Pause and Wander

Dates: September 16–19, 2025

Places & Distances: Belorado → Villafranca (12 km) → Atapuerca (19 km) → Burgos (21 km) → Hornillos (22 km)

The Camino has started to settle into a rhythm. We wake, we walk, we meet the quirks of the day, and we land somewhere new. Some days have stand-out moments, others blur into hay fields and sunflower stalks, but together they’re adding up to something bigger than the parts.

One morning we left Belorado in a fine drizzle that couldn’t decide if it wanted to soak us or let us be. The path wound through ruins and giant sunflowers, where we paused to carve smiley faces into their broad leaves. Even though the girls appreciate these little gems, they are always happy to return to the family audiobook. This week we finished the next installment of Alcatraz and the Evil Librarians and have moved on to the world of Percy Jackson.  Fellow pilgrims, and sometimes locals, often stop to take our picture or just want to tell us how they’re fascinated by a family doing such cool things. We definitely stick out on the Camino, and we love sharing our story when people ask. But when we’re at an exciting moment of the book, tiny human patience can run thin, and they are far less chatty. Luckily, when the road stretches endlessly ahead, the audiobook always helps us forget our tired feet and tummy grumbles—family story time has become sacred.

Later that day in Villafranca, we crossed paths with Kevin, a veteran pilgrim from Minnesota on his fourth Camino. He arrived with a booming laugh and a stash of custom-made coins that he gives out sparingly to pilgrims he calls “standouts.” He handed us one with a wink and declared us “the world’s most totally awesome parents.” We’re not keeping score, but that kind of accolade is hard to beat. We spent the evening on the hotel patio, playing Hearts with the girls while a Spanish musician switched between saxophone and harmonica. His singing left something to be desired, but when the sax started up, Shaina and I couldn’t resist getting up to dance.

The next morning we strapped on headlamps and hiked uphill into a forest that looked like it had been drawn straight from a fairy tale—the dark kind. The edges of the trees glowed in our lights, while their depths hid whatever our imaginations conjured up. Thankfully the monsters kept to themselves, and we emerged into sunrise and the grinning face of “Dr. Coffee.” He wore coke-bottle glasses and a red clown nose, and with the cheer of a carnival barker, he insisted his was “the best coffee in the world.” The claim is debatable, but in that moment both the coffee and his joy hit exactly right.

That night’s albergue was unlike any other we’ve seen. Nearly everything inside had been built by the owner’s hands—beds, doors, tables, even the toilet paper holders. The light switches were these steampunk toggles that clicked with a satisfying clunk. He was a craftsman in wood, metal, ceramics, and cement, and the place felt like a working gallery. It made us dream of bringing that same quirky spirit back home one day, of filling our house with handmade touches that reflect us just as clearly.

The walk into Burgos brought another round of contrasts. We had been warned about the two routes: one slogging through industrial sprawl, the other a longer meandering path along the river. We chose the river and were rewarded with a shaded path alive with joggers, cyclists, and rollerbladers who made us feel like part of the city before we ever reached its heart. Burgos itself dazzled. The cathedral’s Gothic spires stabbed the skyline, and inside the 300-year timeline to complete it was apparent, as chapels swung wildly from austere to gilded, medieval to Renaissance. Even the girls were impressed, craning their necks alongside us to glimpse the Papamoscas or El Cid’s tomb. But when we wandered out and found a gelato shop miraculously still open during siesta time, the cathedral quickly had competition. Arya declared her ice cream “OMG amazing!”

Not every day earns a coin, a clown-nosed barista, or a cathedral spire. Some are just steady walks across fields with the sky overhead and the road underfoot. Surprise snacks become small miracles—almonds and wafer cookies, Snickers bars and Fanta. Games pass the kilometers, like alphabet categories where we argue whether a quokka really exists or just something Arya made up. Both girls have started relishing in their ability to speak Spanish, and since it is unfortunately not the primary language on the Camino, they chat up locals and the occasional other pilgrim. Arya also surprised us with her confidence in French, seeking out conversations whenever she gets the chance, while Finlee has turned her walking stick into a whittled masterpiece, carving designs at every stop.

And slowly, the essentials of our Camino life have come into focus. Nourish, heal, clean, sleep—that’s the daily metronome. Everything else rides on top of that beat. For the girls, essentials are simpler: stories in their ears, Fanta in their hands, ice cream when they’re lucky.

The rhythm isn’t glamorous, but it’s real. Step after step, snack after snack, town after town, we’re finding our way forward together.