Dear Diary,

I’ve been thinking about the Camino de Santiago, again.

The desire to gather my walking gear and head back to Spain has been gnawing at me lately. I have 180 miles of unfinished business, but that’s not the whole reason I feel a need to return.

For the uninitiated, the ‘way of Saint James’ is a network of ancient pilgrimages that cross mountains and plains throughout Spain (and beyond) and eventually converge at the cathedral in the Galician city of Santiago de Compostela.

Pilgrims have been travelling these, once often perilous, routes for centuries to visit the shrine of the apostle James, and although still a religious or spiritual journey for many, it’s now also a popular adventure for cultural hikers, annoying cyclists, and busloads of Korean tourists.

I’ve walked about 300 miles of its most popular route, the Camino Frances, in three stages spanning almost twenty years, and although I’m itching to complete the journey to Santiago before I give way to decrepitude, it’s the experience that draws me back, not the destination.

My first time on the Camino was a three-day trek from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, at the foothills of the Pyrenees in France, to Pamplona in Spain. It was a part of a longer trip with a close friend that began in Toulouse, France, and ended with a short road trip to see friends near Madrid. It was a lot of fun in good company, but our time spent walking was enough to develop blisters, but not a full appreciation of the ‘way’.

Many years later I found myself retracing those footsteps alone. I was unwell and physically unfit, and carried with me a recently failed marriage, mental health issues, and an autism referral. It was a lot to process. I developed severe blisters and bruising on day one and my feet got progressively worse as I hobbled over sharp rocks, down steep descents, and along unforgiving concrete footpaths. I walked 100 miles to Logroño before I gave in to the pain.

It took weeks for my feet to recover, but I was determined to resume my Camino the following year. Slightly fitter and better prepared, I returned to Logroño and walked a further 200 miles to León. No blisters. I’ve yet to complete my final stage from León to the cathedral in Santiago.

Long hours on the camino offer solitude and freedom from social pressures, if that’s what you need. Alternatively, unexpected encounters, camaraderie, and new friends are never far away should you seek company and have the capacity to interact.

I often lack the capacity, especially now that my ability to mask has deteriorated. My social battery has depleted with age and fatigue, exacerbated by late revelations about how I experience the world, my social challenges, the involuntary withdrawal. I am autistic, but somehow the Camino accommodates.

I like the simplicity of the daily routines - walking, meals, laundry, sleep. They declutter my mind and help induce calm, allowing space to process troubled thoughts, or reflect on past events and potential futures. The Camino is both a sanctuary and a path to healing.

The days merge with repeated, uncomplicated purpose, to find a bed, rest, and recharge for the next day. The passing landscapes change slowly and effortlessly one step at a time. The villages and towns are pit stops on the road, the occasional oasis to stop and refresh, and of fleeting interest before disappearing behind you as you continue on.

It’s an endeavour that tests the body, but in time replenishes the mind and repairs the heart. I think this is particularly true in times of personal trauma or transition, and I know that I’m not unique in finding myself drawn to the Camino as a road to recovery.

My final stage to Santiago won’t be the end of my Camino - there are other routes I want to attempt - but it will represent an important milestone in my recent personal journey, some closure perhaps, and the beginning of something new.

As soon as time and funds allow, I’ll be gathering my walking gear.