The Luxury We Need Most Isn’t Five-Star Hotels. It’s Time to Think.

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CrossRoads Conversations

When I first started hosting Camino de Santiago walking retreats in rural Gascony, the French Tuscany, I assumed I would be the one doing most of the teaching.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Over the years, dozens of people have arrived at my farmhouse carrying backpacks, walking boots, and lives that had gradually become much too heavy. Some were still working. Some had retired. Some were rebuilding after loss, illness or divorce. Others simply couldn’t explain why they felt so restless.

They thought they had come to walk a couple of sections of the Camino.

In the end, they became MY teachers. The CrossRoads Conversations blog post series explores what my guests have taught me over the last twenty-odd years.

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When people hear the word luxury, they often imagine infinity pools, Michelin-starred restaurants, Egyptian cotton sheets and champagne on arrival.

There’s nothing wrong with any of those things. I enjoy a comfortable hotel as much as the next person.

But after hosting dozens of Camino retreats in southwest France, I’ve come to believe that the greatest luxury of all isn’t something money can buy.

It’s uninterrupted time to think.

That may not sound particularly glamorous. In fact, in a world that celebrates productivity and busyness, it can sound almost wasteful. Surely we should be doing something.

Yet I’ve noticed something remarkable over the years.

Guests often arrive convinced they need answers. They hope that somewhere during the retreat, they’ll finally manage to decide whether to retire, change careers, move house, end a relationship, begin a new project or simply work out what comes next.

What they haven’t realised is that they just haven’t given themselves enough time to think things through.

Not reflective thinking.

The kind that isn’t squeezed between meetings, interrupted by notifications or accompanied by the constant temptation to “just check this “important” email.”

The kind that unfolds slowly, like a country lane disappearing on the horizon.

My Camino de Santiago walking retreats include two or three days of walking sections of the historic Le Puy route. Guests walk alone, carrying little more than a picnic, some water and perhaps a notebook. I don’t walk with them, because over the years I’ve learned that people benefit more from the walk when they succeed in finding their own way.

Something begins to happen after the first hour or two.

The conversation in our heads gradually quietens.

The mental to-do list loses its urgency.

The imaginary arguments, worries and rehearsed conversations begin to fade.

People start noticing things again.

The scent of wild thyme warming in the sunshine.

The neat rows of vines stretching towards the horizon.

A buzzard circling overhead.

The reassuring rhythmic footfall of boots on a 1000-year-old path.

At first glance, it looks as though nothing is happening.

In reality, something very important is.

Thoughts start to flow freely.

For many of my guests, particularly those who have spent decades in demanding careers, this can feel surprisingly unfamiliar. They have become exceptionally good at solving everyone else’s problems, meeting deadlines and making decisions under pressure.

What they have forgotten is how to sit quietly with their own thoughts.

Perhaps that is one of the hidden costs of modern life.

We have more information available to us, instantly, than any previous generation. More opinions. More entertainment. More news. More noise.

What we have less of is uninterrupted reflection.

Little wonder so many people feel mentally crowded.

One of the things my guests have taught me is that clarity rarely arrives because we force it. It appears when we stop chasing it quite so desperately.

Some of the most important decisions I’ve seen people make haven’t happened at a table with spreadsheets and pros-and-cons lists. They’ve happened somewhere between two small villages on the Camino de Santiago, while watching butterflies drift across a wildflower meadow or listening to the wind rustle through the trees.

Not because the Camino generously hands out answers.

But because it gives people something they need: Time.

Not time to be entertained.

Not time to be productive.

Simply time to think.

It’s curious, really.

We think nothing of spending a considerable sum on a luxurious holiday, yet we often struggle to justify setting aside a few days simply to reflect on our lives.

I’ve come to believe that genuine luxury has very little to do with opulence.

It’s waking without an alarm.

It’s walking without being in a hurry.

It’s hearing birds instead of traffic.

It’s eating lunch beneath a tree instead of at your desk.

It’s allowing your mind enough room to wander until, almost unnoticed, it begins to find its way home.

Perhaps that’s why so many guests tell me that walking the Camino was the highlight of their retreat. Not because it was physically demanding or particularly adventurous, but because it gave them permission to do something they hadn’t done in years.

To stop.

To breathe.

And finally, to think.

Perhaps you’re longing for that kind of luxury too.

If you think you—or someone you care about—would benefit from a few days walking the Camino, slowing down, and giving yourself the priceless gift of time to think, I’d love to tell you more about my small-group Camino de Santiago walking retreats in the peaceful countryside of southwest France.

You can email me at MargarethaMontagu@gmail.com.