It has been almost a year since I set off from Zamora in late March and began walking the Camino de Santiago.
Those three weeks on the Camino did not give me clear answers at the time. Instead, they planted something quietly. Over the months that followed, that seed slowly grew, reshaping how I understand travel, movement, and arrival.
In 2025 Spring, I chose to walk the Camino step by step with my own body. Later, I spent three months traveling by train and short-distance cruises within Europe, moving gradually from city to city. This rhythm made something very clear to me: when movement slows down, the body, emotions, and awareness are able to arrive together.
I used to travel very differently. I moved frequently between continents, Europe, the United States, Asia, often within short periods of time. Those journeys were efficient and exciting, but they left me feeling fragmented. My body would already be in a new time zone, while my thoughts were still lingering on the continent I had just left.
The way I traveled in 2025 was not only about reducing carbon emissions. It became a shift in how I live. When I stopped rushing to cross distances and allowed myself time to truly enter a place, something inside me softened and aligned.
On the Camino, I often walked alone. My footsteps landed on dirt paths and stone roads, passing through open fields, forests, streams, and quiet villages. The yellow arrows appeared again and again. They did not rush me or promise a destination, they simply pointed forward.
And yet, I was not always alone. Along the way, I met pilgrims from many different countries. Sometimes we walked together; sometimes we simply shared a short pause. Language was not always necessary. Under the same sun and with the same tired legs, understanding came easily.
In the afternoons, we would stop at small village bars, cold, freshly poured beer, simple tapas on the table. Spanish sunlight spilled across the wood surfaces, a light breeze passed through the streets, and time felt generous. These ordinary moments became some of the clearest memories of the journey.
The train journeys and short European cruises that followed continued this same rhythm. Cities were no longer places I skipped over; they were connected, one by one. Outside the window, landscapes changed gradually, and my thoughts were given space to settle.
This way of traveling feels gentler, to the environment, and to myself. It is not about achieving perfection or zero impact, but about making conscious choices before each movement.
Now, I find myself drawn to this kind of travel, where movement is not only about reaching a destination, but about practicing a way of living that can be sustained over time.
When the body, mind, and spirit arrive together, the world opens itself in quieter, kinder ways.
This article is part of my Sustainable Travel Series, exploring how movement, culture, and low-carbon choices reshape the way we travel in Europe.
