The mountains; Pajares – Bendueños (18km)

July 13, 2026

I don’t like reserving, but there is an appeal in the silence and spaciousness of this Camino that I’m growing to appreciate. I guess you don’t even have to reserve, it’s just to make sure the albergue is open. It’s so darn quiet around here, something you forget people live here too. Sometimes it starts to feel like another planet.

Even though it’s not easy being alone most of the day, I know I am growing. I know this is good for me. This is a necessary, symbolic, chapter.

People question me, “why do you switch caminos?”

It was never a switch. It was always the intention. To set a strong foundation so that I could fly.

I’ve done francés before, and it’s a beautiful (my favourite) camino. It’s so soulful and social, but I knew this year I wanted a different experience – to walk paths I’ve never walked before. And sometimes, that means walking alone to listen inwards. And that’s ok; that’s beautiful too. In its own way.

The non-traditional.

If that’s how I want to live my life, if that’s the way camino is showing me; then I need to be brave and honour it. It’s a path that I can’t predict, that not many walk, but I just know in my heart that it feels like the right thing to do.

***

The mountains isolate me. They surround me in nature instead of people. They force me to pause. They force me to cry, squeezing the tears out of me. They give me the expansive spaciousness to express everything that’s weighing on my heart. The purge; a sort of alpine ayahuasca of the soul. Stripped to the core and reborn. Ascend, descend, until you’re weightless.

Non-attachment; the mountain. To be vulnerably on a peak, or between valleys. Sheltered; held. Yet have nothing to hold onto.

This cradle of air.

Freedom.

Being immersed in nature. Small groups and small connections. You may have doubts that the people that are here are not the ones you want to socialize with, but we’re all here for a reason and we all have something to learn from each other other.

***

This reminds me of the first part of Frances is in Pyrenees; the childhood phase. The first part of Camino where we learn to eat, sleep and walk. But it feels backwards to have childhood after adulthood.

The Meseta, to me, is that socio-emotional development phase. That strengthening of sense of self. And I feel I had that. That’s where I started this camino, so how is this reverse childhood playing into the way?

A shift in perspective; a reminder of my core self?

A homecoming?

A second birth?

This camino has felt so different. I feel I never came off of my camino last year. I arrived in Santiago, but my camino de la vida carried me all year. Until this point.

So this layering of experiences is slightly confusing; a blend of realities. A dream within a dream.

I am starting to lose touch of reality

***

I had a good sleep and a slow morning. The 4 of us woke up around the same time and had vending machine breakfast. I took my time to talk to mom and son, inquiring about navigating the education system. I tried my best to be present and listen to her. What struck me were their names were Adam and Eva. That’s a little odd to not be a sign; a symbol of humanity? The journey from childhood innocence to awareness…?

I meditated on this while walking the first hour; walking is for everyone.

Very slow walk today. Present. Appreciative. Grateful heart.

I’ve been feeling like a sponge that has been wrung out. A beautiful fresh sea sponge, spacious like the ocean.

I took another alternative route through the forest, another breath after a burst of energy. There was more shade and less road.

I obsessed about signs of living; of being human. There were old abandoned stone homes covered in ivy. Woven wicker fences, protecting nothing. Doors without keys.

Nobody was home; just residual signs of life. Weightless.

The terrain started to get more steep and challenging. I’m so grateful for my expensive walking poles because they saved me today. They’re such a good quality, and when my heart rate skyrocketed, I stabbed them into the ground for safety. I was on the edge of a cliff with the goats.

If I got hurt, nobody would find me (except for the animals). I started to get scared, but about 5 minutes later, I ran into blond Spanish by a creek; he also took the scary alternative route.

Safety. Comfy.

We expressed our fears of that little climb. He showed me a blue feather he found; and I showed him mine.

We both found the same blue feather, from the same bird.

“Arrendajo”, he said.

We walked down together to the fountain and I shared my electrolytes with him.

That’s when I noticed I lost my camino shell.

That has to be a sign.

This lost childhood innocence. This starting over. This rebirth.

My first thought is I need to attach my other shell to my bag…

I started walking alone, and I smelled a strong peach-like scent. The I looked up, ah, figs. A gigantic fig tree, and I looked down, and there were some that were ripe that had fallen, squashed. I started scavenging for ones that were ready. After surviving off of bread and protein bars, I was really craving fruit today. Ask, and life will surprise you.

***

About seven more kilometers. I started to focus. I’ve been listening to audiobooks and music more on this camino than any other, something I don’t usually do because I prioritize connecting with others. But there aren’t many others here…

Up, up I climb to the sanctuary, 1.5km off of the camino. Thankfully, in Asturias, everything has been really well way-marked.

I WhatsApp the host to tell her I’ve arrived, but the sanctuary is closed. I put my bag down; I am first, alone, again.

I feel like I arrive with nothing. I am an empty shell, without the shell.

I am a wide open space. Vast.

I came to camino with the intention of spaciousness, not realizing that I would be the emptiness. But not in a depressed way; in a way with limitless possibilities.

***

The hospitalera sends me a message saying the keys are hidden under the rug. To open the door, pick a bed and take a shower. I feel I am on a secret treasure hunt. And when I peak inside, it feels like this is a place where dwarves might live.

I am giddy, this is so playful. I pick the bed in the corner with the nightstand by the tiny window. I get my things to shower. I feel safe and home.

An hour or so later, blond Spanish arrives. I enjoy as he wanders and discovers this fairytale too.

After we both get settled, we are starving. We discover the fridge full of beer, the apples, the cookies, the milk, the cereal, the bread and the butter. Pilgrim heaven. Take what you want and leave a donation.

This is Camino spirit.

Home. Soulful, home.

We crack a beer open and enjoy it on the terrace, feet up on the chair, overlooking the mountains. Absolute sanctuary bliss. My heart is full to the brim with contentment. There is also a laundry machine with detergent to use. Heaven.

We enjoy some bread and butter, apples, milk and cereal. There is also a pressure cooker filled with a warm surprise stew.

Home. This feels like a grandmothers home. A cozy hug.

My whole body is at ease. I exhale.

An hour later, Adam and Eva arrive and the family is complete.

They also relished the magic of this albergue.

We all relaxed in the space, feeling held. I think this camino took a toll on all of us; body, mind and spirit. We all shared the challenges it brought up over dinner. Then got ready for bed. My tiny San Salvador family.

But tomorrow we split. I feel the urge to push 40km to Oviedo to watch the Spain match. Blond is walking slower and will stop somewhere before. And mom and son are taking a train.

Our last supper.

The lifecycle of San Salvador is short. It spits you out as soon as it swallows you. You barely have time to take a breath before you realize it’s over. Camino death.

Another one. But maybe that’s what I’m ready for. My tolerance and capacity to shape shift, rearrange, metamorphose, and still feel whole.

***

The desert showed me signs and synchronicities. Connection. Magic. Flat, solid, foundation. Subterranean depth. Earth.

The mountains showed me spaciousness and sanctuary. Solitude, emptiness. A vessel of air. A sponge with infinite pockets of possibility. Air breathing life into every cell. Cleansed. Exhale.

Now what? What does the sea do? What coastal energy will find me?

Where is my partnership?

xoxo surrender