🎒 **WHAT AM I CARRYING IN MY BACKPACK ON THE CAMINO?**
When you tell people you’re going on the Camino and plan to walk approximately 1,200 km, the first question is usually: “But what on earth are you taking with you?”
Well, the interesting thing is that you actually don’t need that much for this kind of holiday. Which is quite different from going away for ten days to some exotic destination, where you pack enough clothes to fill an American-sized suitcase. You know the drill: daytime outfit, evening outfit, clothes for every possible occasion, clothes in case the first outfit doesn’t work out, and a few extra pieces because you never know what might come in handy. Your suitcase weighs 20 kg, and you drag it behind you as if you’re emigrating to another continent.
I’m going on holiday for just over a month, and my backpack weighs a mere 5.6 kg.
Of course, I’d love to get it under five kilos, but apparently even my desire for freedom has its limits. Especially when the temperature drops and you have to choose between packing an extra shirt and getting hypothermia. 😂
So, my little travelling home contains the following:
📱 **ELECTRONICS AND OTHER WONDERS**
🚁 **A drone** – because if I’m walking 1,200 km, someone has to document the whole thing from the air. My legs will suffer, but the footage will be spectacular. If I’m going to suffer, the production values might as well be worthy of National Geographic.
🔦 **A handheld flashlight** – just in case I find myself in the dark. Literally or metaphorically. One of my plans is to walk the route from Santiago to Finisterre in a single day. Unfortunately, darkness is unavoidable. The sun isn’t going to rearrange its schedule just because I’ve decided to walk 120 kilometres.
🔋 **Two power banks** – because you never know when the electricity in Spain might disappear for the next 14 days. My phone, watch, drone… all need power. Apparently, I’m bringing a small power station along with my legs.
🔌 **Three cables** – I’ll use one, spend time looking for the second, and probably lose the third. It’s a bit like socks disappearing in the washing machine, except this time I’ll be looking for the culprit in Spanish albergues.
🎧 **Headphones** – so I can listen to music while walking and ignore that little voice in my head asking, “Did we really have to choose this kind of holiday again? Couldn’t we have gone to the beach this year?” Sometimes you have to silence your own brain before it starts suggesting more sensible life choices.
🔪 **A pocketknife** – because you never know when you might need to cut some bread, cheese, or a particularly stupid life decision.
Also, because in my 45 years on this planet, I’ve learned that the world is full of psychopaths and that a little caution never hurts. On one of my previous Caminos, I had a pretty terrifying experience, which I wrote about in my post *Camino del Norte 2023*. After that experience, blind trust is no longer my favourite life strategy.
So, better to have it and not need it than to need it and realise you’ve brought nothing but a toothbrush and optimism.
“Kill or be killed” is a rather dramatic life motto for someone who spends most of her time looking for Camino shells and places to sleep. But hey, you never know. 😏
🩹 **HYGIENE, MEDICINE AND SURVIVAL**
🪥 **A toothbrush and toothpaste** – because I can walk 1,200 km, but neglecting my oral hygiene would be a little too avant-garde. Tired legs are one thing; breath powerful enough to stop an entire group of pilgrims in their tracks is quite another.
💇♀️ **A hairbrush** – because even after walking 30 kilometres, there are certain standards of dignity to maintain. Although the wind will probably destroy them before breakfast. After all, you still have to walk into town in style, take a selfie, and prove to the world that you’re still a human being rather than an escaped extra from a wilderness survival documentary. 😂
✂️ **Nail scissors** – so I don’t turn into a forest creature before reaching my destination. The Camino may be a journey of personal growth, but there’s no need for that growth to show in absolutely every part of my body.
🪡 **A needle for blisters** – because apparently I don’t trust my feet enough to simply leave them alone. Given my organisational skills, there’s also a considerable chance I’ll lose it on the way to the airport. In that case, I’ll have to treat my blisters with the power of positive thinking. Or crying. Depending on the size of the blister. 😂
🩹 **Plasters** – just in case my body decides to file an official complaint about inhumane working conditions. Considering that I plan to send it out for 30, 40, or even 50 kilometres every day, I’d say it has plenty of grounds for a complaint.
💆♀️ **The best pain-relief cream** – my personal insurance policy. The insurance company won’t cover every kilometre, provide me with a new knee, or accept responsibility for my life choices, but at least it’s something.
💊 **Magnesium** – because muscles like to express their opinions. Usually at exactly the moment when, after already walking 40 kilometres, you’re still eight kilometres away from your accommodation. That’s when negotiations begin: I promise them rest, my muscles demand that I abandon the Camino, and my legs threaten to go on strike.
🥤 **Beetroot powder for energy** – because apparently ordinary coffee and sheer stubbornness are no longer enough. I now need help from the plant kingdom as well. Besides, on the Camino, you can’t always get coffee when you want it. Sometimes you spend so long looking for a cup that you could have walked another five kilometres in the meantime.
And since coffee is a basic necessity of life for many people, relying entirely on Spain’s hospitality infrastructure would be irresponsible. 😂
🕶️ **OPTICAL EQUIPMENT FOR EVERY POSSIBLE LIFE SITUATION**
Two pairs of sunglasses and two pairs of glasses for short-sightedness.
Yes, you read that correctly. Four pairs of glasses.
Because one pair is enough for normal people. Two pairs of sunglasses and two pairs of prescription glasses are for someone who apparently plans for every possible scenario except the one where she leaves something at home.
What if I lose a pair? What if one breaks? What if the sun decides to shine precisely when I’m wearing the wrong glasses?
I’m not going for a stroll to the local shop. I’m going on a 1,200-kilometre journey! A person has to be prepared for everything. 😂
👕 **CLOTHES OR A MINI WARDROBE ON MY BACK?**
Since I’m doing the Camino in October this year rather than July, when Spain resembles a naturally occurring oven, I’ve decided to be prepared for colder weather, too.
Apparently, this year I’ve decided to experience all four seasons inside a single backpack.
So, here’s what’s going in:
👕 **Two long-sleeved shirts** – because you never know whether it’ll feel like autumn in the morning, spring during the day, and November by evening. Spanish weather clearly has a personality of its own and has no intention of cooperating with my wardrobe planning.
🧥 **One hoodie** – for those moments when I start questioning all my life choices. Especially the one that made me stand outside in the cold at six in the morning, wondering why I didn’t just stay home under a blanket.
👚 **Three short-sleeved shirts** – because even in October, Spain might surprise me with blazing sunshine. And because I know myself: if I packed only long sleeves, the sun would shine every single day. If I packed only short sleeves, it would snow. At least this way, I have the opportunity to be miserable in every possible weather condition.
🩳 **Two pairs of shorts** – so my legs can breathe occasionally and get a little colour. If I’m going to walk this much, I might as well get some aesthetic benefit out of it. Although there’s a pretty good chance that after a month, I’ll look more like a map of the circulatory system than someone in a travel brochure.
👖 **Two pairs of jogging bottoms** – for comfort, rest, and those moments when my only physical activity consists of moving from the bed to the toilet. Even professional athletes need recovery time. Apparently, I’ll be a professional in the disciplines of walking and complaining.
🖤 **Two pairs of leggings** – so I can at least look like an athlete, even when I’m actually just an exhausted woman with a backpack, negotiating with herself about whether the next kilometre is really necessary.
🧥 **A lightweight transitional jacket** – because I’ll be heading north, and I’m still one of those people who would rather die of heat than hypothermia. Well, perhaps I’m being a little dramatic, but I’d rather carry my jacket on my backpack than spend the night shivering and reflecting on all the terrible life decisions that brought me to that moment.
🧦 **AND NOW, THE STAR OF THE SHOW: 11 PAIRS OF SOCKS!**
Eleven. Not ten. Not six. Eleven.
Why?
Because I’m not going to wash them. 😂
My strategy is simple:
➡️ Put them on.
➡️ Walk.
➡️ Smell them.
➡️ Assess the situation.
➡️ Throw them away.
➡️ Put on a fresh pair.
Washing socks is overrated. Life is too short to waste it washing socks when I could be walking around Spain and wondering why my feet hurt.
Besides, this way, I’ll reduce the weight of my backpack every few days.
This isn’t wastefulness. It’s strategic body-load management. 😎
If everything goes according to plan, I’ll be walking with an almost empty backpack by the end of the Camino. Of course, there’s a chance I’ll have spent all my money on new socks by then, but the details are for the accounting department. I’m here for spiritual growth.
😴 **SLEEPING GEAR AND SHOWERING ESSENTIALS**
🛌 **A sleeping bag** – because after walking 40–50 kilometres, you really don’t care whether you’re sleeping in a five-star hotel or on a bed that’s been there since the days of the Berlin Wall. The main thing is that it’s horizontal.
The mattress can be old, the bed can creak, and the room can be full of snoring pilgrims competing in the nocturnal wood-sawing championships. Once I close my eyes, everything is fine. Well, almost everything. If someone snores in the key of a jet engine, even a sleeping bag won’t help.
🧖♀️ **A towel** – small, lightweight, and indispensable. You have to be prepared for anything, including the possibility that you might have to dry yourself after a shower. Shocking, I know.
🩴 **Flip-flops for the shower** – absolutely non-negotiable. After walking 1,200 kilometres, I’m prepared to accept a lot of things, but fungal infections can stay in Spain. 😂
If I’m already prepared to walk halfway across the country, there’s no need to bring home a few extra inhabitants on my feet as souvenirs.
🎒 **THE FINAL TALLY**
Electronics, a mini pharmacy, a beauty salon, four pairs of glasses, a wardrobe for various weather-related disasters, sleeping gear, and enough socks to supply a small football team.
The grand total: 5.6 kg.
My goal was to get below five kilos, but apparently I’ve had to accept that minimalism works brilliantly — until you start adding things you might possibly need.
I could leave a few more things at home, but I don’t want to suffer in the cold. I also don’t want to walk without my glasses, without a flashlight, without energy, without clean socks, or without the ability to capture spectacular drone footage after 40 kilometres.
In short, my backpack weighs 5.6 kg, but I feel as though I’ve tried to pack the entire civilisation into it. 😂
But you know what they say: when you go on the Camino, you don’t just pack the things you need. You also pack all the things you think you can’t possibly survive without.
Then you hit the trail and realise you could have left half of them at home. But now you’re carrying them anyway.
Kilometre after kilometre.
With lots of love.
And a few swear words.
**Buen Camino!** 🥾❤️🎒
