Two years ago, my dear friend and I were doing what we have done for decades: walking. Our walks have always been our therapy. Together, we have walked through raising young children, celebrated life's biggest moments, cried through heartbreak, solved problems, and dreamed about what might come next. Somehow, putting one foot in front of the other always helped us move forward.
During one of those walks, we stopped and laughed. “How can we possibly be only two years away from turning 60?” Where had the time gone? That simple question led to another. How should we celebrate this milestone? Without much hesitation, one of us suggested walking the Camino de Santiago. Within minutes, we had a plan.
We spent the next two years learning all we could about the Camino. I joined Facebook groups, talked with friends who had made the journey, and read everything I could find. I discovered, for example, that more than 500,000 pilgrims travel to Santiago de Compostela through 400 different routes through France, Spain, Portugal, and Italy, each year to visit the tomb of the Apostle James.
One piece of advice came up again and again. “Don’t compare your Camino to anyone else’s. Every journey is unique.” Those words stayed with me.
We chose the Portuguese Coastal Route from Porto because it covered the required 100 kilometers, or about 65 miles. While many people dream of the famous French Route that stretches nearly 500 miles over five weeks, this route felt right for us. Looking back, it was exactly the right choice.
Life had other plans
In late February, I had an accident and tore my calf. I could not walk, and for weeks, I wondered if our dream trip would even happen. Then I slowly began physical therapy and finally started walking again on May 1, only 30 days before leaving for Portugal. Before our trip, the longest walk I managed was just three miles.
Needless to say, I had doubts. Could I really walk 65 miles? Even so, I never considered canceling.
What began as two friends celebrating a birthday soon became seven women walking together. Three came from Los Angeles, four from New Jersey. We were all Catholic, and several of us were celebrating our 60th birthdays.
Many pilgrims begin the Camino carrying grief, loss, or heavy burdens. They hope the journey will bring healing. That wasn’t my Camino.
Instead, my hardest journey had already happened. The months of pain, uncertainty, and recovery came before Portugal. By the time I arrived, I wasn’t searching for answers. Rather, I felt grateful for a blank slate. My only goal was to be open to whatever God wanted to show me. That alone felt like a gift.
A beautiful beginning
Our first morning happened to fall on the solemnity of Corpus Christi. As we stepped onto the streets of Portugal, church bells rang across the city. Mass played through loudspeakers while schoolchildren sang in Portuguese. Beautiful flower petals covered the streets for the procession. It felt as if God was sending us on our way with a blessing.
Of course, the magic quickly met reality. My longest training walk had been three miles. Our first Camino day covered nine. Fortunately, my friends became my biggest cheerleaders. They slowed down when I needed them to, celebrated every mile, and never once made me feel like I was holding anyone back.
Each evening followed a familiar routine. First, I searched for ice, which was surprisingly difficult to find in Portugal and Spain. Next, I elevated my leg and rested before another day on the trail. Thankfully, pain never became the center of the story.
Instead, every evening ended with laughter, wonderful dinners, and conversations with people we met from our journey.
Every day brought new scenery. Sometimes we walked beside the Atlantic Ocean. Other times we wandered through forests, vineyards, tiny villages, and quiet farms. Before long, we would arrive in charming beach towns where fresh bread, seafood, and paella reminded us to slow down and enjoy the moment.
However, the greatest gift wasn’t the scenery. It was the walking itself. Walking gave me time to think. Soon, I noticed things I normally rushed past. Most importantly, I found time to simply be.
Along the route, we stopped in small churches that had welcomed pilgrims for hundreds of years. Inside each one, I lit a candle, sat quietly, and prayed. While we were away, I learned that my beloved aunt, a Holy Child sister, had become seriously ill. Because of that news, every church became another chance to place her in God’s hands. Each prayer brought a little more peace.
At the same time, I felt my mom’s presence in a way I hadn’t expected. She has been gone for more than 20 years, yet I knew she was walking beside me. Although I cannot explain it, I never questioned it either.
The hardest day came on Day Four. Thirteen miles stretched before us, and my calf reminded me of every step. I remember thinking, What have I done? Can I really do this for four more days? Then something beautiful happened. My friends stayed beside me. No one rushed ahead. No one complained. Instead, they walked with me.
In that moment, I realized the Camino was never about how fast we walked. It was about never having to walk alone. After that day, everything felt different. The finish line finally seemed possible.
What the Camino taught me
We arrived in Santiago around four o’clock in the afternoon. After taking pictures and cleaning up, we returned to the cathedral for the Pilgrim Mass. We arrived an hour early. I’m so glad we did.
Pilgrims from every corner of the world filled the church. Different languages echoed through the cathedral. Different stories had brought people there. Yet we were united by one shared journey. The joy was impossible to miss. The gratitude filled the room. Most of all, God’s presence surrounded us.
People often ask what I learned from my Camino. My answer is simple. It wasn’t the destination. It was the journey. More importantly, it was who I shared that journey with. Friendship carried me. My faith strengthened me. The encouragement of others kept me moving. Along the way, God’s grace met me every single day.
Life isn’t much different.
Every one of us is walking our own Camino. Some people carry grief. Others carry hope. Many carry both. We rarely know what someone beside us is carrying. However, we can always choose to walk with them. After all, that may be the greatest lesson of all.
We are all walking one another home.
