08/10/2024
Day 27: Santiago de Compostella 696/674
So hard to choose today's photos to tell the story of my last day walking into Santiago, but how can I leave you hanging? I have an hour before the high speed train gets into Madrid where the weather promises to be brighter and a degree or two warmer (at this stage, I will take DRY. DRY is good!).
Two days ago, the relentless unending drenching rain challenged even the most optimistic of pilgrim spirits. Yesterday I was relieved to feel my energy flowing back, despite the sheer physical enormity of what I had put this 58 year old body through. On my last day I woke after 'not enough but will do' sleep again, feeling absolutely focused and determined to complete every single step of those last 20 km. There was such great cameraderie in the lounge after last night's hilarity and rounds of cheers-ing as we parked our rucksacks and put on the still damp shoes which had been trying to dry out by the embers of the open fire the ebullient hostel manager had lit for us.
And yes, the pilgrim merch went on on on Jill White Vanessa Williams! My ten euro splash fluro-orange cyclists quick-dry T with all my stops from Lisbon to Santiago displayed. No mileage, sadly. A marketing design oversight which I needed to rectify later by purchasing a fridge magnet showing my true Litoral-Coastal mileage at 674 km!
I had arranged to meet my pilgrim pals at sunrise at their hostels en route. Cancun Alicia and New Zealand-via-West London Sophie were 2 km away just off the camino. Last night they told me they had all pooled all the bits of food they had left to create an impromptu pilgrim feast in a little family at the hostel table with others... such exemplifies the caring, sharing spirit of the camino to me.
Cork Ed had set off from his hostel at six, unable to sleep longer, so would meet us just outsude the centre to all walk in together. We hugged, happy danced to be sharing this last precious step of the journey in each other's company and set a good pace through villages of cobbled vine-covered pathways in the drizzle. Wizened grapes not yet harvested (for raisins later I wondered aloud?) had me contemplating all the skills, talents and potential people have to resource and refresh each other, so much never used to it's fullest... or at all. Especially in Lesotho, where without the invaluable work of Malealea Development Trust supported by Africa's Gift, the huge untapped potential of the land and people goes unused.
Locals shouting 'galle' (come on!) at us encouragingly. Older people waving from their chairs in upstairs windows. Once in the oak woodland, acorns crunching underfoot, the earth released its olfactory blessings as the heavens opened again. Drenched but determined, we marched on, exporting each other as the number 2 on the cairns turned into teens.
Stopping for one last mid morning cuppa together and sharing churros after roadways where we had seen two older couples get on buses. No judgement on camino. Each one to their own ability and journey, doing the best they can each day. Not tempted. Not today of all days. Every step. Do or die.
A brief stop for a trio photo by an inclusive church with a rainbow bench outside. An important marker for all of us that the camino we had experienced is a welcoming supportive place of grace, tolerance, inclusion, respect and diversity. A stunning wall art of fisher women cooking on the wall. 'Look Faye, it's like your Lesotho women cooking over their smokey pots- another sign?' smiles Sophie.
Going a km extra the wrong turn, so deep in conversation about childhood bereavement impact on children in the family. Cheering loudly at the single figures mile marker. It seems to be 5 point something km for over an hour, we agree!
A last stamp at the pilgrim's reception Magdalene chapel with a stained glass window that looks like Gabi.
And now here is Ed, waiting for us on the edge of the city walls with a high five and an ear-splitting grin. The four musketeers together again, I exclaimed. It was YOU who brought us together one by one, Sophie laughs. My utter pleasure. Our little camino family.
On we go through narrow streets filled with jostling pilgrim's among the locals, all eager for their first glimpse of their destination, the magnificent wonderous Glory facade of Santiago Cathedral. A mount joy moment indeed. I cry, streaming tears for the mental, emotional and physical effort it has taken to get me here. The hardships, the highs, companions for a day, for a week, the heat, the fires, the floods.
I cry for my father who would never drive us to Cornwall- top far- and didn't rate walking. I have just hiked further than that drive. In a month. Solo. With pack.
I cry for the girl I was, told at school she couldn't play sport, who had finally found something she loved and could do. Walk a long way. Day after day.
I cry for all the women who left husbands who wouldn't join them and dared the camino anyway. The ones who nearly gave up but kept going.
I cry fir all the damage, unspoken grief and unforgiveness I have shed on this journey and laid down on the aktar here in Santiago, never to pick up again.
I cry for the way Zach and I spur each other on to dare greatly, whether we fail or not, because the worst has already happened to us. Most of all I cry for Gabi who I absolutely know has been cheering me on every step of the way, reconciled to Duncan. With my father at the heavenly party... just waiting for me to join that greatest of all celebrations in my time.
And then I laugh, and laugh, and laugh. 'Did I tell you I have walked 700km from LISBON?!', I shout at the top of my voice to Sophie, Alicia, Ed and a square full of fellow pilgrims?
