I was in the north of Italy recently on the Via Francigena, the ancient pilgrimage path to Rome that begins in Canterbury. My wife, Yim Soon and I were with a group from L’Arche in France who are walking to Assisi in one-week sections. It was the second day, we were going up an interminably steep hill, it was hot, and we had ‘slept’ the night before on a floor, and with that motley group of twenty-five sharing two toilets (one of which had a door with no lock!). Yim Soon turned to me and asked, “Why are we walking?” The pair of us had done a lot of walking up until that point, and we had a lot of hiking still to come, so that was a very reasonable question to ask.

One immediate answer was that we had the unexpected gift of time. I had moved to Ireland at the end of 2023 to take up a new job but things hadn’t worked out and I left in August 2024. We’d let out our house in the UK until June 2025 so Yim Soon had said to me, “Let’s walk!” I’d immediately agreed and our plans quickly took shape. We would do the Camino in Spain in October, the Lycian Way along the Turkish coast in February and March; then in April and May, we would follow the Way of Francis to Assisi and Rome. We also had an invitation to spend the winter with an old friend of Yim Soon from Korea who was now living with her family near Atlanta. This would include spending Christmas at the Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky, the Trappist monastery of Thomas Merton that I’d always dreamed of visiting.

There is a pleasing simplicity to life on the road. You scrunch your sleeping bag and the rest of your stuff into a rucksack in the morning and you walk. That's it! A lot of the usual worries of life seem to drop away and the biggest anxiety becomes making sure you don't get lost! Or where the next café con leche is going to come from! There's just something calming and centring about the age-old act of putting one foot in front of the other. There is also something about it that brings people together and draws out their story. And what incredible people we met on our various walks, and what wonderful stories we heard. And how we laughed with one another.

The beautiful scenery is therapeutic too. In Turkey we were treated to one amazing view after another as we paced up and down the mountains that fringe the Mediterranean. In Italy we passed each day through yet another stunning medieval fortified hilltop town. And since we were doing all 500 miles of the Camino Francés, we would see the stark changes in landscape as we crossed the north of Spain: from the Pyrenees and the mountains near Pamplona, through the flat, arid meseta, then into the verdant hills of Galicia as we neared Santiago.

There is a heightened awareness of the natural world: the sunrises, the sunsets, little wild flowers that appear as if out of nowhere. Food is deeply appreciated and I don't think that a meal at a Michelin restaurant could have satisfied me as much as the bread, cheese, tomato and cucumber I ate one day on a beach in Turkey, which we'd reached by a rocky and slightly hair-raising trek down a mountain. On the Camino I developed the art of the second, or even third breakfast. We had earned it!

I also loved the shared international meals, and there’s one that particularly stands out. I’d been looking forward to returning to the municipal albergue (pilgrim hostel) at a town called Nájera because of what had happened there nine years before when I’d been doing that same walk. I’d got in with a group of Koreans, partly on account of having a Korean wife, and they’d prepared a banquet and invited myself and my Australian friend James to join them. We’d also got in with the Italians and they wanted to feed us as well. Then a Spanish guy Gerado offered us food. We could have eaten three meals that evening, and I was determined that on this next visit it would be me doing the cooking for some of the lovely people we’d met on the way. I got to work in the kitchen, with a little help from my international friends, and a large group of us sat and shared a feast. There were people from different countries and continents and speaking different languages; there were twenty-year-olds who seemed happy to hang out with those of us who were three times their age; and there was a range of backgrounds and beliefs and reasons for walking.

It was utterly joyous. And after we’d eaten I picked up a guitar and started the singing, and various members of the group took a turn, and we were joined by others in that very diverse dining-room. The first song I did was one I’d written after that first Camino in 2015 and I told the story of how it had been inspired. James and I had been sitting on a bench outside the albergue in the early morning, waiting for the water to boil for our tea. The sun was just starting to rise above the trees and there was the sound of rushing water from the river, as well as the first birdsong. We were sitting there in companionable silence and then James said, “Another day in paradise.” Those words became the title of a book about pilgrimage which I wrote years later. They are also the first line of the chorus of my song ‘El Camino’ which I sang in that same albergue in Nájera in October, 2024. And I was so touched when one of the young people in our group, Lucy from Croatia, remarked at the end, “Wouldn’t it be cool if one of us came back here in nine years’ time and cooked for the other pilgrims and kept this story going!”

Why do we walk? Well, yes, it’s the food, the fellowship, the fun, the breathtaking scenery, the little daily miracles and random acts of kindness, and the opportunity to live a bit more simply and to discover that we can be very content with very little. But it’s also, as my friend James observed one morning when sitting with me on a bench outside a pilgrim hostel in Spain, an opportunity to give thanks for another day in paradise.

Eddie Gilmore is a Hearts in Search of God project collaborator. For more about Eddie and his books click here.