I’d be lying if I said I started this Camino without expectations – but they were fairly modest. Walk a lot, and above all, enjoy walking. Laugh until I cry. Collect wild stories I’d laugh about for months. Meet random people whose vibe matches mine – a bit crazy, quirky, fun. The kind of people who make your day brighter. Laugh-so-hard-you-might-piss-yourself kind of people. I couldn’t care less about fancy hostels – you just sleep there for 7 hours. Material stuff means little. Freedom and good people – that’s my version of orgasm. And there’s never too much of that. This year, I had a string of those “orgasms” every single day – through small, simple moments.
A lot of people asked me this year: “Why the Camino?” Because here, every hiker gets stripped down to their roots – to when life was simple, stress-free, just air and freedom, far away from home. No filters. You stop giving a fuck about the world – total brain-off mode. It’s a kind of peace you could inject into your veins. Easy to get addicted. It’s the ultimate “” life. You are who you are, no one judges. And yeah – we all prefer positive energy over moaning. No one wants to hear your drama on holiday – not even a therapist. We’ve all got enough of our own shit. The more fun and weirder you are, the better people you’ll attract. And I met so many – effortlessly. I can honestly say this was the best Camino so far. Pure freedom, wrapped in great humans, great humour, amazing music, and epic parties. Walking felt like poetry – I was dancing through the days, physically and emotionally. These people restored my faith in humanity. You can’t miss what you never had – but I did have it once: boldness, freedom, and real people who don’t flinch at every cheeky line that comes out of your mouth. This year I was surrounded by people cut from my cloth. Sarcasm was flying around and instead of offence; it sparked even sharper comebacks. August mood: BRING IT ON, BABY!
I remember one year I hiked for three days with a client – she got offended because I stamped her arm with an actual stamp. Said I branded her like cattle. I just thought it was funny. That year I walked the beautiful but brutal Camino del Norte – same distance as Frances, but with 25,000 metres elevation in 28 days. Frances is about 15,000. Not that I’ve counted on Strava yet. Anyway, that stamp thing turned into full-on drama and ruined half a day. I never apologised – I didn’t see it like she did. But this year? If I did the same thing, my gang would’ve said, “Stamp me all over, babe!” and we’d all laugh till our lungs gave out. Those are my people. Don’t overcomplicate shit on holiday. Even back home people misread me all the time – assume my words or actions mean something else. But out here, I don’t have to explain myself. The more you dance to your own tune, the more people vibe with you. Assuming your tune’s a good one, of course. I don’t need attention. I just am. And people here liked that. Which means I’m doing something right. There was no shortage of hugs and kisses of joy this year. My parents raised me well, and I repped Slovenia with pride.
Andrea – where do I even start. This man is a treasure. The kind of friend anyone would be lucky to have. Not one boring day with him – just gorgeous madness, exactly what we both needed. He even wrote a gentleman’s guide for the Camino (though it works for women too). The first four pages are blank. Rule #1 is on page five: “When you're out with someone – don’t ask, just order/do.” Page six? Just repeats the rule. Simple. A heart of gold. Deep love for music. Naturally – he’s from Milan. Didn’t pack a sleeping bag because “Come on, it’s Spain!” and froze his ass off more than once. Sure, some hostels offer blankets but trust me – you don’t want to touch them unless you want a rash. He could easily be my best friend – but he lives in Milan. We’ll stay in touch. You don’t throw away a bond like that.
Then there’s the Frenchman. My “child” – I say that because I could totally adopt him. Full of joy, up for any challenge. When we made it to Finisterre in one day, he wore the face of a champion – proud of us both. Rightfully so. He walked 1500 km in 45 days, starting from Le Puy-en-Velay. Amazing dancer and total entertainer. Fantastic taste in music. It was an honour to hike with him. His legs were twice the length of mine. And yes – I’ve ranted before about how I can’t stand the French. But really, I just can’t stand the ones who don’t speak English. The funniest part? When you say you don’t speak French, they slow it down... as if now you’ll magically understand. But thanks to Tanguy (that’s his name), I started to love even the French who don’t speak English. He was the star of the Camino Finisterre – both for our one-day madness and the post-walk breakdown party that started at noon and ended near 2 a.m. He owned the whole of Finisterre that night. Pure, indescribable joy. Next day, everyone was still talking about our party. All the way from Finisterre to Muxia. His English, thick with French accent, was a joy to listen to. Took me a few days to fully understand him. Which made it even more hilarious – half the time I was like, “What?” As it should be on this Camino, we gave him another challenge: to visit a girl he met during the trail who lives in Madrid. So, he bought the ticket. His Insta stories showed him getting all dolled up – white trousers, black shirt... only missing a beret. So French. What a sweet ending to his journey. Before we parted ways, we planned – next year we hit Camino del Norte together. No official promises, but I think it’s clear where the wind’s blowing.
Then there’s Luca – from Sardinia. I’ve always wanted to visit that island. Talking to him about his home was lovely. He plays guitar and gives us a few magical evenings. Thanks to him, I fell in love with Italian music – something I didn’t care for before. But if you play and sing with your heart, I can change my mind. He’s always on the move – a tour guide, which I found super interesting.
On our second to last day together, he nearly killed us with a hash joint. Forgot he needed to make two, not one. Cue full-on Disneyland in our heads. We were a mess – confused shopping, lying in the park unable to move, and one hostel owner turned us away just by looking at our faces. We weren’t causing trouble – we just looked lost as hell. Dialogues were hilarious. I won’t even go into all of it. Long day – in the best way. So many inside jokes. A charming guy with a killer sense of humour. We both love psychology – I really enjoyed our chats.
I could write forever about the people on this year’s Camino – but I’ll stop. Otherwise, I’ll still be typing on my next holiday. This year was filled with incredible souls. Hard to top. We’d joke around with one line: “This relationship needs to end.” Because it was just that good – maybe even too good. Felt like winning the lottery. Energy was flowing like a perfect dance. So, we decided: next summer, we’ll pick one country and reunite for a wild weekend escape. Beautiful plan. I hope it happens.
To top it off – I met a fellow Slovenian, Denis, in Santiago. He started his Camino a day after me. I could’ve talked with him for hours – so easy-going. But we had to say goodbye. His hostel closed at 11 p.m., and the next day, a new challenge awaited him – the walk to Finisterre.
Goodbyes are the hardest when the vibe is right. This year I said goodbye with a heavy heart and a lump in my throat. It hurt. Everyone went back to the real world. Without them, it feels empty. Lonely. A sad song playing. I’ll miss them all. But they’ll stay in my heart – and on Instagram and Facebook. I know we’ll meet again. Because once you do the Camino once, you never really stop.
And the photos? That was my personal project this year: FUCK YOU. A modern art piece titled: WHEN I MEET TOURISTS ON THE CAMINO.
This is the final Camino entry.
Thanks to everyone who followed and supported me. We’ll meet again – when we see each other.
