Tags: travel
<< previousThere was an early check-out, so we left the monastery around 7am. Canadian Rob and I found a bar and had breakfast there, accompanied by Chris, Monica and Nico. I didn't see Ivano or Jean after leaving the monastery, and I didn't get the chance to say goodbye to them.
I ended up walking with Chris and Monica, enjoying the conversation. We talked about history, Switzerland, Ireland, their lives, hiking, other pilgrims we'd met along the way, their kids, etc. We arrived at a village and stopped for tea, then I continued on while they stayed in the village to buy groceries and make their breakfast.
I soon ran into Mary, the estadounidense. I'd only spoken to her in passing on other days, unsure of whether she wanted to talk or not. This time I made more of an effort to kickstart a conversation. We talked about our lives, camping, the US, recreational drugs, and so on, until we arrived in Arzúa. There, we had tea and a beer together, and the conversation continued. I stayed for an hour talking to her. There was a storm on the way, so it might not have been the best idea to hang around, but I enjoyed the company.
Mary was born, or grew up, in Hawaii, but said she always told people she was from Las Vegas. Something to do with being white and not being indigenous to Hawaii. At the age of 23, she moved to another country to escape the monotony of always living in the same place, and spent 10 years outside the US. She taught English in China and Japan for many years, and also lived for a while in Türkiye. She told me about her experience walking the Appalachian Trail, which, compared to the Camino, sounded like The Real Deal, involving as it did camping, supply management, etc. She said there was a great sense of solidarity among the hikers on the trail, as they shared the common experience of being smelly and dirty, and feeling like outcasts from civilised society. She told me that she once punched a bear that was nosing around her tent at night, mistaking it for a deer. (Every estadounidense seems to have a story involving a large predator). We also talked a bit about US politics and she shared her thoughts on why things were so crazy over there.
Mary was staying in Arzúa, so I continued on alone, hoping to shorten the next day's journey. The French Way and the Northern Way join up in Arzúa, and already I'd noticed an increase in the number of pilgrims. For a start, there had been several pilgrims in the random bar that Mary and I had stopped at. I also noticed more grafitti on the signs, and a jump in the number of albergues. That said, I didn't encounter the vast hordes of mindless turigrinos (tourist pilgrims) that some of the more elitist pilgrims had referred to disparagingly.
I walked quickly, hoping to avoid the storm. The terrain was forested and flat. My sense of determination and enthusiasm was reinforced by the proximity of Santiago. I knew that A&W had arrived at Santiago by now and would be leaving the next day at 12:30. Despite my hurry to avoid it, the rain arrived, and the trees offered me only partial protection. Finally, I arrived at a town called Salceda while being pummelled by heavy rain, which sapped my motivation to continue. As much as I wanted to see A&W before they left, it would've been miserable to keep walking in that weather, and I might've injured myself if I'd pushed too hard. I managed to find an albergue, Pensión Albergue Alborada. There was about 27km left to Santiago.
In the albergue, the pilgrims seemed younger and more party-hungry than before. Getting drunk, smoking joints and laughing about nothing. I didn't begrudge them that, but it was interesting to note the contrast. I observed a game of chess between some Spanish pilgrims, ate some instant noodles that were on sale in the albergue, and read the edition of El País that I'd taken from the monastery.
The final day. I walked at full speed, eager to arrive at Santiago. I took a brief break after 2km to eat breakfast and avoid a downpour. Eventually, though, I decided to venture out, because the rain showed no sign of easing up. Besides being wet, it was also cold. I accidentally stepped in a puddle and my right foot got wet. Fortunately, the weather did clear up eventually.
This time the trail was packed with pilgrims, perhaps more than I'd seen on all the previous days combined. In my haste, I overtook many of them, and overheard an estadounidense telling a story about how she once had to piss into a bottle in a car. Another novelty was seeing groups of schoolchildren doing the Camino, as before this the youngest pilgrim I saw was probably the 17-year-old Kobi.
After hurriedly walking ~22km along wooded paths, I was delighted to finally catch sight of the cathedral in Santiago. The approach to the city was uncomplicated. I ran into Manolo, the Spanish gentlemen who'd initially left me with the impression that he was a braggart, but who had since rehabilitated his image.
Then I was walking the streets of Santiago, and soon arrived at the endpoint of the whole trip: the plaza in front of the Santiago cathedral. I enjoyed the ambience from the crowds, the shouts of excited and emotional pilgrims, and the imposing structure of the cathedral. I was hungry and cold, though, so after basking in victory for a short while I went to Hotel Universal, where I was planning to stay. On my way there, I came across Kobi, the 17-year-old Dutch kid. We had a pleasant chat and he told me that Tony, his Camino Dad, had already returned to England.
I decided to be a tourist until my departure on the 6th, since I didn't feel like walking to Finisterre anymore. Instead, I planned to visit it by bus. A little anticlimactic, but I still got to experience that moment of joy on my arrival in Santiago.
I'd been looking forward to getting a massage in Santiago. My feet, legs and back sorely needed it. I found a place and paid for a 1-hour session. I ended up talking to the Venezuelan masseuse too much and was too distracted to properly enjoy the massage. I did come out of it with her recommendation to try arepas, a typical Venezuelan dish.
That evening, I ate at a vegan restaurant called The Greenhouse. The owner was born in England and had an English accent, but grew up in Hong Kong while it was still under British rule. She had moved around a lot since then. I struck up conversation with the only other people in the restaurant, an English couple. They'd also just finished walking the Northern Way. The wife was a social worker, while the husband was a pastor of the Anglican Church. I related to the wife over the emotional challenges and self-doubt that comes with doing a PhD - hers had been part-time and had taken 8 years. They told me that, after leaving Santiago, they'd be going to volunteer at a school in Jamaica. They seemed like very decent people, and interesting too.
Later, another couple arrived, this one from the US. They, too, had just finished the Northern Way. It seemed like all the Northern Way pilgrims were drawn to this one restaurant. I preferred the ambience before the arrival of this new couple. The conversation had felt more intimate and authentic. Another American arrived, and had this completely insincere interaction with the man from the American couple...
Guy #1: Congratulations for finishing [medical residency].
Guy #2: Thank you, that means so much. [in a completely expressionless tone of voice]
Despite conversing like NPCs, the Americans were interesting people. Bo (Guy #1), the one who came alone, had worked as a lawyer and had been in the navy for 5 years. Now he wanted to become a salesman. He lived in San Diego but wasn't happy there. He shared a little too much about a conflict with his girlfriend, which made me slightly uncomfortable. I drank 3 cañas. It was more than I should've had, but I was interested in the owner's life story and didn't want to leave before hearing it. The food was great and I decided to return there to try the other options on the menu.
Over the next few days, I explored Santiago and its vegetarian-friendly restaurants. I met Chris and Monica twice, once to have dinner at The Greenhouse and once for tea. Monica told me more about Nico, the mysterious Frenchman. Apparently, his profession was magnetic healing, which I understand to be among the nuttier of the alternative medicines. Still, he was always friendly, and I wished I could've conversed with him in French. The owner of The Greenhouse turned out not to be vegan; she just saw it as a gap in the market, given how many vegan and veggie pilgrims passed through Santiago.
I traveled to Finisterre by bus. There was a walk along the peninsula and out to the lighthouse, which felt like a bonus level in a videogame, or an epilogue in a book. I was happy to be walking again.
I made it to the lighthouse and, being a pretentious swine, took the opportunity to read Sylvia Plath's poem called Finisterre. I'm just reading now that the name of the poem actually refers to a section of the coastline in Brittany, France - so I'm pretentious AND an idiot!
Anyway, here's an extract from the poem. It still felt appropriate for the Finisterre lighthouse, surrounded as it was by gnarled, craggy rocks. There were also some goats chilling nearby.
This was the land's end: the last fingers, knuckled and rheumatic,
Cramped on nothing. Black
Admonitory cliffs, and the sea exploding
With no bottom, or anything on the other side of it,
Whitened by the faces of the drowned.
Now it is only gloomy, a dump of rocks --
Leftover soldiers from old, messy wars.
The sea cannons into their ear, but they don't budge.
Other rocks hide their grudges under the water.
I met Ivano back at the town of Finisterre. We went for a drink and walked to Playa Mar de Fora. The waves were very strong. I hoped to find a scallop shell there, to commemorate my Camino, but it was probably better for the local ecosystem that I didn't. I did find 5 teeny tiny shell fragments that I planned to give as gifts. Overheard an American talking about various dead people and everything he had "been through", he said that he had "processed it" and "left it behind"... or something. It was nice talking to Ivano, as he told me about his experiences from years of doing the Camino. I think he also said he lived in some sort of hippy commune for a while. And he was currently living with his brother and sister in Scotland. Returning to the town, we went to a café owned by a German couple, where I had a nice tomato soup.
Back in Santiago, I went to Pilgrim House to meet Griffin, the history professor from the US. She told me about various history projects she'd worked on, mostly concerning the lives of overlooked women. It was an interesting and inspiring example of history "in the small". One of the projects was about a woman who'd been instrumental in the founding of Griffin's hometown. She told me all about the process of researching this woman's life and interviewing her descendents. Predictably, when I told Griffin the story of the bloody-faced woman, as well as the coincidences like the wall painting at Padre Ernesto's albergue, she suggested I was "meant to be there". I told her that I never found out what happened to the woman, to which she suggested I send the woman a letter, but regrettably, I never got around to doing that. Anyway, I was happy to see Griffin again. I felt melancholic at the thought that I was unlikely to meet her or other pilgrims in the future.
More veggie restaurants. There was the fancy Entre Pedras. And there was A Corre Vexeta, which had a veggie version of caldo gallego, a Galician soup dish.
I attended the pilgrim mass in Santiago cathedral. An annoying child was screaming and got kicked out. I daydreamed and didn't pay much attention to the words spoken by the priest, but I did enjoy the music from the massive organ. Somehow, my thoughts landed on my parents, and I felt emotional thinking of their mortality.
At the bus station, I encountered Jean, the French man with good vibes who had walked with myself and Ivano. He told me that Barry, an Irish Camino veteran from Sligo whom I had met back in Sobrado, was a priest, and that he had done a reading at the pilgrim mass. I then happened to run into Barry at the airport! He turned out to be a funny character, and told me about a posh, boastful English woman who had been humbled by the caustic irony of Laurence the monk.
That brings us to the end of my first and only Camino. I met a lot of people, some of them weird and some of them lovely. I improved my physical endurance. I got bitten by insects, buffeted by wind, and barked at by dogs. I saved some chickens and an old Spanish lady. I saw a lot of farm animals and a lot of fields. I walked 650km, and climbed many hills. I stepped in puddles and got rained on. I got 2 blisters and an ankle injury, and my wonky hip almost gave out. I ate many a tortilla de patatas, and drank many a caña and many a black tea. I practiced a lot of Spanish and wrote thousands of words in my diary. I met Ukrainians who'd fled from war, and from afar I followed grim events in Gaza. I didn't achieve enlightenment.
THE END
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