Camino Wander #3: Reflections

Finisterre, Spain

Walking the Camino de Santiago for the third time, has been a humbling, challenging, and eye-opening journey once more. Documenting my experience was a way to process everything unfolding around (and within) me, but also sharing the realistic experience with the world. Many people come to the Camino with rose-coloured glasses. Some people leave with those same rose-coloured glasses, but most people will say it was a lot harder than they ever imagined - and it is.

Some days were brutal. Blisters, swollen knees, relentless sun. The Camino doesn’t let you coast. You earn every step, and some of those steps push you right to your edge. But oddly, the more it stripped me down, the more I remembered how resilient I am.

But it’s not just the physical, it’s the mental and spiritual as well.

I learned more about myself - and where I am in my life - through this Camino, and I discovered that the answers are completely different from where I was in my life on my previous wanders.

The Camino gifts me with something that is rare for all of us: space. In that quiet, uninterrupted solitude, I met parts of myself I’d ignored for a while. I’m coming to understand that growth doesn't happen in the noise, but in the stillness. This Camino made me understand that I am comfortable with who I am. I don’t need to prove myself. I don’t need to be a certain way for somebody else. I learned that while I’m a control freak, I am no longer to the extent that it controls me. Not anymore. I am quirky enough to be interesting, but can still morph into the background. And, I’m okay with being alone - but I’m happy that I’m not. I love my life.

What continues to amaze me about the Camino is how deeply people are willing to connect with a stranger. I’ve had conversations with fellow pilgrims that were more honest than ones I’ve had with people I’ve known for years. Sometimes all it takes is sharing a table, a bottle of wine, or a few kilometres to feel seen. It’s an opportunity to be vulnerable without being judged.

There were days when emotions hit me from out of nowhere. A stretch of trail would remind me of someone I lost. A butterfly would remind me of somebody else, making me feel less alone. Or I’d find myself completely undone - or going into a state of contemplation - just by something someone said in passing. The Camino has a way of drawing people out, or make you question everything.

I have mentioned this before - I did feel like an observer this time. Sometimes it was just seeing things that I had already seen, noticing what had been changed or what was different. There didn’t seem to be that many surprises on a day-to-day basis, yet there was a definite shift. For example, some towns felt overrun by commercialism. Other towns felt abandoned, despite people still living there.

Amongst pilgrims, people continued hurrying to the next bed - that hasn’t changed - but people were also glued to their devices like never before. The spirit of the Camino — that slow, intentional, sacred rhythm — felt frayed in places. People seemed more reluctant to have a conversation, preferring instead to be on their phones. Or worse, not asking if somebody was okay as they zoomed by. This was the part that was painful to watch.

But what truly broke my heart was the shift in mindset with the albergues and bars along the Camino. I could count on one hand how many albergues truly cared about the pilgrims staying with them. Alternatively, I lost count with the number who just saw dollar signs.

It went from the past mindset of “servicing the pilgrims”, offering food at all hours, - offering at least a robust pilgrim menu at six or 7 o’clock - to expecting the pilgrims to adjust to the Spanish lifestyle. Normally I would say absolutely! We are in their country, after all. But the Camino is different. You can’t expect pilgrims, after walking 20 km + a day, to wait to eat dinner at 9 pm. They are usually snoring by then!

Watching how people behave under pressure was definitely entertaining — you know, when they’re tired, frustrated, lonely, or elated. It was its own kind of education. I’ve seen incredible generosity amongst some, but also entitlement and competition amongst so many others. The Camino is a mirror. It doesn’t lie. It brings out who we are when no one’s watching. And what I saw was heartbreaking.

To me, the Camino is still a metaphor for life. It’s imperfect, it’s beautiful, it’s hard, it’s humbling. Letting yourself be seen — messy, tired, emotional — opens doors you don’t expect. Vulnerability isn’t a weakness. It’s the bridge to connection.

People walk the Camino for all sorts of reasons — some to heal, others to escape, some for no clear reason at all. But in the end, we’re all just trying to put one foot in front of the other and make sense of our path.

Writing about my Camino — and sharing it openly — has become its own kind of pilgrimage. Through my words, I’ve found community, reflection, and a sense of purpose. It’s helped me understand what’s important and that even when the path feels uncertain, or overwhelming, my people are still there.

I didn’t come to Spain expecting answers. And honestly, I’m leaving with more questions than I arrived with. But I’ve also found honesty, insight, frustration, beauty — and a deeper understanding of what it means to keep walking, no matter how the road shifts beneath you.

Thank you for being on the journey with me. Trust me when I say, I could not have done it without you cheering me on.