It has been just over four weeks since Chuck and I completed the Camino.
Nearly everyone who knows about our journey has asked the same question.
How was it?
It’s a simple question, but one I have found it surprisingly difficult to answer.
Usually, I begin with, “It was physically really hard. Much more than I anticipated.”
So hard in fact, about nine days into our journey, I remember lying in bed wondering if we were actually strong enough to walk another 20-plus days. We were tired, our bodies ached, and the thought of all those miles still ahead was daunting.
The next morning I heard about an 85-year-old woman who had completed the Camino.
I remember thinking to myself, If she can do it, surely you can too.
Her finishing helped me understand that the Camino isn’t about being the strongest or the fastest. It isn’t a competition. There is no prize for arriving first. Everyone walks at their own pace, carrying their own burdens and facing their own challenges. Some walk quickly. Others slowly. Some need to rest. Some need help.
But everyone has to do the same thing. Put one foot in front of the other.
And then — do it again.
How much of life is really just that? Having the faith and determination to just take the next step, even when we cannot see the end of the road.
Going back to that original question – How was it? As challenging as the physical journey was, there was so much more to those nearly 500 miles than simply walking them.
Four weeks later, I find myself returning to the Camino again and again in my thoughts. The people, the beauty, the unexpected moments, the joy and adventure, and the extraordinary richness of it all. Some of our hardest days were also among our most beautiful. Because the physical challenge was only one part of an experience that gave us so much is why I find it difficult to answer the question, “How was it?”
One of my most profound realization is that the Camino feels like a glimpse of the world God intended us to live in.
Imagine a place where people come from every corner of the earth, speaking different languages, carrying different histories, beliefs, hopes, and sorrows.
And somehow, they become a community.
A friend recently told me she had watched the movie The Way and enjoyed it, but thought it seemed unrealistic. How could a group of such different strangers really come together and travel that way?
I smiled because that was one of the most realistic parts of the movie.
It happens all the time on the Camino.
People who would probably never meet in their ordinary lives find themselves walking together, sharing meals, helping one another, and becoming friends.
No one asks what you do for a living. No one cares about your title, your wealth, or whether you are someone important. All the things we use to define ourselves in everyday life simply fall away.
What we have in common is that we are all pilgrims.
And somehow, that is enough.
If someone is struggling, others stop to help. If someone has food, they share it. If someone is lost, another pilgrim points the way. There is a generosity of spirit that seems to exist everywhere along the road.
And the remarkable thing is how natural it all feels.
It made me wonder why we make life so complicated. Why we allow so many things to divide us when there is so much more that connects us.
I wish I could bottle that feeling and bring it home.
And then there is the wonder of the Camino itself.
It is almost as though the road delights in surprising you.
Imagine walking quietly through a forest and suddenly hearing the beautiful sound of a violin. You follow the music and discover someone playing, simply for the joy of sharing it with those passing by.
You might encounter a man dressed as a Knight Templar, bringing centuries of Camino history to life, or an artist who creates a tiny, original painting right in your pilgrim passport, a wonderful little keepsake of your journey.
One day tired and thirsty you happen upon a roadside banquet, filled with bread, nuts, fruit, and cold drinks, offered to strangers with nothing more than an invitation to leave whatever donation they wish. Or perhaps a bartender who resembles Benjamin Franklin taking your order and writing it down with a quill pen.
These are examples of the unexpected but not unusual delights of the Camino. You never know what might be waiting around the next bend. Where else do things like this happen? Moments so unexpected, so generous, and just a bit magical.
Another unique aspect of the Camino is that not only do you not need a guide but where else in the world can you walk nearly 500 miles without a map?
On the Camino, you simply follow the yellow arrows and scallop shells that mark the way. Hundred of thousands of pilgrims have traveled these same roads, trusting that these signs would lead them to Santiago. Sometimes they are easy to see and other times more difficult – what is common is that a pilgrims needs to be alert and follow the signs. I can’t help thinking there is a lesson in that, too.
And then there were the churches.
Oh, the churches.
Some grand and magnificent, others small and almost hidden away in ancient villages. Churches filled with beautiful art, worn stone floors, flickering candles, and a silence that seemed to hold centuries of prayers.
I often thought about the generations who had entered those same doors before us. People who had come with their gratitude, their fears, their grief, their hopes. Mothers praying for their children. Families praying for healing. Pilgrims seeking forgiveness, direction, or simply the reassurance that God was near.
And there we were, hundreds of years later, kneeling in those same places, carrying our own prayers and the intentions of people we love.
There was something deeply moving about being part of that unbroken story of faith.
Outside those churches, the world was equally extraordinary.
Mountains that seemed to stretch forever. Vast open plains. Forests so green and peaceful they felt almost enchanted. Sunrises that made us stop walking just to take them in. Views that seemed to be waiting around every bend.
We would walk 15 or 20 miles, sometimes arriving completely exhausted, and yet I would find myself thinking how fortunate we were to be there.
And perhaps that is one of the greatest gifts of the Camino.
For weeks, the noise of everyday life simply faded away. No endless schedule. No constant demands. No feeling that every minute had to be productive.
Our days became beautifully simple.
We woke up. We walked. We ate. We rested. We prayed.
We talked with strangers who became friends. We laughed. We noticed things we might otherwise have passed by. We had long stretches of silence, and I loved having that time with Chuck.
There was room to think, to remember, to be grateful, and sometimes just to be.
And with that simplicity came another unexpected realization.
For weeks, we wore the same few clothes, washing them and wearing them again. Looking back, so much of what we brought was simply extra weight. We discovered how little we really needed.
“It made me wonder how much we accumulate in life that we don’t really need, and whether having more might actually be costing us.” Perhaps that’s true of more than just possessions. How many unnecessary burdens do we carry through life?
On the Camino, with so little, I never felt deprived. Quite the opposite. I felt extraordinarily rich.
And that is a feeling I hope I don’t lose now that I’m home.
I wonder how often, in our ordinary lives, we miss the beauty and goodness around us because we are moving too quickly to notice.
And now, four weeks later, I am discovering something else.
I came home stronger.
Physically, I feel better than I have in a very long time. I feel strong, healthy, and energized. There is something deeply satisfying about knowing that the very thing I once wondered if I was capable of finishing actually made me stronger.
But it isn’t just physical.
I feel mentally stronger, too. More confident in my ability to face difficult things. More patient with the process of getting somewhere. More comfortable with the idea that I don’t have to know exactly what lies ahead. Sometimes it is enough to take the next step and trust that the way will become clear.
And spiritually, I feel renewed.
Not because I found God somewhere along those 500 miles, but because I had the time and space to recognize how present He had been all along.
The Camino gave me the extraordinary gift of stepping away from my everyday life long enough to see it, and the world around me, with fresh eyes.
I experienced, for a few extraordinary weeks, a different way of living.
I don’t want to forget what that felt like.
So now when someone asks me how the Camino was, I still begin the same way.
“It was physically difficult, but…”
I came home stronger in body, mind, and spirit.
I saw the world, and the people in it, in a way I wish everyone could experience.
I discovered that life can be both simpler and richer than we sometimes allow it to be.
And perhaps most importantly, I was reminded that God is present in the journey, in the people beside us, and in the unexpected gifts along the way.
Would I do it all again?
Absolutely.
Every difficult mile. Every aching muscle. Every unexpected encounter.
It was all worth it.
So if this all sounds good to you – perhaps the Camino is calling.
