Eight hundred kilometres. Thirty-six days. Thirty-two different beds. 1,143,416 steps. Measured in numbers, the Camino de Santiago is vast. It’s also transformative, resonating well beyond the finish line.
The Camino, as it’s commonly known, is a centuries-old pilgrimage route to the shrine of St James in the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in north-west Spain, believed to be where the remains of the apostle rest. The most iconic Camino route, the French Way, dates to the ninth century and begins in Saint Jean Pied de Port and crosses northern Spain. One of the most important pilgrimages during the Middle Ages, some 400,000 pilgrims still walk it annually.

Credit: Joel Carillet/Getty Images

Credit: James Couzens

Credit: James Couzens
Technically, you only need to walk the final 100km to collect your certificate in the city of Santiago de Compostela, a Unesco World Heritage Site. But as the busiest stretch, it stands in contrast to the solitude of the northern Spanish landscape that my husband, James, and I spent a month wandering across, having set off at the French border. And if you’re only doing it for the certificate, you’re missing the point. The Camino’s most profound experiences lie elsewhere: in the people you meet, the physical and mental challenges you overcome, the lessons you learn.
Considering the immense challenge, friends and family asked us three questions before, during and after our trip. Here, we attempt to summarise the experience through three simple questions, shed light on our approach and our mindset, and share our tips on how to survive.

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Credit: Mercedes Rancaño Otero/Getty Images
As we strap on our 40-litre backpacks and set off for Biarritz, our short answer is “why not?” We’re not religious, but a pilgrimage sounds unique, even important. And as newlyweds eager to see the world, we want to attempt at least some of it. After the first day of hiking through fields of horses in the misty Pyrenees, we realise we must finish what we started.
We listen as other peregrinos (pilgrims) reveal their reasons. Some are devoutly religious. Others are trying to reconnect with their faith. Some have experienced loss, or heartbreak. “I’m doing it for my health,” Zoltan, a Hungarian sailor, says one night before sharing two bottles of wine, then a pile of breakfast pastries the following morning.

Credit: James Couzens

Credit: Hyoungho Lee/Getty Images
In a way, our lack of reasoning makes us blank slates. We’re open to self-discovery, and we find it. Walking nine hours a day in gently changing environments – from Galician forests to surreal desert – unlocks unexpected emotions. The Camino quickly becomes a perseverance test.
The first section brings pain and frustration. Despite my body feeling strong, I battle blisters. It doesn’t matter whether I wear my hiking boots, usually cushiony Allbirds or ugly hiking sandals – they all end up in the bin.
I also utter strange sentiments. I chant “strength, fortitude” for hours on end. I ask James, “What are we doing?” He responds, “The only way out is forward.” My rage knows no bounds.

Credit: James Couzens
I feel a duty to keep going that only those who experience the Camino themselves could understand. I adopt the feeling of being on a spiritual journey, whereas I am, in fact, just a short flight from home, hobbling beside motorways in a silly hat.
As we approach one of the towns in the meseta, my ankle gives way. The next day, a nurse lops off my blisters, before a doctor declares my ankle “exhausted”. My backpack is sent ahead using the Camino’s baggage service – it takes time to swallow my pride. It feels like cheating not to carry my bag the whole way. But once I realise that the important part is walking the entirety, bag or not, my experience transforms. It becomes especially delightful when I pick up a pair of Merrell walking shoes in Burgos (tip: buy two sizes up).
My spirits soar in the second half. I admire the scenery, walking for hours, lost in thought. I feel strong and proud. James also seems sunnier after this turning point. We even do “speed kilometres”, trying to beat our times.
We enter a simpler existence, where our only concern is getting from A to B. It changes how we perceive distance and time. Five kilometres is an hour. Today’s 30km is easy after 32km yesterday. The 12-hour playlist we’ve been building for years is pathetically short.
We visit beautiful vineyards in La Rioja. Among endless tortillas and copy-paste pilgrim menus, we find magnificent food in León: Restaurante Arrocería Español (the best lunch of the trip) and Restaurante Cocinandos . Galicia, the final region, is beautiful – especially with Estrella Galicia beer on draught at every stop. We make friends, enjoy each other’s company and sleep in an ancient monastery.
Afterwards, we ponder this for some time. But as the days pass, the benefits become clearer. I’m now a master of packing light and living with less. Whenever something challenging happens, I remember wailing through Castilian forests and making it out in one piece. I appreciate the human power to endure.

Credit: James Couzens
780km from Saint‑Jean‑Pied‑de‑Port to Santiago, passing Pamplona, Burgos and León.
825km from Irún to Santiago, following the Atlantic coast via San Sebastián and Bilbao, prized for sea views.
620km from Lisbon to Santiago, or 240km from Porto to Santiago, over gentler paths through vineyards and historic towns.
1,000km from Seville to Santiago, passing Mérida and Salamanca, defined by open landscapes and Roman heritage.
320km on the original route from Oviedo to Santiago, climbing demanding terrain through the Asturias mountains.
This is an edited version of a longer post originally published on Follow Jules .