Grief and New Joys: Everything Changed on the Camino in 800 km
800 kilometers. That's how far I walked on the Camino to rediscover those small joys that had long been lost in grief. I didn't have a grand plan, I just started because I needed something to hold onto after my mom's death. Three months have passed, but I'm still searching for answers. I took the first step, though, without questions, entrusting myself to the journey.
Don't struggle too much. The best things happen unexpectedly.said Gabriel García Márquez
The Path of the Stars
Departing from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, I was finally where I had wanted to be for years.
After the Portuguese Camino, I knew this would be different: longer, harder, full of unknowns.
As the kilometers pass, all expectations, rules, and roles slowly fall away from me. The road doesn't offer instant answers, it just travels alongside me, allowing things to fall into place gradually.
A valóság persze gyorsan kijózanít: szakadó eső, totál elázás, vizes cipő, átázott zokni. Az albergue-ben hajszárítóval próbálom menteni, amit lehet, de tudom, hogy igazából hiába. Közben rájövök, mennyi felesleges kacatot cipelek – gyógyszeres dobozok, szappan csomagolás, papírok, amik otthon fontosnak tűntek, itt meg az első adandó alkalommal a kukában landolnak. Furcsa, milyen gyorsan átrendeződik, mi számít igazán, ha magaddal viszed mindened.
From the first day, everyone calls me by name, as if we were old friends. „Have you seen Dora? Hi, Dora! Here comes Dora! Goodbye, Dora! Dora the Explorer.” (How old is your child? 😉)
Valaki mellém ül, beszélgetünk, estére már együtt eszünk, zenélünk, énekelünk – hamisan, de nagy lelkesedéssel. Másnap órákig megyek egyedül, de mindig akad egy „Buen Camino!”, egy mosoly, egy apró gesztus, ami visz tovább. Hiába vagyok magamban, nem érzem magam egyedül.
If no one comes with me, there's always something that carries me forward – a bench when I can't go on, a well when I've run out of water, or a stranger's well wishes, just when my head is full. It's not magic, just the Camino's strange, natural energy.
As the days go by, the grief intensifies, but it's starting to take on a different hue. The constant movement, the changing scenery, the monotonous steps are somehow recalibrating me internally. I realize that no one is here purely for pleasure. Everyone is carrying something—loss, questions, decisions, new beginnings.
The landscape is working on me, too: Navarre Its green eases the tightness a bit, La Rioja long straight stretches clear my head, the Plateau the infinite wilderness forces honesty, Galicia and the foggy forests with their fifty shades of green tune in for the arrival. As I approach Santiago, I realize that the Camino doesn't promise great catharsis. Rather, it provides space so that I don't have to rush, and I can face myself in the process. Amidst the many steps, conversations, rain, and silence, something simply gets restored within me. I become clearer, more refined – not dramatically, just somehow naturally.
In the last few kilometers, everything becomes routine. My body knows what to do, and my mind is freed up to think about what's left, what can be let go, and what's truly important. I realize that the Camino doesn't lead to one big moment, but to paying attention – to myself, to others, to the path that I always miss out on at home.
Walking, landscapes, people, decisions: it all comes together. On the Camino, everyone truly has their own pace, their own story. Some walk it in stages over years, others do it all at once – it doesn't matter, everyone has a place, a reason, a time here.
One question remains at the end: What if I'm actually stronger than I thought?
My story is still in progress. I don't know where the next step will lead, but for the first time, I feel I can move forward. When I reach the cathedral, I don't expect a big miracle, there will be no fireworks. What I feel is an internal, quiet, sure change. It's not esoteric, there's no trick to it, it's real.
The Camino doesn't give me a new life, but it helps me live the one I have better. This is what I'm taking home with me: that I can handle everyday life and unexpected situations, and that I've learned to be patient. I don't know exactly what comes next, but for the first time, I feel like I can really move forward. Not because the path is marked out, but because I now know I can walk it to the end.
