Camino calling - Christmas edition

When I returned from the Camino de la Plata at the end of this summer, I was already thinking about my next Camino for the summer of 2026 while unwrapping bandages from my feet. I decided on Camino La Lana. I've walked all the most famous routes twice, and apparently I've settled into a comfort zone — that magical place where every bend is familiar, every bench is tested, and every blister is practically a family member. It's time to give a chance to the more solitary paths, like the Camino de la Plata. Trails where there are fewer people, more silence, and far less chance of being forced to look at a hundred Instagram selfies of the exact same view, taken with the exact same filter, at the exact same time of day.

Then, like a bolt from the blue, my mother surprised me — she's one of those people who can pull anything out of a backpack, from a sandwich to cable-cutting pliers — and invited me to Spain at the end of December, where she and my father will be roaming around in their camper. I'll fly to Madrid, meet them in Toledo, and then we'll head together to the town of Cáceres, which sits on the Camino de la Plata.

My parents — especially my mom — don't know how to live without movement. For them, "rest" happens only if they get sick or if pianos start falling from the sky. Mom loves to cycle and run, and Dad tries to keep up like a puppy who refuses to admit he's not three years old anymore. They're both 70+ and more active than most of today's youth, who get winded just lifting their phones.

And well… Slovenian winter these days is nothing like it used to be. We once had storybook winters: snow up to your knees, skis and sleds on every corner, ski slopes and cross-country tracks packed like a shopping mall parking lot before Christmas. And if none of those sports appealed to you, snow shoveling was always there — the cheapest cardio available.

Today? Hmm… today snow is practically an exotic phenomenon. Something you see only on postcards or in the Instagram story of some lucky person from Rateče. Instead of snow, we get fog so thick you could cut the air with a knife. Pigeons no longer fly because they get lost after the second chimney. Everything is fifty shades of grey — not the movie kind, but the kind that crawls under your skin, drains your will to live, and makes even the cat, with a "leave me alone" look, advise you: "Stay inside, friend. It's not worth it." Winter is like that unreasonable relative at holiday gatherings: arrives uninvited, wrecks your plans, forces you into ten layers of clothing, and then after two hours outside you wonder who raised you so poorly that you even went out.

So, you can imagine what a difficult decision I faced — stay in this Slovenian milk-soup gloom or go warm my bones in the south of Spain. Honestly, nothing beats Christmas in flip-flops and shorts while people at home slide around parking lots like penguins on ice.

My parents will be my favorite company — my mom is a cook who can turn two tomatoes and a can of tuna into a Michelin-worthy meal, and my dad is my personal trainer for the nerves, armed with sarcastic humor that makes me laugh even when I'm one meltdown away from ripping his head off. For me, this will be a five-star hotel on four wheels.

We'll sleep like royalty — in bed by 9 p.m., and no one is allowed to get up before 8 a.m. It's almost like being in a fairy tale… or in prison, but with very comfortable pillows. In the morning, we'll have breakfast and coffee together, then I'll set off on foot for my pilgrim adventure, and my parents will first drive the camper to the town where we'll sleep that night. Then they'll hop on their bikes, cycle back to the breakfast spot, turn around, and head elegantly back toward the camper. The plan is to cycle 100 km per day — 50 one way, 50 the other.

When we made this plan at home, I asked them if they could really cycle 100 km a day. A truly stupid question. I should have asked myself whether I could walk 50 km a day. Lately, I've had so much work that my hobbies are basically archaeological artifacts. But since I'm as stubborn as a donkey under the hot Spanish sun, I know I'll give 200 percent — and throw in an extra snack for motivation if needed.

So my Christmas Camino will be pure poetry: sleeping, walking, laughing, sunshine, freedom, and family. What more could I possibly want? The most beautiful gift under the tree — without wrapping, ribbons, or unnecessary chaos, just pure happiness on two legs and four wheels.

My Camino Christmas fairytale begins on December 20th — exactly when most people are frantically searching for wrapped presents, while I'll be searching only for a good walking rhythm and a non-alcoholic beer. :) I can't wait to step onto the trail, to feel the Spanish sun warming me, and to have my parents beside me like two freshly upgraded reindeer, ready to pull the sleigh with elegance and athletic boldness. So let it begin: the Camino, Christmas, sunshine, adventure! If everything goes well, we'll return home more tanned, more cheerful, and with more stories than the average holiday movie could ever dream of.