We made it through the night without any chainsaw impersonators (read: snorers) and hit the trail at 6:00. During yesterday’s hangout, I told Gro I prefer to walk alone at my own pace. I don’t feel like chatting with other hikers—it drains my energy. I walk solo until the very last kilometre; I need peace, my own thoughts, and music. But by the end of the day, over a beer or two, I’m more than happy to try solving the world’s problems with company. “Birds of a feather flock together,” she said. So, the next day, we each set off in our own rhythm.
Camino is like a second home to me. But because these unknown paths feel almost too familiar, it’s only a matter of time before I head the wrong way, distracted by my vacation-mode focus on yellow arrows. And of course, on day two—it happened. At kilometre 29, I missed a yellow arrow and ended up on a brutal uphill where even a snail could’ve passed me. When I reached the top and saw no arrow in sight, I finally checked the app I use for this trail and realised I had completely strayed off course. The world went dark for a moment. I was pissed at myself for not paying attention. But hey—it is what it is. I opened Google Maps to see if I could still reach my destination from where I was. The app gave me a green light, though it warned me about more climbing, which meant I’d be scraping my lungs off the ground soon. Fine by me—if I didn’t have to go back. Just before reaching the final hill, with only a descent ahead, I found myself blocked by cows. Five of them. Two lying down. Three standing. All staring at me like: NO PASSAGE HERE. They looked like I was the tax inspector showing up for a surprise audit. I’ll admit—I shit myself a bit. Anything with four legs and bigger than me (even lying down) makes me tuck my tail between my legs. So yeah, decision made: I turned around. You never know—maybe cows have bad days too, and maybe today was one of them. I wasn’t about to test my luck. I had laughed earlier that morning about the flat terrain, and now, four hours later, I was picking my lungs up off the dirt because of one screw-up. Day two ended with 42 kilometres walked instead of the planned 30. And by the end, not only were my feet sore, but the freshly regrown hair on my legs was also screaming. Turns out Gro had gotten lost too. When she finally reached the finish line, only swear words came out of her mouth. After a shower, I invited her for a beer—I wanted to hear what went wrong on her end, so we could laugh at each other’s misadventures. Somewhere between the laughs, we made a plan for the next day. Since we were up in the mountains, the evenings were cold and windy. And that wind? It makes sure there’s no partying among hikers. It basically sweeps you right into your sleeping bag.
