Here is the thing about the Camino: it does a number on your memory. Not in a bad way. More like someone shook up your brain like a snow globe and all the little towns, cafes, and steep hillsides tumble around in no particular order. I remember walking the Primitivo back in 2016. I remember that it was beautiful, I met people I still talk to, and it carved itself deep into my soul. But if you asked me to match names to places or tell you which hill had the donkey with the bell, I’d just smile and nod vaguely.

The tougher the day, the more likely my memories are to dissolve into sweaty fog. Trails where I kept my head down and muttered inspiring things like “just keep walking” and “this was a choice you made” are usually the ones where I wonder, years later, if I really walked them or just hallucinated the whole thing over a bad plate of calamari.

But the Primitivo? It feels different. Even in the fog and exhaustion, the memories are stronger. When I round a bend or pass an old fountain, it is like my mind says, “Ah yes, here we are again.” Faces come back to me too—friends I made and kept, names I still see pop up in WhatsApp chats, people I have visited in their home countries. That is the thing about this route: it builds more than muscle. It builds bonds.

Today was a solid 24 km with about 730 meters of ascent. Not brutal, but let’s just say it was enough to remind the legs they still have work to do. The fog was so thick in the morning it felt like we were walking inside a steamed-up fishbowl. Most of us pulled out our rain covers—not because it was raining, but because the mist was eager to soak our gear with the enthusiasm of a wet golden retriever.

The Primitivo shines in its balance. The people-to-solitude ratio is nearly perfect. I joked earlier that it was crowded, but that was just pre-coffee crankiness. Our little walking wave seems to have about fifty pilgrims. Spread across the stages, it means you recognize people throughout the day. At first it is just a shared “Buen Camino.” Then come the questions: where are you from? When did you start? Eventually names get exchanged. Life stories are shared in broken language and laughter over communal meals. Whether or not we say goodbye at the end, we will all have a space in each other’s Camino stories.

As I strolled into Salas, nothing looked familiar—until it did. One turn and suddenly there was the medieval archway, the stone walls, the sleepy square just as I had remembered. Like meeting an old friend after many years apart. You forget the details, but the heart of it is exactly the same.

My albergue was just around the corner. Easy enough. Spain is apparently trying to make the pilgrim check-in process more digital. Last night in Grado, the hospitalero told us about a shiny new QR code system for all participating albergues. So I marched in today ready to dazzle the host with my tech-savvy pilgrim credentials. Except this albergue uses a completely different QR code system. So now I have two QR codes that do the same thing, neither of which works universally. Modern efficiency at its finest.

Still, it was a good day. A foggy, footsore, friendship-filled kind of day that reminded me why the Primitivo has always held a special place in my heart—even if I cannot remember exactly why.