It’s been two years since my last stroll on the Camino and ten years since my first. Behind me is a lovely list of completed routes: 2x Camino Frances (because once clearly wasn’t painful enough), 2x Camino del Norte (because why swim in the sea when you can walk alongside it and pick your lungs off the ground on the way), also the Camino Portuguese, once Camino Primitivo, and 6x Camino Finisterra (because apparently, I’m incapable of ending a route like a normal person). The only thing still missing from my Camino wish list is Camino de la Plata. The infamous route I’ve been eyeing since 2021, when I walked the Primitivo. That’s long enough to get excited, get scared, and then say: “Eh, fuck it, let’s go!”
The main problem? HEAT. Because of my job, I can only walk Caminos in summer. And summer in Andalusia is a climate apocalypse. Hot as a furnace. Even the mosquitoes here fly with umbrellas. You stay outside long enough and start hallucinating. This path is as dangerous as daylight to a vampire. You could literally die from mercury poisoning. Heat stroke. Only a handful of lunatics take on this route in the summer. I’m one of them.
The route is 1000 km long with 16,000 metres of elevation. There are about as many hostels as there are friendly inspectors. And half of them is closed in summer, because obviously—who wants to deal with hikers in this hellish heat? Better to lie at home in the fridge and wait for autumn. So, you either stop after 20 kilometres or you walk until you drop—50 km or more. As you know, I didn’t pack my backpack for a 20 km stroll. I’m here to walk all day. And get this: there’s no water behind every corner. The distances between villages are as long as a Monday—25 km or more. No bars, no shade. Just you, your sweaty self, and cicadas mockingly chirping “Buen Camino.” That means I’ll have to always carry at least 3 litres of water.
And that’s not all! SIESTA! That glorious tradition when the Spanish shut everything down between 1 p.m. and 5 p.m. and take a nap. If you happen to arrive in a village during that time craving a Coke and a hot meal—tough luck, better luck next time. You’ll just get to enjoy the symphony of your empty stomach, empty bottle, and looming heatstroke. Because of all this, only 1.8% of all Camino hikers in a year choose this path. Official stats say around half a million people arrive in Santiago each year. Woodstock. :) But only 9,082 walked the Camino de la Plata in 2024. In summer, there are about 4,000 people on the path total, which means 40–50 per week, or about 6–7 per day. Perfect if you’re sick of small talk or just an introvert. Your tongue and your brain get a break. On the more popular Camino Frances, there are 2,200 people on the path every single day.
Camino de la Plata, also known as the Silver Route, winds mostly through villages that look like something from 1950. Poor ATM coverage, and the ones that exist are ancient. That means I’ll have to carry quite a bit of cash because paying with card is still a foreign concept in these villages. And since Camino routes are getting more popular every year, so are thieves. Yep, even those show up on the path. I don’t want to sound like a drama queen, but since the last Camino where I got grabbed by unknown hands in the middle of a eucalyptus forest, I’ve been on edge. I thought about buying pepper spray or even a katana (yes, a Japanese sword). In the end I settled on a YouTube tutorial: “How to break a creep’s leg in one move.” Looks easy on YouTube. In practice? No clue. I’ll buy a pocketknife in Seville. Hopefully I’ll only use it to spread butter on a slice of bread.
Now to the contents of my backpack—which this year weighs 6 kg, not counting my personality. That’s just over 10% of my body weight. I stuffed into it: good vibes, drama, a sleeping bag, a few long and short shirts, three pairs of shorts, two pairs of leggings, 14 pairs of socks, half as many pairs of underwear, track pants, a hoodie, two baseball caps, a hands-free umbrella hat, a neck fan, a few needles, three pairs of sunglasses and two reading glasses, a towel, flip-flops, magnesium, electrolytes, painkillers and pain relief gel, all my hygiene stuff, 1000 and 1 charging cables, a portable speaker, a drone, headphones, and a power bank. I ran out of room for an AC unit and common sense. The rest of the space is reserved for food and water.
Mentally, I’m ready. Physically, I think so too. I’ve walked 1,600 km so far this year. But none of those kilometres will help me when the sun hits. My plan this year is to walk all 1000 km in under 30 days. Most people do it in 40 to 60 days. If I manage to reach the end, I’ll reward myself with another stroll along the Camino Primitivo and, if that goes well, I’ll add the cherry on top—Camino Finisterra–Muxía in a single day. In total, about 1,500 km.
Monday morning, I arrive in Seville, probably looking elegantly wrecked from flying and mildly panicked. Until Friday, I’ll do what one does in Seville: eat, drink, rest, sleep, and sway to flamenco rhythms with my boyfriend. No maps, no elevation gains, just beer, water, and good food in amazing company. My final days feeling like a “lady,” before I morph into a Camino survivor with a head umbrella and a neck fan.
So—let the Camino begin with a fiesta!
