When you’re sitting cross-legged on the side of a freeway, sweating profusely, a candy bar in one hand and a near-dead phone in another, you start to question your life choices.
On the Camino, life becomes simple.
While that may sound a bit contradictory, considering the whole freeway-sweating-starving incident, it’s not.
While hiking from town to town, staying in a new bed every night, and enduring daily aches and pains from repeated strain on your muscles, you aren’t focusing on much else besides the dire necessities.
You don’t stress about your boss texting you back. You don’t care that your white shoes are mud-stained or that your jacket doesn’t match your joggers. You don’t whine about being bored or not knowing what to eat for dinner.
You go back to basics.
You set the alarm every morning and actually wake up when you’re supposed to. You buy only what you need at the grocery store, because any additional snacks are just extra weight on your shoulders. You sit down and actually enjoy a coffee, a croissant, and the sweetest glass of orange juice you’ve ever had. You plan the day’s route and secure the next night’s booking.
That is it.
It creates this sort of illusion that every day might feel the same. That is so far from true.
Beyond the landscapes, every day also brings a new way to test you. Everyone that chooses to walk the trail, no matter their distance, goes through the same phases of mental endurance. The first few days, you wake up excited and ready to go. By day 4, your feet are maybe a little less excited, but still push through. You eventually hit a point of acceptance, that yes, this does suck a little bit. My feet are sore, my blisters are painful, and my shoulders are aching to take this backpack off. But you keep going anyway.
Every person you pass by, no matter what phase they’re in or how well their day is going, is happy to share some encouragement. The Camino has this shared sense of community. I couldn’t count the bandaids I gave out, or the laughs I shared, or the times I had a thought like, no way, you’re from the same town too? You went to Endicott College too? There’s a chance we’ve met before?
The magic lies in connection.
So often when we’re on vacation, we like to stick to ourselves. We go out to eat, hit the bar with friends, and let ourselves sleep as much as we want. We stick to our everyday habits, or maybe even decide, “Yeah, I can binge a little” and spend the next morning on a date with the couch, some Advil, and a bottle of Pedialyte.
Sure, you had the best time of your life dancing to ABBA with your cousin and hitting Taco Bell at 2am, but the reward is surface-level. It was fun, but you could’ve done those same things anywhere else in the world and still had the same outcome. Vacation ends, and life goes back to normal.
The Camino may not sound like a vacation, and to most, it probably isn’t. But the vacation-like sense of reward is fiercely there. You leave the trip feeling renewed, accomplished, strong, and free. Free of the everyday worries you left at home. Free of your phone being glued to your face.
On the Camino, you’re building connections, stepping out of your comfort zone, and living 100% in the present.
You’re in nature every single day. You’re meeting new people from corners of the world that you’ve never even touched on a map. You’re constantly being challenged, because you’re not in a place that speaks your native language. You have new foods being brought out on shared plates, and you’re sleeping in a bunk room next to someone you didn’t know 2 hours ago.
If that doesn’t show grace, I don’t know what does.
And after the 100-some miles or more are all treaded, you feel like a new person. You climbed mountains, literally, that you never would have thought you could. You visited tiny towns that no other tourists would ever visit. You met a nice man that owned a tiny fruit stand, and chatted with a barista who made the best latte you’ve ever had, and you suddenly feel this sense of connection that affirms the world is much bigger and much smaller than you’ve ever realized.
When you’re home, you start to view life a little bit differently.
You don’t curse over the steering wheel when the car in front of you is going 15mph under the speed limit. You don’t squeeze in a 45-minute workout before rushing to work, protein bar in hand.
You slow down. You smell the roses. Quite literally. You’re more conscious about the world around you.
If there’s one thing that walking the Camino de Santiago taught me, it’s that we all need to slow down.
Next time I travel to another pocket of the globe, I’ll make sure to spend time in the nooks and crannies. I’ll eat at the empty cafe. I’ll ask the woman sitting on the park bench if she wants to grab a coffee together. And I’ll remind myself of what the Camino taught me: magic lies in meaningful connection.
Life is as simple or as complex as you make it.
And there’s no need to rush.
I walked the Portuguese Coastal route, 175 miles from Porto, Portugal, to Santiago de Compostela, Spain.
Yours Truly, Cat Taylor 
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