Today’s trail had it all: ancient Roman roads, lush green forests, airborne menthol, and one surprise shortcut so bold it could only be accidental.

Let us start with T&T, our beloved hobbled heroes. They limped out of town like two retirees heading to bingo night and promptly vanished into a fog thicker than the mist in a Stephen King novel. The rest of us assumed they had been swallowed by a cloud or wandered into a mossy alternate dimension. But no, they reappeared hours later ahead of us, having taken a wrong turn so catastrophically wrong that it was somehow right. They looked victorious to see us. We looked surprised to see them. The fog is clearly sentient and has a wicked sense of humor.

Meanwhile, J&N were doing what J&N do best: talking. Constantly. Loudly. Endlessly. Their cheerful conversation echoed through the valleys like a social GPS beacon. Wherever their voices rang out, discussing injuries, relationships, or whether goats can cry, we pilgrims knew we were still on the right track. Their chatter might be the only reason no one else ended up in Portugal.

We made generous use of our designated injury breaks, also known as two-hour pop-up pharmacies. There were shots of orujo to “numb the knees/ankles/feet,” along with heroic quantities of ibuprofen and prednisone to keep us upright. Menthol cream was applied so liberally that the resulting fumes singed the inner lining of our sinuses and reset our childhood memories.

By evening, the group had split in the great albergue lottery. Most of us, in a rare logistical win, booked out the good one, a charming place with hot showers, cold beer, and chairs that did not collapse when you sat on them. Four others were not so lucky. T&N stopped for a short day and will catch up to us via taxi in the morning for breakfast. The Norwegian duo found themselves in an albergue so dilapidated that bar service did not start until 7pm. That is criminal.

While they huddled in silence and spider webs, the rest of us lounged in what might as well have been a five-star spa. Beer was flowing. Food was hearty and delicious. Someone might have even ironed their socks. Most of us are in awe to find a mini golf course at our albergue. What’s next?

The trails today were stunning, ferns so green they looked Photoshopped, cow pastures fresh enough to remind us what we stepped in, and ancient Roman roads that once bore the sandals of empires and now carry our tired feet. We walked through actual clouds. It was all up and down, but nothing new for our tired legs.

This ragtag crew, our pilgrims of pain and philosophy we come from everywhere, yet somehow we click. Between the silly jokes, the shared injuries, and the accidental existential debates, we have found something real.

I love these people. I really do. They inspire me. They make me laugh. And if nothing else, they always carry extra ibuprofen.