Smuggled Into Spain
Short leg today. The feet were grateful.
The morning's main event wasn't walking at all — it was a speedboat crossing from Portugal into Spain that felt, in the most delightful way, like an illegal border operation. The wind, the speed, the sudden appearance of the Spanish coastline. I have officially been smuggled into España. No regrets. Days like this are what the Camino also is, beneath all the suffering and the scenery — a permission slip to slow down. Rest. Do laundry. Remember that your clothes exist and have been through a lot. It's unglamorous and completely necessary.
The social world of the road continued to expand. A new friend from Mexico, Claudia joined the constellation, and my Danish companion, Torben — the Camino keeps shuffling the same warm deck of people back into your hands just when you need them.
The evening was for wandering and eating and drinking, in that order, with great commitment to all three. Tinto de Verano on a warm evening in Spain hits differently after days of hard walking. And then — Ribera del Duero. My favourite wine region doing exactly what it always does: making everything feel like it was worth it.
Tomorrow is the longest day of the whole route. I am choosing not to think about that until I absolutely have to.
Tonight, more wine. ✌️
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