Since I had plenty of time to rest yesterday, I decided to extend today’s stage beyond the one officially planned. I know many people can’t understand these long walks, but walking is life to me – it calms me, it fills me with energy, and above all, I see it as quality time spent with myself. The whole point of this hike is to take in the stunning landscapes that steal my breath day after day, and with each step wipe away more of the shit I went through this year. I cried too much and punished myself more than I should have. But like parents say to a misbehaving child – punishment has to be educational. Life is full of choices, and you won’t always make the best ones. Bad decisions shouldn’t define your life, but they can teach you something. They sure taught me. I went through all 5 stages of grief, and it wasn’t easy being inside my own head – especially during the anger and depression phases. I’d wake up with dark thoughts, live the day with them, and go to sleep with them. Even my subconscious didn’t leave me alone while I slept. It was too intense for my soul – carrying that 24/7 wears you down.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about suicide – not because I didn’t want to live, but because I didn’t know how to shut off the black cloud in my head. Throwing myself in front of a train would have solved it in a second. But the Camino is the kind of adventure where everything slowly falls into place, step by step. Camino is my time to rise again and learn to love myself again. You make your own luck, and that’s why I’m here today – to try to see the world in a better light, to realise it’s not all bad, that I just had a stroke of shit luck. If you live life to the fullest, you’ll experience great things – but also some real shit. Life is 50-50. If you never try, you’ll never know. That’s how I sail through life.
Anyway, yesterday Ernesto told us the most beautiful route from here is the longest one – partly along the cliffs, partly over the hills. I think I took his words a bit too seriously, because instead of 50 km as planned, I ended up walking 59 km. It was another glorious morning, one of those when you just can’t contain yourself because of all the beauty around you. There was shouting, dancing, jumping, crying from joy – the perfect medicine for my soul. The only thing missing was coffee, so I took my own route and ignored the arrows, just as Ernesto advised. That morning, I wrote words with my hands. A day of extremes.
Along the way, there were a lot of surfer hostels – the Atlantic offers perfect waves for surfing and chilling. Most of them were still closed, but luckily one was open, so I had my favourite Camino breakfast: Coke and coffee with milk. Outside the hostel sat an older lady who greeted me with a warm smile. She asked if I was hiking the Camino, and I nodded. She joined me right away, bursting with questions about the journey. An hour of chatting with her flew by – it was so pleasant I could’ve stayed longer, just like when you don’t want to get out of bed because it’s so warm and cosy. But I had a long day ahead, so I apologised and said goodbye. She hugged me, wished me well, and paid for my breakfast. On holiday, I enjoy these chats with random strangers – little KEEP IT SIMPLE moments that I need. From Guemes to Santander was supposed to be 10 km, but my legs managed to clock 17.
The forecast promised clouds, but of course, the sun showed up by 8 a.m. Santander is a big, chaotic city where it’s easy to get lost – and I did. I spent an hour arguing with the navigation app. Heat + short fuse = mental breakdown. Once I got out of the city, my heart rate dropped again. I’m not a fan of big cities, especially on adventures like this. And today, the sun was relentless – hell on earth. Sure, cities offer shade from tall buildings, but once you’re out in the open, the sun's back with a vengeance.
No clouds in sight. Berlin Guy and Almighty decided not to join this shitshow – they bailed out of the film altogether. I was left alone. Tina saved me again. The trail was mostly asphalt, which means the heat blasted me from above and below – sky and concrete. A perfect combo for heatstroke. Luckily, the Almighty gave me a few churches on the way – not to pray in, but to collapse inside and cool my body. I also found some fountains to shower under, because my skin was literally sizzling. Hell on Earth. I cooled off in air-conditioned shops too – anything to let my body recover. All these little tricks help for 2–3 minutes. Then the suffering kicks back in. You cry. You doubt yourself.
With 7 km left, I started bargaining with the Almighty. I told him I didn’t want to die, not like this. I promised to behave and stop doing more than 40 km a day if he just lets me survive. It got so bad I didn’t even want a cigarette – which says everything. My body was in the red zone. My legs were covered in a rash from ankle to hip, and I started to panic. Headache on top – possible first sign of heatstroke. Take me to church, now!!!
Luckily Tina called and told me to calm down, find shade, take a half-hour break, listen to music that soothes me. She told me to loosen my shoes to improve blood circulation and that it would all be okay – just no panic. The last 7 km dragged like a never-ending Monday. Head pounding, no shade, burning concrete, cramps – pain too much even for me, and I’ve got a high pain threshold. With 1 km to go, I finally saw a bench in the shade. I wanted to collapse on it. The heat was unbearable. Pobalina showed up – she’s no stranger to extremes – and walked me to the hostel with tiny, slow steps. I was headed to a small medieval village with cobbled streets. Walking on cobblestones… well, ask any cyclist what they think. Trust me, it won’t be pretty.
The hostel wasn’t easy to find. At one point I was spinning in circles with my phone. When I finally found it, I burst into tears. I didn’t care who saw me. It was just too much. A dark-skinned man came up and asked if he could help. I told him all I wanted was a cold beer in the shade and a bed. He brought me one – for both of us. After we finished, he literally picked me up and carried me to reception. I cried again – such a beautiful gesture. Later we had dinner together in the hostel. All the pain and suffering disappeared over laughter and Camino stories.
That night, showering was a struggle from the pain and exhaustion. Heatstroke joined the party – I was shaking under the water like an old alarm clock. When I finally crawled into bed, my body was on fire from the sun, and I couldn’t sleep.
I distracted myself with Facebook and found out a friend of mine had died.
What can I say? There was no shortage of tears that day.
Friend, I hope you’ve found your eternal peace. I understand all too well why you did what you did. Rest in peace. ❤️
