We were nearing the end of our walk across Spain on the Camino de Santiago. At first, we saw it as a journey of personal growth. A brief snapshot of our privilege gave us pause…

“Mama, come on!” I groaned. “You don’t need ten pictures of the same three cows.”

She laughed. “I know, I know. Just one more, right here…and if you stand near the fence, I can get you, too.”

I shook my head, but smiled and went to stand near the cows. “We’ll never make it to the town if we keep stopping.”

“I know…but just look at this place! Have you ever seen anything like it?”

“Yes, I have,” I said. “About five seconds ago when we saw those other cows…”

“But they look so happy here—not at all like the factory farms at home. You have to admit, there are worse things to take pictures of.”

I nodded. “That’s true. Like those granaries.”

“I love those!” she protested. “It’s such a clever and beautiful way to store grain. Besides, the guidebook says they’ve been around since medieval times.”

“But they all look the same!”

“But they’re so different from home. Like the old cars in Cuba, or those awful piles of shipping containers in Panama…we don’t usually see these things.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “But I hope we’re almost to the town—I’m hungry.”

My mom sighed. “Me too. We should’ve gotten more food at the last place, because I doubt we’ll find a store or anything here. It looks like this town has a population of…38.”

“Oh.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes, clouds of dust streaking our legs with every step. Sure enough, we were nearing the town—though you could hardly call it a town. One narrow cobblestone street tunneled its way through the houses, each with its own rock wall and garden. The town smelled of fresh air and cow manure, and there wasn’t a single person in sight.

“Wow,” I said. “It’s so quiet.”

My mom shrugged. “Everyone must be inside, avoiding the heat.”

“Oh, right.” I squinted down the road. There was an intersection ahead, and beyond it open farmland began again. “I think we’re leaving the town.”

My mom nodded. “Yeah, it seems like we’re through these towns in no time…it’s certainly beautiful, though, with the road stretching out before us…”

“Mama—” I said suddenly, “there’s a person over there.”

She stopped for a moment. “Oh!” The first person we’d seen all afternoon stood near the intersection, quiet and still. She was at least a head shorter than me, and probably fifty years older, but she looked sturdy in her faded apron and sensible brown shoes.

I watched for a moment as she gazed into the valley. Then I heard my mom’s voice beside me. “Wow, look at that scene. It would make such a lovely picture—a snapshot of the moment.”

I shook my head. “Don’t you dare!”

She sighed. “Well, I wasn’t going to. But just look…”

Then I saw the woman’s head turn toward us, and her face broke into a smile as we approached. She had brilliant blue eyes under a gray kerchief. “Hello!” she said. She spoke Spanish, quickly but clearly. “Hot today, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” my mom replied, wiping her brow. “It is.”

She smiled again. “I thought no one would be coming through this afternoon. You’re doing the Camino?”

We both nodded, and my mom said, “Yes, it’s been wonderful—and what a view you have here!”

“It is a beautiful view.” She looked thoughtfully down toward the valley.

My mom smiled. “Have you walked the Camino?”

She laughed, raising her eyes to look at us. “Oh, no. But I’ve always loved watching people pass.” She paused for a moment, then looked eagerly back at us. “Where do you live?”

“The United States,” my mom said. “New York.”

Her eyes widened. “New York? The big city?”

“Oh—no. Upstate New York.”

She nodded. “But the United States…” She shook her head, bewildered, then turned quickly back to us. “How long are you here?” It was like she’d been waiting to ask this question.

“Well, we only had four weeks, so we’ve had to walk fast, but—”

“Four weeks?” The woman looked at us like she couldn’t believe we were real. “My goodness…I have one day off every week, and I spend it right here with my family.”

Neither of us knew how to reply. She smiled wistfully and continued, “My son went to the United States. So many young people leave the villages…but most just go to the city.”

There was a brief silence. “Have you been to see him?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. I do miss him—but I could never go.”

The three of us stood there for a minute, looking at each other. My mom finally broke the silence. “Well…it’s so nice to meet you.”

The old woman’s blue eyes creased into a sunny smile. “It’s wonderful to meet you, too. You know, I love to get a view into another world.”

My mom nodded. “Us too.”

The woman laughed, her eyes twinkling. “Well, enjoy the rest of your journey.”

And she smiled after us as we continued on our way, disappearing into the distance on the trail she would never follow.

Process

My mom and I walked the Camino de Santiago in 2022. When we began, we saw it as a journey of personal growth. As we were walking, we saw how much it would change our relationship. And toward the end, we met a woman who lived just a few steps from the Camino but couldn’t imagine being able to walk it. This piece shows a moment when seeing our privilege gave us pause.