Sitting in the Los Angeles airport, neither Ally nor I had a hostel booked in Paris, nor our connecting train rides to take us down to the start of the Camino de Santiago in St. Jean Pied de Port, France. All we had were ridiculous smiles on our faces and our backpacks, which carried limited essentials that we would live on for the next six weeks. We didn’t even own a guidebook. All we knew was that we were heading to the starting town of the Camino, right before the Pyrenees, where we would follow the road in front of us and see where it took us.

The evening before we began our 500 mile (800 km) trek, we met an older gentleman whom we affectionately named Gandolf – the first trail name of the Camino. Gandolf had walked the Camino before and thus had some wisdom to share with us. He told us to ask ourselves some questions before embarking on the Camino, which we would then ask ourselves again at the end of our incredible journey: 1. Why are you walking the Camino? 2. What do you hope to accomplish? Gandolf explained that our answers now will change by the end of the Camino, and what we should particularly watch for is how the “I” would change to a “we” mentality. I already knew my answer to these reflective questions. I wanted a challenge. I’ve found that each time I travel, I seem to overcome something. I figured with the Camino I would challenge both my mind and my body. I was ready for growth again.

And boy, was it a challenge. When asked by fellow Camino goers how many days we were planning to be on the trail, we answered 28 to 30 days. They said we were crazy. That’s when Ally and I took out our phones and used our calculator to estimate out how many miles we would have to walk per day in order to finish in about 30 days. It suddenly hit us that we were going to be doing an extensive amount of walking. It wasn’t just a walk in the park, as they’d say. Luckily, we gave ourselves extra days before our return flight as a buffer in case we couldn’t finish as quickly as we had anticipated. But guess what? We finished in 28 days. Turns out, the Camino was a teacher in itself.

Highs & Lows

On Day 1, Ally and I decided to get up at the ungodly hour of 4:30 in the morning. Under the influence of our new friend, Emmet, we planned to start the Camino before anyone else and watch the sun rise over the picturesque rolling hills of Southern France. This turned out to be the best idea ever. It was my first high on the Camino. As we climbed up towards the Pyrenees, the sky blew up into oranges and pinks, and the sun crept up over the hills. Meanwhile, we watched as the hills became more and more visible, bursting into color as the sun woke up the earth, our world suddenly coming alive all around us. What was supposed to be our hardest day on the trail was my easiest. The incredible beauty put a “zip” my step, thus encouraging my first trail name, “Zippy.” I zipped up the Pyrenees, and we ended our first day with 20 miles of walking.

Now fast-forward to the next few days. “Zippy” turns into “Gimpy” and I’m experiencing pain that I’ve never felt before. I realized my body is a body and that it wasn’t immune to the pains of walking 15 to 20 miles a day, one day after another. It reacted. My right knee was in pain, more pain than I had ever experienced, because I’ve never had injuries before. I never had gotten hurt from sports. Walking on it was awful, but I knew I couldn’t stop walking. I began to face the fear that there was a possibility I wouldn’t be able to finish the Camino. The remaining 400 miles loomed in front of me, a seemingly impossible feat. But you know what is so incredible about your body? Just as much as it can crash, it can bounce back. By the second week, Ally and I were passing peregrinos (pilgrims) that we had fallen behind from. I realized that my body was incredible. It was resilient.

Between each stupid little low on the Camino, I had the highest high. On the hottest, longest day on the trail, when I was not only dealing with the physical discomforts but also surpassing the mental challenge of keeping myself moving forward in the monotony, I began to find comfort in the simple charm of the clouds above me. The bright blue sky was decorated by scattered big, puffy clouds that happened to be so close to the ground I felt like I could touch them. I began to notice how I intermittently walked into the heat of the sun and then into the shade of a cloud and almost laughed out loud. It seemed so unreal. Sun, shade, sun, shade. But that shade was so good. I found a silly joy in it. Then, there was the coldest, rainy day on the Camino. I was so pissed at the weather that I began to walk as fast as I could to keep warm. I walked past every group on the Camino without looking back and soon found myself alone, far ahead of Ally. Then, all of a sudden, the dark clouds parted and the sun peered out and kissed my skin. I couldn’t help but throw my arms out. Sun! Everything was suddenly glorifyingly beautiful. The trees were green, the puddles reflected all the emerald glamour above it, and these purple bell flowers seemed to greet me as I walked. I could see how the rain made everything alive, washing everything clean. I was so high on life. That was the Camino in a nutshell.

The Camino Provides

One of our dear Camino friends, Becket (who we lovingly called “Redbeard,” “Snapple Cap,” “The Fox” and “Mini Gandolf”), introduced to us our greatest mantra of the trail: The Camino provides. It was unbelievable what the Camino put in front of us, how it brought us into situations that not only benefited us, but taught us. As Ally and I found ourselves limping along the trail, handicapped by our knees, we decided that it had taken us to the point where knee braces were necessary. We came across our first town of the morning, but it was before opening hours of the few shops available. We spotted an albergue (hostels specifically geared for pilgrims on the Camino), which was run by a sweet older couple. We asked them where we could find the closest pharmacía, to which they replied there were none nearby or open at the moment. Ally and I took a seat on a bench on the quiet, cobblestoned street and decided we would just have to take it easy. Suddenly the couple told us to wait and ran off, returning with two knee braces in a plastic bag. They handed it to us, asking for nothing in return, only smiling and wishing us a Buen Camino.

Acts of kindness on the trail like this were not uncommon. On day two, an older German gentlemen who I dubbed “Doc” put together a little doc kit for Ally and I, just because. Along the trail, on the longest stretches between civilization, a little food truck would pop up with bananas, bocadillas, coffee and water. They were often donation-based. You gave what you could give. What really mattered was that the food trucks were there to provide. People were always willing to help a pilgrim on their journey. There became a trade of support on the trail. What goes around, comes around. Pilgrims would serve others in need, whether it was a bandaid, a piece of bread, a word of advice. We all watched out for each other.

The amazing part was that even after the Camino, Ally and I found that the Camino continued to provide. Very much accustomed to not having a place to sleep until we reached our destination, we neglected to book hostels when taking our mini-vacation in Portugal. More than once we found ourselves not knowing where we would sleep at night, but, each time, we somehow found our way into a safe place. In Porto, the sweetest hostel workers in the world found extra cots to add into an already crowded room. In Ericeira, a young girl working at a cafe offered to drive us to a safe beach to sleep at when we arrived into town after dark. Somehow, someone would go out of their way to help us, or the universe would find a way to serve us. We just had to trust that things would work out. It’s incredible what this world can provide.

Releasing Density

One of our many early mornings, right after the blue hour (which is the time of morning where the sky is a light blue, right as the sun is beginning to wake up the world, but the colors are just slowly filtering into the sky), Ally introduced me to the term, “releasing density.” Releasing density can be any action that acts as some sort of release – a moment to cleanse yourself and make room for positivity. This can be a shower, cleaning your room, walking or going on a run, or even watching T.V. Whatever makes you happy. We were lucky enough to release density every day on the Camino by walking, showering at the albergues, handwashing our clothes in the designated sinks, journaling and drinking a glass of one euro wine. Sometimes we encountered puppies or kittens along our way, which was a little surprise that made us stop, pick up the furry creature and cuddle it to our heart’s desire. So much density released. But, of course, the greatest way that we released density on the Camino was through walking. We called it walking meditation. Walking itself is a form of meditation. It frees your mind and allows you to think. “I move to think.”

During our walk, Ally and I had time to look back on our life, our choices, why things happened the way they did. We had time to reflect, forgive and look towards our future. We cleansed our minds, made room for more positivity. We became stronger, not only physically, but mentally. Exercising our minds even became a fun game during the trail. Ally and I came up with the idea to start a sort of classroom on the trail where we listened to a TED Talk Radio Hour podcast, then discussed it afterward. We talked about tolerance, fear, creativity, wisdom, the brain, evolution, and so much more. During the Camino, I learned why walking and moving was such an important thing, whether you’re spending time with others or walking in solitude. We cleansed not only our  minds, but our souls. I move to think.

Even if you’re not on a trail in the middle of the wheat fields of Spain, you can find ways to release density. Just take those moments to do so. Bake some cookies. Paint. Read a book. Stand outside and watch the sun go down. Take a bath. What ever pleases you and resonates positivity within you. Cleanse your soul, and make room for the good.

The “We” on the Camino

After walking 500 miles to Compostela de Santiago, then an additional 50 miles to the coast of Spain, Ally and I hopped on a bus to take us back to Santiago. Which was the strangest thing ever after only traveling on our feet for the last 32 days. While riding on the bus – which, in our minds, was moving at lightening speed compared to our primitive way of travel – Ally and I realized what the “we” Gandolf preached to us was all about. The wisdom we gained from the Camino was a “we” wisdom. We learned from each other. We did it together. Everyone on the Camino was taking their journey together, as one. We provided for one another, we shared our history with one another, we shared our lives with one another, we shared our wisdom with one another and we shared the trail. My last night before reaching Santiago, I met a woman from Taiwan who took the Camino on her own. She told me how the Camino was something we can’t quite explain to our friends at home. It’s an experience that only those on the Camino could understand. There was this collective mentality on the Camino, a new kind of community. We all spoke Buen Camino to each other and we all knew what that really meant. It was just – the Camino.

The Camino was a peak experience in my life, like many of my other travels. It was a lesson of life on a trail. Ally told me that after the Camino, she felt like she could do anything. We overcame the physical and mental, found a sense of spirituality within ourselves, and we found comfort in having only what we carried on our back. When things become difficult again, Ally said, “We can always come back to the Camino in our mind.”

I will miss the simplicity of walking, the glorious full mornings of the blue hour turning into color and into day, of the hardships and successes, of the friends – Doc, Gandolf, Redbeard, Grumpy Cat, Aussie Uncle, Mico and Simon, Cheyenne, Tobi, Emmet, the Italian sisters, Charlotte and many others – the family dinners, the endless card games of Bullshit and Asshole, the best birthday celebration of my life, the beauty of the changing landscape as we trekked through Spain, and the love that the Camino had in store from both friends and strangers.

If you ever have a month or more to spare, walk the Camino.