Travel literature is my very favourite kind of book. But this one, not so much. I was very excited to read it, wanted to like it, tried to like, but struggled to finish.
I guess my impression was inaccurate that the book was to be a chronicle of sights, sounds, and impressions along the Camino.
There was a bit of that, but this was basically an account of the author's cathartic coming to terms with an abusive childhood and self-loathing.
All good, if that's what you want to read, but I didn't think that's what I had signed up for.
And where's the chocolate? Brief mentions, so the chocolate aspect is disappointing, too.
I feel like a bad person writing such a negative review when the author poured her heart out in this book.
Maybe it should be billed as self-help or spiritual journeys to weed out Negative Nellie readers like me.