🎵 Song of the Day: “Spring” – Antonio Vivaldi
I stepped out of the hotel just before 7 a.m. this morning. Not even three minutes of tar road and already there was a choice: follow the main road or take a detour that headed uphill into the unknown. Naturally, I took the detour. And it was worth every step.
Mist curled over the vineyards and through tiny villages that looked like they belonged in another century. It was cold—jacket weather—but breathtaking. For more than three hours, I didn’t see a single road. Just stone paths, endless vines, and sweeping views that made me stop more than once just to breathe them in.
It was quiet. Beautifully, soulfully quiet.
I walked alone the entire morning. No pilgrims. Just my thoughts, and some very meaningful WhatsApp conversations with good friends. It felt like a privilege to share the Camino with them in real-time—to walk and talk, to laugh a little, and to carry their voices with me through the beauty of the trail. Those calls made the walk feel even more connected.
Along the way, I passed through small towns with ancient cemeteries. The stonework is extraordinary—massive crypts and beautiful marble resting places, built to honour the dead with dignity and pride. They are peaceful, elegant, and quietly powerful. But also a sharp emotional trigger. Beautiful, yes. But painful too. I’ll post a photo to share that moment with you.
I had two coffees in peaceful little village bars and arrived in Samosa by lunchtime. It’s a charming town with a massive monastery I hope to explore later.
The bar owner this morning mentioned that the trail is flooded with schoolchildren this time of year, and he’s not wrong. They’re out in full force. But somehow I was ahead of the crowds, wrapped in a small, quiet bubble of Camino solitude.
Today was just… beautiful. No drama. No lessons. Just space, beauty, connection—and the reminder that love, even in stone, endures.