Camino de Santiago: Nearing the End

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I would never have guessed this was in Spain!

Distance walked: 25.6km

Remaining distance to Santiago: 129.8km

Descent: Approx. 600m

After more than a month of walking, this stretch of trail was particularly bittersweet for me. On one hand, I was tired, sore, and was starting to feel the autumn chill in the air: I was ready to go home. On the other hand, I had spent every day walking west towards Santiago but curiously, wasn’t ready to get there yet. I wasn’t ready for the journey to be over but every step brought me closer to “the end”.

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These last 130km of the camino trail were different to everything that came before. Some of that is because of the geography – the vegetation is different, the smells are different, the colors are different. Galicia, as a region, is more like parts of the U.K. and Ireland than it is like the other parts of Spain, and this became hugely apparent in the last days of walking. Separately, the facilities are different because the last 115km from Sarria to Santiago are the busiest kilometers of all. This means there are more places to stop for a coffee or food, and far more people on the move, so signs like these suddenly appeared:

The highlight of the walk that day was to meet two German men walking together. Marco, like me, had just finished a job and had some time off to do something different. His Dad, Ricard, had just retired from a lifetime of work and wanted to mark the transition with something meaningful. Together, this father-and-son duo walked the camino for three weeks.

It’s such a simple concept but I get choked-up thinking about it even now. How fabulous to spend that time together! How fabulous that they were both healthy and well enough to commit to the daily walking. And how fabulous that they did this at a time when they were both in transition and available. I love, love, love that Marco and Ricard made the time for something (and someone) that really mattered, and made this memorable trip happen.

Fab!

Also fab: learning the phrase for “cheesecake”, which Marco taught me on one of our coffee stops. These two men feasted on baked cheese cake every day with their coffee. I didn’t know that such a thing even existed because it often wasn’t listed on the menu but that morning, I enjoyed a large coffee and an even larger helping of dense, sweet cheesecake: sublime! 🙂

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Marco and I stepped through the miles chatting about work and life and motorbiking around Europe and like everyone else, he wanted to know why I walked. What had prompted me to walk 500 miles across Spain, why there, why now?

When I started out, everyone knew that I had booked a one-way ticket to St. Jean Pied de Port. I didn’t know how long it would take me to walk to Santiago but the rough idea was that Handsome Husband and I would meet there for our wedding anniversary. Everyone loved the romance of the story. They thought it a beautiful way to end the journey. Every time we’d cross paths in a coffee shop or a hostel, fellow pilgrims would ask about “the plan” and as time went on, I grew more and more uncomfortable with it.

Don’t get me wrong, reuniting with Handsome Husband sounded very romantic! He had been hugely supportive of my need to walk and reuniting in Santiago sounded a lot nicer than at an airport at home. The problem was, I hadn’t been able to walk as quickly as I had hoped, so I couldn’t make it to Santiago on time. Husband and I had chatted about this weeks earlier and had decided to scrap “the plan”. However much we loved the idea of meeting in Santiago, I couldn’t walk those remaining km quickly enough. We decided to celebrate our anniversary when the walking was done and I’d return home. “The new plan” was settled.

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Outside of Triacastela, the trail split in two. In one direction, the path followed the river Oribio and passed by the doors of the Benedictine monastery in Samos. In the other direction, the path had more woodland and was shorter by 6.4km. I felt like seeing the monastery in Samos so I pitched my hopes on that and put one foot in front of the other.

By the time I arrived in Samos that evening, I was spent. The path into the monastery town was steeper and rockier than I expected, so my poor feet ached from the stones. I booked a bed in the 70-bed hostel (where I could almost “see” the smell of sweaty feet and unwashed hair – ugh) and waited my turn for a shower. After quickly washing my clothes in the sink, I went outside to hang them up only to discover that there was no clothes line in sight. Instead, everyone had draped their wet clothes on bushes across the road and they lay there, on the grass and in trees, drying in the evening sun. I did the same because there didn’t seem to be much alternative, but it was definitely odd to see the locals walking past these bushes filled with wet underwear on their way to evening mass in the monastery!

In the café, I picked up enough wi-fi to send some messages to Handsome Husband, including a photo of my evening meal.

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Where are you? he asked casually.

Oh, I’m in this little town called Samos and it has a huge monastery, I texted back.

By then, I was tucking into my carbs-with-more-carbs dinner, and not really paying attention to his questions. He seemed very interested in my day’s walking and my plans for the evening, but I thought he was just being nice.

Later, as I finished my meal, my phone rang. It was Handsome Husband calling.

Hello? I answered.

Hey, he replied, I’m outside.

Huh? I asked, confused.

You’re in Samos, right?

Yeah…

Well, surprise! I’m here!

And so he was! Handsome Husband had scrapped “the new plan” earlier that day and drove to the airport, took a flight to Spain, and then spent the afternoon taking trains and buses to the small town of Samos.

Romantic? Yes!

Surprised? YES!

That evening, it just so happened that there was a wedding at the monastery church. A year earlier, Handsome Husband and I had put on our finery and surrounded ourselves with loved ones who toasted our decision to marry. There, on the steps of this enormous monastery, another beautifully-clad couple were doing the same. Their photographer asked them to pose in certain ways, the ground was covered in confetti and flower petals, and their guests gazed on with broad smiles and glittering clothes. As a sight, it was totally different to everything else I had seen on camino but what a fitting reminder for Handsome Husband and I.

We had each come so far – him by car, plane, train, and bus, and me on the strength of my two legs. There we were, surrounded by rose petals and finery, and a crowd of loved ones that may as well have been ours.

Sweet. 

 

 

 

 

Camino de Santiago and The Highest Point

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Distance walked: 17.1km

Ascent: Approx. 700m to O’Cebreiro (1330m above sea level)

My walk from Vega de Valcarce took me from the region of Castilla Y León into Galicia: I was (finally!) officially on the home stretch into the rainy, coastal home of Santiago. The day’s walking also took me on an ascent some 700m upwards to O’Cebreiro (which is itself 1330m high). Others assured me this was even higher than our ascent in the Pyrenees only a few weeks before. Knowing all of this, I set out early in the morning with a healthy dose of humility and my new ibuprofen pills. I had been walking for more than a month already but I still felt that nothing was guaranteed. I’d do my best but like every other day before, the plan was loose and wishful.

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Gorgeous to look at, pain-in-the-feet to walk on!

There were lots of great things about this day: One, I kept dry, which was a welcome bonus at that altitude. Two, I met sunny Margaret from Australia who somehow wrangled out of me one of the deeper truths about why I was walking the camino. She also filled the walk with a rolling, hearty chuckle that comes from a woman who’s lived a big and fearless life. Honestly, I don’t know where else I would have met an Indonesian language teacher who’d worked for the Olympics in between running a dairy farm in Australia. I certainly wouldn’t have met her in my every day life. Lots of people talk about the “great people” walking the camino and they are right: there is huge kindness and compassion and heart. There are also a lot of really interesting people who just so happen to live really interesting lives, and being immersed in that wave of movement for six weeks was such a refreshment. I would never have met someone like Margaret while sitting at my work desk at home and she was a real tonic. And somehow, I got the sense that here was a woman just “doing her thing” and making no apology, no excuse, and no story about it. Really, I don’t know that many (other) motorbiking, 70-something-year-old Grandmas but boy, Margaret tops the list!

Crocus flowers (I think) but with no stem

The climb to O’Cebreiro was lush and steep, but what a lovely delight to get to the top. And what a huge surprise to see that the pubs (because by now, we had moved away from tiled café bars to rustic pubs) specialized in serving octopus. I’m not sure how this came about given that the place is more than 100km from the coast, but there you have it – another surprise for me because I still wasn’t reading the guidebook!

Like so many days before, I quickly popped into the church to light some candles and take a moment. I’m not sure I even had an active, articulate cluster of words here that might have constituted a prayer. Like so many other times, I had just the swelling contentment and gratitude for having made it that far. I say that as though that’s a simple, everyday thing but really, I often forget these very sentiments in my every day life. I walk around with all my limbs intact and totally take for granted that they are there and are performing so well. On camino, I had an acute awareness of my body’s greatness every day, and the huge privilege it was to be there.  Every day that I am above ground I have choices and possibilities. I forget this all the time but on camino, the reality of this was made clear to me countless times a day. Often, when I sat in the quiet churches, it was to just let that knowing settle for a minute. Just to acknowledge that I was healthy enough to be there, I had money enough to be there, I had a passport and an airplane that carried me some of the way, and, and, and….the list of things to be grateful for was actually endless.

And still is.

So, the church in O’Cebreiro gave me a moment to be still and silent, and let the gratitude settle into my bones a little.

And then, I strapped on my backpack and kept on walking.

A lot of pilgrims chose to end their day’s walking at this (literal and figurative) high point and I was kind of sorry I wasn’t joining them. I hadn’t booked into the hostels and I felt I was missing out on some sort of party atmosphere by continuing west. Still, I was glad to have the energy to keep moving so that’s what I did, and spent the night in a 20-bed hostel in Hospital de la Condesa.

Most of the distance was behind me and the highest point was also in the past: Santiago was closer than ever.