I first learned about the Camino de Santiago in 2015–or at least that is when I recorded it in my Note’s app after listening to a work colleague describe her pilgrimage across northern Spain. The idea lingered quietly in the background of my life for years.

Then one day, a sorority sister mentioned that she and her sisters were planning to walk the Camino. The spark was reignited. I dusted off that dream and floated the idea to my friend Kate, knowing she would be exactly the right person to embrace both the challenge and the adventure.

Twenty-five years earlier, Kate and I had trained and completed a marathon together. Since then, we have spent decades cheering each other on through careers, family life, and countless dreams. We wanted this trip to be more than a vacation. We hoped it would be a personal growth experience–something meaningful, memorable, and yes still FUN! So, we agreed that we needed to invite Nickie, Kate’s business partner and close friend. Although I had enjoyed traveling with Nickie before, this journey offered an opportunity to know her on a deeper level. She has a spirit and sense of humor that I knew would enrich our experience. Together we would be unstoppable–three slightly wobbly women in our sixties with a manageable number of aches and pains, embarking on an adventure that felt both exciting and a little intimidating.

We bought guidebooks. We joined Camino Facebook groups. We watched YouTube videos, studied packing lists, and tried to prepare for every possibility. Where we would potty became a source of many laughs. But as I would later learn, the Camino has a way of revealing wisdom no guidebook can fully explain.

Our plan was simple: seven days of walking, 71miles, from Sarria to Santiago. We thought we were preparing for a hike. What we discovered was something much bigger.

The Camino wasn’t just a walk across Spain with friends. It was a master class in resilience, gratitude, friendship, simplicity, and trust. Somewhere between the knee and foot pain, rain showers, shared meals, bottles of wine, and endless steps, the trail began to reveal its lessons that continue to shape me.

Here are just a few insights I carried home in my backpack and in my heart.

The first to emerge was the importance of TAKING A PAUSE. Along the Camino, there are countless charming cafés, taverns, artisan vendors, and musicians lining the path. It would be easy to focus solely on reaching the next destination, but we quickly learned that some of the most meaningful moments happened when we stopped.

It was during these pauses that we connected with fellow pilgrims, shared stories, and experienced the rich culture of Spain. We savored our coffee with a decadent pastry, sampled local delicacies like Pulpo a la Gallega (Galician-style octopus). It’s especially popular in the region of Galicia where the Camino ends. The octopus is boiled until tender, sliced into rounds and served with olive oil, coarse salt, and paprika on a wooden plate. We discovered that everything tastes better on the trail with a cold Estrella Galicia beer!

Seared in my memory are the connections  we made with people along the way: two kind men from the United States who had been on the trail for a month and generously shared tips, wisdom and encouragement over breakfast; The two elderly nuns who hosted us and then lovingly  walked us to the trailhead the next morning; the  Spanish woman who leaned over her fence and tied the symbolic scallop shells onto our backpacks; and the 80-year-old women from London, walking the Camino  with their daughter. We felt an immediate connection with them and through a series of happy coincidences, continued to cross paths at different points along the trail. Each reunion felt like greeting old friends and we encouraged one another as we made our way towards Santiago.

The Camino reminded us that life is not just about moving forward–it is also about making space to rest, connect, and fully savor the journey.

The next insight emerged more slowly.

For the past decade, I have wrestled with questions of faith and belonging. Disillusioned by Christian nationalism and saddened by the failures of so many prominent faith leaders–I found myself wondering where I fit in. I had been baptized Catholic in my youth and often wondered if there was a path back. As we made our way toward Santiago, I carried those questions with me.

Along the Camino, I prayed. I left stones at the small crosses that showed up randomly along the trail, symbolic acts of laying down burdens I no longer wished to carry. I hoped that somewhere between Sarria and Santiago I might find clarity, wisdom, or perhaps even peace. When we finally arrived at Saint James Cathedral in the late afternoon, we were tired, soaked to the bone from the relentless rain, and yet strangely I was full of the adrenaline my body had created to get me to our destination. We took the obligatory photos and celebrated our accomplishment, but mostly we were anxious to check into our hotel and take a hot shower. We all agreed to take a rest and then meet for a late dinner. I tried to take a nap but felt restless, so I ventured back out into the square alone and watched as more groups of pilgrims arrived, took some pictures for them and then wandered into the Cathedral.

The crowds had thinned so I slowly walked through the cavernous sanctuary, lit a candle, and stood in awe beneath the soaring arches. But as my gaze traveled across the gilded alters and gold-covered surfaces, I felt a familiar tension. After a week of finding God in muddy paths, quiet forests, and the kindness of strangers, the extravagance seemed strangely disconnected from the sacred simplicity I had encountered on the Camino.

The next morning, I returned. The Cathedral was quiet, almost hushed. I sat alone in a pew, gazing at the alter and Jesus on the cross. I listened for wisdom, for guidance, for some revelation that would make sense of the questions I had carried with me for so long.

Nothing came. God did not speak. There was no flash of insight. No heavenly answer.

Disappointed, I returned to the hotel for breakfast and met up with Kate and Nickie. Together, we headed down the ancient cobblestone street that led to the Pilgrims office to receive our Compostela certificates. I assumed that this was the final administrative step in our journey.

I was wrong.

The office was crowded with pilgrims from around the world. We each took a number and waited our turn. Sixteen desks were serving the long line of travelers. When my number was called I was directed to the last desk at the end of the row. It was there that I met Roberta.

Roberta looked at me with spirited curiosity and asked why I had walked the Camino. “Was it a vacation or a pilgrimage?”

“A pilgrimage,” I answered without hesitation. “Tell me about that” she prompted with a warm smile. I found my self becoming emotional as I explained that I had been struggling to feel like I belonged in any faith community. That I carried a lot of questions about faith, and religion. I told her that I still believed in a loving God and Savior, but that I had become disillusioned by institutions and leaders who had fallen short of the values they preached.

Then she asked a question I wasn’t prepared for. “Did you find what you were looking for?” Tears filled my eyes.

“No,” I admitted. “I don’t think I did.”

Roberta reached across the desk and took my hand in hers. “Kristi,” she said gently, “there are assholes everywhere. Leaders will continue to disappoint you, and so will religion. Don’t let that keep you from God. Lean into your own personal relationship with the divine and celebrate it in whatever way speaks to your soul–in nature, in a cathedral, or wherever you happen to be.”

In that crowded office, surrounded by weary pilgrims, I finally received the blessing I had been seeking. It didn’t come from a gilded altar of a cathedral or from a sermon delivered from a pulpit. It came from a kind and colorful woman sitting behind a desk who reminded me that faith was never meant to be confined to institutions.

The Camino had not given me all the answers but perhaps it had given me permission to stop looking for them in the wrong places. I was hoping to find truths neatly wrapped up with a bow. Instead, I found something far more valuable, nuanced discoveries, quiet insights, and a renewed appreciation for mystery.

Cathedrals and religions, being human creations, will forever be flawed and disappointing. Throughout my time on the Camino, I found myself repeatedly drawn to the sacredness of the natural world–the ancient forests, rolling hills, the cattle grazing, and the simple rhythm of placing one foot in front of the other.

Perhaps the divine is also found in the face of a kind woman behind a desk, in a stranger who offers encouragement, in the friends who walk beside us, and in the moments that remind us we are never truly alone. It was in these moments that I most felt God’s presence and learned that spiritual encounters with are not limited to cathedrals or institutions, or belonging to a specific faith community–the mysteries of our creator are all around us waiting for us to slow down and notice.

It is often said that the journey of the Camino continues when you get home. Since returning I find my mind wandering back to those long days of simply walking with two dear friends through the lush green pastures and rolling hills of northern Spain. Perhaps that’s the beauty of the Camino–and travel itself. Along the way, it quietly changes you, carving out a permanent place in your heart.

Buen Camino