I wasn't sure if or how I should write this post, knowing that my previous posts had alerted people to the fact that Jerome and I were quite probably more than just friends. But it's not a straight-forward story to tell and not an easy one to put into words unless you were walking beside us, but since my camino became, in the end, our story, and since you have followed my journey all this way, I felt I couldn't not tell a little piece of it. So I will do my best...
As I've mentioned before, I met Jerome in Conques, in France. We spoke a little but neither of us had any particular sense about each other and I had no expectation that I would see him again. So when I walked into the pilgrims office in St Jean I was truly surprised to find him there. He'd taken a few detours to visit other places, including Loudres and Rocamadour. Whe I saw him again I had the strangest feeling of recognition - not physical 'I know that person' recognition, but something bmuch deeper, more a 'oh there you are, of course we're meeting again' sense. Given how little contact we'd had up to this point I was surprised by that sense. I don't even think he knew my name, I only knew his because someone had told me. I ran into him two more times in St Jean then kind of forgot about it. So when I saw him and Eric sheltering from the rain in front of a building a week later in Spain I was surprised. They should have been two days ahead of me, but I was walking fast. They were both funny and friendly and Jerome was always excellent at meeting people and bringing them together for a shared meal which is how Olaf and I ended up sitting with them in Logrono. After the horrendous night of snoring that followed I went into the kitchen at 5am to find Jerome already there, and without any sense of flirtation or attraction we began to develop a connection.
Our story is not a usual boy-meets-girl tale, because neither of us were looking for a romance and in fact Jerome was hell-bent on avoiding it. His destination was not Santiago but Jerusalem via Portugal and the Sahara desert - yeah, he's a REAL pilgrim! But the road kept bringing us together and that's when we started talking. We talked about everything and anything, usually with an honesty you don't find in most interactions. We learnt from each other and shared ideas about life, dreams, faith and God. He is a 5-year convert to Catholicism which is clearly a different background to me. We have some different ideas about spirituality but instead of arguing defensively we shared them openly. At night in the albergues (we weren't walking together at this stage, so arrived separately) we always ended up in beds beside each other. We began to wake up at the same ungodly hour (5am) without alarms and since we couldn't sleep we'd head into the kitchen to have coffee. If one of us stirred at night the other would, too. We'd be awake within 30 seconds of each other for no apparent reason. I began to walk with him and Eric and so our conversations stretched out along the road, across the meseta and up the mountains of Leon.
Still neither of us had any idea or expectation of it going anywhere - some people may scoff at this but I swear it's true. We felt a connection that went far beyond 'oh I like you' and somewhere more in the vicinity of the soul. I'm not sure we knew it, but I think we fell in love before we even touched.
We didn't have an easy transition from soul friends to love - in fact we tried to stop it. But each time we left it behind us it rose like the dawn before us and finally we decided to follow this path wherever it led, knowing that at Santiago we were parting ways. For maybe ten days we walked, sometimes hand in hand, always side by side, still talking, sharing no less honest about this experience than any of the past ones and we lived our time together, every moment, in the moment and I think I learned more about love and the heart in this time than I ever have before.
Our arrival in Santiago was wonderful and awful, because I couldn't walk on with him and there was no question of him giving up his pilgrimage, even though he needed to stop and work in Santiago to earn money before he continued. So we enjoyed our days together as much as we could - we went to Muxia on the coast near Finisterre and got a certificate for reaching the absolute end of the road of St James. He came with me to the airport on Monday and after I checked in and we ate something we went outside so he could smoke a cigarette before walking me to the gates. It had been raining and grey the entire time we'd been in Santaigo apart from the day after our arrival. But when we sat down outside the sun suddenly broke through the clouds and we were bathed in brilliant light while held each other in silence and cried. I walked through the gates to security in tears and he walked away because neither of us could bear to watch the other one go. There is one person who may be reading this who will completely understand this situation.
So I arrived in Oxford to see my cousins with plan to stay a week before flying to Thailand. I was emotionally drained but I had always known that this story wouldn't have a happy ending, so I think I was more at peace than you may expect. We had shared something that some people never get, so even if it wasn't forever I didn't regret having taken this path with him. There was more love in the world becasue of us, and I can never beleive that's a bad thing.
The next day my phone rang. Jerome asked me to check my email. And to cut a long story short I'm no longer going to Thailand but to France (only for a week), where he has travelled, delaying his pilgrimage. I don't know what will happen, or if our story will be a life-long tale, but we want to see if what we have can be more, and if we can find a way through the obstacles and difficulties in our paths. I have been constantly reminded by Kahil Gibran's 'The Prophet' through our time together, and although most of you will know these lines, it is easiest way to explain what Jerome and I have shared together:
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
So I'm off to France then home to Australia for Christmas and then who knows. But I believe that I am guided, that charm and grace are there to follow, and that I am truly blessed to be living a love story, no matter how complicated or uncertain it is.
Saturday, 6 December 2008
Sunday, 30 November 2008
the final days
Well, the strange, long, wonderful road to Santiago ended on November 26. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write about the last part of the journey - i think I needed some time to put it into perspective first. I will write about reflections in another post, I think, but here is the final chapter...
I last wrote from Melide, where we believed ourselves to be 2 days from our destination. We went out that night to try pulpo (octopus, a local speciality) and I have to say that I prefer greek-style. It was ok but I couldn't have eaten a whole plate! The albergue that night was the usual Galician style (ie crappy) and we were all a bit run-down and over bad showers (again, communal, no doors!) and tiny dormitories with no room to swing even the smallest of kittens. The next morning Jerome and I both woke up a little sick - Tobias had been fighting a cold for a few days and Eric and Nancy were also a bit sniffly. We headed out with a plan to walk 34kms to Santa Irene, a big day by any standards but especially when you're physically and meteorologically 'under the weather', because Galicia decided to really give us a taste of her nasty side. As the black clouds swept over the sky we considered putting on our rain gear. A moment later that thought became redundant as we got pelted with small balls of ice. Yes, it was hailing. We ran for the cover of a pedestrian tunnel and covered up, and luckily for us the hail turned to normal drenching rain. Oh goody! We pushed on to the next town and stopped for lunch. One of my shoes had decided it had had enough of being waterproof and had welcomed in the rain like an old friend. Jerome was looking terrible and feeling worse and one by one the rest of the family arrived in various states of fatigue and saturation. Not long after that we made the decision to stay the night. THe problem was I'd done food shopping and the albergue nearby had no kitchen. We'd eaten out a lot recently and none of us felt like spending more money than was necessary. We shouldered our bags and went searching for another option. We called numbers and got no answer, knocked on doors that no-one answered and it was all a bit depressing. That's when my AD spirit kicked in and I remembered why I was so damn good at that job. Within five minutes I'd tracked down a private albergue, called and negotiated (in Spanish!) and was leading the group to the entrance. It was a new place and the man gave us a discount because we were a group. It was so luxurious we almost fell over. Lovely dormitories, even better showers with plenty of hot water and a real kitchen with oil, salt, spices and pans. We'd been dreaming of a place like this. The only problem was that Eric had left early that morning and didn't knw we weren't going to Santa Irene. We had no way to get a message to him and therefore he'd be a day ahead of us. So the eight became seven, but we knew that the pilgrim instinct that had kept us together for so long would bring him to us in Santiago. We ate dinner by candlelight and slept so well that it was about 9am when we finally woke up. Oops! But the hospitalero didn't mind and we left in much better spirits and better weather - while not sunny it was at least not raining yet!
By this point we were about 40kms away from Santiago and getting closer with every step, as small stones announced at 500m intervals. It was nice to see progress but frankly they made me a little bit nervous - a constant reminder that this amazing time was drawing to an end with a speed I couldn't quite believe. It was difficult for Jerome and I because Santiago was an end of our time too, and watching those numbers fall brought a lot of sadness in amongst the excitement of completing the Camino. But there was no way back (ok, not strictly true, but really, are you going to turn around before you reach your destination after coming that bloody far? I don't think so...) so on we walked. That night we headed to Arco do Pino for our last night before Santiago. Another tiny, narrow, communally showered albergue - how much do I NOT miss them? - so Jerome kindly stood guard at the bathroom door so I could have a shower. Olaf and Tobias had announced that day that they were going to make pancakes for dinner. I think maybe this is a Dutch thing, because Olaf did this once in France and Tobias was very keen on the idea this night. So they made more batter than I thought was humanly possible and annoyed all the other pilgrims by using all the hotplates and most of the frying pans to cook mounds of cheese and apple pancakes (separate, not mixed) and we all sat down to breakfast at 8pm.
At 5 or 6am the next morning all the other pilgrims woke up and with much excited rustling of bags left in darkness to walk the last day to Santiago. We didn't. When we woke up (at about 8:30, long gone were the days when Jerome, Eric and I were up at 5:30) the whole place was empty except for our corridor of bunks. The other pilgrims probably wanted to get to the pilgrim mass at 1pm but since we were staying a few days we weren't that fussed. Luckily we got dressed, breakfasted (more pancakes) and packed just in time. The lady came in to clean and wasn't very happy that we had overstayed the 8am check-out rule.
And so we began the final 20km walk to our destination for all these long months. It didn't fit in my brain that I would actually arrive, that i would enter the cathedral, that day. How, when it truly is all about the journey, do you deal with the destination when it comes? The first part of the day was through beautiful forests- so many eucalypts! - but it slowly grew more and more urban as we approached Monte do Gozo. Traditionally, this town 5kms away from Santiago was where pilgrims stayed the night to wash, shave, and change clothes so as to arrive clean and presentable to mass the next day. Nowadays there is an 800-bed albergue there offering accommodation to pilgrims, students and sports teams. We had agreed to meet in Monte do Gozo (since we often separated on the road) and enter Santiago together. Of course there was no meeting place arranged and when Jerome and I arrived it was lunch time so we decided to go to a cafe. As we got closer I saw Tobias' walking staff leaning against the wall. The three of us had lunch and then Jerome went outside for a cigarette. As he stepped outside the others came around the corner, so once again without any need to plan we all found each other at the perfect time in the perfect place - pilgrim radio.
The seven of us dropped down the hill and there lay Santiago. We couldn't see the cathedral yet but as we crossed the bridge and passed the official boundary sign I could feel the excitement and nervous tension start to build. We walked on and on through fairly dull parts of the city, following signs that weren't always easy to spot. I tialked to other pilgrims who arrived on their own or wit one other person and many of them reported feeling disappointed and frustrated with their arrival, because no-one wished them a good camino, or smiled, or even acknowledged their existence. I guess for a city that sees 80 000 pilgrims a year that's normal, but I felt very fortunate to be part of a group, to have these wonderful people to share this moment with. Since Jerome had done the Camino before and has an excellent sense of direction he led us easily through to the old city. As we wound up the paved streets with souvenier shops flogging pilgrim-inspired trinkets we caught our first glimpse of the cathedral. We turned a corner and suddenly we were standing on the right-hand side of it. This is another strange thing about the path - it brings you to a side door through which you can enter and many people do, but Jerome knew better and led us around to the square in front where we could take in the huge gothic facade of our destination. We stood in the square - the only pilgrims at that point - and hugged, cheered, maybe cried a little and tried to take in the fact that we had done it. Together we climbed the stairs and entered the cathedral.
My first impression on seeing the alter was "hmm, that's very glitzy". Gold, gold and more gold, with a rather disturbing gold statue of St James (which you can hug, and I did) and just for good measure other (gold) statues of angels and maybe a cherub. The whole thing was a bit of an assault on the senses - subtlety was clearly not what the designer had in mind. But the most important place in the cathedral is the crypt, where the relic of St James - a silver coffin with his remains - is kept. Jerome and I made our way down into the small stome chamber with only a prayer stand in front of the relic (behind glass of course) and a bench to sit on. I have said before that I'm not christian, but was doing this pilgrimage for spiritual reasons. So really the supposed bones of an apostle shouldn't have meant that much. But the power of that place was undeniable. I don't know if it was because we had been through so much to kneel before that silver box, or because so many people had ben through so much for so long to do the same, but that crypt hummed with something sacred. We kelt and said a prayer and then moved to the bench at the back of the crypt and just held each other, in silence and in love and I swear if the earth had cracked open beneath our feet we couldn't have moved from that place. It was half an hour before we were able to rise to our feet, remembering that there were people waiting for us. When we emerged intothe sunshine in the square - yes, Galicia brought out blue sky and sunlight for our arrival and the day after, the only occasions in all our time there - and saw the others gathered together, but six instead of five - Eric had found us. He'd come to the square around the time he figured we'd arrive and we all went and booked in to the private pension he was staying at. No more albergues for me, that night we had a bed with sheets and a towel provided.
Now, of course the personal sense of completion is really reward enough, but traditionally, when the pilgrimage was still a dangerous prospect and many people didn't make it, you wanted to have something to prove you'd done it when you arrived home after all those months and hardships. For this reason the church issues a Compostela, an official document that states (in latin) that you have fulfilled the requirements of the pilgrimage (you've come a sufficiently long way, you've walked or ridden, and you've gotten the necessary stamps in your credential). If you haven't walked the route for religious (or spiritual) reasons you get a certificate in English, I think. The people at the pilgrims office check your credential and ask you some questions. My lady was very smiley and friendly, but one of the men was quite interogatory, almost like he suspected us of cheating along the way. But we all met the requirements and received our compostelas - my name in latin is Rosam Marium, just in case anyone was wondering!
That night we went out for amazing pizza, a little too much red wine and a general sense of accomplishment. We were all pretty tired after the day's events, but so happy to be there, to be together to savour this moment and for me at least, wondering what exactly was going to happen next. That's th funny thing about finishing something big, I guess. After so long concentrating on one thing, you're never quite sure which door to open when that one swings shut.
We all hung around Santiago the next day and attended mass together at 1pm. It was great because pilgrims we'd all met along the way but lost contact with began to arrive. So I found Christof, Annie, and Phillipe again. The priest read out how many pilgrims had arrived from which countries the day before and we were on the list - only one from Australia, so I got to feel special! When it came time to turn to your neighbour and shake their hand, we took off around the church, hugging the pilgrims we knew and sharing in that moment an understanding that you cannot put into words. People, virutal strangers some, who were more real than family right then, who knew how far you'd come because they'd done it themselves. No matter that our roads and experiences were different, that we saw different meaning in events and sights and felt differently about the time on the camino. The road to Santiago weaves a strange web between us all, and those bonds are stronger than they first appear.
That night about thirty pilgrims (including us) gathered in a restaurant for very disappointing food and the joy of catching up with each other. Many of them had arrived that day and while it was nice to see some people there were many I didn't know and it felt too big and noisy. Daniel and Renata from Brazil were there and that completed my list of people I'd hoped to see again. On the road, after a particularly fun day of singing together, I'd suggested to Jerome that we find karaoke in Santaigo. He'd said there definitely wouldn't be a place there and went so far as to promise that if I could find one, he'd sing. Well, what do you know, there were 2 karaoke bars in Santiago, and under much sufferance I dragged him along with a few others to Makumba. He wanted nothing to do with it until he sang his first song then he wouldn't let go of the song book. Etienne impressed us all with unexpected karaoke talents and Daniel and Renata took all night to choose one Portuguese song which, when it came on, wasn't the song they thought it was so they couldn't sing it. I love karaoke!
The next day the rest of the group started the three or four day walk to Finisterre on the coast of Spain. I stayed behind with Jerome and we drifted quietly around Santigo together, knowing that the time was drawing very near when we would have to say good-bye. I bought some 'normal' clothes and barely recognised myself in the mirror - what? no hiking pants? - and I could feel the rhythm of everyday life seeping back in. Strange to put down my pack, to stay in one place for a few days running, to slip into a routine that didn't involve walking. After so long on the road I was at a bit of a loss of what to do with all these hours in the day, but it's amazing how fast they fill up.
I'll sign off this post now because I know it's VERY long. Thank-you all for following my adventures, I have so enjoyed keeping this blog and sharing my time on the road. So thank-you, thank-you and see you all soon.
I last wrote from Melide, where we believed ourselves to be 2 days from our destination. We went out that night to try pulpo (octopus, a local speciality) and I have to say that I prefer greek-style. It was ok but I couldn't have eaten a whole plate! The albergue that night was the usual Galician style (ie crappy) and we were all a bit run-down and over bad showers (again, communal, no doors!) and tiny dormitories with no room to swing even the smallest of kittens. The next morning Jerome and I both woke up a little sick - Tobias had been fighting a cold for a few days and Eric and Nancy were also a bit sniffly. We headed out with a plan to walk 34kms to Santa Irene, a big day by any standards but especially when you're physically and meteorologically 'under the weather', because Galicia decided to really give us a taste of her nasty side. As the black clouds swept over the sky we considered putting on our rain gear. A moment later that thought became redundant as we got pelted with small balls of ice. Yes, it was hailing. We ran for the cover of a pedestrian tunnel and covered up, and luckily for us the hail turned to normal drenching rain. Oh goody! We pushed on to the next town and stopped for lunch. One of my shoes had decided it had had enough of being waterproof and had welcomed in the rain like an old friend. Jerome was looking terrible and feeling worse and one by one the rest of the family arrived in various states of fatigue and saturation. Not long after that we made the decision to stay the night. THe problem was I'd done food shopping and the albergue nearby had no kitchen. We'd eaten out a lot recently and none of us felt like spending more money than was necessary. We shouldered our bags and went searching for another option. We called numbers and got no answer, knocked on doors that no-one answered and it was all a bit depressing. That's when my AD spirit kicked in and I remembered why I was so damn good at that job. Within five minutes I'd tracked down a private albergue, called and negotiated (in Spanish!) and was leading the group to the entrance. It was a new place and the man gave us a discount because we were a group. It was so luxurious we almost fell over. Lovely dormitories, even better showers with plenty of hot water and a real kitchen with oil, salt, spices and pans. We'd been dreaming of a place like this. The only problem was that Eric had left early that morning and didn't knw we weren't going to Santa Irene. We had no way to get a message to him and therefore he'd be a day ahead of us. So the eight became seven, but we knew that the pilgrim instinct that had kept us together for so long would bring him to us in Santiago. We ate dinner by candlelight and slept so well that it was about 9am when we finally woke up. Oops! But the hospitalero didn't mind and we left in much better spirits and better weather - while not sunny it was at least not raining yet!
By this point we were about 40kms away from Santiago and getting closer with every step, as small stones announced at 500m intervals. It was nice to see progress but frankly they made me a little bit nervous - a constant reminder that this amazing time was drawing to an end with a speed I couldn't quite believe. It was difficult for Jerome and I because Santiago was an end of our time too, and watching those numbers fall brought a lot of sadness in amongst the excitement of completing the Camino. But there was no way back (ok, not strictly true, but really, are you going to turn around before you reach your destination after coming that bloody far? I don't think so...) so on we walked. That night we headed to Arco do Pino for our last night before Santiago. Another tiny, narrow, communally showered albergue - how much do I NOT miss them? - so Jerome kindly stood guard at the bathroom door so I could have a shower. Olaf and Tobias had announced that day that they were going to make pancakes for dinner. I think maybe this is a Dutch thing, because Olaf did this once in France and Tobias was very keen on the idea this night. So they made more batter than I thought was humanly possible and annoyed all the other pilgrims by using all the hotplates and most of the frying pans to cook mounds of cheese and apple pancakes (separate, not mixed) and we all sat down to breakfast at 8pm.
At 5 or 6am the next morning all the other pilgrims woke up and with much excited rustling of bags left in darkness to walk the last day to Santiago. We didn't. When we woke up (at about 8:30, long gone were the days when Jerome, Eric and I were up at 5:30) the whole place was empty except for our corridor of bunks. The other pilgrims probably wanted to get to the pilgrim mass at 1pm but since we were staying a few days we weren't that fussed. Luckily we got dressed, breakfasted (more pancakes) and packed just in time. The lady came in to clean and wasn't very happy that we had overstayed the 8am check-out rule.
And so we began the final 20km walk to our destination for all these long months. It didn't fit in my brain that I would actually arrive, that i would enter the cathedral, that day. How, when it truly is all about the journey, do you deal with the destination when it comes? The first part of the day was through beautiful forests- so many eucalypts! - but it slowly grew more and more urban as we approached Monte do Gozo. Traditionally, this town 5kms away from Santiago was where pilgrims stayed the night to wash, shave, and change clothes so as to arrive clean and presentable to mass the next day. Nowadays there is an 800-bed albergue there offering accommodation to pilgrims, students and sports teams. We had agreed to meet in Monte do Gozo (since we often separated on the road) and enter Santiago together. Of course there was no meeting place arranged and when Jerome and I arrived it was lunch time so we decided to go to a cafe. As we got closer I saw Tobias' walking staff leaning against the wall. The three of us had lunch and then Jerome went outside for a cigarette. As he stepped outside the others came around the corner, so once again without any need to plan we all found each other at the perfect time in the perfect place - pilgrim radio.
The seven of us dropped down the hill and there lay Santiago. We couldn't see the cathedral yet but as we crossed the bridge and passed the official boundary sign I could feel the excitement and nervous tension start to build. We walked on and on through fairly dull parts of the city, following signs that weren't always easy to spot. I tialked to other pilgrims who arrived on their own or wit one other person and many of them reported feeling disappointed and frustrated with their arrival, because no-one wished them a good camino, or smiled, or even acknowledged their existence. I guess for a city that sees 80 000 pilgrims a year that's normal, but I felt very fortunate to be part of a group, to have these wonderful people to share this moment with. Since Jerome had done the Camino before and has an excellent sense of direction he led us easily through to the old city. As we wound up the paved streets with souvenier shops flogging pilgrim-inspired trinkets we caught our first glimpse of the cathedral. We turned a corner and suddenly we were standing on the right-hand side of it. This is another strange thing about the path - it brings you to a side door through which you can enter and many people do, but Jerome knew better and led us around to the square in front where we could take in the huge gothic facade of our destination. We stood in the square - the only pilgrims at that point - and hugged, cheered, maybe cried a little and tried to take in the fact that we had done it. Together we climbed the stairs and entered the cathedral.
My first impression on seeing the alter was "hmm, that's very glitzy". Gold, gold and more gold, with a rather disturbing gold statue of St James (which you can hug, and I did) and just for good measure other (gold) statues of angels and maybe a cherub. The whole thing was a bit of an assault on the senses - subtlety was clearly not what the designer had in mind. But the most important place in the cathedral is the crypt, where the relic of St James - a silver coffin with his remains - is kept. Jerome and I made our way down into the small stome chamber with only a prayer stand in front of the relic (behind glass of course) and a bench to sit on. I have said before that I'm not christian, but was doing this pilgrimage for spiritual reasons. So really the supposed bones of an apostle shouldn't have meant that much. But the power of that place was undeniable. I don't know if it was because we had been through so much to kneel before that silver box, or because so many people had ben through so much for so long to do the same, but that crypt hummed with something sacred. We kelt and said a prayer and then moved to the bench at the back of the crypt and just held each other, in silence and in love and I swear if the earth had cracked open beneath our feet we couldn't have moved from that place. It was half an hour before we were able to rise to our feet, remembering that there were people waiting for us. When we emerged intothe sunshine in the square - yes, Galicia brought out blue sky and sunlight for our arrival and the day after, the only occasions in all our time there - and saw the others gathered together, but six instead of five - Eric had found us. He'd come to the square around the time he figured we'd arrive and we all went and booked in to the private pension he was staying at. No more albergues for me, that night we had a bed with sheets and a towel provided.
Now, of course the personal sense of completion is really reward enough, but traditionally, when the pilgrimage was still a dangerous prospect and many people didn't make it, you wanted to have something to prove you'd done it when you arrived home after all those months and hardships. For this reason the church issues a Compostela, an official document that states (in latin) that you have fulfilled the requirements of the pilgrimage (you've come a sufficiently long way, you've walked or ridden, and you've gotten the necessary stamps in your credential). If you haven't walked the route for religious (or spiritual) reasons you get a certificate in English, I think. The people at the pilgrims office check your credential and ask you some questions. My lady was very smiley and friendly, but one of the men was quite interogatory, almost like he suspected us of cheating along the way. But we all met the requirements and received our compostelas - my name in latin is Rosam Marium, just in case anyone was wondering!
That night we went out for amazing pizza, a little too much red wine and a general sense of accomplishment. We were all pretty tired after the day's events, but so happy to be there, to be together to savour this moment and for me at least, wondering what exactly was going to happen next. That's th funny thing about finishing something big, I guess. After so long concentrating on one thing, you're never quite sure which door to open when that one swings shut.
We all hung around Santiago the next day and attended mass together at 1pm. It was great because pilgrims we'd all met along the way but lost contact with began to arrive. So I found Christof, Annie, and Phillipe again. The priest read out how many pilgrims had arrived from which countries the day before and we were on the list - only one from Australia, so I got to feel special! When it came time to turn to your neighbour and shake their hand, we took off around the church, hugging the pilgrims we knew and sharing in that moment an understanding that you cannot put into words. People, virutal strangers some, who were more real than family right then, who knew how far you'd come because they'd done it themselves. No matter that our roads and experiences were different, that we saw different meaning in events and sights and felt differently about the time on the camino. The road to Santiago weaves a strange web between us all, and those bonds are stronger than they first appear.
That night about thirty pilgrims (including us) gathered in a restaurant for very disappointing food and the joy of catching up with each other. Many of them had arrived that day and while it was nice to see some people there were many I didn't know and it felt too big and noisy. Daniel and Renata from Brazil were there and that completed my list of people I'd hoped to see again. On the road, after a particularly fun day of singing together, I'd suggested to Jerome that we find karaoke in Santaigo. He'd said there definitely wouldn't be a place there and went so far as to promise that if I could find one, he'd sing. Well, what do you know, there were 2 karaoke bars in Santiago, and under much sufferance I dragged him along with a few others to Makumba. He wanted nothing to do with it until he sang his first song then he wouldn't let go of the song book. Etienne impressed us all with unexpected karaoke talents and Daniel and Renata took all night to choose one Portuguese song which, when it came on, wasn't the song they thought it was so they couldn't sing it. I love karaoke!
The next day the rest of the group started the three or four day walk to Finisterre on the coast of Spain. I stayed behind with Jerome and we drifted quietly around Santigo together, knowing that the time was drawing very near when we would have to say good-bye. I bought some 'normal' clothes and barely recognised myself in the mirror - what? no hiking pants? - and I could feel the rhythm of everyday life seeping back in. Strange to put down my pack, to stay in one place for a few days running, to slip into a routine that didn't involve walking. After so long on the road I was at a bit of a loss of what to do with all these hours in the day, but it's amazing how fast they fill up.
I'll sign off this post now because I know it's VERY long. Thank-you all for following my adventures, I have so enjoyed keeping this blog and sharing my time on the road. So thank-you, thank-you and see you all soon.
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