The people you meet on the Camino may not become lifelong friends, but they often become just what you need for that day, or the next few.
For the past three days, we’ve crossed paths with the same handful of people, and it’s made me think: maybe they’re not just coincidences. Maybe they were meant to be part of our story.
You might meet someone in passing, share a conversation as you walk, and part ways without any discussion of where you’re headed next ……. and yet somehow, you run into them again the following day. Sometimes even when you’ve taken entirely different routes.
It’s strange and comforting all at once.
After a while, these familiar faces feel like old friends. You greet each other with warmth that far exceeds the time you’ve actually spent together.
There’s this unspoken bond, a shared experience that makes affection come easy, even when the details of each other’s lives remain mostly unknown. It’s one of the Camino’s quiet miracles ……… this effortless sense of belonging among strangers.
Before I left on this journey, I made the quiet decision to bring my mom along with me. Not physically, of course, but in spirit. She passed away in 2013, but she adored travel. She had been to more than a dozen countries and always approached the world with wide-eyed curiosity and grace. I wanted her to experience this path with me, in whatever way she could.
So, I wear her roller skating pendant along with the cross and Virgin Mary charm I never take off.
That pendant tells its own story: when my mom was in high school, she competed in couples roller dance competitions …… think ice skating, but on wheels.
Over the past few days, we’ve kept running into the same Irish pilgrims, four wonderfully engaged women walking together.
And each night, we’ve found ourselves in the same places as two men from County Cork. We shared drinks at the end of the day, shared a meal and tons of laughs.
When we finally said goodbye to them, Pookie and I sat down to dinner the next evening… right next to a table of five young Irish travelers.
And that’s when it struck me. My mom’s grandfather immigrated from Ireland, and she took deep pride in that heritage. She embraced it fully, always smiling a little more brightly when Irish music played or Irish stories were told.
She would have loved this trip. And maybe, just maybe …… the steady stream of Irish encounters is her way of being here with me, nudging me along, reminding me she’s not far.
Irish Eyes are smiling, especially my Mom!
Xoxo, Kate (btw, “Kate” is a strong Irish name!)