The previous evening, over dinner with eight other hikers at the table, some of us decided to walk to Los Arcos the next day. This is my favourite part of the Camino: a straight gravel path, deserted, surrounded only by wheat fields, with no shade. It’s 12 kilometres from the last stop to Los Arcos. Here you decide: will you die of boredom in the village or take on the challenge of hell itself? When I was here with Tina, we walked this stretch in the lovely evening hours, and the path was heartbreakingly beautiful. My brain, already at its limits, spiraled into euphoria. You scream because of the beauty, you dance, jump, go mad with joy. The happiness hormones hit the red zone; your smile doesn’t fade until the stage ends and carries you all the way to sleep. Pure insanity. That’s why this is my favorite part of the Camino.
By now, you know me well enough to realize I love challenges, so naturally, I chose hell. Because if you don’t try, you’ll never know what it’s like to walk 12 kilometres under the scorching sun. The mercury hit 36°C but felt like 45°C. At a bar where I gathered courage for what felt like impending system collapse, I met a few hikers. All of them said they weren’t continuing because it was too hot. Perfect, I thought. The path will be mine alone. I’m one of those people who love to abuse Nike’s slogan, “Just do it.” Not use it—abuse it. Yesterday, the boys gave me some weed, so I rolled a joint in the bar’s bathroom, bought an apple, an orange, and a beer. I downed the beer for courage before setting out, lit the joint at the start of hell, and not long after: 3, 2, 1… kaboom. The smile spread from ear to ear, reaching all the way to my toes. My backpack felt light as a feather; I could’ve carried it with just my pinkie finger. All the pain I had felt in my legs and shoulders disappeared. I was flying. The power of weed—you’ve got to love it 😊 Pure poetry. I couldn’t stop laughing. But the sun was relentless, and after four kilometres, my entire body felt it. I remembered the 15 caps with visors I’d left at home—every single one. There was no shade for six kilometres, just the merciless path, and that’s when the dialogue in my head began between Pobalina and Tina. Tina is the voice of reason; Pobalina lives on the edge. It turned into a verbal boxing match in my mind. Too many rounds to count, but the fight ended in a draw.
The path was brutal, raw. It’s humbling to see what Mother Nature is capable of. Once again, I got my answer to the question: how the hell can a person get heatstroke? Before I left home, I had Googled the early symptoms of heatstroke. Out of all of them, I felt a sharp pain on the right side of my head and wobbly legs. I was genuinely scared, but there wasn’t a hint of shade in sight. My heart started racing—also not a good sign. In the distance, I saw some bales of wheat that offered a bit of shade. I decided to make my way there and try to cool my body down. When I got there, I regretted choosing hell. It wasn’t pretty. My mind was racing with all kinds of thoughts, including calling my parents to say goodbye, thanking them for the life they’d given me, and telling them they were wonderful parents, the kind most people can only dream of. I even started thinking about funeral songs and wondering which one would play at my premature farewell. Because I really thought the music would stop for me that day—just one last song, at my own funeral.
But it’s fascinating how, when you’re in the deepest mess, that inner survival voice kicks in. Tina spoke up: “Stop the drama. Everything will be fine. We’ve gone over this scenario a hundred times at home in case it ever happened. Take your towel and make a turban. As long as your head is protected, you’ll be okay. Shut your brain off, control your breathing, walk slowly, and you’ll get there. If you panic, your heart will race, you’ll sweat more, and your chances of making it will drop. Start by eating the apple, and in three kilometres, eat the orange. You’ve got this. You can do it!” I obeyed. The plan was to rest in the shade for an hour to let my body stabilize. But that plan was quickly derailed by the annoying flies swarming around me. Within minutes, about 50 of them were crawling on me and biting. I nearly had a nervous breakdown. They were everywhere. I tried covering myself with my sleeping bag to block them out, but that would’ve made me even hotter. So I got up and kept going. When I reached the last four kilometres—where, miracle of miracles, there was some shade from a single tree—I began to feel optimistic. I was more than halfway through hell, and I knew that the final two kilometres would feel like the finish line. All I had to do was walk two more kilometres before I could cry tears of joy.
Then Pobalina piped up again with a crazy idea: “Wouldn’t it be amazing to walk this route again at sunrise? Go back eight kilometres for a morning orgasm!” Tina gave her such a mental slap that Pobalina stayed silent until we hit the showers at the hostel.
When I was one kilometre away from the hostel, I fell to my knees and cried because I had survived hell. A smile crept back onto my face, and the music started playing in my head again. When I stood up, I saw a police car. The woman driving it stopped and asked if I needed a ride to the hostel. I burst out laughing and replied, “Where the hell were you four kilometres ago? No thanks, I’m basically there.” But her offer made me think: would I have accepted a ride four kilometres back? Probably not. I had packed my ego for this journey, after all. I would’ve just asked for water and kept walking. Because it’s in moments like these that you find out what you’re really made of.
When I reached the hostel, I took a long, lukewarm shower. I just sat on the floor and let the droplets fall on my overheated body. I asked myself, “Was this really necessary?” The answer was yes—because I needed to know if I could overcome this challenge. I never choose the easy path because the satisfaction at the end isn’t the same.
Now I understand all those crazies who live for extreme adventures.
That day, there were only five of us walking through hell. Gro decided to hitch a ride with the police for the last four kilometres.
They say gluten is bad for your health, but it literally saved my life that day. So did the weed, which put me in a "screw the struggle" mood when I needed it most and took away my physical pain.
For me, it was a total mind, body, and soul meltdown. But at the end—a spectacular orgasm. And that’s why I love Los Arcos even more now.
