“Sometimes we live no particular way but our own / And sometimes we visit your country and live in your home / Sometimes we ride on your horses, sometimes we walk alone / Sometimes the songs that we hear are just songs of our own.” -The Grateful Dead, “Eyes of the World”

Sitting in front of the grand cathedral in Burgos, I found time to think about the journey so far. The Camino was not at all like my expectations. The initial confidence I had as a hiker was not enough for the daily physical and mental demands of the way. If my journey on the Camino was based entirely on which I was capable, I believe it would have ended prematurely, possibly in the first week. Luckily, the experience was not so isolated, and I found I was always provided for. The demands of the hike being out of my hands was a relief and eased the weight on my shoulders.

While this realization remained with me, the path ahead was by no means free of challenges. Burgos, the first of the major cities that bookend the massive region of Castilla y Leon, was packed with beautiful architecture and monuments. I made sure to soak up the energy of the city, knowing the region ahead would be a change of pace.

The cities of Burgos and Leon are roughly 120 miles apart, for about two weeks of hiking through the heartland of Spain, the Meseta. For lack of a better term, this stretch is featureless. Entire days of my hike were spent passing through grain fields and small farm villages. The road ahead was always visible for miles, and there is not much else to say. It was by no means ugly, just lacking a bit when compared to the road so far. The physical aspect of the Camino was less rigorous, but it was difficult to remain motivated with such a monotonous course ahead.

However, with this featurelessness came an increased focus on community. Some of my favorite memories were made in this region’s small villages at the end of a hiking day when there was nothing to do but talk to others and enjoy that time together. I think this is what kept me sane in these sensory-deprived days of the Camino.

Luckily, things did start to liven up a bit with Palm Sunday kicking off Semana Santa, or Holy Week in Spain. Every town, even the tiny ones, had posters and decorations adorning the streets. Festivities were happening daily and only grew larger the closer the Camino came to Leon.

The other bookend of the region, Leon, was a personal favorite. I spent Wednesday and Maundy Thursday in the city and was constantly amazed. The city, already a popular tourist destination, was amplified for Holy Week. The celebrations were reminiscent of Mardi Gras but maintained the solemnity of the holiday, with processions featuring beautiful music and carefully crafted floats depicting the last days of Christ. The dedication that the people of the city had to the festivities was inspiring.

Leaving the city into the mountains of Leon, I could feel the pace quicken as I neared the end of my journey. The way ahead would climb toward the highest point of our journey, up and over into the final region of Galicia.

The crown jewel of the Camino network, Galicia, was drastically different from anything I had seen in Spain. The region was settled at one point by the Celts, apparent in the culture and language of the area. Bagpipes sounded in the cities, and the frequent rain and lush green of the region were reminiscent of Ireland. This region was increasingly busy, with new hikers joining in for the last 100 kilometers.

After almost four weeks of hiking, the last week seemed like nothing, and in what felt like an instant, I left the thick forests and green Galician fields behind for the spires of Santiago de Compostela’s cathedral. The whole city had a celebratory feel to it, and everywhere you went was a reminder of the journey. Pilgrims covered the town, and the joyous atmosphere was infectious.

I spent a couple days in Santiago, saying goodbyes to my new friends and enjoying a bit of well-deserved rest before putting my things together and preparing for a long journey home.

Writing this now, it is difficult to truly fathom having walked 500 miles in a foreign country. I look at the pictures and the keepsakes, yet it still feels unreal. The Camino was a journey not so much of miles but of steps. Every day was a new challenge, a new friend or a new step as a part of the greater experience. It is a journey that completely changed my perspective and one I am still processing, but it is one I cannot recommend enough. Buen Camino!

Dan Dye is the son of Outdoors writer Brad Dye.