The below paragraphs are extracts from a diary found on the Aerlingus flight from Madrid to Dublin which brought the VDP Camino trip home. The author is unknown, which is probably for the best for their campus reputation. Read with caution, not just for the at times gruesome details, but also as writer was presumably heavily under the influence of Spain’s cheapest brand of boxed wine, giving us a less-than-trustworthy narration. 

Day 1 – Friday, March 1

Dublin Airport, 6AM – Jesus Christ this plane was supposed to have taken off an hour and a half ago and we’re on our second de-icing machine. You’d swear this country has never seen snow before. Okay, maybe I’m still groggy from the 4:30am call time to be at the airport (actually so unnecessary but I won’t even get into it). The air hostesses are getting snappy because someone is trying to use the bathroom even though we’re not allowed to leave our seats. I fear a scrap is imminent, which I actually wouldn’t mind because this plane doesn’t have TVs on board. Also, some fourth years (who are definitely pushing 30) already started on the beers at the airport bar – the actual state of them like. 

Madrid, 1pm – We’ve arrived at the hostel and the one person working the reception desk is strangely surprised that 100 people have shown up for a booking of 100 people. In all fairness, who could have given them a heads up about this? Certainly not the person who took a booking of 100 people. I guess people just don’t want to work these days. 

I was in these girls’ room for no more than five minutes before one of them whipped out their toes. First of all, put the dogs back in the cage. Second of all, I could smell them before I could see them! Genuinely, though, there was nearly an impromptu amputation because a thread from her sock wrapped around her toe and cut off  circulation. Very much a bad omen for the 100km we’re going to walk over the next week. 

Madrid, 12am – Not my finest hour. Whoever let me get that last double vodka coke should be hung, drawn and quartered for what they did to me. While we’re on the topic of punishment, if taking the craic too far sometimes is a crime, lock me up! The fact that I projectile-vomited outside Madrid’s most mid bar is so violently humbling, especially given the fact that I know two people on this trip and everyone else saw me being carried home. I swear I wasn’t that drunk though. 

Day 2 – Saturday, March 2

Vigo, 4pm – This morning was so hectic I didn’t have time to write so I need to catch you up. So, a random man stole a bunch of people’s phones last night and we’re just meant to move on from this. Personally I would have been in floods of tears if mine was stolen, but they’re stronger soldiers than me, I guess.

Now, time for train-gate. 26 students were able to get on the Madrid metro on a total of maybe seven tickets because four people could fit in the turnstile at once. Capitalism breeds innovation, don’t tell László. Then, naturally, we got horrendously lost (again, not a great omen) multiple times. We just about got on the train in time. Well, most of us did anyway – a couple of stragglers didn’t have their tickets on them and weren’t allowed on. I think getting denied at the train station is even more embarrassing than getting denied from Coppers on a Wednesday night – both of which have never happened to me, of course. 

Moving on, it was when I sheepishly slinked back to my seat after getting sick in the grimiest train toilet known to man, with actual tears in my eyes, that I knew I’d hit the jackpot with my route. Of course, immediately everyone was concerned and gave me food etc, but then the slagging started. As it should, I completely deserved every joke. Also, the conversation about how much money it would take to live an ideal yummy mummy lifestyle for 15 years is possibly the most intellectual experience of my time in Trinity thus far. No notes. 

Vigo, 11pm – I have, for the second day in a row, made an absolute show of myself in front of 25 people I barely know. Don’t ask why, but I somehow managed to misspell my middle name in front of the entire route. If anyone asks, it was a pre-planned bit to make everyone laugh in the name of group bonding. But to be fair some bonding did happen – I can’t remember the details but this guy called himself the most handsome man in Ireland and everyone laughed. Bit rude, I thought. 

Day 3 – Sunday, March 3

Random Spanish forest, 1pm – Not quite sure if being woken up at 5am by ‘Vamos a la Playa’ will be a highlight or lowlight of the trip, but I know this sweaty sandwich that I made last night will certainly be a lowlight. Now before you ask, trust the drinking has started – but we’ve been up for six hours already so surely it’s not fucked if we all have a sip? Also I was severely violated during a game of hesitation (someone asked me what my body count was, bold of them to assume I’ve felt the touch of a woman). 

We’re to walk nearly 40km today, a truly insane ask on a hiking holiday and I have every intention of filing a complaint with the Central Societies Committee (CSC), or maybe even Childline. Honestly it was fairly rough going until I busted out my first litre of Don Simon wine. As I write this, I’m beginning to think that this Don fella isn’t too bad. He’ll probably be my new best friend after this trip. 

Pontevedra, 10pm – I have never felt pain like this before. We actually walked the whole 40km, and keep in mind that I have an eight kilogram bag on my back. Surprisingly, my feet and legs aren’t too bad at the moment, but oh my god my back. This could be because I was walking like the hunchback of Notre Dame for the last 10km. I also avenged myself by violating someone else during a game of hesitation, but I actually went way too far and asked such a vile question I can’t even write it down here. I feel awful and should definitely apologise to him in the morning like what is wrong with me? Again, I hardly know these people!

Day 4 – Monday, March 4

Another random Spanish forest, 3pm – If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, did it make a sound? Now, what if 26 Trinity students on the VDP Camino have an impromptu dance party in this forest and no one is around to hear that either? Anyways, not a philosophy student, don’t care. But our renditions of “Riptide” and “Horse Outside” was a truly transcendental experience.

Feet are getting sore, I can feel the blisters forming, but I must keep pushing through because I refuse to be the first person to suggest getting a taxi to the hostel. Also no chance in hell I’m paying for that taxi when I got stuck with paying for a jug of Sangria at lunch that I didn’t even drink – will I be able to Revolut request the CSC for that? 

Day 5 – Tuesday, March 5

Caldas de Reis, 9am – Slept surprisingly well, all 60km considered. Today is our shortest day of walking, so naturally it will be our biggest day of drinking. Genuinely so excited it is actually worrying. I have the comfiest Boohoo man tracksuits on and I am READY. The hostel last night didn’t have heating and the electricity shut off at around 10pm so I’m feeling less than prepared for the day but who cares, it’s the Camino. Also the weather is only getting better from here so I’m hopeful that I’ll step back on campus with a Love Islandesque tan.

Yet another random Spanish forest, 4pm – When people say to pack light for the Camino do they include the three one-litre boxes of wine I got in the supermarket this morning? I’m blaming box number two for my aggressive yapping today in which I told two stories that I promised myself I would never tell because of how embarrassing they are. We randomly walked past a hot spring today, had a little dip, it was so idyllic I’d say the photos look like impressionist paintings. (Just saw one of the photos and the spring is covered in floating blister plasters, how lovely). 

Hostel, don’t know where, don’t know when, too drunk – three litres of wine seemed like such good craic before I had opened any of them. It’s no surprise but I’ve made yet another show of myself, for some reason we got into a spitting fight (we spat our wine in each others’ faces, so funny I know). I just hope that one of the people who spat in my face doesn’t have a really bad cold or something or ends up getting diagnosed pneumonia right after submitting her dissertation – that would be so bad.  Padrón, 1am – Well dinner has finally arrived after waiting for an hour for delivery from a kebab shop that’s a five minute walk away! I swear this hostel is cursed it’s a barely renovated barn. Other pilgrims threatened to call the police because I guess the craic was just too mighty. And when I say craic I mean a game of ‘penis’ but the word penis was replaced by ‘ballsack’ to switch it up. Low-key I get why your one wanted to call the guards. 

Day 6 – Wednesday, March 6

Padrón, 10am – Shoutout to all the people who left the hostel at 5am this morning to make it to Santiago in time for mass in Latin, you guys were so real for that. I may have said that I went to enough masses and studied enough Latin in school as my excuse for not joining but truth be told, there is no physical or emotional or spiritual way for me to be less arsed to get up that early. 

Random Spanish town, 2pm – never thought I would ever say this in my life but I wish there was another day of walking 20KM tomorrow. BRUH I’m pre-emptively missing people. Chats are too funny. Drink is too cheap. Life is too good. In my opinion, nothing is as simultaneously cringe and painful as a forced DMC, but (and I’m not sure if this is the holy vibes coming from Santiago) shit is getting REAL and DEEP and even as someone who is aggressively emotionally unavailable, I love it. 

Santiago de Compostela Cathedral, 5pm – Running through the streets of Santiago, blaring ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’, boxed wine in hand – a true renaissance painting. Spaniards and other pilgrims were taking pictures and videos of us so God knows where they’re being posted. Oh god I just remembered I snapped one of my friends bracelets because I was falling and tried to grab her hand. Yikes. 

Day 7 – Thursday, March 7

Horrendously tired, even more hungover. The train from Santiago to Madrid may be the literal death of me. But I genuinely don’t think I’ve had so much fun in such a short space of time. Just added my route to my Close Friends, making it truly official. But my god if someone ever saw what I’ve written in here this week I couldn’t show my face at any VDP event again.