Where Does One Camino End and Another Begin?

 “What we call the beginning is often the end.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.”
 
T. S. Eliot, Little Gidding, from Four Quartets
 

From the Via de la Plata to the Camino Sanabrés

 

Long pilgrimages rarely divide themselves as neatly as maps and guidebooks suggest. A route may end in one town, and another begin at the same marker, but the person who reaches that junction does not suddenly become a new pilgrim. The body carries the accumulated distance, the mind retains the experiences and fatigue of the previous weeks, and the questions that prompted the journey remain present even when the arrows change direction. One Camino may end and another begin by name, yet on foot the boundary between them can be much harder to identify.

 

That sense has followed us throughout this year’s pilgrimage. We began by walking the Via Augusta from Cádiz to Seville, where its southern road ended, and the Via de la Plata began. Reaching Seville did not feel like completing one journey, returning to the beginning and setting out again. We walked into the city carrying everything the Via Augusta had already given us, and we left along the Via de la Plata with the same packs, the same bodies and the same larger purpose of reaching Santiago de Compostela.

 

Twenty-five stages later, we faced the question again at Granja de Moreruela. Here, pilgrims can continue north toward Astorga and join the Camino Francés, or turn west onto the Camino Sanabrés and follow it toward Ourense and Santiago. The marker identifies a clear division between routes, but for us it stood in the middle of a much longer pilgrimage that had already stretched from the Atlantic coast at Cádiz, through Seville and across western Spain.

 

We had experienced something similar during earlier journeys – in France when we completed the Via Podiensis / GR65 and found ourselves back in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and the beginning of the Camino Francés.

 

In Portugal - after following the Rota Vicentina north along the Algarve and Alentejo coasts, we joined the Camino Portugués Central and continued toward Porto. From there, we stepped onto the Coastal route before eventually turning onto the Espiritual Variant on our way to Santiago.

 

In Spain – after trekking the Camino de Madrid north, then continuing along the Camino de San Salvador to Oviedo, before following the Camino Primitivo onward to Santiago.  Even when then walking on to Muxia and Fisterra, we wondered whether this trek was its own Camino or simply the next part of the same journey.

 

Likewise, in our hikes across the UK a couple of years ago, which saw us hike between several trails, including Wainwright’s Coast to Coast, the Pennine Way, the West Highland Way, Great Glen Way and Hadrian’s Wall.  Some of which crossed other routes, and some had endings – such as in Fort William, Scotland – which directly connected to another trail’s beginning.  Each route had its own name, landscapes, history and character, but our days of walking flowed from one into the next without the clean endings suggested by a series of separate lines on a map.

 

These experiences and our hike this year along the Via Augusta, Via de la Plata and Camino Sanabrés have left us returning to a basic but important question: where does one journey end and another begin?

 

Beginning in the Middle of a Sentence

 

Our Camino Sanabrés began in the middle of a walking day and, in many ways, in the middle of a sentence. We did not wake in Granja de Moreruela feeling rested and excited for the first stage of a new pilgrimage. Our morning began in Riego del Camino, and by the time we reached the junction at approximately ten o’clock, we had already been walking for several hours. It was Day 25 of the Via de la Plata from Seville and even farther into the larger journey that had begun, almost by accident, on the Via Augusta in Cádiz.

 

Yet at this moment, on paper, we were beginning Stage 1 of the Camino Sanabrés. In our bodies, however, we were carrying hundreds of kilometres of experiences and fatigue. We had walked muddy tracks, crossed exposed landscapes and repeatedly navigated long stages with few dependable services. Closed bars, unavailable food, uncertain accommodations and the daily race for limited beds had occupied far more of our attention than we had anticipated before setting out on pilgrimage along the Via de la Plata.

 

As a result, we did not arrive at Granja with the optimism that usually accompanies the first day of a Camino. We reached the junction tired, uncertain, and still debating whether we were making the right choice. Continuing north toward Astorga offered the reassurance of eventually joining the familiar and well-supported Camino Francés. Turning west toward the Sanabrés would commit us to another twelve to fourteen stages (or almost 2 weeks) on a route we had never walked and whose infrastructure remained uncertain.  It was a new Camino, but we were not new pilgrims. Nothing we had experienced along the Via de la Plata disappeared when we reached the sign. The logistical concerns, physical weariness and doubts travelled with us, just as surely as the contents of our backpacks.

 

The Choice at Granja de Moreruela

 

The decision to turn west had been delayed for much of the Via de la Plata. We knew the junction was ahead, but after so many unpredictable stages, it was difficult to commit ourselves to what appeared to be the more uncertain option. The closer we came to Granja, however, the morning seemed to offer a series of signs encouraging us toward the Camino Sanabrés.

 

The day began with the kindness of Paco, the hospitalero in Riego del Camino, who walked with us to the edge of town and offered words of encouragement. A silver fox crossed the golden fields ahead of us, running westward. At a truck stop, an overworked server prepared toast and jam even though it was not on the menu, while other pilgrims shared what they had been told about improving services along the Sanabrés. Above Granja, contrails stretched through the pink and gold morning sky, seemingly pointing west.

 

None of these things determined our choice (and some of them might even sound silly to be seen as signs), and we knew better than to interpret every coincidence as direction. Yet pilgrimage often asks us to make decisions without having all the information we would like. Sometimes the way forward emerges through a combination of intuition and faith that the road will reveal what we cannot yet see.

 

Ultimately, standing before the sign in Granja de Moreruela, we chose not to continue north toward Astorga. We turned west, followed the arrow for Ourense and began walking toward Santiago along the Camino Sanabrés. There was no ceremony, no official finish and no pause long enough to separate one route from the next. We simply made the decision and continued forward. Yet in that moment, just as we had completed the Via Augusta, we now completed the Via de la Plata.

 

A New Route Without a New Beginning

 

Admittedly, almost immediately and somewhat unexpectedly, the landscape on the Sanabres began to change. The flat expanses we had crossed since Zamora gave way to rolling terrain, forested hills and river valleys. Bright red tracks ran between dark green Gum Rock-Rose bushes covered in white and yellow flowers. Mountains appeared along the horizon, while wind turbines lined distant ridges.

 

The route markers also shifted in design. Along the Camino Sanabrés, we began following rough stone slabs carved with arrows, stars and pilgrim gourds, each shaped to fit the natural form of the rock. A shaded stone picnic table beside the trail felt like a remarkable luxury after so many exposed stretches on the Via de la Plata. These small differences created a sense of renewal, offering visible evidence that we had entered another landscape and another part of the pilgrimage. Yet this sentence alone indicates how we were thinking that the Sanabres was “another part of the pilgrimage,” not a Camino unto itself…

 

Yet the Via de la Plata did not remain behind us. Many of the pilgrims we had met during the previous weeks had also turned west, and familiar faces gradually gathered again at the albergue in Tábara. The race for bunks continued because the number of walkers still exceeded the available beds in several communities – a situation made more challenging given the number of people who set out on the Sanabres alone.   Questions about food, water, accommodation and the reliability of listed services followed us onto the new route – situations which again reflected our thinking that the Sanabres “was another part” of the same pilgrimage.

 

Even our naming of the stages in our own travel journals and online blogs reveals the uncertainty of the transition. The walk from Riego del Camino through Granja to Tábara could be described as Via de la Plata Stage 25, Camino Sanabrés Stage 1. We had begun the day on one route, crossed a recognized dividing point and finished on another, yet our feet had covered one continuous distance of approximately 38 kilometres.

 

Put another way – while the route had changed, the day and the trek had not begun again.

 

What Maps Need to Divide

 

Maps and guidebooks need boundaries. They must identify where routes start, finish, divide and reconnect so that pilgrims and hikers alike can understand distances, accommodations and possible destinations. Without these distinctions, planning an extended journey across several historic paths would be unnecessarily confusing.

 

Route names also preserve important differences. The Via Augusta, Via de la Plata and Camino Sanabrés pass through distinct regions, follow different historical corridors and present their own landscapes and challenges. Treating them as one indistinguishable trail would erase the qualities that make each of them worth understanding. The decision at Granja matters precisely because the road toward Astorga offers a different journey from the road toward Ourense.

 

The problem arises when the lines drawn for practical clarity are mistaken for the lived experience of pilgrimage. A guidebook can declare that the Camino Sanabrés begins in Granja de Moreruela, but it cannot make the weeks of exhaustion of the Via de la Plata disappear. A new page can label the walk as Stage 1, but it cannot return a pilgrim’s body to the condition it was in when leaving Seville or Cadiz beforehand. Nor can a route marker separate the relationships, lessons and uncertainties of the previous weeks from those that lie ahead. Walking creates continuity where maps require divisions. Every stage carries something forward - even when the arrows point in a new direction, or you exchange one trailhead for another.

 

The Pilgrimage We Carry Across Boundaries

 

Our earlier journey through Portugal had already begun teaching us this. The transition from the Rota Vicentina to the Camino Portugués Central involved moving from a coastal hiking trail into a recognized pilgrimage route. Later, Porto presented another choice between the historic inland way and the Coastal and Litoral alternatives, while Pontevedra offered the option of joining the Espiritual Variant.

 

Each transition changed the character of the journey. The wild and exposed coastline of the Rota Vicentina gave way to the towns, roads and traditions of the Portuguese Camino. The Central route gradually became the Coastal route, where boardwalks and tourist towns altered the atmosphere of pilgrimage. The Espiritual Variant then led into deep forests, rural landscapes and the maritime tradition associated with Saint James.

 

Nevertheless, we never felt that our larger journey had stopped and restarted at each junction. We continued north with the same purpose, carrying the experiences of the route behind us into the one ahead. The physical path changed, but the pilgrimage remained connected through our intention, the rhythm of walking and the distant destination toward which we continued.  This – as you can imagine – can be both an amazing blessing and a true challenge.

 

The same was true in Spain. Cádiz, Seville and Granja de Moreruela represented meaningful transitions, but none provided a complete beginning or ending. At each place, we stepped onto a named route that was new to us while continuing a pilgrimage that had already had its own momentum and sense of continuity. Perhaps this is because pilgrimage is not contained entirely within the path. Routes provide history, direction, symbols and destinations, but the continuity of the journey resides in the person walking. We carry the purpose of the pilgrimage across boundaries that exist on maps but are less distinct in memory, effort and experience.

 

Change Without Erasure

 

With all of that said, make no mistake - turning onto the Camino Sanabrés did create a sense of renewal. The changing landscape, different route markers, shaded rest areas and repeated kindness of strangers gave us reasons to hope that the most difficult days might be behind us. Descending into the Esla River valley and crossing the long bridge surrounded by forested slopes felt dramatically different from the open plains we had been walking across. All of which might not sound like much, but this “new route” was enough of an alteration to restore our curiosity and disrupt the fatigue that develops when each day begins to resemble the last. Different plants, birds, and communities provide reasons to look up again, while unfamiliar markers renew attention to the path. Even without a true “new beginning”, turning west onto the Sanabres nonetheless gave way to change and provided the journey fresh energy.

 

Renewal, however, is not the same as erasure. We entered the Sanabrés shaped by everything that had occurred before Granja. The logistical struggles of the Via de la Plata made us cautious about promises of food and accommodation. The scarcity of beds still influenced how we planned our stages. The first stage of the Camino Sanabrés therefore contained both continuity and change.

 

Where the Journey Continues

 

That evening in Tábara, familiar pilgrims gathered on the terrace and exchanged stories from the day. Flor and Edouard, whom we had not seen for several stages, arrived at the albergue, reminding us that relationships formed on one route could continue onto another. We completed the same rituals that had shaped our evenings since Cádiz and Seville: showering, washing clothes, eating, writing our journal and considering the road ahead.

 

By the conventional measure, we had completed the Via de la Plata and begun the Camino Sanabrés. By another measure, we had simply continued walking toward Santiago. Both descriptions were true, but neither fully captured the experience without the other.

 

Perhaps this is why the question of where one journey ends and another begins has no precise answer. Seville marked the end of the Via Augusta and the beginning of the Via de la Plata. Granja de Moreruela marked the division between the northern road to Astorga and our westward path along the Camino Sanabrés. Yet the pilgrimage connecting Cádiz, Seville, Granja, Santiago and eventually Finisterre and Muxia remained continuous beneath those names.

 

Maps show routes as separate lines. Guidebooks divide them into stages and series. Pilgrims experience them through tired bodies and days that flow into one another. The end of one Camino may therefore be less a conclusion than a turning point: a place where the road changes direction, the scenery begins to shift, and the same pilgrimage continues along another Way.  Perhaps this is also the reason that some pilgrims, upon hiking into Santiago, don't feel that even this arrival brings their Camino to an end?

 

Clearly our time on the trail has once again given way to lots of long, rambling but persistent thoughts….

 

See you on the Way!