It always begins the same way… with a conversation.
This particular journey began one evening at one of my weekend retreats, chatting over dinner with the group. Some of them spoke about their desire to walk the Camino, something that had been quietly sitting on their bucket lists for a while. Easter felt like the perfect time, especially for those who were teachers, as it aligned with the school holidays.
And just like that, the seed was planted… and off I went to organise my next Camino group adventure.
Of course, that conversation didn’t stay contained for long. It naturally flowed into chats with our rugby friends, and before we knew it, the group began to grow. Well… most were immediately on board! Some of the husbands needed a little gentle persuasion, but thankfully their wonderful wives saw the vision!
And so, it began.
For me, returning to the Camino felt like coming home. This was my fifth time walking it, the last being in 2019. I’ve learned over the years that the Camino isn’t something you “achieve” - it’s something you experience. So this time, I carried no expectations. Just a willingness to be present, to take each step as it came, and to allow whatever needed to unfold… unfold.
Organising the group became part of the journey itself. And I have to admit, I love that part. The messages, the planning, the training walks - it’s where the energy starts to build. There’s something magical about bringing people together, watching connections form before a single step is even taken. It’s not always simple - it takes time, patience, and a lot of messages - but it’s always worth it.
As always, I knew I was in safe hands with Into the West Adventures. They took care of the logistics - the hotels, luggage transfers, guides - leaving me free to focus on what I love most… the people. Our guides Mick and Catherine were always on hand to answer our questions…even if we asked them a hundred times!
Our first real gathering as a group was at Dublin Airport. That moment when faces become familiar, when names turn into stories. Some knew each other already - through retreats, workshops, or standing on the side-lines at rugby matches. Others were meeting for the very first time. And then there were the two sisters, who had never met me before but bravely reached out and asked to join us.
And that’s the Camino, isn’t it? A group of strangers, all walking together, each carrying their own story, yet somehow moving as one.
John, my husband, joined me on this journey - his very first Camino. It felt particularly special as he had just finished treatment for prostate cancer. This wasn’t just a walk for him; it was a quiet celebration of life, of resilience, of being here.
Now… I’m not entirely sure he felt like celebrating on some of those hills!
There were moments when the Camino tested him, when every step felt heavy. But he listened to his body, rested when he needed to, and allowed himself to be supported. And for me, walking beside him in those moments was everything. Because that’s what the Camino teaches us - to support one another, whether it’s someone we love or a stranger we meet along the way.
And oh, the people we met.
Pilgrims from all over the world, each walking for their own reasons, at their own pace. Some sang, some danced - and of course, we joined in! It’s hard not to when music drifts through the air from a roadside café and your body just… responds. One minute you’re convinced you can’t take another step, the next you’re dancing like nobody’s watching.
I’m sure our guides didn’t quite know what to make of us. One minute we were struggling, the next we were laughing and dancing, It’s funny how quickly the mind can shift when you allow a little joy in.
The conversations along the way were something else entirely. Deep, heartfelt, honest. The kind of conversations that seem to happen naturally when you’re walking side by side, without distraction. And then, just as quickly, we’d find ourselves in fits of laughter, saying things that made absolutely no sense - blaming it on the heat, the tiredness… or maybe just pure delirium!
But that’s part of it too. The lightness. The laughter. Not taking ourselves too seriously.
And then there were the quieter moments.
On the third day, I felt the need to step back a little. To walk alone. No conversation, no distraction - just me, the path, and the gentle rhythm of my steps. The forest held a kind of stillness that I needed. The smell of the trees, the air on my face… it brought me back to myself.
There’s something powerful about that kind of silence. About listening - not to others, but to your own thoughts, your own body. And knowing that even in those quiet moments, you’re not alone. There’s always someone just a few steps ahead or behind if you need them.
Of course, no Camino would be complete without the universal language of… foot care!
I don’t think I’ve ever heard so much discussion about blisters, plasters, and knee supports in my life. Compeed must have made a small fortune from our group alone! But honestly, when you’re walking day after day, those little things become big things. A plaster, a painkiller, a word of encouragement - they all matter.
Because sometimes, it’s not about the whole journey.
It’s just about the next step.
And then the next.
And somewhere along the way, your Camino passport begins to fill.
At first, it seems like a simple thing - collecting stamps along the route. But very quickly, it becomes something more. Each stamp holds a memory, a moment, a meaning.
The wax stamps, in particular, brought such joy to the group. I loved watching everyone queue up, carefully choosing the one that spoke to them, pressing it gently into the page as if sealing a piece of their journey in time.
Each one told its own story.
One of our group chose a wax stamp with tiny footprints, honouring her daughter who is expecting her first baby this June. That one made my heart smile. Others chose paw prints for their beloved dogs, little symbols of love and connection waiting for them at home.
It was beautiful to witness - how we carry what matters most with us, even when we are far from it.
Those passports became more than just a record of distance. They became a reflection of the heart.
And then there were the bridges…
I’ve always loved bridges. To me, they are never just structures. They are moments of transition. Quiet crossings from one place in your life to another.
Along the Sarria to Santiago route, we crossed many of them, but one in particular always calls me to pause - the old stone bridge.
Each time I return, I feel it. The stillness. The invitation to stop, to breathe, to simply be. The water below reflects the passing pilgrims, each one moving through their own inner journey as much as the physical one. People stop for photos, but there’s something deeper happening - a quiet awe, a presence that can’t quite be explained.
It reminds me that we are always crossing something… even if we don’t have the words for it.
The Camino has a way of opening your senses like that.
Walking through the eucalyptus forests, the fragrance fills your lungs and suddenly your mind feels clearer, lighter. As if something within you has shifted without effort.
And all the while, life continues around you.
Farmers tending their land. Cattle being moved from one field to another. Chickens and geese wandering freely. Dogs lying in the midday sun, quietly guarding their homes, completely at ease with the constant stream of pilgrims passing by.
We stopped one day to watch baby piglets running playfully around their parents’ legs, and for a moment, everything softened. We were all just there, smiling, taking it in.
These are the moments that stay with you.
Gentle reminders that life goes on, no matter what you are carrying. Not that your feelings or your journey are any less important, but that there is a bigger rhythm at play. One that continues, steady and grounding, whether we are struggling or soaring.
And then, at the end of each day… the hotel bed.
Never has a bed looked so inviting!
Peeling off the sweaty, dusty clothes, airing out well-worn walking shoes, and stepping into a warm shower to wash the day away - it felt like pure luxury. And more than once, I found myself thinking of the pilgrims who walked this path hundreds of years ago.
They carried only what they had. They relied on the kindness of strangers. They drank from rivers and rested wherever they could - sometimes under the shelter of a tree.
It brought a deep sense of perspective.
A quiet awareness of how easily we can take comfort for granted, and how much there is to be grateful for in the simplest of things.
And then… the food.
Oh, how we ate!
When you walk the Camino, food becomes more than just fuel - it becomes celebration. Every meal was savoured. Every bite earned. The evening meals, in particular, felt like a gathering of stories. We sat together, sharing how the day had unfolded, how our bodies felt, what had challenged us, what had surprised us.
There was laughter, reflection, connection.
A coming together at the end of each day, grateful for the steps taken, the support given and received, and the simple joy of being there.
And then, after five days of walking… Santiago.
Arriving there brings many emotions. For some, it’s a sense of achievement. For others, celebration or even relief. But what stayed with me most wasn’t the destination itself - it was the faces.
Some filled with tears. Others lit up with smiles.
Each one telling its own story.
Knowing that every person in our group had pushed past their own limits in some way… that they had shown up for themselves, taken the steps, kept going when it felt hard - that is something truly special. Whether it was about achieving a goal, marking a moment in life, or simply ticking something off a bucket list, it all mattered.
In our final days in Santiago, as we spent time together reflecting on the journey, something else touched me deeply. One by one, people thanked me for organising the trip, for bringing the group together, for being there when they needed support along the way.
And in those moments, I was reminded why I do what I do.
Because when you see that something you offered - even in a small way has helped someone else to move forward, to believe in themselves, to take that step… it makes it all worthwhile.
I was so proud of John for finishing.
But more than anything, I was grateful.
Grateful to have him there, beside me - alive, well, and walking his own Camino.
Because the Camino is many things to many people.
But to me… it is a journey of presence.
A journey of connection.
A journey of remembering what truly matters.
And above all…
A journey that begins with just one step.
