The Camino Frances was, for me, much more than a long family hike: it was a kind of emotional experiment, a travelling reality show where five Sívoris — my mother Silvia, my siblings Fran, Tommy, Gasty, and me — set out to see what would happen when we let loose in Galicia with backpacks, blisters, beers, and high expectations. And what happened was beautiful, chaotic, healing, funny, and at times downright weird… just as any shared adventure should be.
It all started before Madrid, on a semi-sleeper coach from Bahía Blanca (Argentina) where I slept terribly. That mood never really left me: an uncomfortable journey, broken sleep, but constant excitement. Madrid greeted us with that whirlwind of stimuli that leaves you half dazed: people everywhere, connecting metro lines, an ugly (though well-located) apartment, and my mother’s birthday celebrated on a plane. It was a dense, friendly, and confusing day. I knew I needed another week in the city, but the Camino was waiting for us.
The train ride to Sarria was a whole story of its own: a friendly girl from Mendoza (Celeste) who’d later become part of the extended group, a forced transfer because of wildfires in Galicia, and an arrival in a town that caught us by surprise: Sarria is the kind of place where you feel everything is beginning. Hippie, full of pilgrim vibes, and perfect for calibrating the spirit. That’s where I understood something fundamental: travelling with family is beautiful… but it also wears you down. We had to find our own spaces so as not to die trying.
The insomnia before the first day of walking left me shaking with anxiety and without a wink of sleep. At dawn, with that perfect cloudy light, the Camino opened up before us as something bigger than a simple hike. Cheerful crowds, green forests, tiny hamlets… and the odd moments, like the Brit who shouted “The Malvinas are Argentine” at us and ran off as if he’d just completed a historic mission. The arrival in Portomarín, soaked by a light, steady rain, was cinematic. Crossing the bridge, the pain, the joy, the feeling of being part of an ancient ritual… all of it mixed with the appearance of characters like Emilio, the bartender from Chubut, and Cele herself, who was already part of the regular cast. There were nights of tapas, laughter, stamps, and unexpected discoveries.
The stretch to Palas de Rei was more of a road slog, full of small connections: conversations with pilgrims from all over the world, hamlets that looked like Counter-Strike maps, and a line that became an inside joke: “Who else hates Gorda and Carlos?” The day to Arzúa was the longest and most mentally challenging — practically 30 km. That’s where I understood why the Camino is so mystical: ritual greetings, familiar faces again and again, chats that last minutes but mean a lot, landscapes that connect with something very intimate. Walking into Arzúa was a physical, emotional, and spiritual victory. Total surrender to exhaustion, and a pride that filled my stomach with warmth.
O Pedrouzo came after a shorter day, and it brought that feeling of being just one day from the end. The nicest part is that the Camino made me feel part of an invisible community. Everyone was walking for some reason. Some talk about it, others keep it hidden, but everyone carries it in their backpack. And amid greetings, blisters, and beers, that’s what becomes magical: walking together, even when each person is on their own journey.
And then came the final stretch. That walk toward Santiago de Compostela had something strange about it: a mix of anticipated nostalgia and final adrenaline, like when you’re finishing a book you love and you slow down so it won’t end. Every kilometre felt different. Lighter, more aware. When we finally entered the city and saw the cathedral, everything took on a dimension that’s hard to explain. There was no Hollywood-style epic to it, but something far more intimate: relief, accumulated emotion, the certainty of having done it. Compostela welcomed us with the noise of arriving pilgrims, the photos, the hugs, the broken bodies, and souls just a little more at peace. I felt that this finish line was also the beginning of something deeper: the confirmation that walking, in company, heals you in ways you don’t understand until you arrive.
Lupa Sívori
Instagram: @ViajarLeyendo451
September 2025
