I'm going to walk the Camino
I booked a one-way ticket to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port on a Tuesday night when I should have been editing someone else's travel piece. The confirmation email felt like a door opening. Not dramatic. Just real.
I am walking the Camino Francés in autumn. Not for religion, though I respect those who are. I am walking because my body has been asking for rhythm and my brain for fewer tabs open.
Why now
Last year I crossed Thorong La and came home tired in a good way. The Camino is different: longer in time, softer in altitude, heavier in stories. Friends who have done it talk less about scenery and more about who they met at dinner. That is the part I want.
Also, honestly, I am between chapters. Quitting my magazine job was the loud decision. The Camino feels like the quiet one that follows.
What Finn is doing
Finn is not walking 800 kilometers. He is staying with my sister in Oregon, living his best suburban life with a yard and guilt-inducing eyes on video calls. I will miss him. I will also return a better human for him, which is the deal we make.
What I am packing
- Boots that already know my feet.
- A notebook smaller than my ego.
- One good rain layer and trust in laundry sinks.
- Less than I want and more than I need (I am trying).
I will write from the trail when the Wi‑Fi allows. If you have walked it, tell me what you wished you knew on day three. That is when most people, apparently, reconsider their sock choices.