Reflections from my Chemin du Puy

Le Puy-en-Velay to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port | 750+ km

It’s difficult to put into words what the Chemin du Puy has meant to me. Even now, with sore feet rested and the rhythm of the trail quieting in my body, I still feel like I’m walking. There’s a strange ache, not in the hips or shoulders, but in the heart. The kind of ache that comes from doing something deeply meaningful and then having to say goodbye.

I began this pilgrimage with no expectations other than to follow the red-and-white trail markers and to listen; to the land, to the silence, to whatever surfaced inside me. What I found was so much more.

I found beauty, in the rolling hills of the Aubrac, the misty mornings of the Lot Valley, the golden light of Gascony, and the green, rain-soaked slopes of the Basque Country.

I found challenge, not just in the miles walked or the elevation climbed, but in learning to surrender to uncertainty; weather, accommodations, injury, loneliness. Especially my heart and hip pain. I had to listen to my body in a way I hadn’t before, and I had to make peace with walking less or not at all a couple of days. The Camino humbles you that way. It reminds you that even the most determined pilgrim is still human.

I found connection. With pilgrims from around the world, each with their own story, pace, and reasons for walking. With kind hosts who made space for our tired feet and full hearts. With locals whose “Bon chemin!” lifted me more times than they’ll ever know.

I found stillness. Long hours alone on the trail gave me space to think, to feel, to remember. To release what needed releasing. To grieve. To laugh out loud in the middle of nowhere. To sing sometimes. To pray.

And I found joy. In figs and plums plucked from roadside trees. In the surprise of a beautiful gîte garden. In a perfect view. In a deep conversation over wine and cheese. In walking into Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and realizing, I did it.

The Camino Changes You

People say the Camino changes you. I think that’s true, but not because of any grand epiphany. It’s the slow, steady shaping that happens when you walk day after day, stripped of distraction and surrounded by beauty and meaning. You soften. You open. You pay attention.

I turned 50 on this pilgrimage. I was gifted a night in a treehouse by a Camino angel I’d just met. I crossed rivers, valleys, and moments I’ll carry with me forever. I learned (again) that I am strong. And vulnerable. And enough.

This Is Not the End

The Camino doesn’t end in Saint-Jean. It continues in how you live, in how you walk through the world afterwards. It echoes in small, daily choices, how you greet strangers, how you listen, how you treat yourself and others.

I don’t know when I’ll walk another Camino, but I know this won’t be my last. The way calls to me now, always. And until I lace up my boots again, I’ll keep walking in spirit—on sidewalks, in memories, in stories shared with fellow dreamers.

To Anyone Wondering If They Should Walk: Yes.

Not because it’s easy. It’s not.

Not because you’ll find answers. You might not.

But because the Camino gives you the space to be exactly where you are, and then gently invites you forward.

Buen Camino, always.