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Camino Day 23 – Santiago de Compostela

I’m sitting at a small sidewalk café, staring at the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela. The walk is done. The final steps have been taken. The journey that began over 500 kilometers ago — with uncertainty, reflection, aching feet, and quiet hope — has come to an end.

Today’s walk was short, busy, and filled with people. As I entered Santiago, the roads grew thick with fellow pilgrims, many walking in pairs or groups, some singing, some weeping, others simply walking in reverent silence. There was a swell of sound as we approached the square — cheers, laughter, and the general buzz of joy. A cathedral framed in blue sky. A plaza flooded with emotion. And in the middle of it all, me — quietly absorbing the weight of it.

It wasn’t overwhelming. It was just… done.

And that brought peace.

There’s something very honest about finishing. No trumpets, no dramatic moment — just a clear sense that I had walked what I needed to walk. That I had carried what needed to be carried. That I had kept a promise — to myself, and to Angé.

Today, I stopped three times to leave Angé for Sunflowers cards at small shrines along the road. Each time, I paused, stood quietly, and let the moment speak for itself. Each time, I felt the weight of not having her with me — especially today. The closer I got to Santiago, the more I noticed the couples, the friends, the shared moments. Hands being held. Tears being shared. Photographs being taken together.

It wasn’t loneliness I felt — it was absence. That very specific, deeply personal kind of absence that only grief brings.

This should have been our moment. This should have been our walk.

It was one final, sharp reminder: Angé is not here. She’s not walking next to me. I will never again kiss her as we complete a long hike together. We won’t share a hotel room tonight and toast our tired feet. That chapter has closed. Not softly, not gently — but completely.

And yet, as hard as that is to say, I know it is the truth I now carry.

This Camino was not an escape. It was a reckoning. A long, slow, deliberate journey into mourning, memory, meaning — and eventually, movement. It gave me time to feel, time to question, time to let the pain rise and fall without needing to fix it. It gave me time to talk to Angé out loud. Time to cry in forests. Time to laugh at old memories. Time to walk with strangers. Time to be alone.

And now… it’s finished.

I’m not sure what comes next. But I do know this:

I’m glad I did it.

I’m deeply, unequivocally glad that I walked every one of those 23 days.

That I pushed myself to get up each morning, that I faced the hills, the heat, the solitude, the noise, the doubts.

And that I left Angé for Sunflowers cards all along the trail — in places of beauty, in places of silence, in places where I needed to remember her most.

The body is strong. The feet are blister-free. I’m not exhausted — not physically, not emotionally. I feel like something has shifted. Maybe not something huge or loud. But something subtle and steady — like a door that has clicked quietly open, waiting for me to step through.

So what do I do now?

I keep walking — not on the Camino, but in life. I keep building — not just in memory, but with purpose and direction. I keep loving Angé — not in the past tense, but in a way that lives on through memory, through action, through legacy.

And I keep reminding myself that joy is not betrayal. That moving forward is not letting go. That finishing something doesn’t mean it’s over — it just means it has changed shape.

Santiago was never the end. It was the place I needed to arrive at so that I could begin again.

So I sit here, coffee in hand, Cathedral in front of me, strangers celebrating all around me — and I let myself feel what I feel.

Finished.

And glad.

🎵 Song of the Day

“Proud” – Heather Small

🔗 Listen here

Song of the Day: “Best Day of My Life” – American Authors https://youtu.be/8huU7Go1Mq4?si=cX0yW2dMFR0ZQywW

🎵 Listen here

Day 21 – Quiet Steps Toward the Finish Line

Distance: 20 km

From: Somewhere on the trail

To: O Pino

Weather: Sunshine and calm

Today was gentle. Light. Simple.

I left around 7am and walked 20 kilometers to the town of O Pino. It’s the last real stop before Santiago — only 20 more kilometers to go. The trail was alive with people: families, school groups, tour groups, old friends walking together, solo pilgrims lost in thought. It wasn’t spectacular in the traditional sense — no big climbs or views — but the sheer presence of people gave the trail its own quiet energy.

At about the halfway mark, I met up with Lisa and Sandra. We stopped and had a coffee together for over an hour — just talking, enjoying the morning sun, and letting the time unfold naturally. No rush. Just connection. Just presence.

The last stretch into town was slow and soft. I drifted along the final 1.5 kilometers to my hotel — another truly beautiful place. I’m so grateful for the comfort of a good room at the end of each day. It’s become one of the real blessings of this Camino — that quiet space to retreat and reflect.

And something shifted today, quietly, but noticeably.

I saw sunflowers along the way — bright, warm, golden — and for the first time, they didn’t bring that jolt of pain or lump in the throat. I stopped at a little shrine and placed a few Angé for Sunflowers cards. I stood quietly. I thought of her. But it wasn’t sharp or crushing. It was soft. Present. Peaceful. She felt near, not gone.

And as the trail passed underfoot, my thoughts began turning toward home — not with dread or urgency, but with imagination. Ideas began lining up. Projects. Plans. Things I want to build. Things I want to finish. I’ve given myself space to walk, and now I’m ready to create again.

And in that quiet space, I made a resolution:

I’m going to make every day my best.

Angé would have wanted that.

And deep down, so do I.

There was no drama today. No grand lessons. No painful breakthroughs.

Just a warm sun.

A peaceful walk.

A field of sunflowers.

A soft memory.

A clear promise.

🌻 Planted in memory:

Sunflowers seen. Cards placed at a quiet shrine. Peacefully remembered.

A little more strength. A little more space. A little more joy.

Angé for Sunflowers Blog

👉 https://angeforsunflowers.com/blog/

.Day 20 – Up and Down, and Everything in Between

https://angeforsunflowers.com/blog/

🎵 Song of the Day: The Long and Winding Road – The Beatles

Only two more days to go.

Today felt long — not because of pain or distance, but because of the terrain. The path keeps rising and falling, rising and falling. We’re supposed to be going down toward Santiago, and yet it feels like the route has a different idea entirely. Up and down, up and down, through the forest paths, past farmer’s fields, and into small villages, only to climb again. Another hill, another bend, another rise. It’s like the final stretch is determined to keep teaching — as if Santiago itself doesn’t want to be reached too easily.

But I didn’t mind. There was something steady in today’s rhythm. I wasn’t in a rush. I found myself stopping more often — for coffee, for moments of stillness, and for one particular highlight: tucking into a bowl of cold mango ice cream. It was the kind of simple, silly joy that makes the Camino sparkle when you least expect it. A moment of rest, cool sweetness on the tongue, and just watching the world move around me.

There’s a lightness I felt today that hasn’t always been there. Even though the walk was a roller coaster — physically and emotionally — I felt oddly content. I wasn’t trying to outpace anything. I was just walking, breathing, and enjoying the slow rhythm of the day. No race. No pressure. Just presence.

And maybe that presence has grown because I’ve stopped trying to hold onto something that never quite fit.

At the start of this Camino, I was hoping to find a “Camino family.” A group. A sense of shared belonging. And for the first few days after León, that seemed possible — familiar faces, people to walk with, chat with, maybe even reach Santiago with. But that wasn’t the deeper gift of this journey. The Camino had something else to show me.

It’s been teaching me how to be alone — not in a lonely way, but in a strong, stable, inward-facing way. It’s been showing me that I can spend long periods in silence, in solitude, and still feel okay. More than okay, even. I’ve learned to stop for coffee and enjoy it on my own. I’ve learned that a simple “Buen Camino” can be enough of a connection in a day. I’ve learned to dip in and out of social interactions, without needing to cling to any of them.

The Camino is teaching me to be with myself.

And at the same time, it’s reminding me of what I’ll need when I return to South Africa — a rhythm, a structure, a reason to keep connecting without overreaching. I’ve been thinking more and more about building Angie’s memorial garden, planting those sunflowers and shaping a space of peace and beauty. I’m also toying with the idea of doing more with the mountain bike adventurers, maybe getting involved again in events or weekend rides. I’ve thought about joining the mountain club again. Volunteering. Finding places to touch sides with people, without trying to rebuild a life that no longer exists. Not chasing a new relationship. Just staying in motion, staying present, staying open.

Because while solitude has become a teacher here, I know that back home, it can slip into isolation too easily. The trick will be to find the right balance — something the Camino has been modelling all along.

And speaking of balance, I have to say: one of the best decisions I made for this Camino was to pre-book my hotel rooms all the way. Sure, it took a little extra planning upfront, but now, sitting safely and comfortably in my beautiful room tonight, I can tell you: it was worth every bit of effort. It’s an immense privilege to walk all day and then arrive at a space that is quiet, clean, and completely mine. No scrambling for beds, no bunkmates. Just rest. Sanctuary. A reward at the end of each day’s effort.

And that reward is important — because, like life, the Camino doesn’t make it easy. Some days are full of joy and unexpected beauty. Other days test your patience, your strength, your feet. Some days you walk in sunshine; others in silence or sadness. Some paths are smooth. Some are painfully rough. Some moments lift you. Others bring you down.

Today, I saw all of that — not just in the physical trail, but in the emotions that came with it. The exhilaration of cresting a hill, only to see another one waiting. The lightness of an ice cream break, followed by the slog of another climb. The ease of silence, then the pang of missing Angie in the middle of a quiet walk. Up and down. High and low. Like the terrain beneath my feet, life — and mourning — never stays level for long.

And maybe that’s the real metaphor of Santiago. You don’t get there in a straight line. You go up and down, twist and turn, find rest and get tested — again and again. And yet, somehow, you keep walking. You keep learning. You keep showing up for the next hill, the next conversation, the next bowl of mango ice cream.

So here I am, two days from the end, sitting safely in my hotel room, letting the day settle. And I’m grateful — for the hills, the detours, the quiet, the lessons, and even for the tiredness. Because they’ve all been part of this unexpected, emotional, beautifully exhausting Camino.

Thirty kilometres walked today. Only forty left to go.

And I think I’m finally beginning to understand why I came.

🌻 Angé for Sunflowers

Follow the journey and plant your story: https://angeforsunflowers.com/blog/

🎧 Song of the Day: The Long and Winding Road – The Beatles

Day 18: An Angie Day & My Camino

Song of the Day: “Sunshine” by OneRepublic

From Sarria to Santiago, it’s just over 100 kilometers — the magic stretch where so many new pilgrims begin. Today, I stepped straight into that wave of fresh energy. I was out at 6:15 this morning and the trail already felt like a football match — groups of walkers moving together, all full of smiles and excitement.

There’s an unmistakable lightness in the air today. Maybe it’s the weather — a perfect sunny day, warm but not too hot — or maybe it’s the joy of all these first-time pilgrims. I’ve had more conversations than I can count, with people who are bright-eyed and thrilled to be walking. Everyone’s happy, soaking in the sunshine, chatting over coffee at little pubs, and just loving the moment. It’s infectious, and I find myself smiling too.

The trail is busy, but the beauty makes it easy to slow down and take it in. We’re weaving through forests, alongside stone walls, past tiny villages, and from pub to pub. Right now, I’m sitting in the sun with 3.5 kilometers left for the day, looking out over a valley that’s nothing short of spectacular.

Today has also been a day full of Angé. I’ve left Angé for Sunflowers cards at several shrines along the way — little places where pilgrims pause to reflect. I imagine her smiling at these moments, laughing at me taking photos of her if she were here. I passed a stone bench under a tree this morning and pictured her sitting there, giggling as I snapped a photo.

Earlier, I walked past a cemetery lined with flowers, with a bier laid out for a funeral. It felt like another gentle nudge from Angé. Later, I had a conversation with Gunnar, the Swedish priest, and his sister. They lost their brother just six months ago, and we shared our stories of loss — of Angé, cancer, and the Angé for Sunflowers Foundation. It’s strange, but these conversations are becoming easier. I can talk about her now without being completely undone, even if my voice still cracks.

The Camino today is like a moving patchwork of lives. The four Spanish walkers, the brothers walking for their mother, the Australians, Elaine from England, Gunnar, and Birbette — these are the faces I see throughout the day. We greet each other, swap a few words, sometimes share a drink, but I don’t feel the need to form deep bonds. I’m friendly, but I like my space.

I think that’s one of the lessons of this journey: this is my Camino. I’ll walk it my way, at my pace, stopping when I want, moving on when I feel like it — not how anyone else thinks I should walk it. There’s something freeing in that thought.

The conversations today, though, were lovely. So many new pilgrims, so full of energy, made the trail feel alive. But at times, I felt strangely detached, almost like I was walking just outside the crowd, watching rather than joining in. And that’s okay. I don’t have to be part of every group. I can smile, greet, chat — and then step back into my own rhythm.

Less than 100 kilometers remain now. Just four more days to Santiago. It feels both close and far. Part of me is eager to finish, and another part wants to hold onto these moments — the sunshine, the gentle rhythm of walking, the memories of Angé that come alive on days like this.

Follow the journey: https://angeforsunflowers.com/blog/

Day 17 – Sarria

Song of the Day: Pushin’ On – REO Speedwagon

Read more at: https://angeforsunflowers.com/blog/

Today’s walk was short — just 15 km — but meaningful. I left around 8 a.m., wandered through quiet forests, said good morning to the cows, and allowed my thoughts to drift toward the good things in life:

1. I’ve found my hiking legs — walking feels light and natural now.
2. There are still exciting walking days ahead.
3. New adventures are waiting to be planned once I’m home.
4. I had octopus for brunch (because why not?).
5. I have friends and family waiting for me with open arms.

But before I can see them, I need to finish what I started. Just over 114 km to go — about five days of walking. That puts me in Santiago next Wednesday if all goes to plan.

Sarria is a significant milestone — not for me, but for many pilgrims who start their journey here to earn the Compostela. And I felt it today. After days of walking mostly alone, there’s been a real uptick in pilgrim traffic.

Along the way, I’ve noticed there are three kinds of hikers:

• Those who get up early and walk reasonably quickly and far.
• Those who push hard for big mileage — 35–40 km a day — and almost treat it like a race.
• And then there are people like me this time — walking 20–25 km a day, taking time to sit, watch the cows, enjoy the scenery, and let the Camino be what it is meant to be.

Sometimes it’s interesting to listen to the “mileage crowd” tell their stories of how far they’ve gone. But I’ve made a deliberate choice to slow down this time, enjoy each day, and not make this journey a race.

Tonight, Sarria comes alive with the DHU Vila de Sarria — an urban downhill bicycle racing event. It’s an unexpected but exciting way to spend the evening, and I’ll hopefully have some videos to share

🎵 Song of the Day: “Spring” – Antonio Vivaldi

🎧 Listen here

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.

🎵 Song of the Day: The Climb – Miley Cyrus

📍Read more: www.ange4sunflowers.com/blog

Day 15: Be Careful What You Wish For

This morning started innocently enough — a flat walk on tar alongside a peaceful river, stick marks on the road from the pilgrims who passed before me. About 4 km in, we turned onto a shaded forest path. Just before that, I passed a sign in a small village:

“Horse for rent to take you to the top.”

I smiled, thought that’s nice, and kept walking.

What I didn’t know: this was the infamous climb into Galicia — 1270 metres of elevation gain over just 7.5 km. Thankfully, I didn’t know. I just walked. One foot in front of the other. I stopped halfway for a coffee, then kept going. Hard? Yes. But also one of the most beautiful sections of the Camino so far. Green valleys, tree canopy, birdsong, and stillness — all of it came together in perfect, challenging silence.

My Walking Rhythm

I start early — around 07:00. Because I walk at a good pace, I usually catch up to slower walkers from the day before. Eventually, I end up walking alone for long stretches — and I’ve grown to love it.

Why it works for me:

1. I walk at my own rhythm
2. I listen to audiobooks and learn
3. I think and plan for the future — and today, a few more ideas took shape

Pizza and the Surprise Climb

At kilometre 18, I stopped for lunch — a Margherita pizza and two Cokes. I felt relaxed, thinking I had only 3 or 4 easy kilometres left to Santa María.

Wrong.

It was uphill all the way.

So picture this: full stomach, hot sun, winding road — and me trudging upward once again. But the views were worth it. Mountain beauty. Quiet. Deep breath. Stillness.

Now in the Mountains of Galicia

Now that I’m in Galicia, the Camino has shifted. It’s more mountainous, more peaceful, more beautiful. Yes, the climbs are steeper. But they’re also sacred. This is the kind of commune with nature I was hoping to find on the Camino.

There’s something spiritual about this region — a deeper connection to land, silence, sky, and soul. It’s exactly what I needed.

A Word on Accommodation… and Children

Just before reaching town, I passed two large groups of schoolchildren — each one at least 30 to 40 kids, also walking the Camino. I have no idea where they’re all going to sleep tonight, but seeing them made me incredibly thankful that I’ve pre-booked all my accommodation. No need to worry about competing for a bed with 12-year-olds full of sugar and energy!

One less stress. One more blessing.

Rest at Last

I made it to Santa María and checked into another great hotel. Hot shower. Quiet room. Tired legs. Full heart.

And today’s Song of the Day?

🎵 “The Climb” by Miley Cyrus.

Because it’s not about what’s waiting at the top.

It’s the climb that makes it worth it.

🌻 Join the movement in memory of Angé:

www.ange4sunflowers.com

🎵 Song of the Day

https://youtu.be/bTf2AbbjJjA?si=n5w7fLeJKmqPYVe2

So here I sit, on the step of my hotel, Coke in hand, a slice of pizza on the table in front of me, and nothing else to do today. It’s just past midday, and I’ve already walked my 23 kilometers. My feet are up, my bed is soft, and there’s a quiet contentment in knowing I’m done walking until tomorrow.

The hotel is simple—more of a truck stop than a pilgrim’s paradise—but after a morning on the road, it does the job just fine. Clean bed. Decent bathroom. And a good view of the passing pilgrims.

As I sat watching them go by, a few observations stood out today.

First, I keep noticing how many pilgrims dress to match. Couples. Groups. Sometimes even entire families, all in matching jackets, backpacks, and hiking gear. It’s strangely heartwarming. There’s something quietly unified and symbolic about it—almost like they’re saying, we’re in this together.

Second, the route today gave us a choice early on: a shorter road walk or a longer one through the vineyards. Of course, I chose the vineyard. It was peaceful, winding, and full of early morning beauty. But sadly, once I rejoined the main route, that was the end of the off-road fun. The next 18 kilometers were all tar road.

And here’s the frustrating part: the road itself ran alongside a beautiful river, but we never actually got to walk next to it. Instead, we trudged along between barriers—one separating us from the road, another separating us from the river. It felt like a missed opportunity. With a little imagination and effort, the Camino today could’ve been spectacular. Instead, it was just hot, hard road.

Third, these little Spanish villages are full of forgotten homes. Abandoned, crumbling, and very much for sale. You start to imagine… what if? A fixer-upper summer place in Spain. It probably gets blisteringly hot, and you’d need a good deal of elbow grease, but there’s something romantic about the idea.

And then… a real pilgrim moment.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped to pet a dog. Two pilgrims were sitting beside it, and one of them asked me—haltingly, in broken Spanish—why I was walking the Camino. I told her about Angé. She didn’t say much. Instead, she and her companion simply reached out and placed their hands on me… and prayed.

No big ceremony. No performance. Just a quiet moment of connection, compassion, and something sacred shared between strangers on the side of a dusty road. It caught me completely off guard—and moved me more than I expected. That’s the Camino. That’s what we mean when we say “the spirit of the Camino.” A true pilgrim experience.

Other than that, it was a day of quiet walking—just me, the river beside me, and the steady rhythm of putting one foot in front of the other. There’s about 170 kilometers left now to Santiago. At 23 kilometers a day, that’s just over a week more of walking. We’re getting close.

On a lighter note, I tried to find some octopus last night—craving a bit of Galician tradition—but being Sunday (or actually Monday… I’ve lost track), everything was shut. No pulpo for me. And tonight? Well, at this little highway-side hotel, I think it’ll be more burger and chips than seafood delicacy.

No complaints though. Today was a good day. A solid day of walking. A soft place to land. A cold Coke. And the gentle satisfaction of being done before most people have finished lunch.

Until tomorrow.

🎵 Song of the Day: Fix You – Coldplay

A song about breakdown and repair. About being lost, and choosing—slowly—to walk again. Because sometimes, the walk does fix you.

Last night, I had what can only be described as a Camino meltdown.

I was sitting alone in the albergue, cold and fed up. I didn’t feel like walking any further. I felt done. Emotionally, mentally… it just felt like enough. I had already gotten what I came for, hadn’t I? Why keep going?

But instead of making a decision in the middle of the night, I chose—wisely, I think—to walk anyway. One more day. 25 kilometres. Then decide.

This morning, the Camino tested that choice. It was cold, wet, and misty. For two hours, I walked uphill out of town in a drizzle that felt like the trail saying: “Let’s see how badly you want this.”

But then things began to shift.

The mist lifted. The trail turned into winding, peaceful forest paths. And when I reached a small town, there were friendly faces gathered around the café tables—people I knew. People who knew me. They greeted me by name, smiled, nodded. And suddenly I felt it: I’m part of this Camino. I belong here.

That sense of community was healing.

The rest of the walk was stunning—mountain trails, lush greenery, gentle river crossings. We arrived in Monasec, a picture-perfect little village with a stone bridge and river running beneath it. I’ve got a warm, private room here—an unexpected luxury.

But the real gift was lunch: a spontaneous gathering by the river. Jan was there, and Kasper from Denmark, Ellie, two American girls, and a Japanese lady. All strangers once. Now, companions around a shared table. We laughed. Ate lamb chops. Swapped stories. This was the Camino magic I almost walked away from.

And so, I’ve made my decision.

Even if I feel I’ve already found what I was searching for—peace, clarity, a little community—I will walk the last 10 days. Maybe even on to Muxía or Finisterre, depending on time. I’ve come this far. I’ll finish.

And after a great, great afternoon of sleep, the world looks rosy again.

🌻 Camino Day 11 — The Stoep at Rabanal

🎵 Song of the Day: Sitting on the Dock of the Bay – Otis Redding

Listen here

This morning started as most do — walking out of the albergue at 6:00 a.m. Twenty easy kilometres through quiet farmlands and little villages. A gentle Camino morning.

By midday, I reached Rabanal del Camino and found a spot on the stoep outside the albergue. Coffee. Water. Sun on my face. That’s where the day shifted.

From there, it became a social whirlwind. Charity came through. Yvonne arrived. Jacob and Rachel stopped by. Two young Americans just out of college joined in. I moved from conversation to conversation like I was hosting a party I never planned — just letting the moments unfold.

Everyone else is off exploring town. Not me. I’ve chosen to be a rock rabbit today. Staying put. Sitting in the sun with a cold beer beside me, and a full heart.

Not every day has to be profound.

Some are just perfectly simple.

And today was one of those days.

📖 Read the full blog post here:

👉 www.angeforsunflowers.com