In many ways, the Plaza del Obradoiro is a public square like any other. Its day begins with the whistling of street cleaners and the watering of window boxes. It concludes with the thinning of evening crowds, and with stray cats stalking small-hours shadows. It’s a rallying point for wandering lovers, occasional hawkers and watchful police. It fulfils the role expected of a square – as a gathering place for townsfolk. Except that the town it serves is Santiago de Compostela, and towering high over the plaza is the great cathedral that houses the relics of St James. The plaza serves as the finishing line for one of the world’s greatest pilgrimages. So it is really a gathering place for all of Christendom: for pilgrims from around the world.

For some people who finish their trek here, pilgrimage is a spiritual endeavour. You’ll see new arrivals in states of euphoria, finally in the presence of the cathedral and relics which, in the eyes of many Roman Catholics and others, are portals to the divine. Some drop to the ground and kiss the cobblestones, reflecting on the countless faithful footsteps that have brought them 800 km from the French border (or other such distant starting points) to this holy threshold.

Among other things, pilgrimage can also be a way to connect with the dead. The last time I was at the Plaza del Obradoiro was in the aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic. People unfurled banners showing images of loved ones, doubtless having imagined the company of the departed beside them on the long miles preceding.

Many pilgrims in the square were conspicuously less pious than others: some marked their arrival not with prayers but with selfies. At one point I heard the pop of a champagne bottle. Later, a local guide told me there were problems in the town with pilgrims drinking too much and behaving irresponsibly. Though, really, such misbehaviour has been a feature of pilgrimage since the Middle Ages. Geoffrey Chaucer’s pilgrims were also a boisterous bunch.

A day in the Plaza del Obradoiro reveals that pilgrims are not uniform. Some undertake a journey in grief, others in celebration. Some choose a solitary path, but, for others, companionship and solidarity are necessary spurs along the way. In the minds of many, pilgrimage is about a long and involving walk. But you can also find cycling pilgrims in the square, as well as the elderly and the infirm who come to the holy city by aeroplane and car. Some of the pilgrims are not even religious, content to find their own meaning or reassurance by stepping in the footsteps of generations who have gone before.

What is a pilgrimage?

Pilgrimage is an elusive term: shapeshifting and malleable. Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Shinto and many other religions all have pilgrimage traditions – but pilgrimage also exists outside religion. It is associated with Santiago, Mecca and Jerusalem – but also with Graceland, Abbey Road, Harry Potter locations, and various sports grounds. The term is sometimes applied to commemorative journeys to the battlegrounds of the Somme and the gas chambers at Auschwitz-Birkenau. A pilgrim can travel through realms of light and darkness. In truth, a pilgrimage is something that can be defined only on a pilgrim’s own terms.

At its root, pilgrimage reflects a human habit of making meaning by making journeys. On a deeper level, it has been hypothesised, pilgrimage is a manifestation of an innate instinct to travel. Homo sapiens has generally been settled only for 10,000 or so of our 300,000 years of existence on Earth: pilgrimage might be an expression of a vestigial nomadism that lingers within us, made ritual. This much is uncertain. But we can be confident that the practice of pilgrimage is grounded in a deeper truth: that, on every journey, we can find lessons to guide us on the far longer path of a lifetime.

While there are no universal parameters for pilgrimages, they can have some telling features. People often embark on pilgrimages at transitional points in their life: bereavement, redundancy or divorce, leaving university or starting retirement. Go to any pilgrimage place and you will likely learn much about humanity, finding people with their barriers down, inhibitions suspended, quick to share their story and hear those of others. For many, a pilgrimage is a hiatus in which to calibrate a new direction in life – like pausing to take a compass bearing – before continuing onward.

In the course of writing a book about pilgrimage practice in Britain, my home country, I travelled widely: I set foot in many churches and cathedrals, slept in sacred sea caves, climbed holy mountains and, once, marooned myself at sea. I met some people who were disappointed by their pilgrimage – had set out expecting divine revelation where none came, had found the mundane rather than the metaphysical at the end of the road. But others were genuinely changed. They found transcendence in the daily drumbeat of footsteps on a path, and earnestly felt a resonance undetectable to others, in those places set apart.

To embark on a pilgrimage – to ally a journey to a greater purpose – can be stimulating for the mind and enriching for the body, whether or not you believe in such a thing as a soul. Planning a pilgrimage, irrespective of your destination or your beliefs, will place a marker in your life. Today, even though church attendance has declined in western Europe, the Plaza del Obradoiro is busier with pilgrims than it has been for centuries. The path to Santiago was trodden by only tens of pilgrims in 1972; in 2024, half a million came. In this square and in many other such places, people are becoming alive to the potential of pilgrimage.

Establish your intention

A first step for planning a pilgrimage is to ask yourself: what is it you plan to gain from your journey? In what way do you hope to return enriched?

If we look at the Christian context, inspiration for a journey often comes from a saint, such as St James in Santiago, St Brigid in Kildare, or the Virgin Mary in sites like Lourdes or Fátima. Some pilgrims intend to develop personal relationships with saints, whom they hope will become intercessors (or go-betweens) to God. On a more local level, some saints have historically been associated with curing particular ailments, others solicited for assistance in matters of love.

For a 21st-century pilgrim of no fixed faith, there are no defined parameters – though parallels endure. Many secular pilgrims also hope to connect with a personality: they might visit a place associated with a lost family member, for example, or make a journey to a place of ancestral origins. Spending time in nature is another priority for many contemporary pilgrims. This has an echo in Celtic Christianity, with its tradition of ‘two books’, the first being the Bible and the second being all creation, where one might read God’s word in the natural world. Spending time with fellow travellers; exploring new places; becoming fitter and healthier through exercise – these are also popular and valid motivations for modern pilgrimage, which can easily coexist in a pilgrim’s mind.

Ultimately, people make their own rules. ‘Secular pilgrimage is a huge area of research among pilgrimage ethnographers,’ explains Anne Bailey, a research associate at the History Faculty at Oxford University. ‘The most frequently quoted example is Graceland and Elvis – “Elvis Week” has parallels with saints’ feast days,’ she tells me. ‘But there’s also the new pilgrimage route around the hometown of the still-much-alive Harry Styles.’

There are also organisations that can help point the way. The British Pilgrimage Trust, for example, was established in 2014 to promote pilgrimage in and outside of organised religion. The co-founder Guy Hayward explains that the organisation has championed the idea of intention – of setting out with a desired outcome – that works across religious affiliations, and for people with none. He believes that pilgrimage can make for a kind of enhanced travel experience. ‘“Pilgrimage” is a password that unlocks things,’ he says. ‘If you use the word “pilgrimage”, you start to think in these particular ways. Indeed the word itself can be something that drives you forward. On a pilgrimage route, the external path you are walking goes together with an internal path. You are giving the mind and the body a direction.’

One of the most important pilgrimages I have undertaken was not to a shrine nor even to a religious site, but rather to a radar installation. My late grandfather served at one of the most remote bases in the European theatre of the Second World War: a Royal Navy outpost on the edge of the Arctic circle, in a wilderness periodically visited by polar bears. My journey there required its own devotion – fording swollen rivers, enduring North Atlantic storms – but I had the solidarity of my cousin by my side. Our journey was indeed guided and powered by an intention. By a belief that, in crossing that wilderness, we might better understand our grandfather. We hoped that, by sharing the experience of that wild and remote place, by standing where he had stood, our pilgrimage might cut across the passage of time.

Intention is one thing that distinguishes a pilgrim from an ordinary tourist or traveller. From this starting point, a direction of travel becomes apparent.

Choose an appropriate destination

A second, related step is deciding what destination is appropriate for you. You might find that your intention, your background, or both, mark a particular destination as a good fit.

Members of an organised religion will likely already have answers. Millions of Muslims set out on hajj and umrah to Mecca; though, in fact, an even bigger annual pilgrimage is the Arba’in pilgrimage to Karbala in Iraq, undertaken by Shia Muslims. The biggest in the world, meanwhile, is India’s Kumbh Mela – a Hindu gathering which, at its largest, attracts some 400 million people. Some places serve as pilgrimage destinations for multiple religions – adherents of Abrahamic religions converge on Jerusalem, for instance.

Pilgrimage places can also suit different needs. Immersion in water, for example, is often associated with rebirth, purification or the washing away of sin, such as in the River Jordan or the Ganges at Varanasi. Drinking water – such as from a holy well or spring – is regarded as a means of healing in some traditions; Christians might head to Lourdes, or to the many active holy wells in Ireland. Some sites are associated with wisdom: ancient Greek pilgrims headed to the Oracle at Delphi to hear prophecies. Modern pilgrims, seeking the wisdom of historical knowledge, go to Delphi, too.

Certain traditional pilgrimage routes have found favour with pilgrims of less-fixed faith or no faith. Foremost among them is the Camino de Santiago, a network of paths unravelling across Spain and beyond, with variants that cater to different abilities and tastes. First-timers might opt for the classic journeys along the Camino Francés or the Camino del Norte, both measuring around 800 km. A shorter pilgrimage is the Camino Ingles – the route once taken by English travellers disembarking boats at the port of Ferrol, just 109 km north of Santiago. One of the quietest is the Via de la Plata, which sets out from Seville across the forests and furnace-hot plains of Andalusia and Extremadura. The pilgrimage is a Christian one, though committed Christians are accustomed to seeing those of less rigid faith on the trail.

Europe’s other great long-distance pilgrimage is the Via Francigena, a route from Canterbury to Rome that was recounted by Sigeric, the Archbishop of Canterbury, in the 10th century CE. The modern path sees a fraction of the foot traffic of the Camino de Santiago as it passes from the white cliffs of England to the Po valley, via the snow-capped Alps. A literal and metaphorical high point comes as the route crests the Great St Bernard Pass on the Swiss-Italian border. Here, perched at an elevation of some 2,500 m, travellers lodge at the Great St Bernard Hospice – a pilgrim hostel in existence since the 11th century, whose monks (and their famous canine companions) rescued lost wayfarers from the snowdrifts as part of their sacred vocation.

Japan, too, has marketed its traditional pilgrimage routes to people overseas. The Kumano Kodo is a millennia-old network of paths across the wooded hills of the Kii Peninsula, converging on a series of shrines where emperors came to pay tribute in centuries past. Kumano pilgrims traditionally followed a synthesis of belief systems: combining Buddhism and Shintoism with elements of mountain and nature worship. Pilgrims of various stripes still come to immerse themselves in the natural world amid tumbling waterfalls and thick forests. The megacities of Osaka and Kyoto are close by, but feel distant to those treading the ancient stone steps. Another popular Japanese pilgrimage trail is the Shikoku pilgrimage: unusually, a circular route travelling some 1,200 km and passing by 88 temples on the Japanese island of Shikoku.

These are but a tiny fraction of the pilgrimages you could choose to embark upon. Of course, you might have your own, very different pilgrimage destination in mind: one that has a personal connection, makes sense to you, and fits with your intention. But if you do decide to travel on a route or to a destination that has spiritual significance for people, be mindful that, if you do not bring faith, you should bring humility, a willingness to learn, and all respect for the trail and others upon it.

Decide how to get there

Asked to picture a pilgrim, chances are you will envisage a traveller on foot, perhaps one with worn boots and calloused feet. For much of pre-industrial history, walking was the practical way for the masses to get from A to B – and many contemporary pilgrims consciously place themselves in this tradition by setting out on foot. Some remove their shoes for a portion of their journey, as an act of penitence or else as a way of connecting with the earth below.

But this is only part of the story. Most Muslim pilgrims fly to Jeddah for onward connections to Mecca. In India, pilgrimage takes place in large part via the country’s rail network, with pilgrimage trains laid on at certain times of year. Church groups shuttle about the Holy Land on coaches and minibuses. Polynesian navigators may have sailed in canoes to the sacred island of Raiatea, at the centre of the Pacific. The pilgrimage church at the centre of Lake Bled in Slovenia, is accessible only by pleasure boat (unless you swim). The most famous pilgrims in English literature – those of The Canterbury Tales (1387-1400) – travelled on horseback.

In some cases, a pilgrimage insists on a prescribed, processional path (such as following the Via Dolorosa around the Old City of Jerusalem). But, in most cases, it is not about following a strictly defined course by a certain means, but rather a process of being brought to your destination, irrespective of exactly how this is achieved.

If you are physically able to, there are good reasons to make your pilgrimage on foot, at least for part of the journey. The symbiotic relationship between walking and thinking is much written about: consider Friedrich Nietzsche’s line that ‘all truly great thoughts are conceived while walking’, or Henry David Thoreau’s observation that ‘the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow.’ As Bailey tells me: ‘The attraction of walking is [also] strongly connected to contemporary values and trends: slow travel, mental health, physical fitness, seeking challenge, and the love of the natural world.’

There is an additional consideration: walking is often the most sociable means of pilgrimage. You will likely find people proceeding in the same direction, bound for the same finishing point. In a way, a pilgrimage path can be rather like a river: tributaries converging and fortifying the main flow, which becomes more powerful as it reaches its culmination. It is easy to feel solidarity when you and other walkers are all orientated in the same direction, and when you and your companions are striving for the same goal.

However you decide to travel, but especially if you go by foot, the same rules apply as for any hike: calibrate the length and difficulty of your journey to your physical condition; and be conscious that your daily mileage is likely to be predetermined by the accommodation options and transport infrastructure along the route. On quieter and more obscure pilgrimage paths, you may be on your own: in need of map-reading and navigation skills, far from accommodation, and obliged to carry heavy packs with food and camping equipment. Even on the Via Francigena, there are long sections where infrastructure is thin. In contrast, on the busiest routes of the Camino – especially the Camino Francés – you can find accommodation to suit all budgets, an abundance of restaurants, plus tour operators that offer guided and self-guided packages, organise luggage transfers, and can even help you out if you get into trouble.

Get ready to make the most of your journey

A central component of pilgrimage is entering an altogether different environment: untethering yourself from your home, turning your thoughts away from the mundane to consider bigger questions. Although it is easier, in the 21st century, for a pilgrim to travel further and faster than ever before, it is also harder than ever to escape those things that bind us to the everyday. The constant chirruping of emails and messages on phones, the onslaught of 24/7 news – these things can be obstructions to an immersive and fulfilling pilgrimage. As much as is practical or possible, it’s a good idea to minimise these intrusions, to allow yourself to be caught in the rhythms of the road and so be receptive to the teachings of your journey. In this sense, pilgrimage should be an escape.

Another intrinsic part of pilgrimage is the use of ritual, particularly as a way of marking your arrival or signifying an end point to your travel. Many in Santiago de Compostela hug the statue of St James, while in Mecca there is a suite of rituals, from walking around the Kaaba anticlockwise to the stoning of the devil. Often there is the implication that your physical action has an echo in the metaphysical world. What’s incontestable is that, by repeating a ritual, you place yourself in a greater lineage of pilgrims who have done the same before you – as well as those yet to come.

Votive offerings are a common form of ritual: candles, statues or images carried from afar are often left in gratitude at saints’ shrines. Gifts are often left for Elvis Presley at Graceland, for ritual can be part of secular pilgrimage too. When my cousin and I finally reached our grandpa’s radar base, we performed a spontaneous pilgrimage ritual of our own devising: pouring whisky into the ground in his honour.

Like many pilgrims, we also returned home from our journey with an object – a keyhole that had lain high on the Icelandic cliffs for 80 years, rusting up in the realm of seabirds – which we hoped would import the magic of that place into our homes. Pilgrim badges, stones, fridge magnets, souvenirs of all kinds – such objects can help return your thoughts to the lessons of your pilgrimage upon your return. They are tangible things with intangible value.

There are many other ways to make the most of your pilgrimage. You might consider keeping a journal, writing a blog, or reflecting on your motivation as you go. Reading widely in advance (you could start with the reading list below) can make your journey more fulfilling – though always be wary of dogmatists who tell you what a pilgrimage should or should not be. It is a word over which no one has ownership. It is up to you to blaze your own trail.

Pilgrimage involves a journey away from home, but, in many traditions, the outbound journey is secondary to the return, when you import and apply what you have gained from your travels. Your end destination can be seen as a starting point for the far greater pilgrimage of a lifetime. The return will present chances to reflect – to consider new connections, or old ones strengthened. You might feel newly equipped to make reappraisals, or to make wiser choices. It is only back home where the worth of a pilgrimage is proved.

Mountain pilgrimage

Pilgrimage often centres on distinct geographical features. You can find many holy islands, including off the coasts of Britain and Japan. There are also sacred rivers, and sacred lakes such as those in the Himalayas and the Andes. But if there is one feature of the pilgrimage landscape that towers above all others, it is holy mountains – found almost everywhere in the world.

Mountains can be seen as sacred because of a perceived proximity to heaven. The weather that brews about their summits can be an indicator of almighty power – along with the rockfalls, avalanches or lava flows that periodically tumble from their slopes. The tapestry of ecosystems that a mountain possesses – from ice field to moorland, forest to meadow – can suggest an entire world rendered in miniature. And, in making the treacherous ascent of a mountain, the pilgrim is required to undergo a rite of passage, and to prove their faith.

Some holy mountains are well trodden. Pilgrims can sometimes be found among the hordes of tourists scaling the volcanic heights of Mount Fuji (3,776 m) – the highest peak in Japan, revered in Buddhist and Shinto traditions for its perfect symmetry. Also busy – and more manageable for someone of average fitness – is Adam’s Peak (2,243 m) in Sri Lanka. Some Christians associate it with St Thomas, Hindus with Shiva, and Buddhists with the Buddha – a case study in how mountains can speak to diverse spiritual imaginations. Fuji and Adam’s Peak share attributes common to many holy peaks: a high degree of prominence and a sharp, often pyramidal shape set apart from others.

The mountains of the Old Testament attract pilgrims: such as Mount Sinai in Egypt (2,285 m) where Moses is said to have received the Ten Commandments. Mount Ararat in Turkey (5,165 m) – where Noah’s Ark is believed to have landed after the flood – makes for a technical climb attempted only by committed alpinists. Height isn’t everything, however, and other peaks are accessible to Christian pilgrims. Every July, crowds of Catholic pilgrims climb Croagh Patrick in Ireland (764 m) – a lone sentinel atop which St Patrick is said to have banished demons with the striking of a bell. A trickle of pilgrims come at Easter and Michaelmas to climb the small holy peak of Skirrid (486 m) in south Wales, where – according to folklore – the Archangel Michael battled the devil. Across Europe, you can find less explicit holy mountains: statues of the Virgin or iron crosses adorn peaks such as the Matterhorn (4,477 m), keeping watch over those who live in their shadow.

Islam has a prominent holy mountain – just outside Mecca stands Jabal Al-Nour (642 m), on whose slopes Muhammad was visited by the Archangel Gabriel in a mountain cave. They exist also in the Americas: Incan belief holds many mountains sacred, foremost among them Ausangate (6,384 m), Veronica (5,893 m) and Salkantay (6,271 m), set around Cusco in Peru. A more nebulous, New Age tradition swirls around Mount Shasta (4,317 m) in California – seen as an energy centre.

Climbing a peak, overcoming adversity and reaching a sacred summit is the traditional mountain pilgrimage paradigm. However, there is another kind of holy mountain: those that go unclimbed, whose resident deities remain undisturbed and thus whose sanctity remains, in a way, more intact. One example is the mighty Kailash in Tibet (6,638 m) – visited by Hindu, Buddhist, Jain and Bon pilgrims, who perform circular pilgrimages around its base. It’s also true of the soaring Machapuchare (6,993 m) – a striking-looking peak overlooking Pokhara in Nepal, which, like Kailash, is associated with Shiva. In relatively recent times, another peak has joined this small group: climbing was long discouraged on Uluru in Australia (863 m) before it became fully prohibited in 2019, out of respect to the Anangu people for whom the monolith is sacred. For many pilgrims, just being in the presence of these peaks inspires wonder enough.

In the climbing of a mountain, many pilgrimage dynamics are amplified: the idea of placing yourself in a wildly different environment, the counter-gravitational pull of the summit as an end point (which looms not just in a pilgrim’s imagination, but often also on the physical horizon throughout the ascent). It is also about the opening up of an aerial view on the world below – the place that a pilgrim ordinarily inhabits, and to which they return with a new and enhanced perspective, both literally and metaphorically, upon their descent.

My book On This Holy Island: A Modern Pilgrimage Across Britain (2024) looks at the diverse practice of pilgrimage in modern Britain: from pagan journeys to standing stones to rediscovered Christian sites.

Guy Stagg’s book The Crossway (2018) is an excellent account of his walk from Canterbury to Jerusalem in 2013, with rich prose and much consideration given to the benefits of a non-religious pilgrimage.

Peter Stanford provides a good introduction to the world of pilgrimage in his book Pilgrimage: Journeys of Meaning (2021).

Founded in 2014, the British Pilgrimage Trust has been instrumental in opening up pilgrimage for people of all faiths and none, hosting events and guided walks throughout the year in the United Kingdom. You can learn more about various pilgrimage routes and places on the organisation’s website. There are also societies that are specific to certain routes – for instance, American Pilgrims on the Camino deals in the Camino for US residents – while regional tourism organisations, like that of Japan, also have a great deal of information on particular routes.

The book Holy Places: How Pilgrimage Changed the World (2025) by Kathryn Hurlock offers a clear-eyed historical enquiry into pilgrimage – examining how things like politics and economics have shaped its practice on a global scale.