Going on a gap month - Camino style

Grant Caunter finds that taking time out from life for a walking pilgrimage was the antidote his increasingly busy life needed. So much so, he did it twice. He shares his two Camino journeys.

I had a very successful mid-life crisis in 2020. I quit the booze, started hiking, hopped off the corporate ladder, and launched a non-alcoholic brewery called State of Play. I'd never felt better. Could it get any better?

I'm in my early 50s, and I genuinely believe my best years are ahead of me. But there's no playbook for this stage. I'm not retiring — I just needed some time to work out what I really love, how much I really need, and who really matters. I needed a gap month.

Back in 2018, before the mid-life crisis, I visited Logroño in Spain. Somewhere between the two-euro Rioja wines and the pinchos, I met a group of people called "pilgrims," walking the Camino Francés. They were all ages, and every one of them was having the time of their life.

Seven years later — and after being reminded of the Camino by the Australian film The Way, My Way — I was on a plane to Spain.

Some people walk the Camino as a religious pilgrimage. Others walk it to test their physical limits. Some walk to forget the past, others to keep alive the memory of someone they've lost. For me, it was simpler: the excitement of an adventure, at a time when my health was good, I had the means to do it, and the life changes I'd already made meant I finally had the time.

The Camino Francés runs 790 km and breaks into three parts. The first is physical: getting your body used to walking 25 km a day. The second is emotional, crossing the vast plains of the Meseta, where you think a lot — and sometimes, for the first time in your life, you don't think at all.

The final third, whether you're religious or not, is spiritual. It's magical, honestly. By then you've lived simply for 25 days, and you know exactly how little you need to be happy, and what actually matters in your life.

There are still questions about what comes next, but they're the good kind — questions rooted in excitement, in wanting to get more out of your second half.

Along the way you form a Camino family: new friends from all over the world. I met Eric from Munich on day one, leaving Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, and 34 days later we walked into the cathedral square in Santiago de Compostela together. That day and the next were spent celebrating in the square with everyone we'd shared the path with — people we'd joined for coffee, bunkmates who'd become familiar faces over a month of albergues.

Coming home to New Zealand was both exciting and hard.

My adventurous spirit was at its peak. I knew anything was possible — I just had to decide to do it. The minimalism of life on the trail followed me home, and so began the mid-life garage sale: if I didn't need it or truly love it, it was gone. I was still just as passionate about State of Play Brewing, so I doubled down and grew the business with real focus.

But the post-Camino blues are real.

It doesn't take long, back in the daily grind, for those days on the trail to creep back into your subconscious. There are parts I'd love to do again, and parts I'd do differently. Especially early on, I wish I'd slowed down and enjoyed more of each day, instead of just pushing toward the night's accommodation. And, of course, there were doubts going into something like a 790-km walk: Will I get there? Can I do it? Blisters, bed bugs, getting robbed, getting lost, getting lonely?

Looking back, none of those fears I'd packed into my backpack ever came true. What resurfaced were only the good parts — the daily breakfasts of tortilla and pastel de nata, the donation cafes that started as a quick coffee stop and turned into picnic conversations that changed my beliefs. The sweeping views, the trails that kept changing, the sense of connection to the millions of footsteps that had come before mine. Was this something I needed to do every year? Was the gap month the antidote our increasingly busy lives actually need?

There was only one way to find out. I booked another Camino.

Twelve months after the first, I was back in Europe — this time in Lisbon, for a 690-km walk north to Santiago de Compostela.

From day one I was more relaxed, and I got through the physical adjustment much faster. Only about two per cent of pilgrims on the Camino Português start in Lisbon, which meant very few other walkers and a lot less infrastructure. I got all my thinking done early. It was late March, the weather was perfect, and custard tarts a reliable breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

From Porto, the Camino Portugues comes alive — many more pilgrims join, starting the coastal or central routes. It was a real energy boost to be back on a busy trail. The Portuguese route is now nearly as popular as the French one, and gets close to overcrowded outside the off-season. Accommodation is harder to find and there are more choices to make about which route to walk, so it's less predictable than the French Camino.

Walking into Spain 30 days later felt the same as the first time — total happiness and pride, in myself and in everyone walking beside me. But it was also different. This time I felt the walk was complete. I knew it would be my last, and that made me appreciate every moment of it even more.

What it showed me is that there are plenty of other ways to take a gap month. There's a lot of New Zealand left to explore — I'm not sure I'm up for the whole Te Araroa, but maybe parts of it. The Kumano Kodō in Japan is on the list too.

If you can get yourself to the start of the Camino Francés, you've already done the hard part. Do it your way, and it will change your life for the good.