A Pilgrim’s Day on the Camino de Santiago: From Vaseline to Vino
The morning began with cold toes and the soft shuffle of backpacks zipping open in the dark. I climbed from the top bunk down the rickety ladder, alert and grateful, ready for another day that would unfold one step, one hill, one small wonder at a time.
If the Camino taught me anything, it’s that a single day can hold multitudes: challenge and beauty, repetition and awe, community and solitude — and maybe just enough vino tinto to ease the ache in your feet.
When people ask what walking the Camino is really like, I think about the rhythm: wake up, walk, eat, laugh, sleep, repeat. I think about the quirky rituals, the quiet miracles, and how a morning that began with foot Vaseline could end with a sunset glass of wine.
Here’s a peek behind the scenes — not every moment happened every day, but this was the heartbeat of my journey.
Note: My Experience Walking the Camino de Santiago
Everyone’s Camino looks a little different.
Some people walk the full 800 km from St. Jean Pied de Port; I began in León.
I met pilgrims who walked for a week and others who’d been on the road for more than forty days. I walked sixteen.
Some carried every ounce on their backs; others sent their bags ahead. I carried mine almost every day — twice I gave my shoulders a break.
Some walked solo, some with a partner or a group. I walked with two friends.
Some booked charming pensions; others stayed only in albergues. I mixed it up.
That’s the thing about the Camino: there’s no right way to walk it.
No prize for distance, no single version that means more.
Just millions of footsteps — each with its own reason for being there.
This one’s mine.
A Day in the Life (adapted from my Camino Journal)
Wake up. Already dressed, because I sleep in tomorrow’s clothes.
Pack up. Brush my teeth, roll up my silk sleeping liner, gather the stuff sacks, clip any damp clothes to the back of my pack — a mobile drying line ready for the midday sun.
Vaseline ritual. Feet first. Always. (My friend Mel swore by Vicks VapoRub — her feet smelled divine.) Vaseline, toe socks, then thin merino wool socks. Shoes on, backpack on.
Pilgrim mode: activated.
First café. The reward for that pre-dawn departure: café con leche and toast (or croissant!). That first sip? Holy. Like being rewound to zero — body and soul syncing up again. Gratitude in liquid form.
Find the yellow arrow of The Way.
Walk. Pause. Snap a group selfie. Marvel as the sun rises.
Walk more. Hills (always hills), laughter, the smell of eucalyptus or wild dill carried on the wind, cow bells in the distance. Layers come off as the sun climbs.
Snack stops. Apples on a bench, a shared bag of nuts, sometimes a Spanish tortilla — and sometimes missing the opportunity entirely. Hunger becomes part of the rhythm.
Little pilgrim miracles. A tiny stone church offering a pilgrim’s stamp and a calm interior. A cat that made us laugh out loud. A graveyard I couldn’t help but explore. The Camino had a way of offering joy when we weren’t looking for it.
Midday heat. Sun hat on. Sock change halfway if the day stretched long.
At the final five kilometres, our eyes searching for a cold cerveza con limón to get us through to the end.
Arrival. The relief was always the same — a mix of exhaustion, pride, and quiet awe that we’d made it, again. If we’d booked ahead, we followed Google Maps to our pensión or albergue. If not, we followed the signs and trusted the way itself. There was always a bed somewhere. Always.
Laundry and letting go. Shower. Wash the day away. Wash and hang socks and underwear to dry. Walking light wasn’t just about packing — it was a mindset: let go, carry less, stay open.
Journal and rest. Feet up, hair damp, scribbling memories, sharing photos, sipping another cerveza con limón.
Dinner time-ish. Somewhere between Canadian early-bird and Spanish late-night. Local vino, pilgrim menu, swapping stories with strangers who somehow felt like friends.
Lights out at 10 p.m. Earplugs in, sleep mask on. Muscles humming. Grateful.
Repeat.
The Grit and the Grace
This is what I want you to know: The Camino isn’t one long grand adventure. It’s a thousand small moments strung together. It’s a range of experiences.
It’s hard and fun. Gritty and gorgeous. Vaseline and vino. Like hiker’s rash on stronger calves, laughter echoing through stone villages, the smell of eucalyptus and the taste of courage.
It’s all part of it.
That was the Camino magic for me.
It’s the most alive, free, and joyfully human I’ve felt — unfiltered, unhurried, and wide open to wonder.
Coming soon: The Pilgrimage Fieldguide, including a 21-day invitation to design your own soul-aligned journey. No passport needed. Subscribe to hear about it!
Because life happens between the Vaseline and the vino — and you don’t want to miss it.
Buen Camino.
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