Posts in category: Allow others to reach out with support and kind words

🎵 Song of the Day: “Happy” – Pharrell Williams

Click to listen

I was up at 5:00 AM this morning and walking by 5:30. There’s something surreal about stepping through the quiet streets of a sleeping town, then slowly making your way out into the farmlands while it’s still dark. A little eerie, yes — but deeply peaceful.

By 8:30 AM, I’d already clocked 15 kilometers — halfway done. That called for breakfast: a delicious salami roll and a great cup of coffee at a tiny café.

As I left the village, painted on the tar ahead of me was a fork in the path — one route marked with a grumpy face, the other with a smiley face. I chose the smile. No idea where the grumpy face route went, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

The smiley route turned out to be stunning — winding through quiet farmlands and charming towns. Along the way, I found two remarkable little Camino stalls. The first was a makeshift café, where a clearly talented barista (named Newman, I think?) made incredible coffee. The second was more rustic — a fruit and juice stand that ran on donations. Fresh orange juice, vegetables, coffee, and even a tiny maze that added an extra 10 metres to the day’s total. Of course, I walked the maze.

The sun cranked up the heat by mid-morning, but I arrived in Astorga by 12:30 PM. Checked into the auberge — 16 beds in the room, but somehow I scored the only double bed. No idea how, but I’m not complaining.

This afternoon, I’m off to lunch with Yvonne and her group of 40 Italian walkers — should be lively! Then back to the auberge for communal dinner tonight, which I’m really looking forward to.

One lowlight of the day: my Merrell shoes — the ones I’ve walked 650 km in — are falling apart. I had high hopes, but they haven’t quite made the grade. I’ll wait until the local shoe shop opens at 5:00 PM and see if I can replace them. If not, I’ll keep hobbling along in these until I find something better.

Feet are sore (no surprise after 32 km), but my heart is full.

Just another beautiful, dusty, sunlit day on the Camino — and yes, today, I’m feeling happy.

Camino Blog: Day 9 – 17 July

🎵 Song of the Day:

On Top of the World – Imagine Dragons

Because despite the loss… it was a joyful, connected, full day.

📸 Photo of the Day:

“The First Sunflower on the Camino”

Spotted alone, but shining — a reminder that beauty arrives when you least expect it.

Camino Reflection

I left the auberge in León just after 6 a.m., stepping into the cool hush of early morning. Within the first 20 minutes, I’d already seen four other pilgrims. That made all the difference — I wasn’t alone. It confirmed what I already hoped: starting from León was the right call. I felt part of the Camino again.

It took a full three hours to walk out of the city. Pavement, intersections, roundabouts. Normally, that might have drained me, but today it didn’t. Because I wasn’t alone. There were pilgrims all around me — walking quietly, chatting softly, waving from café chairs. The city became a river of moving people, and I was flowing with it.

The Camino was giving today. Giving people, energy, laughter, shade, and café stops. I think I only walked alone for an hour. The rest of the time I was with others — strangers, friends-in-the-making, fellow searchers. It felt like what the Camino is supposed to feel like: shared.

And then, just as quickly, the Camino took.

I lost my wallet.

One moment I had it, the next I didn’t. Panic hit — I stopped, retraced steps, checked bags, walked back, asked around. I must’ve spent an hour hunting. But at some point, I had to let go. It was gone. Just gone.

So, I made a decision: I’ll finish this Camino with the cash I have and whatever I can manage on my phone. No going back.

And then, something beautiful happened. The people in the village where I stopped were kind beyond belief. One café owner gave me a drink, another handed me food. Word spread up and down the Camino that “a pilgrim lost his wallet.” People looked out for me, checked their tables, asked each other. That kindness — unexpected and unearned — was one of the most moving parts of the day.

Later, I met a woman named Yvonne. Her husband died last year. We talked about mourning — the slow, strange way it works. She cried a bit. So did I. And then we walked a few minutes together in silence. There’s something about the Camino that allows grief to surface gently — like it belongs here.

Tonight, I’m sitting at the Jesús auberge. It’s busy and full of energy. There’s even a swimming pool. I might go take a dip later and let the day settle.

I also saw the first sunflower of this Camino. Just one, by the path — but it felt like it was waving at me. Not planted by me this time. Just waiting. Like a quiet reminder that you’re never really walking alone.

Wallet gone. But peace returned. I think I’m going to be okay.

🎵 Song of the Day: “Win” – Brian McKnight, Men of Honour

Today I walked another 20 kilometers. The first five and a half were through yet another town with no signs. I kept getting lost — again. Honestly, I think I’m officially changing my name to Lost and Found. Walking through a town without yellow arrows has become a regular part of my mornings now — pacing up and down, hoping the next corner will point me back onto the trail.

Once out of town, though, the world changed. I had about five kilometers of beautiful forest road. Up and down through the trees, fresh air, quiet paths. It was the first time I’ve had hills to climb — well, “mountains” might be pushing it — but it felt good. It felt like progress. Like I was walking toward something meaningful.

And then came kilometer nine.

That’s when I hit the road — literally. A tar road with trucks flying past, horns blaring, and cars whipping by with barely a metre to spare. I almost died twice. Okay, that’s an exaggeration… but not by much. It wasn’t pretty. Just tar, factories, an occasional house. No forest. No scenery. Just noise, danger, and a deep sense of what am I doing here?

So I walked. Alone. Again. And that quiet ache of loneliness started to creep in. Over the past seven days, I’ve had only two real social interactions — both of which I’ve already shared in earlier blog posts. Today, there was no one. Just me, the tar, and the question echoing in my mind: Is it quitting if you change the plan? Or is it just being wise with your energy?

I’m considering a rest day tomorrow. Maybe catching a train to Porto — where most pilgrims start the Camino — and continuing the journey from there to Santiago. Yes, that means I’d be skipping about 200 kilometers of the trail. But I’m also thinking of making up for it by continuing past Santiago, walking an extra 100 kilometers to Finisterre — to the sea, the symbolic end of the world. And maybe, the beginning of something else.

And here’s a side note that keeps tugging at my attention: it’s 11 a.m., and I’ve noticed it every day now — the locals are already at the cafés and bars, sipping small glasses of red wine. Not beer. Not coffee. Red wine. Every time I step in for a Coke, I feel like the outsider. Maybe it’s cultural, maybe it’s just Portugal… but it’s quietly fascinating. That calm confidence of taking your time, sipping slowly, even before noon.

So that’s where I’m at today. The plan may shift tonight depending on how the albergue feels — a good conversation could turn the tide. But for now, I carry the weight of the road, the ache of silence, and the hope that I’m not giving up — I’m simply choosing the wiser path.

📍 Sunflower of the Day: Today’s seed was carried, not planted.

🎵 Song of the Day: “River of Dreams” – Billy Joel

Steps yesterday: 45,000

Distance today: ±10 km

Route: Delberg to Quinta da Sarga (and beyond)

After yesterday’s 32 km grind and 45,000 steps, today began… slowly. Very slowly. By 07:50, I was still in the auberge — not a single step walked yet, just quietly resting. Every muscle reminded me of the effort it took to get here. Normally, I’d have two hours behind me already. Not today. And that was okay.

Last night had its share of colour. I ended up in a small local pub with a real retired bullfighter — part of a whole family of retired bullfighters. Uncle, cousin, nephew — all from the same tradition. They were warm, generous, and kept plying us with free drinks. It turned into one of those noisy, laughter-filled nights you can’t quite plan for, but are glad you stumble into.

Earlier in the evening, though, we had a bit of Camino culture clash. Around 16:30, just as we were settling in for some rest, a non-Camino guest arrived at the auberge. He drove in, not walked — overweight, loud, with two bottles of wine under his arm and his music blaring. The contrast couldn’t have been sharper. When we tried to sleep around 22:00, we had to ask him to keep quiet. He finally staggered out at 02:30, and unfortunately, he drove off — a reminder that not everyone on the road is walking it the same way.

Today’s walk was lighter and shorter — just 10 km — but full of unexpected moments.

First, the storks. It’s clearly stork season in Portugal. Nearly every electricity pylon I passed had two or three massive nests perched on top, with tall storks standing like sentinels. These birds have claimed the high ground, and they stand calmly, quietly, as if watching us pilgrims pass below. There’s something quite beautiful in that.

Then came Quinta da Sarga — a ghost town. Truly. The buildings are there, but they’re crumbling, roofless, forgotten. The streets are intact but empty. There’s no one around. No movement. Just a haunting stillness. Walking through it felt surreal, like I had stepped out of the Camino and into memory. Quiet, heavy, and strange — the kind of place that leaves a whisper in your mind long after you’ve left.

For more information, please see my post on the Angé for Sunflowers Facebook page.

And then, the café.

I stumbled into a tiny, very local café — the kind that doesn’t appear on any map. I wasn’t sure if I was welcome, but I sat down anyway. Three old men sat along the back wall, staring at me. I’m pretty sure they were either talking about me or to me — in Portuguese, of course. I still couldn’t understand a word. But they kept watching. I finished my drink, gave a polite nod, and headed back.

Now I’m back in the auberge, resting again. The day was strange, slow, and deeply Camino. A bit of everything: aching legs, quiet ghost towns, towering storks, awkward stares, and a song in my head that carried me through it all:

🎵 “In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep…”

— Billy Joel

Song of the Day

:

“Fly Me to the Moon” — Listen here

Angé loved the full moon. So tonight, this one’s for her.

Date: 12 July 2025

Subtitle: 32 km later, my legs are done. But my heart is full.

Today was a long one.

After 20 km, I felt good. After 25 km, I was okay. The last 7 km? That was pure grit.

My knees ached. My feet throbbed. My head started to pound. The tar road stretched endlessly ahead, heat rising in waves. It took every ounce of self-discipline I had to keep walking.

Lesson learned: 20–25 km a day is my sweet spot. Anything more is… well, not recommended unless absolutely necessary.

🌻 The First Sunflower Planted

Today, something important happened.

In the small town of Asinhaga, I planted the very first sunflower seed for Angé — in a little Garden of Remembrance. The garden was lush, irrigated, already filled with flowers. It felt right.

There was peace in that moment.

I hope it grows wild and bright — like she did.

This, I think, is where Angé for Sunflowers really begins.

🥾 Lost Again (But Found)

Somewhere around the 20 km mark, I took a wrong turn. Again.

If it wasn’t for Camino Ninja, I might still be wandering through cornfields and vineyards. That app is now officially my second guide (Angé still being the first, of course).

🍅 Through Fields and Farmland

The first 20 km were absolutely beautiful — winding through farmland, tomato fields, grapevines, mielie patches. I walked on quiet dirt roads that hugged the landscape, making the morning feel lighter.

It was just me, again. Just me and my Camino.

🐎 Tonight’s Stop: Colegã

Now I’m in Colegã, known as one of the proud homes of the Lusitano horses.

There’s something elegant about ending the day in a place where strength and grace are bred into the very soil. These horses are a fitting symbol for today — majestic, powerful, enduring. Just like this walk. Just like her.

🌕 Full Moon and Hunger

Tonight, there’s a full moon rising.

Angé would’ve noticed it before I did. She loved the moon.

Maybe that’s why today hit differently. The hunger — not just for food (which finally arrived with urgency!) — but for meaning, for presence, for something that tells me this journey matters.

And today, it did.

🌻 Join the Movement

If you’ve lost someone you love, join me:

🌻 Plant a sunflower.

📸 Capture the moment.

📝 Share your story.

👉 angeforsunflowers.com

This is how we remember — not with silence, but with stories.

Buen Camino.

Ian 🌻👣

Camino Day 5: It’s Been a Swinging, Singing-in-the-Rain Kinda Day

🎵 

Song of the Day

Singing in the Rain – Gene Kelly

Watch on YouTube

I said goodbye to Nono, the albergue owner, at ten past six this morning and headed out alone onto the trail. The sky was cool and overcast — perfect walking weather — and for the first while, it was just me and the path.

After about two and a half hours, Andreas caught up with me.

We had a quick 10-minute chat — Andreas is one of the guys I shared a drink with a few nights ago. Then he moved on, and once again, it was just me.

Looks like I’m the only pilgrim around today.

As I walked, the landscape shifted.

We’ve left tomato country behind and entered wine country — row upon row of vineyards now lining the path.

Tomato juice to wine — how’s that for a metaphor?

Then something unexpected and beautiful: a swing.

A wooden swing hanging from a tree just off the trail.

I climbed on.

Feet lifted, air rushing past, and I laughed — out loud, freely. And in that moment, I could feel Angé. I could see her clapping, hear her whooping with joy.

I rode that swing for her. And it was magic.

But the day wasn’t done testing me. About 5.5 km from Santarém, the skies finally broke.

Rain.

Which, of course, is ironic — I told everyone the other night that I didn’t bring a raincoat, so it would never rain in Santarém. Well… it rained.

Backpack off, bag cover on. Singing in the Rain playing in my head.

And then the final stretch: a steep 2.5 km climb up into Santarém — nearly 500 metres of ascent.

Hard going on the legs. But I made it.

Now I’m in a café with a bun and a coffee, watching the rain fall — dry, content, and very much at peace.

🌻 

Sunflower Moment – The Swing

That swing was everything.

Unexpected joy. A moment of flight.

I felt her laugh. I saw her smile. I heard her voice.

Joy lives in the memory.

Happiness lives in the motion.

Today, they met on a swing, somewhere in Portugal.

🥾 

Today’s Route

From tomato fields to vineyards, through rain and uphill climbs, ending in Santarém — a town on a hill, and a day full of small wonders.

👉 Join the Camino WhatsApp group to follow the journey and share your own reflections:

https://chat.whatsapp.com/CxgMFL5Uvpe00XygSgK9dl

A quick walk with a great deal of meaning