10 Days Until Paris

Some trips you plan. Others sneak up on you when you’re least expecting them.

Ten days from now, I’ll be boarding a plane to Paris, France—something I never imagined when this year began. The whole thing started with a casual conversation with a guy I met in Spain a couple of years ago. We were catching up, and he mentioned he’d just come back from Cambodia and was heading to Europe. Then, almost offhandedly, he said, “I’ve got an extra ticket to Rock en Seine. Want it?”

At first, I laughed. It sounded so spontaneous, so unlike the version of me who’s been stuck in a rut lately. But then the idea started to glow in my mind. Paris. Music. A handsome, kind man. Why not? After all, I’ve been feeling stagnant these past few weeks—like I’m stuck in a holding pattern, unsure what’s next. Being laid off back in April has left me scrolling through job boards, not feeling excited about much. This trip suddenly became the thing I could hang some hope on.

And then… another thought snuck in.

For years, I’ve been intrigued by the Camino de Santiago, especially the Portuguese Way. If you’re not familiar, the Camino de Santiago—“The Way of Saint James”—is a centuries-old pilgrimage that ends in Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain. Pilgrims have been walking these routes for over a thousand years, following winding trails through rolling hills, vineyards, and cobblestone towns. The Portuguese Way starts in Portugal, passing through the heart of Porto before heading north into Spain—about 170 miles of walking, one step at a time, until you reach the cathedral where, according to tradition, the remains of Saint James rest.

For the past couple of months, I’ve been quietly preparing for it—tucking Camino gear into my Amazon orders as if I could trick the universe into sending me. Maybe it worked, because now I’ll be in Paris with a $50 flight to Porto just a click away. I’ve even connected with people in Porto who can store some of my luggage while I’m on the trail. From there, it’s just me, my backpack, and the road—170 miles of Portugal and Spain, the rhythm of my footsteps carrying me toward something I can’t quite name yet, but know I need to find.