Last night we slept in a parking lot next to the road in the town of El Cuervo. Despite the nearby traffic, the night was surprisingly peaceful — or maybe I just slept so deeply that a Formula 1 race could have passed by without me noticing. At 8 a.m., the sound of cars finally woke me up. Fair enough. It was time to lift our sleepy asses and pretend we were morning people.
The plan for the day was simple and optimistic: my mom and I would walk to Jerez de la Frontera. While I was outside having my morning coffee and cigarette, the sky even hinted at sunshine. Of course, that was clearly its farewell performance. The moment my mom and I were ready to leave, the rain started. Classic Camino humor.
Because we are women of steel (read: stubborn), we decided to go anyway. It was only drizzling. And we really didn't want the rain to ruin our plans yet again. My dad, meanwhile, took the motorhome to visit the MotoGP racetrack, which happens to be in the same city my mom and I were heading toward. Everyone following their own joy.
The weather stayed bad the entire way. The rain checked in twice more: the first time it was just light drizzle and still tolerable, the second time it completely let loose, as if someone upstairs was stress-testing new clouds. Luckily, by then we were already close to the motorhome.
My dad was waiting for us at a gas station, about 13 kilometers before Jerez de la Frontera. The racetrack was closed, even though on Tuesdays regular mortals can usually visit it. Apparently, the track was taking a day off. My dad wisely decided to come pick us up instead — the weather was perfect for catching a cold, not for heroic adventures.
We reunited at the gas station like in a low-budget romantic comedy, and the final kilometer came with heavy rain, leaving us soaked to the bone. We changed clothes in the motorhome and then drove on to beautiful Cádiz.
Yes — it was raining there too.
The weather app promised sunshine from 3 p.m. onward, but apparently changed its mind. The sun finally waved at us at 5 p.m., more like, "Hey, just so you know, I still exist."
When it rains outside, you play cards inside the motorhome. There's really nothing else to do.
That said, my beloved mother is an excellent Camino walking partner. She has a fast pace, doesn't complain when things get tough, clenches her teeth, and keeps going. Walking with company is very different from walking solo.
My mom is in great shape, although her favorite sport is cycling. She actually has better stamina on two wheels than on two feet. When she walks with me, my head fills with questions: Am I walking too fast? Should we stop? Should I ask if she's tired?
And I do ask.
Her tone quickly tells me to stop asking stupid questions and just keep walking.
My personal Camino etiquette says that when you walk with others, you adapt to them. This journey isn't just about me. And on this path, I got confirmation that my mom is perfect Camino company — mainly because she doesn't complain and can handle more than three quarters of the people who ever start a Camino.
Anyway — after losing at cards, it was time for a walk to the center of Cádiz to cool off my card-related frustration. We had 6 kilometers to go. The path followed the promenade. Listening to the Atlantic was beautiful; listening to Spaniards was slightly less so — they talk as if they're addressing ships out at sea.
When we reached the city center, it didn't disappoint. The New Year's lights were stunning. Spain really does have a sense of aesthetics.
Unfortunately, tourist walking exhausts me faster than a 30-kilometer Camino stage. My body simply isn't designed for slow walking, and my lower back starts protesting.
Fast walking or nothing. Everything in between feels like a personal insult.
When we finally returned to our mobile home, we urgently had to sit down for at least 20 minutes. Not because it was pleasant — but because our legs had officially stopped cooperating with our brains. All three of us stared silently into space, as if waiting for the system to reboot.
My dad, of course, had to immediately save the activity on Strava, because without that, the walk technically never happened. Who even walks if there are no kudos? Priorities are priorities: first Strava, then recovery.
Once the activity was saved and the virtual applause secured, we collapsed straight into bed. No philosophizing, no analyzing the day, no deep conversations about life.
I was so tired that I couldn't even bring myself to write the blog — which, for me, is a serious sign of exhaustion. If I don't write, things are truly serious.
The blog had to wait.
So did I.
Until morning. 😴🥾
