What Makes a Camino a Pilgrimage?

  “The difference between a pilgrim and tourist is the intention of attention,

the quality of the curiosity.”
 

Phil Cousineau, The Art of Pilgrimage: The Seeker’s Guide to Making Travel Sacred

 

Reflections from the Camino Portugués Coastal and Espiritual

 

Having walked a growing number of Camino routes, we are often asked what distinguishes a Camino from any other long-distance trail. At first, the answer can seem obvious. A Camino follows arrows and scallop shells toward Santiago de Compostela, pilgrims carry credentials and collect stamps, and the journey traditionally concludes in the cathedral believed to contain the remains of Saint James. Yet our experience on the Camino Portugués Coastal and Espiritual routes made us realize that the distinction is neither as visible nor as straightforward as those familiar symbols suggest.

 

The question became especially relevant because we reached the Coastal route after already walking much of the length of Portugal. Beginning in the Algarve, we followed the Rota Vicentina northward along the wild Atlantic coast before reconnecting with the Camino Portugués and retracing the Central route from Lisbon to Porto. From Porto, rather than continuing inland as we had during our earlier Portuguese pilgrimage, we turned toward the ocean and followed a mixture of the Litoral and Coastal routes before joining the Espiritual Variant in Galicia.

 

For weeks, therefore, we had been moving between trails that shared the same country, a continuous coastline, the same ocean and many of the same physical experiences. We walked beside beaches and fishing harbours, pushed through strong winds, crossed boardwalks and stopped in communities shaped by their relationships with the Atlantic as well as those being rejuvenated by the waves of pilgrims now trekking in Portugal. Nevertheless, one was understood primarily as a coastal hiking trail while the other was part of the centuries-old network of pilgrimage routes leading to Santiago. This left us wondering whether the distinction could be found in the path itself or whether it came from something the traveller carried onto it.

 

When a Camino Looks Like a Coastal Trail

 

The Rota Vicentina and Camino Portugués Coastal share an obvious relationship with the Atlantic, but the landscapes through which they pass are very different. Along the Fishermen’s Trail, the coastline frequently dominated the experience. Long stretches of sand, exposed cliffs, dunes, wind and remote beaches separated the communities along the way. Villages often felt like welcome places of refuge from a landscape that remained raw, beautiful and physically demanding.

 

North of Porto, the Camino Portugués Coastal was more developed and populated. Boardwalks, promenades and paved walkways led through communities, beach resorts and tourist towns where cafés, restaurants and holiday accommodations were rarely far away. Local residents walked their dogs, surfers headed into the waves, families gathered on beaches, and pilgrims moved among people whose reasons for being beside the ocean had nothing to do with reaching Santiago.

 

At times, it was difficult to feel that we were on a pilgrimage at all. The route could resemble an extended waterfront trail, particularly where yellow arrows became scarce, and we simply kept the Atlantic on our left while continuing north. On our first day out of Porto, we walked for kilometres along the Douro River and the ocean before finding another clear Camino marker. The way forward was not difficult to determine, but the physical environment did little to separate pilgrims from joggers, tourists, surfers and local residents enjoying the waterfront.

 

We have experienced similar feelings on other coastal trails. Newfoundland’s East Coast Trail, the Celtic Shores Coastal Trail in Cape Breton and New Brunswick’s Fundy Footpath all provided challenge, reflection, community and powerful encounters with nature. Each gave us time to consider our place in the landscape and reconnect with the rhythms of the natural world. None, however, was a Camino pilgrimage simply because it followed a coastline or encouraged introspection.

 

All of which seems to suggest that neither beautiful scenery nor the act of walking makes a journey a pilgrimage. A long-distance trail can change us profoundly without becoming a Camino, while a Camino can be walked entirely as a recreational hike. The difference begins with why we set out and what we believe we are undertaking.

 

Hiking a Camino and Undertaking a Pilgrimage

 

For us, pilgrimage begins with intention. Two people can follow the same yellow arrows, sleep in the same accommodations and arrive in Santiago on the same afternoon while undertaking fundamentally different journeys. One may be hiking a famous European trail or simply enjoying a ramble in a region they love. Others may be seeking healing, forgiveness, clarity, renewal or a deeper connection with faith, nature and other people.  This does not mean that one approach is more legitimate than the other. The Camino is open to people of every faith and to those with no religious beliefs at all. It can be experienced as a physical challenge, a cultural journey, an outdoor adventure or a holiday. Problems arise only when we assume that following a recognized pilgrimage route automatically makes every experience upon it a pilgrimage.

 

Our own purpose in returning to Portugal extended beyond reaching Santiago. We had come back to the Camino while feeling burned out and disconnected from the essential aspects of life at home. We wanted to step away from digital noise, slow the pace of our days and return to the simplicity of walking, eating, sleeping and beginning again. We hoped that time in nature would create space to think and that following the Way would help us recover a sense of direction, intention and purpose. That intention travelled with us whether we were passing a medieval church, crossing a beach, bird watching along the coastline, or following a boardwalk through a resort town. The surroundings could encourage or distract from it, but they did not determine it. In this sense, pilgrimage was not something bestowed upon us by a historic route. It depended upon the attention and openness we brought to the journey.

 

The Importance of Pilgrim Symbols

 

If intention is fundamental, however, this does not mean that the traditional features of the Camino are irrelevant. Medieval streets, historic cathedrals, roadside chapels, pilgrim albergues, yellow arrows and scallop shells do not create pilgrimage by themselves, but they continually remind walkers that they are participating in something larger than an ordinary hike.

 

We felt this strongly when comparing the Coastal route with our earlier walk on the Camino Portugués Central. The inland route carried us through agricultural communities, historic towns and rural landscapes where churches stood at the centre of village life. Roman bridges, medieval roads and religious sites created a visible continuity between present-day walkers and those who had travelled toward Santiago many centuries ago. Even when we were alone, the landscape repeatedly returned our attention to pilgrimage.

 

The same was true on the Camino Francés, where crowded albergues, pilgrim menus, churches, cathedrals and a near-continuous stream of backpacks made the collective journey difficult to forget. That atmosphere can become commercialized and overwhelming, but it also creates a shared recognition, shared experiences, and generally a shared goal. The person walking ahead is likely following the same arrows, experiencing similar challenges and travelling toward the same destination.

 

Along the Portuguese coast, those reminders were less consistent. Tourist communities and waterfront infrastructure sometimes absorbed the Camino into the surrounding holiday landscape. When arrows disappeared, we could continue by following the ocean, but we lost one of the small symbols that regularly recalls a pilgrim to the intention of the Way. Finding a yellow arrow, entering a chapel for a stamp or receiving a heartfelt “Bom Caminho” could therefore feel unexpectedly important.  The symbols work because they help focus attention. A scallop shell beside a doorway tells us that others have passed this way. A stamp in a credential records more than a geographical location; it becomes part of the regular routine and ritual through which a longer journey takes shape. A church, cross or wayside shrine offers an opportunity to stop and reflect - whether the person stopping there understands that moment in religious, spiritual, cultural or historical terms.

 

Yet symbols can also become detached from the tradition they are meant to represent. Along modern Camino routes, we have encountered Coca-Cola machines decorated with Camino imagery, pilgrim shells sold in variety stores and vending machines, Camino boutique shops and tourist mascots dressed as pilgrims. None of this is entirely new. Pilgrimage has always existed beside commerce, and medieval routes were accompanied by businesses, accommodations, brothels and others hoping to profit from the movement of travellers.

 

The distinction lies in whether the symbol redirects attention toward pilgrimage or merely uses pilgrimage to sell something. A yellow arrow painted on a stone asks us to continue. A shell on an albergue identifies a place of welcome and shared rest. The same imagery placed on a commercial machine or novelty mascot may instead reduce a living tradition to branding. The symbol remains recognizable, but its purpose has changed.

 

A More Scattered Pilgrim Community

 

The collective experience is another element that helps distinguish pilgrimage from an ordinary trail, but this too felt different along the coast. We left Porto amid a steady stream of excited pilgrims, and during the day we regularly encountered other walkers in cafés, on promenades and along the boardwalks. Nevertheless, the community repeatedly formed and dissolved around us.  The Portuguese routes divide and reconnect in ways that make a continuous pilgrim family more difficult to sustain. Walkers choose between the Central, Coastal and Litoral options, and even within those routes they make different decisions about whether to remain beside the ocean, turn inland or shorten a stage. At one junction where arrows pointed in more than one direction, we watched as some pilgrims asked which path returned to the coast, others searched for the shortest option, and still others continued without hesitation.  Each of us was on the Camino Portuguese but we were all clearly on different journeys.

 

Just as we began recognizing familiar faces, people selected another route and disappeared from our pilgrimage. We shared conversations and cafés with pilgrims whom we never saw again. The encounters could still be warm and meaningful, but they were more fleeting than the relationships that developed on the Camino Francés or our earlier Portuguese Central pilgrimage.

 

This did not mean that a pilgrim community was absent. But rather, that it was scattered among tourists, residents and other walkers – only occasionally gathering in an albergue, chapel or café before separating again. The community existed through moments of recognition: a greeting exchanged on a boardwalk, a conversation about the day’s route, a shared search for an arrow lost amid an overgrown hedge, or lining up to get a credential stamped.  These temporary connections still mattered (at least to us) in the larger sense of things.  Pilgrimage does not require everyone to walk together or form a lasting Camino family. It does, however, involve an awareness that other people are undertaking their own journeys alongside ours. Even brief encounters can remind us that although our reasons for walking are personal, we are participating in a collective movement toward a shared destination. At times this was harder to see on the Camino Portuguese Coastal route.

 

What the Espiritual Variant Changed

 

The Espiritual Variant altered the atmosphere of the journey once again. Leaving the busier coastal communities, the route passed through beautiful forests, vineyards and more peaceful rural landscapes. The Way of Stone and Water followed streams past old mills, creating one of the most enjoyable and contemplative sections of our Portuguese Camino.

 

Here nature provided the quiet that churches, monasteries and historic streets sometimes create elsewhere. Flowing water and shaded paths shaped each stage.   For us, this was a reminder that spirituality does not exist only inside buildings or through established rituals. It can also emerge through attention to landscapes, birds, nature and the physical world through which we travel.

 

The Espiritual Variant also introduced the maritime tradition associated with the arrival of the remains of Saint James in Galicia. Pilgrims can travel by boat across the Arousa estuary and along the Ulla River, symbolically following the legendary journey toward Padrón. The historical basis of this account is disputed, but the experience reveals how pilgrimage is shaped not only by verifiable events but also by traditions, stories and meanings carried across generations.  The boat did not make the journey more or less authentic than walking every kilometre. Instead, it asked pilgrims to consider what they believed they were retracing and why the story mattered to them. Like the Camino’s arrows, shells and credentials, the maritime journey provided a framework through which physical travel could be connected to a larger tradition - and for that we were grateful.

 

What Ultimately Defines a Camino

 

By the time we reached Santiago, we no longer believed that a Camino could be defined by any single feature. It is not created solely by medieval streets, historic cathedrals, crowded albergues or religious monuments, although each can help direct a walker’s attention toward pilgrimage. Nor is it guaranteed by carrying a credential, collecting stamps or following yellow arrows, especially when those same symbols are increasingly used to promote tourism and sell products.  For us, a Camino begins with intention. It develops through the repeated daily act of moving toward a meaningful destination, grows through encounters with other pilgrims and deepens through a willingness to reflect. Its spiritual dimension need not be conventionally religious, but it asks for an openness to something beyond completing kilometres or reaching the end of a trail.

 

The collective tradition also matters. We were not simply walking north along Portugal’s coastline; we were joining generations of people who had travelled toward Santiago for reasons that were deeply personal to each of them. The symbols of the Camino helped us remember that connection, even when the trail passed through tourist towns, crossing surfer beaches, or following modern promenades. When those symbols became commercial decorations, the intention we carried became even more important.

 

The Rota Vicentina, East Coast Trail, Celtic Shores Coastal Trail and Fundy Footpath have all offered us beauty, difficulty, community and time for reflection. They have changed us and deepened our relationship with nature. Yet we approached them as long-distance trails whose landscapes and experiences were the focus of the journey.  By comparison, the Camino Portugués Coastal and Espiritual routes asked something different of us. Although they also followed the Atlantic, neither the coastline nor the ocean was the destination. Beyond the beaches, boardwalks, fishing harbours and tourist towns lay Santiago, the history of pilgrimage and the questions we had carried with us from home.

 

Perhaps this is what finally distinguishes a Camino from another long-distance trail. The route provides the tradition, the symbols and a destination. Other pilgrims create the collective experience. The landscapes offer space for reflection. But it is the intention with which each person sets out - and the attention they bring to each day - that transforms walking the Camino into pilgrimage.

 

See you on the Way!