I waled 260 km from Porto to Santiago here's what I learnt

I got lost twice before I'd even started.

Two days into being in Porto, before I'd walked a single Camino step, I spent a frustrating chunk of a morning going round in circles following Google Maps. The moment I put my phone away and picked up a paper map from the information centre, everything came right. I got my pilgrim's passport at the same info centre, near the cathedral, and got chatting to two other pilgrims — one just starting, one just finishing. The one finishing gave me the best piece of advice I got the whole trip: don't overdo it. She had, and she regretted it.

I flew into Porto from London on 14 May, started walking on 16 May, and reached Santiago eleven days later on 26 May. I carried everything I needed on my back — about 9.5kg all up. I did it on my own. Women ask me a lot whether that's a sensible thing to do at my stage of life, on your own, with no one checking in on you day to day. Short answer: yes. Longer answer is everything below.

The walk doesn't care about your plan

I'd read the guidebook before I left, and it had opinions about how far I should walk each day. Real life had other ideas. My first day out of Porto, along the beach to Matosinhos, was only two and a half hours — a mate back home had told me to ease in rather than push on to Vila do Conde in one go, and he was right. A few days later I was short on time, so I caught a bus for one stretch and a train for another. Neither felt like cheating. It felt like walking the Camino I actually had, not the one printed in the book.

That's the first thing I'd tell any woman thinking about doing this alone: the itinerary is a guess, not a promise. Build in the flexibility to change your mind, because you will.

The accommodation is the real adventure

Nobody warns you enough about this part. Some nights were lovely — a garden albergue outside Esposende where I shared a room with just one other pilgrim, an Italian girl. Other nights were rough. My first night in Motosinhos I ended up in mixed-sex bunks in a cramped room, and I didn't love it. Top bunk means climbing down in the dark if you need the loo. Bottom bunk means you can barely sit up. There's no good option, just different trade-offs.

Book ahead where you can, but hold that loosely too — by the time the different Camino routes converge near Pontevedra, everyone is chasing the same beds, and it does get stressful. I sorted mine out one town at a time, sometimes literally deciding my route for the day based on which albergue answered the phone first.

One more practical one: change any New Zealand dollars into euros before you leave. I got caught out at an albergue that was cash-only, and nobody in Europe wants NZD.

You will not be as alone as you think

This is the bit that surprised me most. I met Sue and Derek from Liverpool on day two, and Anna from Boston, and we walked and talked for two hours before the day quietly split us up again. A few days later it was Olga from the Netherlands and her friend Berta from Poland — six hours of conversation, and I never saw either of them again. I walked with an Italian woman named Luana for a full day; she was walking to remember a baby she'd lost. You find out things like that on the Camino that you wouldn't in a normal conversation back home.

Walking alone doesn't mean walking in isolation. It means you get to choose your company, day by day, and let it go just as easily.

The practical stuff that actually matters

Water and toilets are not guaranteed. Some stretches — particularly crossing into Spain near O Pereiro — had five hours of walking with nowhere to fill a bottle or find a loo. I started that day with two litres and nearly ran out. Carry more than you think you'll need.

Portugal's Camino signage is patchy, and I got turned around more than once, whereas Spain's is much clearer. Weather-wise, I had one day of rain the whole eleven days, which I used to catch a bus rather than walk in it — no regrets there. And the last day into Santiago, 32 degrees and mostly uphill, was the hardest of the lot. I made it, and it felt exactly as good as you'd hope.

Would I tell you to do it on your own?

Yes. Genuinely. Not because it's easy — some days it wasn't — but because every hard bit had a fix, and every good bit was better for being unplanned. I ate simply the whole way, kept my pack light, and started most mornings the same way I do at home: something that would keep me going without a mid-morning crash, because there's nothing worse than hitting hour four with nothing left in the tank.

If you're thinking about it, I'd say start smaller than you think you need to, pack lighter than feels comfortable, and don't let the not-knowing stop you booking the flight. You'll work the rest out on the road — most of us do.

See you at the market this Saturday. I'll have plenty more stories if you ask.

Clare