Chasing Dreams

Final Day – Porto, Portugal

I had a full day to explore Porto and chose the seaside to be where I would spend my final moments in Portugal.

I had booked a hotel in Foz do Douro, close to beaches and restaurants.

In typical Camino fashion, I woke early, put my shoes on, and went for a walk. I strolled the seawall for hours, breathing in the sea air and greeting pilgrims about to set out on their journey.

Many pilgrims start in Porto. In fact, I met more pilgrims in this one day than I had on my entire walk from Lisbon to Porto. It felt gratifying to offer advice and share experiences with them as they stepped into their own journey. Only days earlier, I was the one asking questions, unsure of what lay ahead. Now I had stories to share. It felt like a quiet passing of the baton.

The Forte de São João Baptista da Foz sat right outside my hotel door. Built in the 16th century, it stands where the Douro River meets the Atlantic Ocean, once protecting the city from attack.

As I walked the grounds, I imagined what life there must have been like. Cannons still sit aimed toward the sea.

Prices in Porto were considerably higher than any Portuguese village or city I had been to before. While on the Camino, I could stop at a café for a coffee, juice, and pastry for €5.00. In Porto, it was ten. A beer that was often €1.50 was now four or five. It made me appreciate even more the simplicity of life on the trail—the small cafés, village squares, and everyday rituals that became part of my day.

I wandered past restaurants, reading menus and carefully choosing where I would eat my last meal and drink my final glass of Portuguese wine.

With a few hours before dinner, I kept walking.

The beaches and sea were coming to life. Sailboats and large tankers moved across the horizon. A group of five pulled on wetsuits, tied flotation balloons around their waists, and headed into the water with a guide on a paddleboard. Nearby, another large group was learning to surf.

A group of preschoolers happily played in the sand, excitedly showing each other what they had found, discovered, built. Their teacher was determined each child keep their colour-coordinated hat on.

A group of fishermen stood with rods pointed toward the water, though only one line had been dropped. I asked what they hoped to catch, but the language barrier was too much. All I got back was, “fish.”

Restaurant patios and lounge chairs began to fill. Beach drinks were poured and served.

And I walked.

I reflected on all I had experienced over the past 2 weeks and felt content and proud of my journey.

Portugal has a personality. It carries history, proudly displays culture in its architecture, food, and art (the blue & white tiles date back centuries and continue to be made today). The people are rooted in kindness and adventure. I always felt safe.

There is a gentleness to Portugal that I’ll remember. Life feels lived outdoors and in community—at cafés spilling onto sidewalks, in village squares, along the river and the sea. Meals are lingered over. Conversations are welcomed. People seem to make space for both work and rest, movement and stillness.

It is a country that feels deeply connected to both its past and present, honouring tradition while fully alive in the moment. I felt fortunate to move through it slowly, one step at a time.

I travelled 370 km and mostly on foot. Many extra miles were clocked exploring cities and villages.

I set out to do what I came to do, although with a few adjustments along the way. Maybe that, too, was part of the lesson.

The Camino reminded me that we rarely walk a straight line. Plans change. Bodies tire. People join us for a while, then leave. Some days feel light and effortless; others feel long and lonely. But we keep going.

I was reminded how deeply we need connection — to people, to nature, and to ourselves. Some of the strongest moments came from conversations with strangers who quickly felt like friends. Others came in complete solitude, with only my footsteps, my thoughts, and the path ahead.

I was reminded to trust my body. To listen when it asks for rest. To keep moving when it asks for strength.

I was reminded to slow down.

To notice birdsong in the trees. Morning dew on the trail. Church bells in distant villages. Coffee in small cafés. Fresh orange rind on ice cream. A cold beer after a long walk. Choir music drifting through an open window. The beauty of ordinary moments I might otherwise rush past.

And maybe most of all, I was reminded that life, like the Camino, isn’t always about reaching the destination. It’s about who we become while moving through it.

I return home with tired legs, a grateful heart, and a fresh perspective on what matters most.

Buen Camino 🩶

XO