My husband sweats. A lot. Jon doesn’t perspire, he drips sweat from his head that runs down his back and soaks his shirt. Beads of water form on his arms and legs and pour from him like a river. He stayed cool in the 86-degree heat and humidity and replenished himself with ice cold beers at tiny Camino bars along the way.

I have sweat envy.

I don’t sweat. I steam like a kettle with a lid and eventually boil over. While I was taking breaks along the Camino in the small amount of shade we had today, Jon was marching down the trail, mile after mile, in the blazing sun with a dishrag on his head, as happy as the pigs we threw apples to at the farms along the way.

During the 11-mile trek from Ferreiros to Gonzar, pilgrims walked slowly, conserving energy for the steep descent into Portomarin, and the ascent back up to Gonzar where we ended our day.

Cars stopped along the road to offer us water during the heat of the day. One farmer tossed Jon freshly picked pears from his tree that grew high above the trail.

“Buen Camino!”

“Buen Camino!” we answered back.

In the late afternoon, when the heat and dust began chasing pilgrims from the trail, we listened as others sang songs to keep their minds and hearts focused on the thought of a cool shower and a soft bed.

Such is the spirit of the Camino. I think it is humanity at its very best.