The Camino Is No Longer Just an Idea

I have officially turned my crazy “way out there” idea of walking approximately 250 kilometres from Portugal into Spain, at 73 and alone, into a reality. I have a departure date.

There was a moment of hesitation before I clicked “Confirm,” but it lasted only a second. Or maybe it was really a moment of relief. I had finally worked everything out, made my decision, and bought the ticket. It felt great.

At the end of September, ’ll be flying to Porto, Portugal, and two days later I’ll begin walking the Camino on my 73rd birthday. This is an important milestone for me because my dad did not make it to 73. It might sound strange or even silly, but it has always haunted me. Soon, that feeling will be gone. The day I take my first step on the Camino will be one of my happiest.

My decision did not come easily. It took considerable reflection to move gradually from “Could I do this?” to buying my ticket. What once seemed like an unlikely idea is now a very real commitment.

It took about two months to work through everything. My initial enthusiasm began to wane when I thought seriously about the expense, the time away, my body, particularly my sore ankle, and the prospect of doing it alone.

The cost was not simply about how much the trip would be. The more important question was whether doing this mattered enough to justify taking money from my savings. Of course, I looked for reasonable flights and considered what I might spend each day, but the question I kept returning to was, “Is this seriously meaningful to me?”

My answer was a loud yes.

Walking for two weeks sounds simple enough. It becomes a much longer trip once I include arriving in Porto before the walk, adding two possible rest days and allowing time to recover before returning to Ottawa.

Handling my various responsibilities while walking the Camino would not be reasonable. I don’t want to depend on reliable internet connections or having enough mental energy left in the evenings. I had to accept that I would need to take genuine time away from everything.

I figured that I would need approximately three weeks to do it comfortably. I gently inquired about taking that time away from all my commitments at the beginning of October, and discovered it wouldn’t be a problem. Rather people were exciting for me and totally supportive.

Once I decided on the Portuguese route, I had to determine how long it would take. That meant estimating how far I would walk each day, while considering the locations of villages, accommodations, and places to eat.

I eventually planned a mixture of 20 and 25 kilometre days, and included two rest days. I needed a rough itinerary so I could choose my flights. I had to guesstimate and do know that the walk can’t be planned perfectly in advance.

It is not a race. I may some days want to walk farther. On another day, I may stop earlier because I find somewhere interesting or because my body tells me it has done enough. While I now have an outline for the trip, I also have built in room to change it.

Walking itself does not concern me. I have been walking long distances regularly for about five years, and I love it. Walking is my time for relieving stress, working through issues, and thinking about whatever is happening in my life.

I was also a marathoner and crossed 26 marathon finish lines. I completed more half marathons and shorter races than I can count or even remember. I understand distance, and I have always taken my shoes and other equipment seriously.

For the past few months, however, the outside of my right ankle has been sore. I replaced my walking shoes, wrapped my ankle and tried padding it, but nothing really solved the problem.

When I began seriously considering the Camino, I tried a pair of low-rise hiking shoes. What a difference they made. This week, to celebrate my decision, I bought the same shoes in a mid-height version. My ankle problem appears to be history.

Of course, something else could begin to ache. Isn’t that just part of life?

As an only child, I became accustomed to being alone and doing things by myself at an early age. Still, walking for weeks along unfamiliar roads and trails, and through villages will be very different from following my regular routes in Ottawa or on Koh Lanta.

I researched this carefully and watched so many videos made by pilgrims walking their Camino. I soon realized that although I would be travelling alone, I would encounter people from around the world. It would be unusual to walk for a long time without seeing anyone else.

Walking alone means I will make my own decisions, follow my own pace and stop to rest or eat whenever I want. It does not mean I will be isolated.

My remaining decisions concerned where I would sleep, what I would eat, and what I would carry. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t compromising myself to fit into some idea of what a pilgrim should be.

I don’t want to sleep in a hostel dormitory. I need my privacy. I want to eat much as I normally do, so I don’t create unnecessary stomach problems. I’m also not interested in carrying everything on my back.

My research showed me that there are small hotels, pensions. and B&Bs along the route. Many can be booked online a day or two ahead, allowing me to retain some flexibility. There are plenty of cafés, restaurants, and grocery stores as well.

Best of all, luggage transfer services will collect my suitcase each morning and deliver it to my next accommodation. I will walk with my seriously colourful lumbar pack. It’s big enough to hold the things I’ll need during the day like my cell, ID/cards, water, change of clothes, socks, first aid kit, snacks… And my bubble gum supply - this gal needs her bubble gum!

I will still walk every kilometre. I simply won’t carry my entire life on my back while doing it.

Well, giddy up!

After finishing the Camino, I have a few extra days before flying home. If I feel up to it, I want to visit Barcelona and see Gaudí’s extraordinary Sagrada Família.

When I mentioned this to a Swedish friend from Koh Lanta, who now lives in Palma on Mallorca, she told me to contact her a day or two before I finish. She may meet me in Barcelona and/or I might go to Palma for a few days.

Those plans remain uncertain, and that is fine. Having something to anticipate beyond arriving at the cathedral in Santiago feels right. The end of the Camino will not really be an ending. It will be a continuation of exploring life and taking advantage of the opportunities that present themselves.

Nothing is fixed except my flights. I have a rough plan, possibilities rest days along the way, and extra days to explore. It is exciting not to know exactly what will happen on the road to Santiago or during the days that follow.

The Camino is no longer just an idea. I’m going.

If you know someone struggling with a big decision, please consider sharing this newsletter with them. I didn’t arrive at my Camino decision all at once. I separated it into smaller questions about cost, time, health and being alone. I worked through each one until the larger answer became clear.

Sometimes a big decision feels less overwhelming when we look closely at what it actually involves. My story may help someone sort through their own bits and pieces, recognize what matters most, and move forward with a little more confidence.

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Next time, in my August 22^nd newsletter, I’ll be looking at why a cancelled plan can feel like more than a simple change of schedule at this stage of life. When work and family no longer provide the same structure, a lunch, appointment or outing can become an anchor in the week. Even when the reason for cancelling is completely understandable, the suddenly empty space can throw us more than we expect. I want to explore why these everyday plans matter and how my response to disappointment has changed over time.