The Week You Can Time: The Camino Inglés in a Summer With No Cool Answer
There is a question running through the Camino forums this week, asked a dozen different ways, and almost everyone is asking it wrong. Francés or Norte? Is July and August too much on the Portugués? What about an off-season Francés instead? Underneath all of them is the same worry, because Spain has just come through a brutal stretch of heat — a second, more severe heatwave settled in on the seventeenth of June and pushed the interior to 45.1 degrees at Andújar on the twenty-second, the highest reading of the entire European heatwave. Spanish authorities have since linked more than a thousand deaths to the June heat. So the pilgrims are asking, reasonably: which route escapes it?
It is the wrong question, and the trail is already telling them so. The heat is not somewhere. It is everywhere. A pilgrim posts that four days into the Inglés — the short, green, coastal route people reach for precisely when they want to dodge the furnace — the sun has been brutal. Galicia is supposed to be the mild corner of Spain, the wet northwest, and this summer it too is baking. There is no cool route right now. “Where is it cool” is a geography question, and geography has run out of answers.
But there is a second question hidden inside the first, and it has a good answer. The heat this year does not sit still. It arrives in domes — the June episode built over days and broke over days — and what matters is not where you are when one lands but how long you are out there to meet it. Walk the Francés and you are on the trail for thirty to thirty-five days; you will walk through at least one of these domes, and there is no exit, because the walk is the commitment. Walk the Inglés and you are out for five to seven. That is not a distance. That is a window you can choose.
The long route asks how much heat you can endure. The short route asks the better question: when will you go.
This is the Inglés’s real argument in a summer like this one, and it has nothing to do with temperature. A hundred and twelve to a hundred and sixteen kilometres from Ferrol to Santiago, the shortest of the major Caminos — and from Ferrol it clears the hundred-kilometre threshold for the Compostela, where the A Coruña start, at around seventy-five, does not. Five days you can hold up against a ten-day forecast and simply go on the break. If a dome is coming, you wait, and you lose a day. On the Francés, waiting out a heatwave means abandoning the walk. The short route is the one where the conditions, not the calendar, get to decide when you leave.
The obvious objection is that this is just looking for a shortcut — that choosing five days over thirty is choosing less pilgrimage. It isn’t, and the reason is worth sitting with. The work of a pilgrimage was never in the kilometres; it is in the weeks between, the interval where the machinery stops and nothing has yet replaced it, and that interval does not care how far you walked to reach it. The Inglés asks the same question every Camino asks. It only asks it faster. Choosing the route you can time in a lethal summer is not dodging the work. It is refusing to let the calendar overrule the sky.
There is an old logic underneath all of this, one the heat has merely dragged back into view. The medieval English pilgrims the Inglés is named for never walked the whole way either. The overland roads were impossible, so they sailed, landed at Ferrol, and walked the last hundred kilometres to arrive properly, on foot. They took the conditions as given and walked what was walkable. That is the whole of it. If you have the month and want the long cool walk, the Norte still carries the Atlantic beside you for thirty days. But if you have a week and a summer that keeps trying to kill people, the Inglés is not the lesser Camino. It is the one honest enough to let the weather set the terms.
Walk the week you can choose. Let the forecast decide, the way pilgrims arriving by ship once let the wind decide — and arrive on foot anyway.
— Pilgrimages