Poncho Weather and Good Talk
Short day. Which was good. Because it rained.
Not a light, atmospheric drizzle that looks poetic in photographs — real rain, persistent and committed, turning every forest path and pilgrim walkway into a small obstacle course. Mud that grabbed at your tennis shoes. Roots that became traps. Stones that had opinions about your footing. Every step required a negotiation that dry days simply don't demand.
Poncho time. There is a specific kind of dignity you surrender when you put on a walking poncho in the rain and just keep moving anyway. The Camino takes it from you cheerfully and gives you character in return.
Food was sparse — a humbling contrast to the Michelin star of a few days ago — which, it turns out, is also part of the experience. Not every day on the road is abundant. Some days you just walk through the wet and find what you find.
But the people made it. A group of wonderful Spanish friends joined the road, warm and funny in that way that makes rain feel less like weather and more like atmosphere. And Emily — my Camino partner, my miles companion, the person who I talked for hours about everything and nothing— walked the whole stretch alongside me. If you asked us, we solved all of the world problems.
There's something about a rainy day on the Camino that strips everything back to the essential. The scenery disappears behind grey. The food options thin out. And what's left is just the people beside you, their footsteps matching yours through the mud.
That's enough. That's more than enough. 👯♀️
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