The day doesn’t start without breakfast. Gro and I both enjoy a well-chilled fruit yogurt with a slice of plain bread soaked in it—a nostalgic reminder of childhood.
The morning began with a surprise. The hostel’s kitchen was locked until 6 a.m., but we were up half an hour earlier, unable to access the food we had stored in the fridge. With no other choice, I climbed through the kitchen window to retrieve our breakfast. Not the best way to start my day—I’m clumsy, and gymnastics is not my forte.
Over breakfast, I asked Gro how her feet were and how she was feeling. She said she had slept well and felt rested, but her feet? She wasn’t sure yet; she needed to put her boots on to test them. One thing I appreciate about Gro is her morning demeanour—she doesn’t chatter endlessly like a French alarm clock. She sticks to polite, short morning exchanges, and that’s it. Nothing worse than someone who babbles all day, from dawn till dusk.
I also hit the trail feeling well-rested. After about an hour of walking, finally out of the town, I texted Gro to check on her feet. Her response wasn’t encouraging. We agreed to meet at the first bar along the trail to talk. When she arrived, she explained that her blisters were no longer the main issue—it was her left Achilles tendon, which felt sharp pains.
I sighed deeply, knowing exactly what was happening. It was the same issue I faced in 2016, the beginning of my own end on the Camino. I asked her, “Do you want the beautiful lie or the ugly truth? Since you’re a lawyer, I’ll assume the latter. After all, the ugly truth hurts less in the long run than a beautiful lie.” Her impatient look urged me to spill it. So, I told her that she had partially torn her tendons, and the situation wouldn’t improve unless she switched to larger shoes. Our original plan—to rest for two days to let her blisters dry and then continue—was no longer viable. Torn tendons meant more than two days of rest and new shoes. Gro admitted she had considered calling for express shipping to have her old hiking boots sent from Denmark to Spain. She’d even looked into the cost: €300! For that price, she could buy two new pairs in Spain.
We discussed her options. Ultimately, I gave her five hours to think it over while I continued walking to our destination for the day. She texted me before I arrived, saying she had made up her mind: she’d fly home the next day from Bilbao. I didn’t see that coming. Clearly, I had given her too much time to think. Once again—expect the unexpected. Plans crumble here like dominoes, just in slow motion. Nothing lasts longer than an hour.
It was a sad day. Gro had been so excited for this Camino, planning it for so long, eagerly awaiting the journey. One poor decision—though it seemed right at the time—ended it all. Her entire vacation fell apart in an instant. You can train all year for this, but one tiny misstep can derail everything. Time was her enemy. Recovery from an Achilles tendon injury requires days she didn’t have.
We had to say goodbye. Life happens.
We arrived at the village simultaneously, though I had stopped at a bar first—those last six kilometres in the scorching heat were brutal. She arrived by bus. Together, we reminisced about our shared 200 kilometres, laughing heartily a few times.
That evening, we looked at the Camino app one last time to review my route for the next day. With cloudy weather forecasted, I planned to make the most of it—ideal for long walks. I was starving, having eaten very little during the day, but Spanish kitchens don’t come alive until 6 p.m. It was too late for me, so I cheekily turned the restaurant’s wall clock from just past 5 to 6 and showed the waiter it was time for dinner. He laughed, shaking his head at my impatience, and assured me not to rush the day.
It was an odd last night with Gro, as if I were stuck in a bad dream, hoping to wake up and find her in the kitchen in the morning, yogurt in hand. From here on out, the rules of the game change. Without Gro—my Camino mother—no one will slow me down and keep me in low gear with the kilometres. That’s not a good sign. It’s a mix of good and bad news. The good? I don’t have to walk as many kilometres daily because I have more time. The bad? My mischievous side, Pobalino, is curious to see if I can finish the Camino in 21 days. We started from 25 days to 23, due to lack of time. Now that I'm on my own, I'm thinking of walking it in 21 days. These are the challenges again. Time will tell. For now, new challenges await.
