Walking the Camino de Santiago: The Trail That Brought Me Home
“I didn’t walk the Camino to find myself. I walked it because I was already lost — and moving felt like the only honest thing left to do.”
They say you explore your own country last, after you’ve seen the rest of the world. That was exactly my situation. I’m from Portugal, left in 2014, and somehow never walked the Camino—even though it starts practically on my doorstep. I always thought I had time. But after more than a decade away, returning to do it finally felt right.
So when a friend and I realized we’d both be in Europe visiting family around the same time, we decided to meet. And we decided to finally walk the Camino de Santiago together. Neither of us had done it before. Both of us had always wanted to.
Later, another friend joined us. The three of us met in Ponte de Lima, a beautiful town in northern Portugal where our walk would begin.
The Night Before
The night before we started, we did what old friends do when they haven’t seen each other in ages: we caught up over drinks. Which turned into more drinks. Which turned into, well… a few too many.
Morning came, and so did our hangovers. Definitely not the start I’d imagined. But we laced up our boots anyway and started walking.
The first few hours were rough. Painful, if I’m honest. But somewhere around mid-morning we found a café, had breakfast, drank water, and slowly—very slowly—things started to feel normal again. By afternoon, we could finally lift our heads and actually enjoy where we were.
The Rhythm of the Trail
After a few days, something shifted. We fell into a rhythm.
Wake up early. Walk. Watch the landscape change around us. In spring, northern Portugal and Spain are impossibly green. The sun would rise over hills we hadn’t seen before, and for hours at a time, my mind would just… stop. No planning. No worrying. Just walking.
We stayed in albergues—simple hostels for pilgrims. We’d see the same faces on the trail day after day, playing a gentle game of catch-up. Every local café became a small celebration: orange juice and a toast, a coffee and a pastry, a moment to rest and take it all in.
There was no rush. No agenda except the path ahead. And somewhere in that slowness, I started to feel like this was exactly where I was meant to be.
The Blisters
By halfway, my feet reminded me I was still a beginner.
The shoes I’d brought were too warm, too insulated for the season. And heavy. So heavy. My blisters made their presence known, and not in a polite way.
One of my friends—bless her—had an extra pair of shoes. I borrowed them for a few days, just long enough to let my feet recover. A total lifesaver. Sometimes it really is the small kindnesses that carry you through.
Stamps and Memories
Along the way, we collected stamps in our pilgrim passports. It’s tradition on the Camino: you find stamps at churches, cafés, town halls, albergues—each one marking where you’ve been. It turned the walk into a kind of treasure hunt. Every stamp a memory. Every page filling up with proof that we were really doing this.
Arriving in Santiago
When we finally walked into Santiago de Compostela, something broke open in all of us. Joy, yes. But also disbelief. We’d actually done it. Together.
We felt proud. We felt full. And honestly? We also felt a little sad that it was over.
So we started talking. What if we did this again? What if we made it a thing—a walking trip, every single year?
That conversation became a pact. And that pact became the reason I’m here, writing this, and the reason What the Hike exists.
The Camino gave me a lot. But maybe the best thing it gave me was the promise: to keep walking, every year, with people I love.
Bom caminho.