I wake up early, for once. The ladies in the room set their alarm for 5:30, so I went to bed early last night knowing they’d wake me up along with them. I’m the first to arrive at the hotel café for breakfast. I eat quickly and set off. To my surprise, the path is completely empty. I pass through a village and then follow a trail through the forest. It’s cloudy. I wonder if I left so early that I got ahead of the dozens of people I saw yesterday. I see yellow arrows, so I know I haven’t taken the wrong path.

I walk calmly, convinced I’ve left everyone behind, until I reach an intersection with a road. That’s when I realize—I’ve been following the longer route. In front of me, a never-ending line of pilgrims advances on the other side. I take a deep breath and return to the trail, knowing it will take time to catch up, if I even can.

Hours pass, and I start to feel how my already sore foot becomes a real obstacle. I walk slower than I’d like, and little by little, the people behind me begin to pass. Some greet me with a smile; others just keep going. I continue, slowly, focused on reaching the end.

At one point, the scenery changes. I pass by some buildings that look like slaughterhouses, and suddenly, I hear a sharp sound. A bang. It sounds like a gunshot, but I’m not sure. I keep walking and hear another one a few minutes later. I stay alert, though I try not to think too much about it.

A few minutes later, I spot a café in the distance—just as my body starts reminding me that the light breakfast isn’t enough anymore. The place is packed. All the pilgrims who passed me earlier are there. I line up at the bar and order something. They tell me it’ll take about thirty minutes, but I’m not in a rush. I say it’s fine, I can wait. I find a seat and, to my surprise, my order arrives after just a few minutes.

I keep walking for a couple more hours, and suddenly, I find myself walking alongside the Danish woman. She tells me about the hotel she stayed at, full of noisy teenagers. She says she plans to walk further than usual today to get better rest. A few minutes later, we reach a café. She points out that it marks the exact halfway point of the Camino and decides to stay there and rest. This time, I don’t join her and continue on.

The tape I bought for my knee is helping, but it’s starting to tighten too much and cause pain. I take it off. My right foot is beyond saving—the blister is killing me. Every step hurts. I try to lean on the walking stick, but it makes no difference. I walk on grassy areas when possible to soften the impact. Today, I feel even more pain than yesterday.

After walking a few more hours, I reach the restaurant the Spanish women recommended. It’s a few kilometers from my destination, so I decide to stay for lunch. I sit down, and to my surprise, the Spanish women show up shortly after and join me. We order traditional dishes, enjoy a hearty meal, and with renewed energy, continue together towards the final stretch.

Along the way, we meet the Canadians. They easily blend in and hit it off with the Spanish women. We walk for a while, chatting cheerfully until we reach Palas de Rei, the day’s destination. The Spanish women say goodbye and head to their hostel, while I continue with the Canadians, who this time decide to skip camping and stay at the same hostel as me.

We agree to meet up later. In the meantime, I shower and head to the pharmacy. I buy new insoles and a toe support for the blister.

The Canadians want to try something local. We stroll around and stop at a garden along the Camino. Out of nowhere, Fred plucks a flower and eats it. I ask if that’s edible, and he calmly replies that many things in nature are. Then he points to a nettle, the kind that causes itching when touched.

—Do you know this one? —he asks.

I nod. He picks a leaf from underneath, rolls it up, and pops it into his mouth.

—If you crush it well with your teeth, it won’t itch. It’s nutritious —he explains.

I try it skeptically, and to my surprise, it’s not bad. I tell him about my experience with that plant a few days ago. Aurélie, the Frenchwoman, chimes in, saying nature is wise and for every poison, there’s always an antidote nearby.

Curious, she searches for a specific plant until she finds it. She explains that if I ever get an itch from nettles, I should chew this plant and spit the liquid onto the irritation. I’m impressed by her knowledge. Fred then mentions he once found a plant with heart-shaped leaves that tastes like lime. We search and find one. I try it and confirm it tastes citrusy. Fred warns that it should be eaten in moderation because too much can be harmful. Finally, we find mint and eat that too.

After the botanical tour, I suggest grabbing some beers. We head to a bar and, while drinking, they tell me they invented a card game inspired by the Camino. They invite me to try it. We laugh a lot and then go to dinner.

We enter a restaurant. The owner eyes us suspiciously, probably because the Canadians are barefoot. We ask if they serve mojitos, and the waiter, a bit curt, says it’s not a bar and they don’t make cocktails, despite the fully stocked bar. Aurélie, unfazed, orders a gin and tonic, steps outside, and returns with a handful of mint leaves to put in her drink, turning it into a mojito.

When she comes back with the leaves, the waiter looks puzzled and asks if it’s marijuana. With a smile, Aurélie clarifies it’s mint. To keep the mood light, I refrain from mentioning that mojitos are made with white rum and spearmint, not gin and mint.

Later, we visit an artisanal ice cream shop near the hostel for dessert. I can barely walk, but it doesn’t matter since I don’t have many steps left for the day. We say goodnight, and I return to the shared room at my hostel.

The room, with six beds, is almost empty except for a German guy in the bed across from mine. As soon as I enter, he starts talking about himself, boasting about how much he’s walked and explaining he doesn’t care about the scenery; he just walks because he’s athletic and has great endurance.

At one point, he pauses his monologue to notice my Puma sneakers. He looks at me incredulously and asks:

—Are you walking in those?

Patiently, I answer yes.

—You’ve got guts —he says, surprised.

Exhausted, I end the conversation and go to sleep.