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.

The family

A quick overview of the people I am curently travelling with, since they have become my new camino family and are wonderful:

Jo and Nancy from Quebec: I met these two in France and we kept bumping into each other along the way. In Leon we saw them again and have been together ever since. They are fabulous, funny, and insightful, but sometimes Quebec French is incomprehensible to me.

Tobias: Tobias is from Holland and has walked from his home to Spain. He is tall, has shoulder-length white blond hair, carries a wooden staff with a scallop shell and has a sixth sense-ability to find us even if we haven't seen him all day. For these reasons we have christened him Legola, or just "the elf". He is an old, wise spirit in a young man's body and is a blesing to walk with.

Olaf: Also from Holland, also walked from his house, but has worked in France along the way so has been on the road for a bout two and half years. He's even taller than Tobias and for this reason we call him the giant or the Ent (yes, we're Lord of the Rings fans)

Jerome: I have already mentioned him, but we have shared som much of this road and talked about every subject under the sun. We think the same things at the same time, challenge each other, heal each other and he has been a big part of my road.

Eric: eric is like a little ray of sunshine wrapped up in human form. he wants to be a sheperd and has the calmest and funniest spirit. nothing seems to shake him.

Etienne: another Quebec recruit, relaxed and friendly. He shrunk his zip-off pants bottoms, so now he walks in shorts and tights. Funny.