I first walked the Camino de Santiago at age 73. What could go wrong a second time?

This First Person column is the experience of Isobel Cunningham, who lives in Montreal. It was first published in October 2023. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

At 73 years old, I walked for more than a month to the fabled Spanish town of Santiago de Compostela.

I walked about 20 kilometres each day and slept in communal dormitories. Some of my friends and family worried I wouldn't have the stamina to complete the walk over rocky terrain, that I might get lost, get mugged or fall and break a leg.

I understood their concern. The trail was about 800 kilometres long and I had my right hip replaced 10 years earlier.

But none of these terrible things happened to me on the Camino de Santiago. Instead, I woke up to the beauty of the natural world and was welcomed to rural villages and majestic cathedral cities. I shared warmth and support with many other pilgrims as we walked together for a few hours or a few days.

Walking into Cathedral Square in Santiago was a moment of joy, accomplishment and gratitude. The framed certificate of completion I was awarded on that day holds a place of pride on my wall.

That was two years ago. They say the Camino calls you back, and I felt that pull.

So in early 2023, I decided to try the Portuguese Camino. I volunteered for two wonderful weeks of cooking, cleaning and encouraging new pilgrims at a traditional inn in Porto before I set off on my second Camino.

This route is only about 250 kilometres and it is much less mountainous. What could go wrong?

Plenty, it turns out. I overdid it by walking 37 kilometres the first day. I wanted to get to the town where pilgrims branch off the coastal road to the interior route. After one day in the blazing sun beside the sea, I longed for the shady paths of the forest.

On the second day, my hip let me know it was not happy. The inland route took me along the old two-lane national highway, where traffic was heavy.

This was not the bucolic peace I expected. Because of the loud and dangerous road, I resorted to various country detours which, while beautiful, were completely devoid of other walkers. I was lonely and discouraged, with no one to share in my excitement over this new beginning.

After a few days, I finally hobbled to a famous hostel where the kind hostess noticed my limp. We studied the dismal weather forecast and I decided to abandon the Portuguese Camino. Kind Senora Fernanda put me on a bus the next morning and after a day's ride, I saw the familiar spires of Santiago Cathedral.

My damp cheeks were not only a result of the pouring rain. I had lost hope, lost the joy of walking that is at the heart of the Camino. I felt like a quitter.

I checked into the same hostel where I had stayed on my previous trip. I had time on my hands. How could I fill the extra week before my flight in ways that brought meaning to what felt like a failure of a Camino?

The next day, I slipped into a little chapel. I was welcomed by a smiling nun who invited me to stay for mass and for coffee afterwards. I discovered that I was not the only pilgrim who was struggling.

People walk this pilgrim route for a myriad of reasons: for adventure, in religious devotion, to overcome grief or in thanks for a cure. My first Camino had been to heal a broken heart, and I had hoped to relive my magical experiences and sense of accomplishment during my second time around. But like so many others, I now dreaded going back to my routine life at home. It is hard to leave the blessed simplicity of walking, eating and sleeping.

Several organizations in Santiago offer counselling sessions or simply places to meet and chat. Volunteers are present to help pilgrims reflect on the meaning of their experiences. I immediately got involved.

One day, my smiling friend asked me if I had ever read the epistle at mass. At home in Montreal, I sing in choir at my Orthodox church and have read the epistle several times. She asked me if I would take to the podium for a reading — not in the little chapel but in the main cathedral on Sunday for the pilgrim mass. This was a daunting prospect but I wondered if this was my consolation for having given up on my Camino. I accepted the offer.

What a joyful and totally unplanned experience it was. I was led to a reserved seat near the altar by a youngster who was also reading, him in Spanish and me in English. In a strange linguistic salad, we reassured each other that all would go well. When it was my turn, I looked out to a sea of faces, swallowed hard and read. Then the organ boomed out, and with rather shaky knees I returned to my seat.

Looking back over this year's expedition, I discovered that the wonder and meaning of the whole thing was found in my volunteer work. Both in Porto and Santiago, I was able to offer something to others whether it was simply a clean bed, a word of encouragement or being part of a meaningful religious experience.

Instead of the purely personal triumph of walking hundreds of kilometres with an aging body, my spirit learned to accept my natural limitations. Meeting and encouraging some of the young volunteers at the Portuguese inn helped me tap into the little store of wisdom that comes with age. And interacting with others who had very real needs was more valuable than excursions or day trips in Santiago.

This insight and these memories mean I really don't mind having just one certificate on my wall.

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