Day six. My right heel had become a problem I could no longer ignore. I was lucky enough to avoid blisters. Although I had developed deep internal pain every time my foot met the back of my shoe. Maybe it was my Achilles? I began to walk awkwardly, pushing my toes towards the front of my shoe in hopes my heel wouldn’t touch the back. It helped a little but I was not cured. I was moving slow and having to stop frequently. I needed to resolve this issue if I was going to continue.

The day before heading into Nigrán had been hard. I stayed outside of Oia, in O Serrallo. This part of the trail heading to Nigrán was about 20km. That is a decent day on the Camino. The Portuguese Coastal Route has its climbs, and that day delivered. I went to sleep tired. I woke tired. I was always ready for more Camino. My body was a different story. I never looked ahead at the elevation gain, so a steep incline was really a surprise. I preferred it that way.

The morning I left Nigrán was overcast, damp and still. The birds calling through the mist. The quiet early mornings on the Camino were some of my favorite times. When you could hear the birds and things were still.

On this day, I was walking alone. Really alone, in the particular way the Camino occasionally gives you. The world was still sleeping. I hadn’t seen any other pilgrims. It was me, the grey morning, the damp road, the sound of my own footsteps, and the singing birds. The rhythmic crunching sound of my feet, carrying me step by step on this journey.

I turned a corner. And there she was.

A white horse. Standing behind a low stone wall. Perfectly still. We both froze for a second. Everything was grey. The stones, the hedge, the pale sky. And against all of that, she looked like a single bright star. The only pure, bright thing in that world. Like the morning had placed her there on purpose.

I tried to capture the moment with my camera. It was quick. Then she started walking towards me.

I looked around. Was there anyone else here to see this? No, it was just me, and this peaceful creature, and the quiet morning holding us both.

She was on the far end of the fence when she first noticed me. And then, as if she had been expecting me, she walked over to greet me. Slowly. All the way across the yard. As if she knew I was a pilgrim, and it was her duty to greet pilgrims and send them on. She had been waiting for me, and she was coming to take care of me the way she did for every tired pilgrim who passed that morning.

When she reached me and stood close against the wall, the only words I could find were very small and very true: you are beautiful. That was all I had. That was all there was to say.

Looking at the photos now, they seem quite ordinary. But on that day, it was nothing short of magical. A small interaction but it was so unexpected. I hope that horse is still greeting pilgrims today. I hope they find her just as magical.

She stayed with me as I walked along the stone wall. She followed me, side by side, stride for stride, all the way to the end. The rhythm connected us. She stayed with me until the wall stopped her from going further. As if she were sending me on my way.

The Camino pushes you physically. Mentally too. During the tough moments I often told myself, I choose to do this. You cannot complain when you wanted to do this. And I did. I wanted to make every step. That morning I felt lighter as I continued on, in pain, tired.

That same day ended with me lost and crying.

Not Camino lost. I was lost. Vigo in the afternoon sun lost. I wanted to stop walking hours before I actually did. My heel was getting worse. I stopped at the farmacia, but they didn’t know what to do for an injury that wasn’t blisters. Feeling defeated. When I finally reached the streets near my accommodation, my GPS was telling me to walk down a hill. There were train tracks overhead. Below them, all I could see was a brick wall. Nothing looked familiar. I was not willing to walk down a hill toward a wall. I did not want to climb back up again if I was wrong. My feet and body were done for the day. So I wandered the streets at the top of the hill instead, waiting for something to look familiar. Hoping my GPS would re-route me.

I am directionally challenged. It’s a real thing. Getting lost on the Camino is hard, though. The yellow arrows guide you. Like your own slow-paced version of the Amazing Race. Always looking for the next clue (arrow). Not in any hurry to do so. Just when you think you’ve gone off path, a yellow arrow on a blue tile appears to say: keep going, you’re right on track.

So when there was no arrow to guide, I felt the panic of being lost. It was hot. I had been walking for hours. My shopping for the next day was already done, so I was carrying extra water and food. I walked around for an hour. Nearly in tears, I asked a few people for help. They didn’t speak English. My Spanish is non-conversational and I was holding back tears. Then a lady walked up and said English, and I said yes. She hurried home to get her grandson to help me. They were both so eager to help me. And I was grateful.

What I learned from him, was down the hill, past the wall there was a tunnel that took you under the train tracks. I couldn’t see it from the top of the hill. That was the road to my accommodation for the night. Oh how silly I felt. I tried to pay the young man, but he offered nothing except a hug. I really needed it. Hot, tired and crying. I must have looked as terrible as I was feeling. It was after 5pm now. I started walking at 8:00am. A long day, and I was ready to rest.

It was the only time on the entire Camino I felt genuinely lost.

I think about that day a lot. About what I learned about myself, navigating the world as a solo traveler.

Sometimes you have to commit to walking down the hill. You might be on the right track. You might have to turn around and walk back up. Both are okay. The easiest way to find out is to check for yourself.

A beautiful white horse greeted me in the morning. She chose to walk a while with me. And made my day brighter. At the end of the day, a stranger was willing to help a crying, lost pilgrim. I carry this day with me.