Me (middle) with my “Camino Family”

So, despite the odds, I’ve made it alive to the third day. A small group leaves Roncesvalles at 7AM, pausing for a photo at the iconic Santiago sign. It turns out to be a much longer and difficult day than expected. I am certain it involved more than the 21 kilometers listed in the guidebook, with multiple downhill stretches.

However, even on the most grueling days of the Camino, moments of relief provide the strength to continue. I stop at creek crossings to dangle my feet in the rushing water and cool down. Reaching a forest, I drink in the heavenly scent of pine, stopping to close my eyes and take an invigorating breath. Delicate, colorful butterflies flit along the path ahead of me during the day.

Guidebooks and pilgrimage veterans always warn of the steep downhill into Roncesvalles, but it was nothing compared to the long, hot, and frustrating descent into Zubiri today. Just before 5PM, after ten hours of walking, “P” (my Canadian twin) and I drag ourselves down the steep and rocky path towards town. In the heat and exhaustion, my brain shuts off. The two of us will reach town by will alone.

We cross Puente de la Rabia, and encounter an unexpected situation. Just past the bridge, a young man struggles with a broken-down SUV as he attempts to push it around the corner. Forgetting our own exhaustion at the moment, “P” and I offer our assistance. After refusing us twice (we must be quite a sight — in hiking skirts, dragging our poles and shouldering drooping packs), he finally acquiesces…and we manage to push his car down the block.

After snagging the last bunk available in the municipal albergue, I head back to the river with my bunkmate, “D.” We ease into the icy water, a welcome remedy for stiff and aching muscles. For the next thirty minutes, we share our stories, our motivations and hopes for the Camino, and what we’ve learned so far — about ourselves, and about sharing life with those around us for the next few weeks.

Before collapsing in my bunk, I reach into the hip pocket of my backpack, extracting a small package — slips of paper rolled up tightly with a rubber band. Before I left, my sister had written me a note for every day of the Camino. With the lingering joy of our pilgrim family dinner chasing away the pain of the day’s walk, I smile as I read what my sister wrote:

A note from my sister taped into my Camino journal.