, the American, had no intention to walk the Camino. His son, Daniel, had started it and been killed in a storm in the Pyrenees. Tom was merely in St Jean Pied de Port to identify and collect his son. As is the way of things, he makes a decision to walk The Way with his son’s ashes.

When the four pilgrims reach Muxia, Tom scatters the last of Daniel’s ashes into the ocean. The last rite and a fitting end for his son who after years of study had pursued an adventurous life.

That image of the small chapel, so vulnerable next to the angry ocean, has stuck with me. It’s the reason I set out for Muxia to from Hospital. All four pilgrims woke at around 6:00am. We knew that the bar we ate at last night would open at 6:30am and it was a good 10 minute walk up the hill.

As I looked out the window, the first of the day’s light was struggling to pierce the low cloud over the last hills before the ocean. It was dark and cool. We enjoyed good coffee and fruit and then set out.

We knew we would walk around 1km to The Great Divide. Here the Camino from Santiago splits, one way to Fisterra and the other to Muxia. Daniel had said they Fisterra was calling him. Etienne the same. For Etienne it would be his last day walking after 11 weeks. For Daniel, he would reach Fisterra, then walk to Muxia and back to Santiago. Katja had long ago decided to walk to Muxia and then return home to Germany.

As it always is on the Camino, there were hugs as we said farewell to our new found pilgrims friends. The two way markers were in the middle of a roundabout and we paused to take some photos before moving on.

I would spend a good part of the day walking alone as Katja would race ahead or fall behind. We would meet up in villages to get water or have a drink. Along the path I would collect flowers to put in the front pocket of my backpack. At several points I would see butterflies at the corner of my vision. When I turned, they would quickly flit away.

The Way dropped off the range through forests of eucalyptus, pine and oak. I was glad for my staff in many places as the path was rocky and steep. There were occasional views down into the valley shrouded in a blanket of mist.

After 5 or so kilometres, Dumbria came into view. This was a quaint little village, everything well kept and clean. I had a cafe cortado and moved on. The Way made its way up ridges and dropped down into verdant valleys. Pilgrims passed me by heading back to Santiago.

Breakfast was starting to wear off, so I stopped at a clean new bar in a gorgeous little village for a bocodillo with an egg omelette and bacon. This was divine and washed down with freshly squeezed orange juice.

Feeling revitalised, the Way made its way back up and over another ridge, only to drop down into another valley. The penny dropped, this is what the Camino is like all through Galicia, up and down and up and down. But I was getting tired and even though Muxia was 15km away, it felt like it was on the moon.

On what would be the last big, long climb of the day, I suddenly had the feeling that I was surrounded by all the most important people that had been in my life, before and now. I was walking in the middle of a large group, their spirit keeping me moving when all I wanted to do was stop and sleep under a tree. As I neared the top of the climb, they disappeared and I was alone once more, a solitary pilgrim.

Eventually, with about 7.5km to go, I glimpsed the Atlantic Ocean for the first time. The Way was a paved footpath next to a road for the next few kilometres and in my boredom and need to tune out, I started listening to TOFOP, one of my favourite podcasts. They were talking about the 2nd Ashes Test. That kept me going until the last 3km. Another long, hot climb under the scorching sun. As I walked, a large white butterfly flew alongside me for a few metres. My sister believes that this is symbolic of our mother. It was her joining me for the last push into town. It lifted my spirits and I smiled knowing that she would love this place and the adventure it offers.

On the edge of town as the sun beat down I stopped at a bar for a cold drink and a rest. Hearing familiar voices, I met a family from Melbourne. They were just about to drive back to Santiago. Then as I was enjoying the wonder of not moving, an older couple introduced themselves. They were Rachael and Pablo from the Netherlands. They had walked from the south coast of spain to Santiago and Muxia, several months of walking. They were staying the night and then catching a bus back home. They didn’t like the environmental impact of flying. We had a lovely chat about their Camino, mine with Hamez last year and what the Camino means.

As they were finishing their lunch, Katja walked by. She told me she took a wrong turn. She arrived in Muxia about an hour after I did. She was with an older French man who barley spoke a word of English, was covered in motorcycling tattoos, but seemed like a lovely guy. The three of us walked the last 1.5km to the Santuario Virxe da Barca, the small chapel on the point that featured in The Way.

It was hot as the sun beat down and we were thankful for a cool ocean breeze. We took photos near the 0.000km marker, then stood on a wall facing the Atlantic Ocean and all three of us yelled as loud as we could. What joy! What relief! What Release!

I took quite some time alone, in spite of the many tourists, to stand on the rocks where the four pilgrims had stood at the end of The Way. It was an opportunity to contemplate everything that had brought me here and everything that had happened since that resolution in the movie theatre with my dad. It was also an opportunity to feel unbelievably grateful for the life I live, my family and friends.

It’s funny how we never really delve deeply into a guidebook until we actually need to read it. For all intents and purposes today looked like a relatively easy one, about 10km downhill, a brief climb, then more downhill into Olveiroa. There we would have a nice lunch, a rest and then press on in the early afternoon. The best laid plans.

But I digress. After threats of a 5:30 or 5:45am start, I woke at about 6:50 with no alarm. The lads in the albergue room had either muted their alarms or turned them off. The bed was comfortable and I’d had around 9 or so hours sleep. Should I just stay in bed a little longer?

What got me going was the thought of a potentially long day in the sun. Early mornings are characterised by low cloud and cool conditions, perfect for walking. By around 11:00am, the clouds burn away and you are left to walk in stifling sun, hoping for the breeze from the Atlantic to cool you at some point.

After a quick cafe con leche at the albergue, Daniel the Swede and I set off. The Way was beautiful this morning. There were a handful of pilgrims, even some walking back to Santiago. I called home and spoke to my sister and my dad. It was nice to hear their voices.

After about an hour or so, we walked into Vilaserio where the local bar made great coffee, fresh orange juice and toast with jam and butter. It was a perfect breakfast. The Way then followed a road for several kilometres. We passed a few dairy sheds that convey Eau de Galicia, a heady mix of shit, piss and heaven knows what else. Some days it takes your breathe away and today was one of those days. Through the next village, we left the bitumen and walked on some narrow gravel roads through gorgeous countryside. The climbs were small and relatively easy lulling us into a false sense of security.

Through the village of Maronas, a dog happily walked with some pilgrims for mile after mile. The Way turned from the road and onto a very steep gravel track. We did a double take at the way marker. “You’re kidding me man, I’m getting a taxi,” Dan said.

We slowly made our way up to a viewing platform with expansive views over the dam – Embalse da Fervenza. It would be noice to think this was a small bay from their Atlantic, but we still have a long way to go to put our tired pilgrim feet into that ocean.

At the viewing platform we met Katja from Frankfurt. She has started her Camino in Porto, made her way to Santiago and decided to keep walking. The three of us hot it off pretty quickly, chatting and laughing as we made our way down to Abeleiroas. There we stopped for a cool drink and bite to eat. Suddenly it seemed like there were more pilgrims around, though it can be deceptive as bars in little villages attract them like moths to a flame.

Leaving Abeleiroas we were back onto the bitumen and would barely leave it for the rest of the day. There was little shade, no breeze and the sun beat down.

It was a great opportunity to chat though as you didn’t need to see where to place your feet, just one step after another along the hot black top. Katja had found that the first part of her Camino was about finding herself again. She worked for herself in the tech world and was often hired as a team coach in large companies. Was this what she wanted to contribute to herself and the world? Walking had opened up an opportunity, to join with some others and start a new company. What an exciting prospect. She had arranged a meeting once she returned to Frankfurt.

For Katja the Camino had offered her a wonderful gift and she was very happy to take it. The Camino provides.

As we trudged in the heat to Olveiroa, Dan slowly dropped further behind. Today was kicking our arses. When we finally arrived, we headed straight for the shade at a bar and ordered cold drinks. We took our shoes off to rest our hot and tired feet, then opened the guidebook to contemplate where to fort from here. There were two options, Hospital which was another 5 or so kilometres or Dumbria, 6 kilometres further on from Hospital. Dan had earlier decided Hospital was it for him. Tomorrow after we pass The Great Divide, he will head to Fisterra. I’d always decided to go to Muxia first, mainly based on James Sage’s suggestion that transport from Fisterra is much easier.

As we slogged up the hill toward Hospital, I decided that my feet could go no further. The guidebook had explained that there was a relatively new albergue here. As we walked into the village, it felt like a ghost town. There were derelict buildings and no signs for an albergue. We all looked at each other and shrugged. Do we keep walking?

Eventually a local walked by and we asked her where the albergue was located. She pointed around the corner and from what we could tell, it had something to do with a bar. I checked the app and called the number. A friendly lady answered. “Hola, tres peregrino for albergue por favour.” I had no idea what she said, but it sound like 5 minutes. I thanked her and hung up. A few minutes later a lady with a huge smile drove around the corner and greeted us near the door. Welcome to Alberue O Castelino.

The albergue is new and clean and has a friendly vibe about it. Though its hard to find, I would recommend it as a place to stay.

The lady showed us around and then told us that she would pick us up and drive us to the bar for dinner at 7:00pm. The three of us could not be happier.

Dinner was at the local bar run by the same family. We were joined by Etienne who stepped out of front door in France 11 weeks ago and an Italian family walking from Santiago to Fisterra. The food was lovely, soup for entree, beef and salad for main and crème brulee for dessert. Everyone is tired and a little sunburnt after a big day under the sun.

I was woken early. Through the curtain on my bunk, I could smell alcohol, someone reeking of alcohol. “My pack, my credential, it’s all been stolen.” I looked at the time – 6:00am. Do I just get up, I asked myself. “Screw the FBI, screw the CIA.” This drunk French guy is really starting to wind up. I could hear the nervous voice of a female, then another. I drew back the curtain and the drunk French guy was semi naked and struggling to climb into his bunk. I was up and packed within a few minutes, as were the other women.

From the albergue, it was only a few metres to the start of the Camino to Fisterra and Muxia. I was hungry and in need of a coffee on what was a cool and gloomy morning in Santiago. As I wandered around, nothing was open. I guess just after 6:00am on a Sunday morning is not prime cafe time.

The Way snaked its way down through small, hidden valleys and up over hills covered in pine and eucalyptus forest. It was intoxicating to be walking in the cool silence, not a pilgrim in sight. Soon I got my last glimpse of the Catherdal grandly standing on the near horizon. Even from here it has a magic about it, its spires like sirens calling you back to the city.

I really wanted a walking stick, but balked at buying one in Santiago for 4 or 5 days of walking. As I was walking through eucalyptus forest, I somehow knew that the Camino would provide. Sure enough, just before a steep and rocky descent, I found the perfect branch to use as my staff. With a little bush trimming, it was a good length and felt balanced in my hand.

It was several kilometres and early two hours before the first cafe appeared. Like an oasis, it had a handful of pilgrims, drawn to the freshly squeezed orange juice and hot coffee. I ordered both along with a Camino staple, the Napolitan aka a pain au chocolate. It was delightful and suddenly I was feeling like a pilgrim once more.

Refreshed, I wandered another few kilometres downhill to Cafe 79km. I enjoyed another cafe con leche and met a Swedish pilgrim, Daniel. From the cafe, the Camino immediately started a long steep climb. The climb was made easier as Daniel and I took our time and chatted. He is 45 and I couldn’t help noticing a tattoo on his arm that read – FUCK CANCER. Several years ago he was diagnosed with testicular cancer. His treatment and recovery was very difficult. He was in a coma for 9 days and then had to learn to walk again. The end of his recovery was a promise to walk the Camino which he did in 2017. Like many pilgrims, he was hooked and vowed to return. In 2017 he ended in Santiago, this year he took a lot more time off and after walking to Fisterra and Muxia and then back to Santiago, he is walking the Portuguese Camino. All up, he will walk well over 1,000km on various Camino.

As the morning gathered steam, the early morning cloud Bega to burn away and the temperature rose. We were lucky to be walking along cobbled pathways through a forest of green. My initial though had been to walk to Negreira, a little over 21km, have lunch and see how I felt. Daniel liked this idea. In his words, having good company was making the walking easier today. If we felt okay, we could push on to the 30km mark, making the next few days that much easier.

Guns of some sort were being randomly discharged as we walked up the final, very hot, hill into Negreira. On the outskirts of town a large stage had been erected and various horn players were warming up. It looked liked the local were firing up to tie one on. They had that look about them as they gathered and drank.

As we dropped into the Main Street, there was a restaurant on the left. “This looks okay,” said Daniel. “Sorry mate,” I replied, Hamez, Mikal, Mads and I had a rule last year, never stay in the first albergue or eat at the first restaurant.” “Why?” “They don’t have to try very hard.” “That makes sense.” We made our way up the street to a restaurant. “This looks good,” I said. Daniel looked at all the Michelin awards, then the price list and shook his head. We trudged on.

A little further up the street was O’Seixo Taberna. We looked at the price list – Special Hamberguesa 4.50. “This will do,” Daniel said with a grin.

As we waited for our hamburgers with egg and bacon, we were treated to a small tapas of warm harm with a spicy sauce on a bed of potato fries. Sounds unappealing, but tasted sensational. The hamburgers were of the same standard, tasty and well cooked. It was a sign. I looked at my phone, there was an albergue with a restaurant another 9km on. That 9km was pretty much all up hill. “There’s beds available,” I told Daniel. “Let’s do it man,” he said.

With the early afternoon sun beating down and little breeze to speak of, it was a hot climb out of Negreira. In a way it was another of those Camino shames, you see a beautiful village, but pass through with just a few photos taken and a brief meal at the tavern.

As The Way was in full sun, I broke out my umbrella again. This is a godsend and if you can handle the little bit of extra weight, I would recommend walking with one. After a kilometre to so, the path entered a forest and barley left it for the rest of the climb. I was Gandalf once more, striding through the Shire with my wooden staff.

As always on a long walk, the last kilometre or so seems to drag, especially when it’s uphill. Today was no exception. I’d injured my foot before I left England, basically the tendon on the top of my big toe was screaming in pain, and as I approached the 30km mark, my foot was ready to down tools for the day, have a cool shower and a good lie down. And some drugs from the anti-inflammatory family.

As we rounded a corner of bright green moss dry stone wall, the Albergue Alto da Peña came into view . . . At the top of another climb. I was so thankful for my eucalyptus staff as I hobbled that last few metres. Not only were we greeted by the lovely hospitalero, we were cheered by the pilgrims siting in the sun resting and drinking cold drinks.

After a shower I was ready to lie down and check in with the second Ashes Test from Lords. I caught the last few balls before Australia won. Booooo. Boooooo. Boooo. What the hell was happening? I went online and found out that there had been a controversial decision that had gone Australia’s way. My mind went back to yesterday’s controversial decision that went against Australia. All of the English commentators yesterday stood safely behind the letter of the law. Today they abandoned that argument, instead grasping for the old chestnut – it’s not in the spirit of the game. Having suffered for decades listening to this tripe following Vinod Mankad’s dismissal of Australian Bill Brown in the 1947-48 tour. For the record, all of the Australians believe what Mankato did was correct. Screw the spirit of the game, it always seems like a last resort argument, a Hail Mary, an argument of desperation. As we used to say back in the day – winners are grinners and the losers can make their own arrangements.

As the afternoon wanes, the wind has picked up. It’s quite cool sitting in the shade looking at the view of the Galician hills. It is rather peaceful and beautiful up here in the hills. We have a pilgrim’s dinner which I can smell is being cooked fresh. Then, as most pilgrims do, I’ll be in bed early to rest my weary body. Gotta love the pilgrim life.

In early May 2022, James (Hamez) and I walked into Santiago de Compostela. We had walked 38km that day, determined to finish our Camino. We were tired, elated, laughing, crying and generally experiencing all of the emotions that millions of pilgrims have had over hundreds of years.

We had spent the last 5 weeks walking 800km from St Jean Pied de Port in France, west across Spain on the Camino Frances. We met wonderful people, walked amazing landscapes, ate incredible food and generally had a great experience.

When we returned home our lives were sent into a spin within a matter of days. Mum was rushed to hospital and within a few months we would lose her. Mum had always been so supportive of our adventures over the years. I know she got a great deal of joy out of reading our blog. With mum unwell and dad still fighting his own fight against cancer, we had no time to think greatly about our Camino experience.

On top of that, my eldest daughter Alexandra was studying in Paris and had some terrible struggles of her own. Then not long after mum passed away, my second daughter, Georgie, was rushed to hospital. The diagnosis after some weeks was multiple sclerosis.

There’s a saying that your Camino begins in Santiago. The second half of 2022 was such a whirlwind of anxiety and grief, the Camino had largely been forgotten. The reminders were messages from pilgrims, lengthy phone conversations about bringing the Camino home and Hamez and I appearing on Dan Mullins’ My Camino the Podcast. In January 2023, Hamez and I attended the Australian Friends of the Camino conference in Melbourne. It was great to meet up with Leo and his dad James, Dan and all the other wonderful people who attended.

The Camino was keeping a slender grip on our conscience, in spite of what was happening in our lives.

I thought it would be some years before another opportunity would arise to set foot on the Camino. Claire and I were planning a trip to Europe, mainly to attend a wedding in Yorkshire and to meet up with friends and family in France for Claire’s 50th. There was a small window of time between the two and I mooted the idea of a brief side trip to walk part of a Camino. I didn’t really know where to go – France, Portugal, Italy, Spain – there are som many options. When I sat down and thought about it, the most logical was to walk the 100 or so kilometres from Santiago de Compostela to the sea.

When Hamez and I got to Santiago last year, I asked him if he wanted to continue to Muxia and Fisterra. No! I’m done with walking, was his quick reply. We stayed a couple of nights and got to enjoy the company of so many great pilgrims we’d met along the way. Then, all too soon, we boarded a train to Madrid and the Camino disappeared into the distance.

This morning I woke early, caught a bus to Stansted airport and made my way through a river of anxious and excited humanity to board a flight to Santiago. Ryanair is simple and for my first experience, pretty good for a 1:45 flight. As we descended into Santiago, it looked cloudy. Once on the ground, it was sunny and hot. The first marker indicated a little over 15km and told me I was on The Sky Way, a short and to be honest, very dull few kilometres from the terminal to the Camino itself. Despite that, I may be able to brag in years to come – Have you walked The Sky Way? I will ask. Well no, will come the reply. I will raise my eyebrows in a manner that suggests that they are missing out on something great. If only.

It was little over an hour before I saw the first few pilgrims. I was setting a handy pace, unhindered by nearly 800km of walking. Many had bandages, straps and tape, their badges of honour as they hobbled along. They were either tanned by weeks under the sun or sunburnt. Tide lines were evident around ankles and shoulders. They had the manner and sensibility of a pilgrim, I looked like a tourist, for now.

The sun beat down and I broke out my umbrella, a new addition to my walking kit since last year and one I was grateful for. Under my hat I was sweaty and hot, under the umbrella, relatively cool.

So many memories flooded back. There was the spot Hamez and I stopped for a cold drink and Basque cheesecake. There was the place we threw our walking poles, knowing we only needed to walk another 5 or 6km mostly downhill. There was Monto de Gozo where we diverted from the Camino to take photos with the statues of the pilgrims. There was our first view of the Cathedral.

When I look back, walking across Spain with my son was such a great experience. To see him strong and caring and funny and laughing and crying – he started a boy and ended a man. I love him dearly and am so proud of him.

There are also so many memories of our pilgrim family – our pilgramily? Whilst Hamez and I walked into Santiago together, there were so many people who helped us get there. Mads & Mikal, Karin, Anthony & Simone, Dazza, James and Leo. The list goes on. So many great human beings. In Santiago, Hamez and I caught up with all of them. And now here I am.

I’ve checked into the Albergue KM.0, a few metres from the Pilgrim’s Office. I’m back in a bunk bed, oh the joy of being a pilgrim. It’s Saturday afternoon and whilst it’s busy, it seems quieter that when we were last here. The Square has groups and individual pilgrims drinking in the atmosphere, staring up at the Cathedral and reflecting on their achievements with joy and a deal of sombre satisfaction. They jump, they cheer, they cry, they simply lie there, staring up at a building they have walked 800km to see and to simply stop. I want to go and talk to them, ask them how they feel. Ask them what they expect to gain from their experience? What have they learnt, about themselves and about the world?

What about you? I’m sure they would ask. What did you take from the Camino?

What did I take away from my Camino? That you can set the pace of your own life in the manner that you set the pace of your walking along The Way. That life proceeds, whether you choose to engage or not. That if you open yourself to experience, amazing things can happen. But most of all, that, as Uncle Pete (my best mate) says – in the end, there is only love.

A few weeks ago James (aka Hamez) and I were invited onto Dan Mullins’ My Camino the Podcast. Before replying, I asked Hamez. “Sure,” he said. We all agreed upon a suitable time, a Sunday morning, and we received the zoom invite from Dan.

I’d been listening to Dan’s podcast since 2018 when Hamez and I started planning our 2020 Camino. Spoilers, there was no 2020 Camino for us, or most pilgrims for that matter.

I found Dan’s enthusiasm for the Camino a little addictive. I devoured episodes and listened to several episodes multiple times. The podcast was also a goldmine for tips for things such as albergue or meal locations.

Out 2019 edition of the Brierley guidebook was crammed with my handwritten notes, most derived from the podcast. Come 2022 I had to go through the guidebook page by page to transcribe these notes. We were glad, as many of those suggestions we followed. Some, sadly we couldn’t. For example, Casa Susi in Trabadelo was closed for renovations.

When Dan came into our zoom, there was his familiar voice. It was instantly calming. He was a lovely bloke, not that we expected anything different. Hamez was impressed. The time flew by and we were soon wishing each other a Buen Camino as more pilgrims and stories came to mind. We sadly had to finish up. After all, Dan does this in his spare time.

Our episode was edited and went live a few days later.

Hamez and I were both grateful for the opportunity to share our experience on the Camino. It definitely felt like another wonderful way that the Camino keeps providing.

As Molly Meldrum used to say on Countdown, do yourself a favour and give it a listen.

Buen Camino!