Helloooo new subscribers. I’m Guy, and this is The Introvert Abroad newsletter - where I reflect on my experiences from travelling solo! This is the first real post about an experience I had… abroad! So here are some notes from my experience walking the Camino Francés over the past week.

I was blessed. Despite having not attended church for a very long time, I couldn't have asked for better walking conditions whilst on the final section of the Camino Francés in Spain. Every day featured blue skies, temperatures in the comforting mid-teens to early-twenties, and a gentle refreshing breeze. I walked mostly alone, across 114km, stumbling (sometimes quite literally) into historic churches, quaint cafés, and a dog that wanted to kill me.

A few days earlier, I had spent 2 nights in Madrid. The heat was relentless there, making me even more fearful for the ongoing wildfires in Spain and France currently. I arrived into 38-degrees, where the temperature peaks there at 4pm-5pm. Whilst I had experienced the UK heatwave, I wasn't expecting my accommodation to have a broken AC unit (which would instead pull in the hot air from outdoors into my small room), and a window that couldn't close properly. So I roasted for 2 days, spending as much time as possible out in cafés and galleries as I could - where I even discovered my new favourite painting.

After Madrid, I spent an entire day traveling (due to delays, allowing me to read a lot of the books I'd bought in the airport!) to Sarria where I would start the pilgrimage.

Like Sarria, the small towns I stayed in throughout the walking were fascinating: historically rich, with medieval architecture, and their own unique delicacies. I would walk my tired feet around, holding my digital camera, embracing the quiet and slow pace in which everything moved. I attended mass in the evening, alongside other pilgrims, as a chance for contemplation and meditation, whilst listening to a language I couldn't understand much of. I slept in Albergues; hostels with slightly less amenities than one might expect, including no soap, and only a sheet and pillow for the bed. One Albergue seemed like a large hospital room, housing 130 beds (which also meant a symphony of phone alarms, zipping bags, and the silent cries of stubbing ones toe in the dark at 5am).

Each morning I walked in complete darkness alone, starting at 5am. I was awake before the birds. I walked alone with the eerie silence, occasionally interrupted by unexplainable twigs snapping. After a few hours, I would begin to meet other walkers, where I would stop for a well-earned coffee and breakfast. I also drank bountiful amounts of Aquarius - the electrolyte drink that I had only previously seen in Japan - which was sold by every café and shop along the route.

I met a Camino veteran from Belgium, who had walked the entire pilgrimage at least 10 times. He wore socks and sandals, using hiking poles that looked a century old, and he walked an extremely consistent pace, almost never stopping. We talked about his love for football as a retired semi-professional football coach, and the thousands of books he had on a bookshelf (literally), hoping one day to read. I befriended an American who'd been walking since Saint-Jean, the start of the Camino Francés. I met families, friends - sometimes in the midst of a deep discussion - where I'd offer to take their photo as they walked.

I began to realise the pilgrimage (or really any long walk) gives people an enormous amount of time to be quiet. Not just physically - if you choose to walk alone - but internally too. (I did then meet some school kids towards the end who had Spanish pop songs blasting out a speaker whilst they sung to it at the top of their lungs.)

On my final walking day, I had suffered from a fever in the night but decided to continue walking (partly due to non-refundable bookings). It was the longest walk I'd ever done in a single day: 42km. I totaled 56,000 steps that day, and my feet did not thank me. Yet upon arriving in Santiago de Compostela, I felt a kind of reverence with the sense of completion settled over me, as I was surrounded by hundreds of others rejoicing having completed their own challenges.

I didn't have clear intentions when starting this pilgrimage. I saw it as an unusual experience, as a mixture of exploration and spirituality. Though raised Catholic, I had drifted away from the religion as I grew up. But I felt drawn towards it (perhaps my spiritual calling), and my goal was thus to try and complete a sizable section if it. I was curious to understand how others had ended up on the same route. Predominantly, what I saw were families and friends, walking it for the pure enjoyment of hiking. Naturally, you get to spend a lot of time (perhaps too much!) with people you love, and have an experience that you would never forget. Upon closer inspection, though, they often had big questions in their lives that they hadn't yet figured out: where would they go in their career, what they wanted to do in their life, and how they would navigate personal challenges such as grief and loss.

If you're thinking of doing a long walk or perhaps specifically this pilgrimage, this is a great option to start with. The terrain, though hilly, was beginner-friendly. Walking alone allowed me to lean into my introspective nature. Yet the Camino is a social walk, and you'll find yourself constantly overlapping with the lives of others, in an experience that you can be fully present for.

I'm currently back at home in Sheffield, where I will be camping with my family this weekend, and preparing to move out of my flat in Manchester. Next week, I'll share my experience of participating in a Portugese speaking club!