“We have a long way to go, and there is time ahead for thought. It is something to have started.” -Treebeard, from J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Two Towers”

My mom sent me this bit of Entish wisdom after I cleared the TSA checkpoint in Memphis. My parents always had the right things to say, and this was no exception. I had, in a sense, crossed the starting line of my grand journey across Spain’s Camino de Santiago, a 500-mile hike from the border of France to the coastal city of Santiago. Months of uncertainty regarding pandemics and invasions were behind me, and now all I had left to do was get there and start walking.

To maintain a sense of adventure, I tried to plan as little as possible. This betrayed a very natural part of me, one I certainly inherited from my dad. But, instead of accounting for every uncertainty and looking ahead, I knew where I would start my trip and where I would finish. The rest was up to the Lord and the path that would rise to meet me.

And so, after many hours of flying, I found myself in the quaint Pyrenean village of St-Jean-Pied-de-Port making my final preparations. I checked my bag and made last-minute changes, laced my shoes, ate some breakfast with my new friend Terry from Wales and set out the door across a medieval bridge and disappeared into the rolling countryside.

Those first few days of hiking through the Spanish region of Navarre are etched into my mind. The first steps on a monumental journey are not easily forgotten. The scenery was nothing like I had seen before. Hiking along steep ridges, we overlooked the winding Nive River in deep verdant valleys, inhabited by herds of sheep and the occasional village. Mountains rose all around, peaked by wind turbines or old watchtowers.

Ever present were the reminders of Europe’s rich history. At the peak of a long and grueling climb on the first day, we entered the Roncesvalles Pass to find a stone monolith marking the spot of Roland’s death (of “The Song of Roland” fame) in 778. Really puts things into perspective, being a millennium older than America.

The natural and cultural excitement I experienced those first days was clouded some by the physical realities of the Camino. It is safe to say I did not train well enough for my hike, and my bag was a tad too heavy. I made a call on just the second night in a small village of Zubiri to leave my Chacos behind for whoever needed them. At 2 1/2 pounds a pair, it was a necessary sacrifice, and it’s fun to think where they might be now. It’s important to always carry with you only the things you need.

Navarre was a beautiful region compromising nearly a week of the hike. The mountains of the Pyrenees began melting away into the plains of Spain. The daily hikes sank down into the river basins, following the flow as it led into quiet villages and fed bright green fields of grain and yellow canola flowers. The river carried us up to the citadel walls of the historic city of Pamplona, famous for the Running of the Bulls. The narrow streets flanked with tall continuous buildings filled the old center of the town, interrupted only by the grandeur of cathedrals. My idea of distance hiking was composed entirely of Appalachian Mountain shelters and the occasional mouse, but the sounds of live music and the delicacies of a local bakery were fine alternatives.

After exploring the city and settling into the albergue in Pamplona — a Pilgrim-only lodging constructed in an old monastery — a large group met in the main plaza of the city. Even though we all came from different parts of the world, backgrounds, ages and careers, we all had things in common. It was an opportunity to learn and to share but also to enjoy the unlikely community that had formed.

And early the next morning, I walked into the deserted streets of Pamplona with Mike from Michigan and Anton from Sweden. We traded the bustling city once again for the countryside of Spain. The grain fields soon made way for vineyards, signaling the entrance to the region of La Rioja.

Famous for its wine, La Rioja was a small region which comprised a very small fraction of the hike. The mountains tapered off into continuous rolling hills and villages could be seen miles in advance, with their cathedral towers in the sun. I hiked into the capital city of the region in the rain and snow, which followed from Pamplona.

Surprisingly, the Camino was made of many familiar things, just in different ways. The red dirt of La Rioja was reminiscent of Mississippi’s red clay but supported vast vineyards. Stands of pines took me home, save for the looming mountains in the distance. I was excited to have started my journey and looked toward Burgos and the massive region of Castilla y Leon that awaited me.

Dan Dye is the son of Outdoors writer Brad Dye.