Map-Making of Memories: A Transition of Self
“I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance.”
Camino Journal
(Names have been changed for privacy.)
“This is a personal account I wrote during my Camino de Santiago pilgrimage in 2020. At the time, I didn’t intend to share any of it. But rereading these entries now, I realize how much walking, writing, and solitude helped me understand the power of presence, connection, and inner stillness.
This journal is messy, honest, and written as I lived it—one step at a time. I’m sharing it not because it’s perfect, but because it’s real. Maybe somewhere in here, you’ll find something that resonates with your journey, too.”
Day 1, July 15, 2020 (Departing from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port)
3:15 PM
The first stop is Roncesvalles, also known as Roncevaux, the site of Roland’s legendary death as told in the surviving 11th-century epic The Song of Roland. I’ve always appreciated history. Standing among the ruins, I thought about how time transforms everything. The ground, once stained by medieval bloodshed, is now softened by thick green grass and wild plants.
I met Cindy today. There was something quietly reassuring about her presence. I felt safe, even though she barely smiled. I wonder what brought her here. What’s her reason for walking?
8:00 PM (Real Colegiata de Santa María de Roncesvalles)
I overheard whispers around the walls: "There’s an American." Even in the women’s washroom, someone asked if I was American. It felt surprising how much attention was being from the U.S., especially with the rising COVID cases back home. I later learned a person is working in Barcelona who is also a U.S. citizen.
It’s clear this isn’t the easiest time to be an American abroad.
Day 2, July 16, 2020
I’ve always appreciated silence and solitude, especially knowing I’m not truly alone. In those quiet moments, I can hear my own heartbeat.
Day 3, July 17, 2020 (Pamplona)
Found this scribbled in the corner of my journal:
Bonjour. Coucou. Salut.
Sunblock — crème solaire.
Mask — masque.
A few French speakers in the group have been helping me learn new words over the past couple of days. Pamplona is famous for the running of the bulls, partly because of Hemingway. This year, the San Fermín festival was understandably suspended due to COVID.
Day 6, July 20, 2020 (Logroño)
Yesterday, I spent time with Maria, Helen, Cindy, and Quentin.
July 20, 2020 (Logroño)
The sun was high when Helen pulled her dress up halfway and crossed the river to sit on a large rock in the middle. She soaked her face in the warmth, closing her eyes. At last, she had found the place she’d been searching for: home.
We all spread out a scarf, but there wasn’t quite enough space, so I scooted to feel the blades of grass beneath me. Helen borrowed a flute, and Quentin patiently showed her how to play. After that, there was only silence, the wind, the river, and the rustling trees.
August 3, 2020 (León!!!)
I keep thinking about Giselle. We only met once, but that one hour of conversation felt like a lifetime.
She was walking fast, a ukulele strapped to her backpack, and I asked her, “Why are you walking?”
She smiled, bright, full of energy, with a great sense of humour, and then said something that stopped me in my tracks:
“Life is short. I found out I’m not going to live long. I have cancer… so I might as well live.”
Even in the face of that, she carried herself with so much joy and lightness. She said she was rushing back to Barcelona because her boss, Mr. Arturo, needed her at work, and yet, she made time to play.
Every time we stopped for a break, she’d pull out her ukulele and start playing a song. I can’t play at all, but I stood there, waited for the group, and said, “Let’s all sing along.”
She inspired me to finally pick up the ukulele for the first time, something I’ve always wanted to try, but never did until now.
(Giselle and I met in Budapest in 2023. Her health was deteriorating, but she still had that shimmer in her eyes, the kind of light that stays with you. We lost contact after that, but the last time we spoke, she mentioned wanting to pause and rest for a while.
Wherever you are, Giselle, thank you for your honesty, your music, and your courage. You reminded me what it means to really live.)
August 4, 2020
León is beautiful, but cities no longer feel like my favourite places. I met Martin in Terradillos, and I hope to see him again soon! I’m excited to read Paulo Coelho’s Pilgrimage. One girl I met recommended it, and what are the odds I’d find it displayed right in front of me at a bookshop just a short walk from the cathedral? When I opened it, it felt like a magical moment—the book landed on a page with the quote, “The ship is safest when it is in port, but that is not what ships were built for.”
I also met Enzo from Italy and Daan from the Netherlands. Helen walked ahead so fast that I lost her. She’s already in the next town. Maybe that’s exactly where she wants to be.
August 5, 2020 (Astorga)
The truth is our personality is fluid. I cannot be the same person I was yesterday. Over time I have learned not to cling to people but to cherish the moment and create memories worth remembering.
As the saying goes, people come and go. Embrace every moment while it lasts.
I read Daan’s horoscope for fun that day. It said something like, “Stay with people who care for you.” Because of that reading, he decided to stay with the strangers, us. He later said it was the best decision he made. We all became inseparable.
August 6, 2020
Jane, a Christian missionary, left her life in Vancouver to join the group in Paris. She looks happy with her new family. In the end, we all need to be accepted and to find our tribe.
August 7, 2020 (Cacabelos)
From El Acebo de San Miguel, we walked 30 kilometres. I am tired, but we did well. Cindy and Maria walked faster, maybe because they have long legs. I feel like giving up and crawling.
The ancient houses in rural northern Spain are made of bricks, or sometimes cow dung, which acts as a thermal insulator. It makes sense in this scorching weather. Sometimes it reaches 40 degrees. There are no locals outside, but I can hear bells ringing somewhere. I cannot trace where the sound is coming from.
The heat was exhausting, but an old lady rushed over and gave me a cold glass of gazpacho. Despite the language barrier, she patted me on the back after I drank the whole thing. Then she scurried back inside.
The encounter made me pause and wonder what it was all about. I felt grateful for her kindness. It gave me the energy to keep going. For a moment, I thought of my grandmother in disguise. She felt like an angel.
Last night was fun, but I learned not to mix wine and beer.
August 9, 2020
I think I’ve always formed attachments to people I eventually needed to distance myself from, and I’ve learned to be okay with that. The road to Santiago feels empty today, and I move at my own pace, sitting when I need to, allowing myself to feel everything around me. My tiny body belongs to this Earth.
Every part of me, the pain, my hands moving as I write, reminds me of what I’m capable of. It all starts in the mind, and from there, my hands, feet, body, and eyes connect to something deeper. To the soul.
I couldn’t quite understand what Wes meant when he spoke about the soul, but I think I’m beginning to grasp it. I need to reflect on what this journey has been teaching me. It’s about making time for what matters. It’s about feeding the soul.
August 11, 2020
I don’t understand what I’m feeling. Maybe there’s a connection between Enzo and me? Maria was the first person I told. She might be wondering why it came so suddenly. I should take time to examine this feeling rather than just follow what my heart says. It might turn out that there’s nothing there at all.
August 13, 2020
Today I tried to be more confident. I finally said the words, “I like you,” to Enzo. I’m proud that I didn’t expect anything in return; I just wanted to be honest about how I feel.
He said he appreciated it, but that he wouldn’t be good for me.
Now I don’t know how to act normally around him. Still, something he said stuck with me: “If you have the confidence, you’ll get everything in this world. Everything.”
But I guess that isn’t always true.
August 14, 2020
Today marks the day we arrived in Santiago, and it hits me that we all have to say goodbye. Still, it’s also the day my feelings for Enzo grew stronger. He decided to tag along with us to Finisterre.
Acceptance is the last thing I learned from Martin, a good friend who left early. I want to forget what I feel about Enzo. I’m sad, but things happen, and we learn to let go. I’m still with Maria and Cindy, and that brings comfort.
What I fear most right now is losing this journal. What if someone reads it? That would be so embarrassing.
I finally rebooked my flight, a week from now. I’ll spend that time with myself. Maybe I’ll try on some lovely dresses and fall in love again, even if only for a little while.
Now I understand it, love is the most powerful thing on Earth. Thoreau once said, “Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.” But here’s the truth: love is the most powerful energy.
This journey has been about acceptance, about dancing with the flow of life… and about loving every bit of who you are.
August 16, 2020
The past few days have been a roller coaster. But in the end, the answers always find us. Sometimes we get hurt, and giving up our power, whatever strength we have left, means we need to grow and develop better judgment. It’s a chance to start fresh.
I am proud of myself for being brave despite the wounds.
I am happy and content. After all, acceptance opens a new door. It brings freedom and peace of mind.
August 19, 2020 (Finisterre)
I made it to the end of the world!
I threw my shell into the Atlantic, the same shell I had attached to my bag from day one, along with my walking stick, which had become a part of this journey. I depended on it, but I realize that thinking we own things only makes us cling to them. The only things that truly stay with us are memories.
And even memories can fade. People say we should make the most of our time together because the special moments are happening now. You don’t want to let them go.
August 20, 2020 (Back in Santiago)
4:36 pm
I am ready for the real world. But what is real, anyway?
Cindy brought her ukulele, and we sang outside the cathedral, wishing the sunlight would stay on my face. The old bell of Santiago tolled slowly, like time itself. The sun’s warmth faded as shadows crept in, and the cold wind crawled under my skin.
I love this day. I love the way Cindy laughs while we eat the sweet tarta de Santiago outside, waiting for Maria and Enzo. They looked happy.
Helen waited for me and said she wanted to say goodbye properly. Wes and Mark, whom we met in Finisterre, joined us for dinner. Mark was pretty excited to jump into his hotel bed afterward. It was a night to remember.
Enzo introduced us to his friend Miguel, a Galician who also did the Camino Francés by cycling. It was our first time meeting, but we talked all night. He suggested some Spanish movies on Netflix, except for Casa de Papel, which is a current craze.
He promised we would see each other again in Madrid when I visit. He’s starting a new job there tomorrow, a big move, while I’ll be on my bus to Porto.
August 21, 2020 (Bus to Porto)
I’m excited about this new chapter, an uncertain but surprising gift of life.
The journey never ends. It simply creates a new path for a new destination to be discovered. Life’s map is like the universe, with constellations that are endless and ever-expanding, connecting people and experiences before the Big Freeze.
