THE CAMINO officially started for me when I had my first tapas on our first night in León. Enthusiastic as always, Dad reassured me that tapas is a great way of eating and that we should try it, writes Natasha Murtagh
Walking into the first tapas bar we saw was a mistake. Four large men with their best builders' bums on show were at the bar, dogs were sleeping under the tables and a barman was smoking on to the open display of what I presumed was tapas. I looked at Dad as if to say: "If I live through this, I'm going to kill you."
Dad picked what we thought was a chicken curry, while I went safe and chose the deep-fried prawns. Well, I think there was prawn in there. Only after Dad had consumed his tapas did we find out it was sheep's stomach.
But eating from then on was great. Breakfast - bread, jam, marmalade, hot chocolate, tea or coffee - was usually included in the cost of our refugio or albergue. Lunch was a stop at a cafe along the way, for a coffee and a bocadillo (Spanish for sandwich).
Dinner was the best meal of the day. We ordered off the pilgrims' menu, which was a three-course meal and a bottle of wine, for €8. The meals were often lovely - mixed salad with tuna, a meat or fish dish with chips and a slice of Santiago tart for dessert - and the company was great.
Our first day was a brilliant accident - walking an outstanding 32km in the sweltering heat, Irish flags flying proudly out of our rucksacks, not even thinking about how far we were walking. This had its downside: I got burnt and found it very difficult to make it to Astorga from Hospital, a lovely place for our first night.
The sun was feeling mean the next morning and I got burnt again as we walked in the open for 16km. When we finally reached Astorga - my favourite place of the journey so far - at 2.15pm, Dad and I found a lovely albergue, right in the centre opposite a fantastic cathedral.
The owner, a lovely Spanish lady, screeched a bucket of Spanish words at me, took me by the hand and sat me down outside in the back courtyard. There, she ever so kindly covered me in chopped tomatoes.
Ironically, when I did prepare for the sun, covered in factor-50 sun cream, it didn't shine. The walk to our next destination, Rabanal, was 21.5km. In this rather special holy town we stayed in a lovely refugio run by Englishwomen. It was situated beside a small church, with about six pews in total, where we attended a beautiful service.
Our walking was only to get more difficult as, in the near distance, sharp mountains with yogurt-like dollops of snow sat in the cold, waiting for our arrival.
Dad and I had all kinds of weather - sun, rain, wind and even snow, which we got halfway up the mountains, in our shorts.
It was always worth it - after every day of hard walking you would sit in a warm albergue having a drink and talking to the people you had made friends with, feeling that you deserved the meal you were about to dig into and the feeling of accomplishment as you went to sleep.
There were several people we took a particular liking to. One was Sebastian, a 26-year-old German who was doing the Camino on his own. Sebastian was one of the nicest people I have ever met, and the three of us stayed together for a week.
Another special person was an Irish-American, 73-year-old Dan McCarthy from Rhode Island. He told interesting stories and reminded me of Morrie from Mitch Albom's book Tuesdays with Morrie. He was a wonderful, kind man, and a real inspiration - he was doing the Camino for the fifth time.
As we headed into Galicia the scenery changed. It was beautiful countryside, very like Ireland. We often found ourselves walking through huge eucalyptus forests, where the leaves would look like shoals of fish when they blew in the wind.
Finally, we walked over the hill into the final town, Monte do Gozo. Sebastian and I smiled at one another as we looked down on Santiago, sitting in the sun.
Our timing was perfect. Dad, Sebastian and I walked up the steps in Santiago and into a cathedral of hundreds of pilgrims lost in a sea of powerful organ music. I found myself hugging so many people I barely knew.
The experience was amazing, probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do, and I cried during it.
All the times I had my head down, walking against a powerful rain, thinking to myself that I didn't want to be here, were brushed aside by the sense of accomplishment when I walked into the cathedral with Dad by my side.
The journey was very special, as the bond between Dad and me grew into something great. I was very proud to have him with me and would gladly do it all over again.
NM