SUBLIME.
The Camino de Ignaciano, Carved in Gravel
Not every road leads somewhere. This one does.
The Camino de Ignaciano is not a tourist trail. It is a road of fire and faith, a path once walked by Ignatius of Loyola as he shed his armor and began his search for transformation. Today, RAID takes that same pilgrimage to the bike — stripped down, raw, carved into gravel.
This route is no abstraction. It is Spain in its truest form: deserts where the wind will break you, mountains where silence presses as heavy as the climb, river valleys lined with forgotten villages, and cathedrals rising from the dust like anchors of another age. It is a landscape of endurance, of grit, of truths revealed only to those who suffer for them.
For five centuries, pilgrims have come this way — soldiers, seekers, penitents, wanderers — each leaving footprints in the dust of Navarre, Aragon, and Catalonia. Now we ride in their wake, from the cobbled streets of Pamplona to the sanctuary of Montserrat, finishing in Sant Feliu de Guíxols — coast to coast, from the mountains to the sea. From one shore to the next, the road is not just a line across Spain, but a crossing of spirit.
This is not a tour. It is a passage. A chance to ride not only across Spain, but into yourself. To embrace the hardship, the hunger, the exaltation of arriving not by chance, but by will.
Because the Camino de Ignaciano does not promise comfort. It promises meaning — carried from sea to sea.
“To travel the Camino Ignaciano is to let the dust of Spain become part of your own story.” – Jesuit traveler
D1 · ARRIVAL PAMPLONA
“Every pilgrimage begins in uncertainty. Step into it anyway.”
Pamplona doesn’t welcome you gently. It confronts you. Stone walls scarred by centuries, alleys that echo with festivals and bull hooves, bars thick with smoke and laughter. This is a city that has always lived on the edge — half celebration, half reckoning.
For pilgrims, it has long been the threshold. The place where you gather your courage, tie down your gear, and set your face toward the unknown. For us, it’s no different. Bikes lined up in the courtyard, legs jittering with the urge to move, eyes scanning east toward the Camino de Ignaciano.
Tonight we walk the same narrow streets, eat, drink, and take in the hum of Pamplona. Tomorrow we ride out of its walls and into something harder, wilder, and greater than ourselves.
Restaurante Europa — Pamplona
The first night in Spain isn’t just dinner — it’s a baptism. Europa may wear a Michelin star, but there’s nothing polished or pretentious here. This is Navarra laid bare: vegetables straight from the huerta, river trout, lamb, and game seared with fire, flavors pulled straight from the earth. Precise on the plate, raw at the core.
Hotel Tres Reyes — Pamplona
At the edge of Pamplona’s old walls, Hotel Tres Reyes is where history and momentum meet. Modern lines outside, warm interiors within — a refuge with views over the city’s spires and rooftops. More than a place to rest, it’s the threshold: the point where the pilgrimage begins.
Pamplona is not the beginning.
Tomorrow we ride.
O/N Hotel Tres Reyes - Pamplona
D2 · PAMPLONA - SAN SEBASTIÁN
Touring 59mi / 94.9km ✧ +2,898ft / 883m
45.3 mi pave / 13.6 mi grvl
73 km pave / 21.9 km grvl
“The sea waits at the end, but the road will decide if you’ve earned it.”
Day one is never just a ride. It’s the crossing of a threshold. From Pamplona’s old stone walls, the Camino tilts north and the road wastes no time in reminding you why you came. The legs are fresh, but the hills are unkind — rolling, relentless, demanding respect from the very first mile.
The Basque Country reveals itself slowly: farm tracks that rattle the bike, sharp climbs that bite, and small villages that feel older than the road itself. Bells echo from church towers, and somewhere in the wind you can taste salt — proof that the Atlantic is already tugging you forward.
This is no warm-up. It’s initiation. A test of rhythm and patience, the kind of riding that strips away doubt and sharpens resolve. By the time San Sebastián comes into view — blue water against green hills — you know you’ve begun something that will change you.
Hotel Arbaso — San Sebastián
Set in a 19th-century stone building in the heart of San Sebastián, Arbaso blends history with sharp modern design. Old bones, clean lines, and Basque spirit woven into every detail. It feels less like a hotel and more like a stronghold in the city’s core.
Restaurante Lukainkategi Jatetxea — Perched above the city with sweeping views of sea and mountains, Lukainkategi is where San Sebastián’s coastal soul meets the warmth of Basque tradition. The plates are bold yet refined—grilled monkfish, octopus, croquettes—crafted with the same precision we seek on the road. It’s a place to settle in after the journey, raise a glass, and taste the rugged elegance of the Basque country, a fitting counterpoint to the climbs and coastlines that frame our RAID.
Pamplona was the doorway.
San Sebastián is the first step inside.
O/N Hotel Arbaso
D3 · SAN SEBASTIÁN
Touring 64mi / 104km ✧ +5,554ft / 1,693m
64mi / 104km Pave
“Some pilgrimages demand rest. Others demand one more climb.”
San Sebastián is a city that tempts you to stop. The sea opens wide, the air tastes of salt and cider, and the old town hums with pintxo bars that never seem to close. For centuries, pilgrims have ended their journeys here, washing away the dust in the Atlantic. And you could too — spend the day wandering cobbled streets, eating, drinking, letting the ocean carry your thoughts.
But for the restless, the road still calls. The Basque Country is never quiet, and its climbs are legends. From Donostia, a 70-mile loop pulls you into green valleys and over ascents written into cycling history. Jaizkibel — long, twisting, exposed to the wind — a climb that has defined the Clásica San Sebastián and broken legs in the Vuelta. And Castille Inglés, steep and sharp, a road that tests not just the body but the will.
It’s a ride that doesn’t forgive laziness. The gradients are fierce, the rhythm unrelenting, the beauty undeniable. Basque cycling has always been about suffering made sacred — and here, you’ll feel why.
Whether you stay by the sea or chase the road into the hills, San Sebastián is more than a destination. It’s a reckoning — with appetite, with effort, with yourself.
Night two throws us into the chaos of San Sebastián’s Old Town for cena. At Atari, pintxos, txakoli, and cathedral steps collide. Gildas, beef cheeks, octopus, txuleta — plates that strike hard, flavors that refuse restraint. Loud, fast, alive. A RAID dinner of fire, noise, and Basque flavor turned all the way up.
Tonight we gather again — salt on our skin, stories spilling across the table. Tomorrow, the pilgrimage rolls east.
O/N Hotel Arbaso
D4 · SAN SEBASTIÁN - ARANTSAZU
Touring 72.2mi / 116km ✧ +6,671ft / 2,033m
56.2mi pave / 4.1mi grvl
90.4km pave / 6.5km grvl
“The road gives nothing. The climb takes everything. At Arantzazu, you arrive with nothing but what is real.”
We leave the sea behind, the Atlantic fading as the road bends inland toward the Basque valleys. The Camino threads through Azpeitia and Azkoitia, towns that have long marked the pilgrim’s path. Vineyards, rivers, and hills roll endlessly, each climb sharper than the last. By Olakua, the body is already worn thin — just in time for the reckoning.
The first blow is the Alto de Aia — short but savage, a wall of concrete that kicks well past 20%. Narrow ramps where the bike feels like it might stall beneath you. This climb has broken pros in the Itzulia Basque Country, with riders like Contador and Purito Rodríguez igniting race-defining attacks on its brutal slopes. For us, it’s less about tactics than survival — raw effort, nothing hidden.
And then comes the ascent to Arantzazu. Long, unrelenting, switchbacks cut into stone. The gradients bite deep, silence pressing close until all that’s left is breath and the grind of tires. It’s suffering made sacred, a climb that strips you bare and delivers you, emptied, at the gates of the sanctuary.
At the top, the Sanctuary of Arantzazu clings to the cliffs — stark, brutal, immovable. For centuries, pilgrims have come here emptied and seeking, and we arrive the same way: battered, changed, laid bare.
Our refuge is the Iraipe Santuario de Arantzazu Hotel, a hospice first built in 1779 to shelter those same pilgrims. Its walls have absorbed centuries of fatigue and faith. Renewed but never softened, it offers modern comfort woven through with history — simple, human, true.
The night here isn’t indulgence. It’s stillness — the weight of standing in the heart of the Basque Country, where limestone and beech press close and devotion has carved trails into the rock. Dinner is no ceremony, just the mountain on a plate: lamb slow-roasted, thick Basque stews, vegetables from nearby fields, Idiazabal cheese sharp with smoke. Honest food, stripped to its core.
Fuel, fire, fellowship — the same sustenance that has carried pilgrims for centuries. Tonight it carries us.
Tomorrow we rise not just rested, but recalibrated. Ready for what waits on the road.
D5 · ARANTZAZU - LAGUARDIA
Touring 52.9mi / 85.1km ✧ +6,523ft / 2,081m
16.8mi pave / 33.5mi grvl
27km pave / 53.9km grvl
“Gravel is the pilgrim’s truth — every stone testing your will, every mile stripping you closer to the core.”
We leave the cliffs of Arantzazu behind and drop into the wild backbone of the Aizkorri-Aratz Natural Park. More than 50 kilometers of gravel today — rough farm tracks, forest paths, stone roads that grind the legs and demand patience. Villages like Araia flicker by, but the road never softens.
Through the Arco de Zalamportillo, into the Laberinto de Arno, and up the punishing drag to Puerto de la Aldea Viejo — not famous, but unforgettable. Past Lapoblación and Meano, the land opens. Basque forests fall away, Rioja soil takes over, red and wide beneath a sharper sun.
Springs and ancient stones mark the way — Kripan’s nacedero, the Llanos Trikuharria — reminders that this road is older than we can grasp. Then come the vineyards, endless, the domain of winemakers like Olivier Rivière. The gravel eases, but the day has already taken its toll.
We finish in Laguardia, a walled town perched above the vines. Medieval gates, narrow streets, wine caves running beneath it all. Refuge and history, struggle and reward.
Set inside Laguardia’s medieval walls, the Hospedería de los Parajes is more than a hotel — it’s history, wine, and refuge under one roof. Ancient caves lie beneath, stone archways above, and centuries of travelers in between. It doesn’t shout. It simply holds you — with warmth, Rioja in your glass, and the hum of the plaza outside. A pause in the pilgrimage, perfectly earned.
Arantzazu was the reckoning.
Laguardia is the crossing — from mountain silence into the valley of wine and time.
D6 · LAGUARDIA - TUADELA
Touring 83.7mi / 134.7km ✧ +2,505ft / 763m
42.9 mi pave / 40.6 mi grvl
69 km pave / 65.3 km grvl
“The hardest days aren’t steep — they’re long.”
The legs are heavy now, the body frayed, and today the test isn’t steep grades but endless distance. We roll out of Laguardia and into Rioja’s red soil, where vineyards stretch forever and the sun feels sharper than before.
Logroño pulls us in with its wine, its cathedrals, its Camino streets packed with tapas bars and pilgrims. It whispers stay. But we don’t. The road is flat, relentless, split between smooth tarmac and rough gravel that shakes loose whatever strength remains.
Past Agoncillo and Alcanadre, the land opens wide — olives, almonds, ruins older than memory. Gravel drags, headwinds bite, and every town feels like a mirage. By Alfaro, storks circle overhead in their hundreds, nesting on church towers like a reminder that some journeys never end.
And then Tudela. A city of crossings. Gardens bursting with life on one side, the barren cliffs of the Bardenas Reales on the other. Muslim, Jewish, Christian — layers of history stacked in its walls. Abundance and austerity, held in the same breath.
AC Hotel Ciudad de Tudela rests in the heart of the old town, inside the 18th-century Real Casa de Misericordia, once a hospice for the city’s poor. The neoclassical shell remains, but within, the rooms are clean, modern, quiet — a refuge shaped by centuries yet stripped down for the traveler.
Dinner is Navarrese to its core. Tudela is Spain’s vegetable capital, and the kitchen makes no secret of it: artichokes, asparagus, cardoons, peppers — flavors born of the Ebro plain. Simple, direct, honest, served against stone walls that have seen generations pass.
Tonight we pause at this confluence of paths, where cultures meet and the pilgrimage deepens. Tomorrow, the road waits east.
D7 · TUADELA - ZARAGOZA
Touring 55mi / 88.4km ✧ +1,360ft / 415m
31.3mi pave / 23.2mi grvl
50.4km pave / 37.4km grvl
“The mountains break your legs. The plains break your will.”
Day seven trades climbs for wind and distance. We leave Tudela, following the Ebro through fertile fields and forgotten hamlets. The road is wide open, flat, exposed — a test of patience more than power.
Gravel grinds on for nearly 30 miles. Headwinds rise, invisible walls that make every kilometer twice as long. Nothing hides you here. It’s just rider against road, against self.
Villages mark the way — stork-filled towers in Alfaro, Roman echoes in Calahorra, orchards and vineyards heavy with life. Yet the miles drag endless, the body worn thin.
Then, at last, Zaragoza. A city of crossroads, shaped by Romans, Moors, and Christians, crowned by the Basilica del Pilar on the banks of the Ebro. Gritty, alive, unpolished — its streets thrum with history and appetite. Arrival here feels less like finish, more like absolution.
Tonight: Tapas in El Tubo
El Tubo isn’t a street. It’s a maze — narrow alleys bursting with voices, frying oil, and the clatter of plates. Bars no wider than a living room spill over with locals, vermouths are poured fast, glasses of Rioja vanish, plates of anchovies and croquetas fly from counter to hand.
The air is thick with garlic, smoke, and noise — too many conversations layered into one wild chorus. It’s not dinner, it’s ritual: bar to bar, pintxo to pintxo, each stop another notch in the night.
El Tubo is Zaragoza stripped raw. Not elegance, but excess. A celebration of hunger, thirst, and abandon. For a rider broken by wind and gravel, there’s no better reward than being swallowed by its chaos.
NH Collection Gran Hotel — Zaragoza
A 1929 stone landmark that has seen Spain shift and endure. Inside, marble and iron meet sharp modern lines — history carrying weight, not dust. Rooms are calm above the restless city, a refuge carved into the heart of Zaragoza. Not just a stop, but a pause between the road’s punishment and the chaos of the night.
D8 · ZARAGOZA - LLEIDA
Touring 105mi / 170km ✧ +4,471 ft / 1,363m
33.7 mi pave / 72.2 mi grvl
54.2 km pave / 116 km grvl
“The mountains take your strength. The desert takes your soul.”
This stage strips you down. No towering passes, no alpine beauty, no shelter. Just dust, wind, and the long road east.
We roll out of Zaragoza in the pale morning, El Pilar’s spires fading behind us, the Ebro pulling us toward the horizon. Soon the land empties into the Monegros, a semi-desert of ochre plains and silence. Here the gravel begins and does not let go — nearly forty-five miles of it, unbroken. Dust clings to your face, every jolt rattles deeper into the body, and the headwinds rise like invisible walls. Progress is measured not in miles, but in will.
Villages flicker like mirages: Bujaraloz, La Almolda, Fraga perched above the Cinca River. Each carries the layers of Roman stone, Moorish arches, and Christian towers — echoes of every soul who’s passed before. Even the pros have fought here: in 1950 and 1963, the Vuelta a España raced this very corridor from Zaragoza to Lleida, riders bracing against the same winds, suffering the same endless straights. What broke them then tests us now.
And then — Lleida. Rising from the Segre Valley, crowned by the fortress-like Seu Vella Cathedral, its Gothic bulk visible from miles away. To climb its hill after a day like this is not just arrival. It’s absolution. A vision of stone and faith that has greeted pilgrims and racers alike, proof that the suffering was not wasted.
Parador de Lleida — The Roser Convent
The Parador de Lleida is a story written in stone. Housed in the 17th-century Roser Convent, its arches and cloisters still carry centuries of silence, now fused with modern comfort.
At night, Lleida hums — taverns spilling wine, lamb and garden vegetables filling tables, Catalan voices echoing in the old quarter. At the center, our refuge: the Parador, its glass-roofed cloister alive with conversation where prayers once rose. The kitchen serves the region itself — lamb, olive oil, vegetables from the Segre, wines from Costers del Segre. Honest, rooted, unforgettable.
D9 · LLEIDA - IGUALADA
Touring 67.3mi / 108km ✧ +3,693ft / 1,126m
34.3mi pave / 32.8mi grvl
55.2km pave / 52.8km grvl
“Here, the road decides — not the mountains.”
Not every stage is about suffering in silence — some are about finding rhythm in the company of others. By now, the road has done its work: the group has its pace, the cadence of the days set. The pilgrimage isn’t solitary anymore — it’s shared.
We roll out beneath the mighty Seu Vella, Lleida’s hilltop cathedral-fortress, a place that has seen Moors, Christians, and crusaders fight for its stones. From here the Camino pushes east, and the land begins to shift. The wide plains give way to rising ground, the rivers swell, and the forests close in. Wildflowers explode across the fields, colors so vivid you can almost taste them.
But the road doesn’t let us pass easy. Gravel grinds, climbs bite, the heat lingers. This is a land that has broken more than a few travelers — medieval pilgrims who feared raids and famine, and even modern pros in the Vuelta a España, where crosswinds here have shattered pelotons and dreams alike. It’s not always the mountains that decide; sometimes it’s the grit to hold the wheel.
Landmarks mark the passage: Cervera, a walled town that once offered pilgrims safety behind its gates; Tàrrega, layered with Jewish and Catalan history, markets still buzzing with the energy of centuries; and finally, Igualada, long a hub of leather tanneries that supplied muleteers, traders, and wanderers bound for Montserrat. The jagged silhouette of that sacred mountain is there now, distant but calling, reminding us that the end is near, but never easy.
Igualada — Two Doors, One Night
Tonight plays out differently. Igualada isn’t a big city with towering hotels — it’s a small Catalan town with history in its stones and only a handful of places that matter. Which means we split, but not apart.
Half of us will sleep at Somiatruites, the old tannery reborn into a design-forward hideout, its rooftop garden feeding the kitchen below, industrial bones wrapped in modern edge. The rest settle into Cal Roure Boutique Hotel, right on the town square, a sleek refuge with clean lines and a front-row seat to the old quarter’s hum.
Seven rooms here, six there. Small, rare, special. Both carved from Igualada’s heart.
And though we sleep in two places, we gather as one. Dinner is at Somiatruites, where the Andrés brothers turn the town’s industrial past into Michelin Green Star brilliance. Fire, invention, and roots on the plate. Igualada doesn’t just host us tonight — it claims us.
Day nine isn’t about arrival. It’s about anticipation. About feeling Montserrat pull us closer, one pedal stroke at a time.
D10 · IGUALADA - MANRESA
Touring 30mi / 48.5km ✧ +3,657ft / 1,115m
17.9mi pave / 11.2mi grvl
28.8km pave / 18km grvl
“Not all climbs are measured in meters. Some are measured in meaning.”
From Igualada we ride straight into history, toward Montserrat — the jagged massif that has been both a beacon and a crucible for a thousand years. Pilgrims have wound their way up here since the 11th century, drawn by the Black Madonna, the Virgin of Montserrat, patron saint of Catalonia. To reach her sanctuary is to arrive at one of the most sacred stops on the Camino. The road is steep, carved into stone, and every switchback feels like a step deeper into something larger than yourself.
For cycling, Montserrat is no less legendary. The Vuelta a España has used these slopes as a battleground, the climb exposing riders to heat, wind, and the sheer mental weight of the mountain. This isn’t the Pyrenees, but the stakes feel just as high. It’s a climb that strips you bare, then lifts you into the clouds.
We pause at the monastery — coffee, a photo, the press of crowds — then escape back into silence. The road turns across the Pla de les Botges, a plateau of wind and wide skies, once feared by pilgrims for its exposure. In the Vuelta, this land has cracked pelotons apart, forcing riders into echelons. Flat, but merciless.
By day’s end, we descend into Manresa, where we collect our Compostela — proof of the Camino complete. Yet our night belongs to Oller del Mas, a thousand-year-old castle estate reborn as vineyard and retreat. With Montserrat rising behind us, we trade the grit of the road for glasses of deep red wine, cabins set among vines, and a dinner that celebrates the land we’ve just crossed.
Today was more than a stage. It was pilgrimage — body, road, and spirit tested on one of Spain’s holiest mountains.
Stay: Oller del Mas
A place with roots as deep as its vines, Oller del Mas is a medieval castle turned sustainable winery and boutique retreat. Just outside Manresa, in the shadow of Montserrat, the estate dates back over 1,000 years. Its vineyard and bodega are still family-run, with organic wines that speak of the Bages region’s rugged soil.
Guests stay in sleek, modern cabins tucked among the vines — minimalist design, wide terraces, and views that stretch to Montserrat’s jagged cliffs. Nights here mean wine tastings in the castle cellars, food drawn from the estate itself, and the rare feeling of resting in a place where history, land, and culture converge.
D11 · MANRESA - VIC
Touring 48mi / 77.3km ✧ +5,281ft / 1,610m
23.6 mi pave / 24.2 mi grvl
38 km pave / 38.9 km grvl
Leaving Manresa, the road rolls into the Moianès plateau — dry stone walls, hermit chapels, and gravel tracks that test rhythm more than brute force. Pilgrims once crept through here on foot, pausing at monasteries and farmsteads; today, we follow in their wake, grinding across uplands that feel both remote and timeless.
The closer we push toward Osona, the land opens wide. Wheat fields and vineyards sweep to the horizon, the Pyrenees rising in the distance like a promise. Vic sits at the heart of it all — Roman Ausa, medieval bishopric, market town, and cultural hub whose Plaça Major still thrums with life after a thousand years. The cathedral holds layers of history in stone, from Romanesque to Baroque, but it’s the square that feels alive: the pulse of traders, pilgrims, and cyclists.
The Vuelta a España has rolled through these roads more than once — Vic has hosted both stage starts and finishes, with the surrounding hills often deciding the fate of breakaways. The terrain is deceptive: not mountain passes, but jagged, rolling roads where crosswinds split the peloton and outsiders can make their mark. Riders here know that sometimes the hardest battles are fought before the Pyrenees even appear.
By the time we roll into Vic, the day feels like a passage — a bridge from Montserrat’s holy heights to the looming frontier of the Pyrenees. And Vic rewards the weary with the best kind of prize: rustic breads, sharp cheeses, and the legendary fuet de Vic, a sausage that has fed travelers for centuries.
By night, the arcaded square glows, the air heavy with the scent of cured meats and woodsmoke, and the city feels less like a stopover than a celebration.
Les Clarisses — Vic
Tonight, the pilgrimage pauses inside stone walls that once held silence. Les Clarisses, a 17th-century convent reborn as a boutique hotel, is more than lodging — it’s a stage where history, design, and gastronomy collide. Cloisters and courtyards breathe centuries of devotion, now sharpened with modern lines and quiet luxury.
The rooms are calm but full of presence — high ceilings, clean design, the sense that you’re resting in something bigger than yourself. And beyond them, hidden corners open up: La Clandestina, a secret library where silence and cocktails share the same space. Here, the road softens, voices drop, and the glass in your hand carries as much weight as the miles behind you.
Dinner is an event, not a formality. The gastronomic restaurant at Les Clarisses reimagines Catalan tradition through the lens of the Osona region — lamb, river fish, vegetables from the plain, all twisted with modern precision. It’s signature cuisine rooted deep in the land, plated with creativity but never losing its honesty. Each dish feels like a step further into Catalonia itself — a tasting of the territory, a communion between pilgrim and place.
For RAID, Les Clarisses is not just a night in Vic — it’s immersion. A refuge that takes the bones of history, layers in modern edge, and serves it all back with fire, flavor, and soul.
O/N Les Clarisses
D12 · VIC - SANT FELIU DE GUÍXOLS
Touring 46mi / 74.5km ✧ +3,098 ft / 1,344m
31.4mi pave / 14.7mi grvl
50.6km pave / 23.5km grvl
The last miles are never a gift. They’re earned.
The pilgrimage breaks open here, where stone meets salt. Sant Feliu de Guíxols is no resort town dressed for postcards — it’s a port with history in its bones. Fishing boats and yachts crowd the harbor, gulls wheel above, and the air is thick with salt, smoke, and the clatter of nets.
Above the waterline, the Benedictine Monastery stands — its Romanesque “Porta Ferrada” a gate of iron and time. Pilgrims have crossed it for nearly a thousand years; tonight, it’s our threshold too. This is where roads end and horizons begin.
The streets hum with Catalan life. Taverns spill into the squares, the Camino de Ronda winds off into the cliffs, and the Porta Ferrada Festival fills the summer air with music. Here, abundance and grit sit side by side: seafood pulled straight from the sea, wine from the Empordà, voices raised under the open Mediterranean sky.
To finish in Sant Feliu is not soft arrival. It’s collision — land into sea, history into present, rider into pilgrim. A last taste of Spain that doesn’t polish itself, doesn’t need to.
The Camino de Ignaciano, carved in gravel, ends not in silence — but in the roar of the sea.
Eden Roc Hotel & Spa — Sant Feliu de Guíxols
At the edge of the Costa Brava, the Eden Roc Hotel & Spa rises from a rocky peninsula like it was carved straight out of the sea. White walls, salt-stung pines, balconies that hang over the Mediterranean — this is where the road finally meets the horizon.
The sea is everywhere here: in the glassy windows, the salt air, the seawater pools of the spa where battered legs and tired bodies finally unclench.
Dinner is on the terraces, the Mediterranean served raw and direct — fish straight from the boats in Sant Feliu, oil pressed from Empordà groves, wines that taste of the coast and the cliffs. The sound of waves crashing below is the punctuation to every bite, every glass raised.
This isn’t just a hotel. It’s a landing — a place where exhaustion breaks against the sea, and the pilgrimage finds its end in salt, stone, and horizon.
Pamplona lit the fire.
Montserrat burned the soul.
Sant Feliu de Guíxols — where the road is swallowed by the sea.
D13 · TRANSFER to BARCELONA
Transfer Note: Sant Feliu de Guíxols → Barcelona–El Prat Airport
The ride ends in Sant Feliu de Guíxols, but the road doesn’t release you. From the monastery walls to the gates of Barcelona–El Prat Airport — a transfer of about 90 minutes — it lingers: the burn in your legs, the grit on your skin, the silence that won’t leave your head.
This is no tidy ending. It’s the aftertaste of the Camino, carried beyond the sea and into whatever comes next. The pilgrimage is done. The road stays.
