Page 110 of Every Step She Takes

Approximately 12 blisters and self-confidence.

An appreciation for the simple pleasures in life: a cold Coke after a long day; a cheap glass of red wine; a free breadbasket; idle time with friends; taking the scenic route; long dinners where no one is in a hurry and food isn’t the main course; soaking in a hot bath; a foot massage; drinking coffee with milk in the sunshine.

The box of pasteis de nata I plan to smuggle onto the plane.

Also, a bag of Sabor a Jamón chips.

Time for self-reflection. Back home, I’m always too busy, too tired, too stressed, but slowing down on this trip has taught me that I need to carve out time to sit with myself. Otherwise, what’s the point in any of this?

A tattoo on my inner left wrist.

A small wooden arrow that a kind Spanish man passed out to pilgrims over his backyard fence.

At least two thousand photos.

A commitment to self-love and to actively trying to see the beauty in myself.

The travel bug. How am I supposed to stay in Seattle when there’s so much beauty in the world I haven’t seen yet?

Plans to do another Camino. I’ve heard that Caminos are like tattoos: once you do one, you won’t be able to stop. I’m already scheming ways to get back here, to explore other routes to Santiago.

Plans to get another tattoo.

The contact info for some of the greatest people I’ve ever met. I’m not so naïve as to believe that I will stay close with everyone from my tour group. I know that realistically, I will never see most of these people again. We’ll keep in touch in our WhatsApp group chat for a while, but eventually, our relationships will be reduced to liking each other’s Instagram posts. But it won’t matter, because I will carry my love for these people with me wherever I go from here. That’s the thing about a Camino family. The very nature of your connection is fleeting, only meant to last until Santiago, but that doesn’t diminish the impact they have on your life.

TWENTY-SEVENPADRÓN, SPAIN

Mal

“Yesterday, we talked about what we’lltakefrom our experience on the Camino,” Inez says to the seven other people crammed around a single table with her in Carracedo. “Today, on the penultimate day of our journey, I want you to think about what you’re going to leave behind.”

The table goes quiet as seven people all take a drink from their coffees at the same time to avoid answering the question.

“What we want to leave behind…?” Rebecca echoes in confusion.

“I left behind two sweatshirts in Esposende,” Ro says. “Is that what you mean?”

“Less literal.” Inez smiles as sweetly as ever at them. “I want us to think about things that are no longer serving us. Habits or patterns or self-sabotaging cycles.”

I feel Inez’s eyes on me, but my eyes are on the crumbling monastery across the way.

Ro clears their throat beside me. “I can go first,” they grumble, surprising everyone.

“Go ahead!” Inez encourages excitedly.

“I’ve realized that… that I’ve been self-isolating,” they grumble. “Don’t get me wrong—I love my corgis—”

“Weknow,” Ari interrupts, and gentle laughter moves around the table. I couldn’t tell you the names of any of Rebecca’s humanchildren, but we all know Copernicus, Newton, Daisy, and old, baby-food-eating Max.

Ro laughs at themself too. “But I think I’ve maybe, um… used my dogs as an excuse to, you know… not connect with people.”

Their hands tremble around their café con leche, and Rebecca reaches over to place a comforting hand on their shoulder. “I’ve faced rejection all my life. For being brown, and queer, and Muslim, and fat, and trans… Most of my family doesn’t talk to me anymore because of that last bit.”

And then Ro starts crying.Ro, who started this journey hating all this touchy-feely shit. Rebecca scoots her chair closer so she can put her entire arm around them. Naturally, she’s also crying. And Inez has been crying since Ro offered to share first.

Ro keeps talking through their tears. “I-I think I got so used to being rejected that I started rejecting the whole world first. I shut myself away with my dogs, and I acted like I didn’t need anyone else. But… but I do. I need community. I… I needed all of you.”

Andfuck. Now I’m crying. I adjust my hat to try to hide my tears under the brim, and when that doesn’t work, I simply tell myself to stop. I will the tears to reverse their path and suck themselves back into my tear ducts before anyone can see them. But when I glance around the table and see that Vera is crying too, my resolve weakens a little.