Blessings and Rain
On September 27, 2024, I set out for Santiago de Compostela. The two-hour bus ride started at 9:45 AM, packed with pilgrims from all over the world. German, English, Spanish—a jumble of voices reflecting the excitement for the experiences ahead. After arriving in Santiago, I immersed myself in the old town for the first time in over a year and a half. I had two hours until I could check in at the Seminario Menor, perfect to soak up the atmosphere, take photos, and engage in conversations with fellow pilgrims. Thanks to my Facebook profile, some recognized me, leading to fascinating discussions about the pilgrimage experience and my current journey with the backpack.
Outside the Seminario, I met four pilgrims from Ireland and the USA. They had successfully completed the Camino Francés, but all accommodations were full—including the Seminario Menor. Exhausted but proud, they stood there, a picture of the challenges faced on the overcrowded pilgrimage route. The Camino brings people together, but sometimes also pushes them to their limits.
Nervousness and the Ratio of Pilgrims
I was fortunate to have reserved my accommodation in Santiago two weeks in advance. As later confirmed, many accommodations, including the Seminario Menor and the Hospedería San Martín Pinario, were booked up three to four weeks in advance—some even a month and a half. The reason? For two years now, the archdiocese has intensified its efforts to attract groups of pilgrims for the last 100 kilometers. Especially large youth groups of 100 to 150 participants, often starting in Sarria or Tui, overcrowd the paths from these points. For long-distance pilgrims who started in Porto, Irún, or Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, it has become increasingly difficult to find spontaneous overnight accommodations.
Platforms like booking.com and trivago are increasingly being used to secure beds. It used to be common to reserve multiple accommodations simultaneously and then choose one spontaneously upon arrival—luckily, this practice is now more strictly controlled. However, the lack of available beds often leads to frustration—many pilgrims are forced to make the exhausting trek to Monte do Gozo or abandon their planned continuation to Fisterra and Muxía, which also has economic consequences for these regions.
As a result, even well after the summer months, nearly 4,000 people receive a Compostela certificate daily. However, the majority of these consist of large groups or pilgrims with wheeled luggage. Long-distance pilgrims on the Camino Francés, Camino Portugués, and Camino del Norte make up only about 1,000 to 1,200 of the certified pilgrims. Other pilgrimage routes are significantly less promoted and, therefore, less frequented.
A Long Conversation in the Cathedral, the Saint, and the Silver Coffin
With the increase in group bookings, the famous “Botafumeiro” in Santiago’s cathedral is now seen in action more frequently. In the past, this impressive incense burner was only used for special occasions like Easter or Christmas, but on the weekend of September 27-29, 2024, it swung six times—three times on Friday alone. The prices for a “Botafumeiro session” have also changed: what used to cost €350 for a group is now adjusted based on the size of the group.
For many new pilgrims, the experience remains breathtaking, but as an experienced pilgrim, I view it differently. It reminds me of chocolate: as long as it’s rare, the enjoyment is greater, but when it’s in abundance, it loses its specialness. The magic of those special moments in the cathedral seems to have faded somewhat with the frequent displays. At the same time, the limited number of visitors often means that individual pilgrims have little chance to witness a “Botafumeiro” performance.
Despite everything, I was able to embrace the apostle James on the cathedral’s steps on Friday afternoon and visit the silver coffin. However, with the new rules after the pandemic and stricter controls, much of the old atmosphere has been lost. It feels like selfies and smartphones have become more important than the actual spiritual experience.
A conversation with a German clergyman from the diocese of Rottenburg-Stuttgart continued my day. Unfortunately, he declined my request for a personal blessing for my pilgrimage, as only special priests could provide that. Nonetheless, the embrace of the Saint’s statue and the visit to the silver coffin were a worthy conclusion to this special moment.
Is Inclusion a Topic for the Public?
Much can be said about inclusion. For many years, efforts have been made in many countries to better integrate people with special needs into society. The success of these efforts largely depends on the institutions, the individual’s needs, and the societal attitude. It is important that integration comes from both sides—you cannot integrate into a society that rejects you. Inclusion, or the implementation of integration, is crucial for people with physical or mental disabilities to lead as normal a life as possible.
My friends from the Asociación ASPADEX in Cee have always supported me in addressing this topic. The conversations with them have shown me that inclusion only works when all parties actively participate. Particularly for people who have come to rely on aids like wheelchairs or prostheses due to an accident or illness, inclusion often becomes more challenging. These people were once “normal,” and transitioning to a life with limitations is a challenge not only for them but also for their loved ones. For me, inclusion has become a two-sided issue: both those who have lived with disabilities since birth and those who have experienced them later in life have essentially the same needs. However, especially on the Camino de Santiago, it becomes clear that many accommodations—from simple hostels to hotels—are not yet prepared to meet these needs.
The conversations also made it clear that while inclusion is a prominent societal topic, it is often only a tertiary or quaternary concern for pilgrims and the tourism industry. It is only when pilgrims in wheelchairs or with prostheses challenge the infrastructure that the urgency becomes apparent. However, most accommodations are still not adequately equipped, creating a significant hurdle for many pilgrims with disabilities.
Youth Groups Ready to Go—Is the World Really Fine at 7 AM?
It seems to have become fashionable, often through the media promotion by the Archdiocese of Santiago de Compostela, for large youth groups to discover the Camino de Santiago as an adventure. While this could have a positive educational effect, it is often lacking in proper preparation. Long-distance pilgrims expect peace and respect on their path—instead, they sometimes experience, as one US pilgrim aptly put it, a “pilgrim Disneyland with attractions.”
With proper preparation—whether by parents, schools, or supervisors—these journeys could teach young people values such as respect and consideration, which they will need throughout their lives. However, on Saturday morning, September 28th, at 7 AM, I found myself facing a group of 150 young people who, still sleepy, were thinking only of themselves. They noisily moved tables and chairs back and forth, demanding seats where there were none left. The chaos was so great that other guests constantly had to be careful not to get bumped into and end up wearing their breakfast, rather than enjoying it peacefully. These young people, who often demand respect from their elders, seemed, on that morning, mainly driven by self-absorption and the urge to take selfies.
Interjection
The Camino de Santiago remains a unique experience, but the challenges have changed in recent years. Overcrowded accommodations and increasing commercialization have caused the original charm to fade. The tranquility that many long-distance pilgrims seek is often disrupted by the growing tourism and the large number of short-distance pilgrims, especially young people. An American pilgrim aptly described it as a “Pilgrim Disneyland with attractions.” There is often a lack of preparation and the teaching of values like respect and consideration. With proper guidance from parents, schools, and supervisors, however, the Camino could be a valuable place where young people can learn important life lessons.
Additionally, it becomes apparent along the way that the issue of inclusion in pilgrimage tourism has not yet been adequately addressed. People with physical limitations, who rely on wheelchairs or prosthetics, often face significant obstacles. Many accommodations are not equipped to meet their needs, making the pilgrimage journey more challenging for this group.
Nevertheless, the Camino de Santiago remains a journey filled with stories and encounters that shape every pilgrim. But in order to preserve the spirit of pilgrimage, a balance must be found—between tradition and the demands of modern times, as well as between the various groups of pilgrims who are discovering the path for themselves.
Setting Out at Dawn, Walking into Dusk, Midnight Peaks
Inclusion as a theme. 24 hours as a time limit. 100 kilometers as the goal—from the Praza de Obradoiro, flanked by the parliament building of the Galician capital on one side and the cathedral of Santiago on the other. The planned departure was at 8:30 AM towards Fisterra, but as no one from the press or television appeared—despite sending out a timely press release—I set off ten minutes earlier. Upon the first ascent after leaving the city, through a wooded area, I was greeted by a breathtaking sight: the cathedral on the horizon to the left and a magical sunrise to the right.
The plan was to cover the first 10 to 15 kilometers step by step, taking short breaks for stretching and drinks. However, spontaneous encounters along the way soon made this plan obsolete, and I simply kept going. For dinner, I had a large bowl of lentil stew and a freshly poured cold beer—any fatigue and leg pain were quickly forgotten.
After dinner, I continued my journey into the dusk. A day that began sunny ended with cloudy but mild weather. The path carried me through the night, and after four hours, I reached Santa Marina with a thirst. In absolute darkness and after some difficult passages, I finally reached Olveiroa 20 minutes before midnight. Thanks to a birthday party in a bar, I was able to take a final break even at this late hour. The transition to the new day—and my birthday—was pleasantly celebrated. I sat for a while with cola, beer, and lots of water, getting my body back into balance. After nearly 60 kilometers, the rest of the journey to Fisterra lay ahead, with the goal of reaching it by 10 AM.
Who Goes Up Must Come Down at Some Point
The last 40 kilometers of the Camino are particularly challenging, and an inexperienced pilgrim would be better off resting and regaining strength for the next day. My last pilgrimage had been two years ago, and I had only trained sporadically, so I did not feel particularly fit. However, with the knowledge of past long-distance walks of over 100 kilometers, I continued optimistically. What I underestimated, however, was physical recovery, which, at almost 60 years old, is slower after intense exertion. This became painfully clear to me during the night.
From Olveiroa, I continued to Hospital and then to the roundabout where the paths to Fisterra and Muxía split. I had originally planned to take a detour through Dumbría and then follow a forest path to Cee, but the darkness made it impossible to walk safely on the unlit field and forest paths. I decided to adjust the route and walk along the connecting road to Brens. This asphalted road, with a 10% incline and a length of 11 kilometers, was safer, but the descent proved to be an unforgettable and painful challenge.
With each step, I lost pace, and soon I felt a burning pain in my right foot and both thighs. In addition, I had no water with me at that late hour. What was planned as a three-hour descent eventually turned into a painful four-hour struggle. As a result, there was little time for rest or recovery, and the opportunity to gain new energy through a stretching break was lost. But sometimes, there is simply no other choice but to keep going.
Ouch – Can One Talk About Pain? And If So, Why Not?
Pain is one of those things that happens along the way and usually stays there. By the time I reached the bottom of the path in Brens, much was forgotten—except for one thing. The burning, stabbing pain in my right midfoot, the same injury from a Camino accident in 2021 that made my life difficult for almost six months. Due to the strain placed on my foot this time, each step became a throbbing, pounding agony. Still, I was just barely able to keep my pace to meet my 10:00 AM goal. I couldn’t afford to slow down. A small miracle happened in the form of a water faucet at a wall along the path, where I was able to drink some tap water, offering some relief in this tense situation.
The sharp burning pain in my foot gradually subsided, and I managed to keep pace for the next 4½ hours and the remaining 17 kilometers to the lighthouse in Fisterra, arriving just in time. I passed the harbor in Brens, having covered an additional distance that corresponded to the total planned length. The harbor was behind me, and so was the hospital in Cee. I turned right at the boundary between Cee and Corcubión to continue the route. However, the steep incline of 15%/20% limited my ability to walk—after only five steps, a sharp pain shot through my foot, and I barely managed to suppress a scream to avoid waking the sleeping residents of the nearby houses.
After taking five deep breaths through my nose, I reconsidered the possibility of continuing along the harbor to make some progress. Yet, every step felt like an unbearable sting. I cursed myself internally for having overestimated my physical condition and the terrain after already completing 90 kilometers. The reward for this misjudgment was nothing but pain. Can we talk about pain? Yes! Is it sometimes better to stop rather than ruin yourself? It depends. My thoughts raced so fast and intensely that I almost developed a headache. In a moment of clarity, I realized that if I pushed myself further and caused more harm, I wouldn’t be helping myself or my friends at Asociación ASPADEX. Furthermore, missing out on work for days or weeks wasn’t conducive to financial stability either. So, I made the decision to prioritize my health and called home for a ride.
In that instant, my completely exhausted body found a sense of peace that was overwhelming and still is. After all, everyone knows what’s best for them. But experiencing it in a moment of physical crisis, accepting it, and learning from it is something that doesn’t happen often. For that, I’m grateful.
The Reception at the Faro of Fisterra
After the physical and mental rollercoaster of the 100-kilometer Extreme Camino, especially during the night section, the journey concluded on a positive note. Having completed as much of the path as possible, with new experiences and insights, I was welcomed at the 0.0 km milestone of the Camino de Fisterra at 10:00 AM by the mayor, Auréa Domínguez Sisto, and a photo of the moment was taken. The second person present for the welcome was my mother. Apart from us, the scene was much like the weather—gray, windy, and nearly deserted, which was partly due to the weather and the time.
For this, I extend my heartfelt thanks to the mayor of Fisterra, Auréa Domínguez Sisto, for taking the time and effort to welcome me at the Faro after my 100-kilometer experience. It was a special moment, made even more meaningful by her presence.
The Second Reception
At around 11:30 AM, after the official reception, some of my friends from the Asociación ASPADEX met me at the restaurant O Centolo with birthday wishes for my 58th birthday. A small toast with mineral water, coffee, and cola almost completed the celebration. Cristóbal, a dear friend and gaitero (bagpiper), was given the honor and fulfilled the wish of closing the event with a performance in front of the harbor backdrop of Fisterra.
For this, I was extremely grateful. Cristóbal, one of the beneficiaries of ASPADEX, made the journey to Fisterra just to play his gaita, and I don’t take that for granted. His lively music made the conclusion of this journey all the more special.
I’ll Go Lie Down Again
Some things you should only do once—not because they become boring, but because they take everything out of you the first time. However, the key is to learn from those experiences and apply them to future projects. The 100-kilometer stretch once again showed me how important it is to maintain rhythm: breathe, endure, and most importantly, keep going step by step. If you overdo it at the beginning, you might run out of steam towards the end. Regular small breaks for refueling, drinking, and resting are essential. But it’s important not to overdo it. As with everything, balance is key. And balance is different for everyone. You can learn this balance by listening to your own body and letting go of external pressures and expectations, just as I did in Corcubión when I released everything in that moment.
And now, with the last traces of fatigue still in my bones, I’ll go lie down a bit earlier tonight, to be fully rested and available tomorrow.
So, to summarize again:
The last sections reflect the intensity and challenges of a 100-kilometer pilgrimage. Each step and each stage brings its own tests, from mental endurance to physical limits. The path into the twilight and through the night highlights the power of perseverance but also the importance of being aware of your own boundaries. Whether it’s the painful descent, where the body sets its own rules, or the moment you realize that prioritizing health over the goal is wiser—the Camino teaches not just patience, but also humility.
The small moments, like the unexpected reception at the Faro of Fisterra by the mayor or Cristóbal’s heartfelt bagpipe performance, show that this journey is not only about hardship. It’s the encounters that make the Camino an unforgettable experience. Every step was a learning process, and the conclusion remains clear: It’s not just about reaching the destination, but also about taking the time to reflect and listen to your body.
In the end, after all the pain and the valuable lessons, the realization remains: Sometimes it’s better to pause, rest, and be ready for what comes next. The path is not just a physical one but also a mental journey that offers new insights with every step.
A Conclusion to All This in 3 Days
The Camino de Santiago has changed over the years—and with it, the experience of pilgrimage. Where silence and inner reflection once dominated, today large groups of young people often noisily move through the hostels, and selfies replace moments of introspection. A clever US pilgrim put it perfectly: “It feels like a pilgrim Disneyland with attractions.” And sometimes, that’s exactly what it is. At 7 AM, the clattering of chairs begins, breakfast chaos ensues, and the urge to document the day digitally takes precedence over the actual pilgrimage experience.
Another chapter of modern pilgrimage is written by travel platforms like Booking.com and Trivago, along with reviews on Google. Without beds reserved weeks in advance, many pilgrims are left with the (disillusioning?) option of returning to Monte do Gozo—or ending their journey prematurely. Meanwhile, as they make their way through the final kilometers, the Costa da Morte waits in vain for the arrival of exhausted but happy pilgrims who have accomplished so much for themselves. Many of them decide, faced with the mass pilgrimage and the sobering reality after receiving their Compostela and returning to Monte do Gozo, not to continue on to Fisterra or Muxía.
However, even the somewhat disheartening return to Monte do Gozo is a valuable pilgrimage experience. It is here that the ultimate question arises: Do I give up, or do I find the last bit of motivation to reach the worthwhile destinations at the end of the world? It is the moment when the true goals become not only geographic but also mental. This decision—to keep going or to give up—mirrors the experience of the last 100 kilometers, where pain, fatigue, and the battle within are constant companions, and one wavers between the desire to take the next step and the urge to stop.
Despite all the challenges and the increasing commercialization, the Camino de Santiago remains a journey full of meaning—for those who walk only the last 100 kilometers and for those who travel the entire way from the start. The Camino is changing, but it’s up to each pilgrim not to lose sight of the essentials: finding your own rhythm, listening to your body, and giving yourself the space to grow internally.
At the end of the day, no matter how loud the crowds around you are or how many beds were pre-booked, the true Camino happens inside every pilgrim. And that’s where the real spirit of pilgrimage lies. A little humor helps when you find yourself among “selfie-over-silence” pilgrims—because, ultimately, the Camino isn’t just a geographic path; it’s a journey to oneself.
For me, this weekend was a great lesson—not just about the path, but about the importance of continuing to share the stories of this pilgrimage. And that will be the next challenge—both for the pilgrim and for the journalist in me.
