Walking With Sam

Andrew McCarthy, an actor and writer who rose to fame in 1980s youth films and was labeled part of the "Brat Pack," recalls how early success left him feeling like a fraud who had not earned his accomplishments. A quarter century before this memoir opens, he walked the Camino de Santiago, a five-hundred-mile pilgrimage route across northern Spain, and the experience planted in him a sense of solidity he had never known. Completing the walk with no shortcuts taught him that effort could ground him in ways fame never had. Now, twenty-six years later, he returned to Spain with his nineteen-year-old son, Sam, hoping to pass that gift on.

Sam, McCarthy's eldest child from his first marriage to Carol, agreed to the trip only after his first serious romantic relationship ended in a devastating breakup. McCarthy frames the walk as an opportunity to transition their relationship from a parent-child dynamic to one between two adults, a shift for which he had no template. His own relationship with his father was defined by fear and volcanic anger, and he had long harbored anxiety that the same rupture was destined to repeat with Sam.

They began in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in southwestern France, where Sam knocked over a glass at dinner, a lifelong habit that triggered McCarthy's anxiety before they had taken a single step. On their first morning, McCarthy struggled to get Sam out of the bathroom, establishing a daily conflict over Sam's slow routine. He had planned to present Sam with the scallop shell he carried on his first Camino, but Sam casually grabbed a new one from the Pilgrims' Office before the scene could unfold.

The first day took them over the Pyrenees, climbing more than four thousand feet to Roncesvalles. Sam declared he was tired after less than a hundred yards. McCarthy shared the history of Saint James and the pilgrimage while Sam mostly ignored him. They followed yellow arrows painted on trees and rocks, the navigational aids that would guide them across the entire country. On the descent, Sam began to open up, asking about jealousy, his parents' divorce, and whether anyone was trustworthy. McCarthy opted for a converted monastery over the communal pilgrim dormitory, establishing his preference as a self-described "credit-card pilgrim."

Over the following days, father and son settled into the rhythms of the trail. Sam revealed he had secretly started smoking, and McCarthy reluctantly helped him manage the habit. Sam credited his ex-girlfriend, referred to throughout as "The Ex," with teaching him that being kind is cool, and he critiqued his father's career, urging McCarthy to pursue his own projects rather than directing other people's television shows. McCarthy reflects on his father's volcanic anger, recalling a visit where his father, now experiencing dementia, erupted in rage at McCarthy's young daughter Willow, prompting McCarthy to send him away early.

Recurring characters populated the trail: an edgy Irishman named Kiren, whom they called "Irish"; two Americans, Ryan and Chris, whom Sam dubbed "The Boys"; James, an Englishman living in Ireland walking his twentieth Camino; and Roger, a man from Seattle who frequently took taxis between towns and earned the nickname "Taxicab Roger."

McCarthy's internal struggles surfaced in the predawn hours. He woke at 4:00 a.m., consumed by self-doubt, fearing Sam would quit and that he himself was failing as a father. When he exploded one morning over Sam's sluggishness, the resemblance to his father's uncontrollable anger shook him. He apologized, and Sam revealed his own anger stemmed from a social media post by The Ex designed to make him jealous. Sam processed his breakup openly on the trail, and in quieter moments told McCarthy he was glad they were doing the walk, an acknowledgment that deeply touched his father.

Entering the Meseta, the vast high plateau after Burgos, McCarthy confronted a landscape he had feared since his first Camino. On that earlier trip, he collapsed in uncontrollable sobs in these fields, surrendering to a nameless burden, and woke the next day to discover that fear, a pervasive force in his life, was absent for the first time. This time, the Meseta proved subtler but still formidable. Sam, having walked alone one morning without eating, arrived dehydrated and without his walking stick. Their worst fight erupted when Sam screamed that he was done with everything. McCarthy softened, said "OK," and walked away, then subtly engineered Sam into drinking water by asking him to put a bottle back in his pack. The tension broke, and they ran laughing through a field of cut wheat. At a fountain outside a village, Sam raised his water bottle and grinned: "The Meseta is a piece of cake."

At a group dinner in Carrión de los Condes, Sam stepped out of his father's shadow. He openly discussed his breakup and his experience of walking with his father. When James asked what it was like, Sam said simply, "It's good." He spoke honestly about being a child of divorce, saying he did not want his own children to shuttle between two houses. McCarthy squeezed his son's shoulder, pride and humility mingling.

In León, the loose group of pilgrims converged for a raucous night out, and Sam was absorbed into the community. McCarthy drifted away, content to let the group hold his son, recognizing that Sam needed more than his father alone could offer.

In the mountains beyond León, McCarthy tripped and nearly hit a cement mile marker, exposing his physical vulnerability to Sam for the first time. At Cruz de Ferro, a traditional Camino site where pilgrims leave stones symbolizing burdens they wish to release, both deposited rocks they had carried from home. The mountaintop village of O Cebreiro, the most memorable stop from McCarthy's first Camino, provided another emotional high point. Two butterflies led McCarthy up the steep climb, echoing two that led him down the same slope twenty-six years earlier. The next morning, Sam looked around and called it "like Eden."

In the final stretch through Galicia, Sam spoke with deep hurt about his school years, including being branded with learning challenges, punished for reporting a classmate's suicidal ideation, and ultimately expelled. McCarthy acknowledges that he failed Sam by not defending him more vigorously. Sam grew contemptuous of latecomers who joined the trail at Sarria for only the final 100 kilometers, calling them "charlatans" and "frauds," though McCarthy counseled compassion. Sam discussed The Ex for the first time in days, now with distance and self-possession, concluding simply: "Onward."

Before reaching Santiago, Sam gave James a fresh packet of tobacco to repay the many cigarettes he had bummed. James thanked McCarthy privately for showing him what a father-son relationship could be.

They arrived at the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela before dawn on their final day, Sam singing Bruce Springsteen's "The Promised Land" as they walked. In the Praza do Obradoiro, Sam let out his signature exclamation and McCarthy embraced him. The traditional rituals, including embracing the statue of Saint James, were all closed due to erosion. McCarthy felt lost without the punctuating ceremonies, but Sam put an arm around his father and said this one was truly about the journey. McCarthy retreated to a bathroom and was overcome by sobs.

Sam walked on to Finisterre, a rocky coastal point beyond Santiago, with Chris. McCarthy led them to the trailhead before dawn and watched them disappear into a tunnel in the darkness. The memoir closes with a forward-looking passage: McCarthy will take a taxi to Finisterre and wait at mile marker zero on the cliff above the sea. Sam will come marching up the final hill with arms open wide. That night, Sam will leave his tattered shoes at the base of the Cathedral stairs and bow his head in silence. At the airport the next morning, Sam will shake McCarthy's hand and tell him it was the only "ten-out-of-ten" thing he has ever done, then knock over McCarthy's orange juice. They will laugh. Sitting alone in the square in Santiago, watching other pilgrims arrive and stare off in silent reckoning, McCarthy looks up at the statue of Saint James crowning the Cathedral and says aloud, "Thank you."