The Camino de Santiago, a road anyone can start anywhere, but one that we started at a common venture point. St Jean Pied du Port. A town in France just across the border from Spain. A road that took us over mountains, through valleys, through laughter and tears and a lot of - at times unbearable - pain. In the end we all lived it though, the camino. Our very own versions of it. People often tell me they're sorry for me when they hear I didn't walk the whole road due to foot trouble, but I always tell them there's nothing to be sorry about. Yes, it hurt at the time, and no I didn't walk every step of the road, I didn't get to see every twig or speck of dust on the way. But I was there, I walked the camino, I lived the camino. I experienced all of it, in my own way, like everyone else.

At times all we wanted to do was cry. So we had days where we spent most of our time on breaks, while at night we held hands as we cried over pain and worries over having to split up. Bonding happens quickly here.

Most evenings are as memorable as the days. It's the ultimate time to meet people, to complain about discomforts and go on adventures. I mean, when do you get the chance to sleep on a church floor? Or basically share beds with a complete stranger? Or how about having diarrhoea on a toilet shared with 100 others? Most memorable, yes. But also the wine, and wonderful conversations over 10 euro peregrino dinners.