You might remember, a year ago, I wrote a post announcing my intention to walk the Camino de Santiago. I purchased a plane ticket from Denver to Madrid and back again with a layover in Atlanta. And, today, I would have arrived back in the US after 10 weeks walking the Camino de Santiago, the French Way.

But, alas, I did not walk the 600 miles I have been dreaming about for years.

The Knee

It’s not an interesting story. I was sidelined by an injury. But despite the heartache, I figured out a few things along the way and, for those nuggets of wisdom, I remind myself to be grateful.

My knee has been giving me trouble—on and off—for a couple of years now. However, the decision to not walk happened only days before my scheduled departure. That week, I’d done three 5-mile training walks with a 10-pound backpack, half the distance and half the weight of my planned typical day on the Camino. The walk was on flat ground, nothing compared to the mountain walks of the Camino.

The night of that third training walk, it took me two hours to fall asleep because I was so uncomfortable. No matter what position I moved to, my knee wouldn’t stop aching. Things only got worse from there. A couple days later, I visited the orthopedic doctor for what I thought, when I scheduled to appointment months earlier, would be a prophylactic cortisone shot.

The doctor walked in asked what was going on. And I burst out crying. Not very dignified to be sure. But I was overwhelmed with the idea I might not be able to walk.

A Year of Planning

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know I am a planner. It took me three years from the spark of an idea to execution to become a full-time RVer.

The idea of a long-distance hike has lived in my heart since 2012 when I first read the book Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail. When I fall in love, I fall hard. And I became obsessed. Suffice it to say, that’s how I felt (and still feel) about long-distance hiking. However, it would be another seven years after reading that book before I heard of the Camino.

When I fall in love, I fall hard.

A bucket list is one thing, doing something about it is another thing entirely. But in the fall of 2024, I started wondering what might be involved if I wanted to turn that dream into a reality.

I read books, watched hundreds of hours of YouTube videos, joined American Pilgrims on the Camino. I even flew to Phoenix to see the US premiere of an Australian movie, The Way, My Way, based on the book by the same name which I had read. Then when the filmmaker and author had another showing in Portland six weeks later, I went again.

At this point, I’ve probably watched the movie 20 times, including again last week. Here is the trailer:

And here are a few photos from the two times I saw the movie in the theater.

Then in 2025, I finally and firmly decided the Camino would be my first long-distance trek and I would make it happen in 2026.

How Pilgrims Overnight

Pilgrims, basically, have three ways to approach overnight stays when walking the walk. There are those who book nothing, simply show up and let the Camino provide. They find accommodations each night as they tire of walking. There are those who pre-book each night, thus dictating before they start how far they must walk each day. Finally, there are those who do a combination of both.

Were I to venture a guess, I suspect most pilgrims fall into the last category. It is often recommended to book your first few days and the last few days as those sections can be the hardest to find a place to rest your head at night.

Guess which of the three options I chose? It’s not hard to figure out. Before I reveal the cost of cancelling, for context, let me share a few things.

The Plan

When I bought my plane ticket last October. I wanted to travel from Phoenix (at the time a friend planned to join me and Phoenix was a convenient place for us to meet up to begin the adventure). The plan was to enjoy a few days in Phoenix with family. Then off to Paris for a few days before traveling to France’s southern border where the French Way starts in St. Jean Pied-de-Port. On Day 2 of the walk, I would cross into Spain and proceed to walk the entire length of the country. To the sea.

I planned to walk 500 miles in 56 days to Santiago, the end point of all Caminos (except one). But I wanted to go a step further and do a second Camino. I’d take 9 more days to walk another 100 miles to Finisterre (the name translates to “the end of the world,” which it was believed to be in the Middle Ages when people started pilgrimaging to Santiago) and finally to Muxia. From there I’d get myself back to Santiago and then to Madrid where I had a ticket to fly back to the US on this day.

The Cost of Canceling

I share all of this so you understand—as an uber planner—what needed undone.

In a nutshell, I had pre-paid for 6 plane tickets, 2 train tickets and 58 different nightly accommodations (albergues and hotels).

Ten nights I was unable to book as I wanted to stay at either monasteries or municipal albergues both of which operate on a first-come, first-serve basis. (Can I just pause here to express how nervous it made me not to have a for-sure place to sleep on those nights? But the drive for the experience of those places was stronger than my need for a sure thing. And if there wasn’t a spot available, I’d let the Camino provide and figure out something else.) Nor had I purchased the bus ticket and the train ticket I’d need to get back to Madrid or accommodations in Madrid.

I won’t bore you with the details of the work involved in that much undoing. Suffice it to say, it was a lot. A lot!

But I Count Myself Lucky

Not all of my reservations were pre-paid though they still needed canceled. However, of the $5,000 I pre-paid for the trip, I got 90% of it back.

Well, sort of.

Literally, it was less than 50% as only $2,350 of the $5,000 actually made it back to my bank account.

I spent $1,700 on plane tickets. None of which was returned to me as cash, even with the doctor’s note advising me not to travel. What I have instead is credit on three different airlines, based in three different countries. Credit which must be used by April 2027. One way or another I’ll use most of it. Though I still no idea where I will visit or what adventures lie ahead. There is a European airline for the flight from Madrid to Paris that I may have to forgo, resulting in another $117 loss.

Two albergues never replied to my messages for cancelation and a refund so I didn’t get $37 back there. And, one albergue refused to give me a refund for the private room I booked ($77), but let me move the reservation to a random date in 2027 so that will likely also be a loss.

By the way, I’m not including the $2,000 in gear I purchased for the trip as that won’t be a true loss if it gets used for other adventures.

I should also mention that you can do the Camino for a lot less than I planned on paying. At least half of the rooms I booked were private plus I was taking double the number of days most people take to walk. If you stayed only at albergues, did the path in 33-35 days and made a few of your meals instead of eating out, I think you could do the full Camino for about $2,000.

The Real Cost of Canceling My Camino

So, there you go. That is all the practical stuff. The details of the why and how I canceled the trip. It is the financial cost.

But that cost is nothing compared to the emotional one.

Even now, I cannot talk about it without choking up.

I could not escape the two words that ran (and still run) through my head from the moment I left the doctor’s office. “You failed.” My long-held dream feels like dust whirling around me waiting to settle to the ground.

You failed.

What I Did Instead

In short, I checked out.

I couldn’t face the inevitable question: why didn’t you walk? And the inevitable answer: because I failed. I figured everyone knew I’d be gone for 10 weeks, so why not be gone without actually being gone? My Camino decisions such as limiting screen time, not replying to texts, not engaging on social media, I kept in place. Without ever walking, I took 10 weeks off from life.

And told no one.

Almost no one. I told my job (because why not go back to work?) and a couple of friends. This post is the first most will know what happened. And, truth be told, if I didn’t have a few public obligations, I’d take another 10 weeks off from life. It’s still so difficult and the feelings of it all live just below the surface.

Phoenix

Of the six plane tickets I booked, the one to Phoenix is the only one I used as originally booked. The ticket from Phoenix to Denver to catch the flight to Madrid was rescheduled (for a fee, of course).

Part of “checking out” for 10 weeks included extending my time in Phoenix from four days to four weeks.

I am grateful for a lovely place to stay with family. The photo at the start of this post is looking out from the chair on their back porch. The chair I pretty much resided in the entirety of my stay.

When asked what I wanted to do on the visit. I replied that I just wanted to spend time feeling sorry for myself.

And that’s what I did.

I retreated to my first loves: reading and writing. Writing to process the disappointment. And, reading as a form of escape. I journaled daily and read 10 books in the 10 weeks. If you are looking for a book recommendation, I particularly liked Ann Patchett’s book of essays called This is the Story of a Happy Marriage and the novel The Paris Architect by Charles Belfoure (the ending is too easy but it’s still a good read).

A strange side note: I didn’t realize until many days after I purchased an armload of books that two of them had Paris in the title. Coincidence? I think not. My subconscious grasping at straws? A connection to my trip, however slight?

Finding Gratitude in Failure

At the ortho doc appointment, he recommended (not for the first time) a partial knee replacement. We talked about what that would look like. In short, the time I planned to take off to walk the Camino would substitute for the time needed for surgery recovery.

But, despite the pain and despite the recommendation, I decided to try something different. I decided to put all my effort into finding a way to lessen the symptoms and, thus, the need for surgery. I cannot do anything about the wear and tear on the knee, but if I can get the pain to a level I can tolerate, I’d be opting out of a knife slicing my knee open. If my alternative therapies don’t move the needle in six months, I’ll get the surgery at the end of this year.

In Phoenix, I met a man who had both knees replaced. It wasn’t hard with nearly a million knee replacements every year. You only need to be in a small group of no-longer-spring-chickens to find someone who’s had one. Or a lot of some ones.

One of the reasons I have been so reluctant to get a knee replacement is that I know as many people who say horrible things about their knee replacement as I know people who rave about theirs. It seems about 50/50. So, the odds of success never warranted the risk in my mind.

Jiffy Knee

But the person I met had something called a Jiffy Knee Replacement. Stupid name but a great concept. Instead of a cut down the middle which severs muscle and tendons, the surgeon cuts along the side thus eliminating the need to cut muscles and tendons. This procedure significantly speeds recovery time and lessens the pain. The results of success seem radically higher than 50/50.

If that is the road I must travel, I hope to get a Jiffy Knee. Plus it’s fun to say. Jiffy Knee. It sounds very fast.

Finding the Camino

The list of food I wanted to try on my Camino wasn’t long, just a few things I’d heard about again and again. If I could get past my vegan self, I wanted to try pulpo (octopus) in the region of Galicia and jamon Iberico (a cured ham from Iberian pigs fed acorns). Plus, there is the wine in the La Roja region, churros served with a cup of thick chocolate dipping sauce and shishito peppers.  

In Phoenix we went into a restaurant and what’s on the menu? Shishito peppers! Never had I seen them before on a restaurant’s menu in the US. Not once. It was a nice little moment. It felt like the Camino was “providing” me what it could.

They were delightful. I bit into the first one, closed my eyes and imagined myself sitting at an outside table somewhere along the Camino. Sore feet, rivulets of sweating running down my back and warm air kissing my skin.

Finding the Camino, Part II

There are several things a pilgrim traditionally does when walking. You carry a stone in your pack from home. At the Cruz de Ferro (Iron Cross), which is the highest point on the Camino, you lay your stone at the base. The stone is your burden to carry on the journey and when you leave it behind before walking into Santiago, you are symbolically leaving all your burdens behind as well.

Another ritual is to go to the Camino with a question. By the end of your walk, the Camino will provide you the answer. Some guidebooks recommend spending as much time preparing for the Camino emotionally as you do physically.

Of course, I know it isn’t the Camino that gives you the answer. You give you the answer. The Camino simply provides the time and space to meditate on the question to find the answer.

I took the recommendation to heart.

As a result, I had taken so much time before the trip to consider my question, it turned out I didn’t even need to walk the walk to get answers. I made a few significant life decisions. One was put into place before I even went to Phoenix. Others will happen over then next year.

Another reason to be grateful for the Camino without ever having walked.

The New Plan

After several weeks of feeling sorry for myself, I slowly began to emerge from my pity party, started to ask the question: What next? In broad strokes, it’s easy. Deal with this knee whatever that may mean and plan adventures to utilize all that airline credit.

The dream of the Camino is not dead. Not by a long shot. As distraught as I have been these past 10 weeks, it remains clear to me that I am meant to walk that path. On the positive side, all the planning is done. I simply need to take my plan and lay it over the calendar with new dates.

The few people with whom I shared what happened have all said the same thing. You are not a failure. You did not fail. Your knee simply said not now. The Camino is not a failed dream, it is a dream postponed.

I want to believe that they are right. Not walking the Camino now doesn’t mean I’m not walking it ever. It just means I didn’t walk it in 2026. I still find it hard to reconcile but I am trying.

Solvitur per ambulationem

Once I returned from Phoenix, I started walking again. Slow at first. Just a mile. Today, I’ve built up to walking 3 or 4 miles a day. No backpack and I have to do half in the morning and half at night because I can’t do the distance all at once yet. But it’s a start.

Solvitur per ambulationem:

It is solved by the walking. (Latin)

These days, I look at the calendar and, once again, am dreaming and planning for a day in the not-so-distant future where I find myself at the hallowed arch built in the 15^th century in St. Jean Pied-de-Port poised to take the first step of that 600-mile journey.

I still have the stone I’ll carry and I’m starting to contemplate what my next question for the Camino will be.

Relevant Links to Other Posts You Might Enjoy:

• The Next Big Thing: Camino de Santiago
• Non-RV and International Travel I Want to Do
• International Volunteering
• A Milestone, Two Things, and the Next Big Thing

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