Nadir to Zenith

As I sit now in the airport in Santiago, waiting for the flight which will take me to the next part of my journey, I’m trying to remember as much as possible of the past couple of weeks. I’ll need these memories for quite some time yet. Reading back through my posts I realise that there are so many things I forgot to mention, like the friendly farmer who offered me and my friend a ride on the hay in the trailer of his tractor (we refused, of course, as any good pilgrim would do), or the French guy who kept telling about how his walking stick cost more than 300 euros, being made from a certain type of very hard wood, while I was struggling not to laugh, or that the room I had dinner in at the Parador used to be the hospital’s morgue, or the east asian guy with a painted face who succeeded (on his third attempt) to walk 100 kilometers in one day, but did not receive the certificate in Muxia because he had not stopped at the albergues along the way. Some things are irretrievably lost. Others, may resurface in moments when I expect them less. However, even through this posts I can’t hope to remember everything.

It’s the peace which comes with falling asleep straight away, feat which I can rarely accomplish on my own, not in a room with 8-20 other people, after a day of intense physical exhaustion, or the deep concentration required for every step on a treacherous forest trail, in the rain, which I cannot properly convey through words. I hope that they will stay with me nonetheless.

As for you reader, thanks for going through this with me. If you ever have the chance to walk El Camino de Santiago, do it. It’s hard, but worth it. And let me know if you do, I may join you. My flight is departing. I hope I’ll have something to write here again soon. Until then, Buen Camino!

I don’t know if I should still be counting the days as today I traveled by bus to Santiago. My pilgrimage is pretty much over. After a final visit to the cathedral tomorrow I’m flying to the next part of my adventures. I’m doing it until then though. Fourteen is a good number to end this story with.

Today I visited Muxia. I actually spent two and a half hours watching the ocean’s waves break on the rocks, but after checking out the church and the lighthouse I decided that this view, nothing short of amazing, was the best that the city would offer me. Later, while waiting for the bus to Santiago, I enjoyed, over a beer, the company of a drunk Spanish old man, singing “La Bamba”. I would have joined in, but, unfortunately, singing is not one of my gifts.

What have I learned in my pilgrimage? Well, I learned how to estimate how much I can eat in one meal a lot better. I learned, the hard way, that one must pack light for long journeys. A guy from the albergue in Muxia picked up my pack and, thinking that I’m just starting the pilgrimage, advised me to lose some things since I won’t be able to travel with one so heavy. I learned that it’s worth spending a little more energy to find the right place for the night. I learned how important my feet and actually all of my body parts are. I need to take better care of it. I learned that sunscreen in Spain is like an umbrella in England – a necessity at all times. And finally I learned that there are more good people than bad people out there and that I should never hesitate to engage in a random conversation with a stranger. Worst case scenario, I’m rebuffed and it’s only their loss. Best case, I get to hear wonderful stories and maybe even learn something new.

Reflecting upon the pilgrimage itself, I find that it could easily be compared to Pokemon. You travel from place to place and collect stamps on your pilgrim’s passport. When you reach certain destinations, if you’ve traveled far enough and collected enough stamps, you get a certificate acknowledging your efforts. I have numerous stamps and all of the certificates available: the Compostela from Santiago, the Fisterrana from Finisterre and the Muxiata from Muxia. I guess that I’ve caught them all, but this really isn’t what the pilgrimage is supposed to be about. It’s a spiritual journey, a challenge of the mind and body and, at the end of the day, an adventure. Today I spoke with a French guy who had been traveling for two months and two days. More than 1750 kilometers. This guy certainly isn’t doing it for the certificates. I’ll try and climb a mountain next, or maybe travel by bike across Europe. I don’t know exactly what the next challenge will be, but I hope it will be at least as amazing as this one.

Wilson, is that you?

Today was the toughest day so far. The last one of my pilgrimage, it took me 31 kilometres, from Finisterre to Muxia, under a scorching sun. Traveling under a clear blue sky this time of the year is harder than doing it in the rain apparently. Yesterday’s sunburn manifested through intense shoulder pain and I had difficulty carrying my backpack. The heat was so strong that I was sure that when I would take my shoes of, my toes would be cooked inside them. I actually needed to rest a couple of times in the shade of a friendly tree, which so far I have stoically avoided. The sights were beautiful however, as seeing the ocean through the needles of pine trees was something I haven’t had the chance to do until now.

I am now in the town of Muxia, a place which, to my eyes at least, seems to be crumbling under the merciless sun. Named after the monks which brought the Christian religion to these areas, in medieval times (Terra Monxia), it now consists of a few houses, a church, a lighthouse, a few people and about a million lizards, sunbathing while admiring the way the ocean’s waves violently break on the cliffs of the Costa da Morte, literally the Coast of Death. It was named like this not due to the large numbers of foolish pilgrims jumping to their deaths rather than carry that hellish backpack for one more second, but for the many ships which find their end of these cliffs.

So here I am. At the end of my journey. After more than 230 kilometers travelled, more than 10 Spanish towns visited, I find myself in another albergue, drinking a glass of rose this time, and pondering upon my travels so far, about where they’re going to take me from now on, this summer at least, and about the fact that tomorrow will be the first time I step into an automobile since I came out of the bus which brought me to Sarria. I’m too tired to properly discuss my pilgrimage now so I’ll leave that for the next couple of days. Furthermore, I think I may be suffering from mild sunstroke. The fact that I am shivering and my skin is burning at the same time were useful hints.

One for me and one for you.

Today was an amazing day. It started cloudy, as most did before it, but it was soon apparent that the sun would dominate the sky. I explored the city of Finisterre, literally, the end of the earth. The place is beautiful, small and Spanish, from the architecture, to the fishermen. The twisted alleys somehow all led me to the sea and it was impossible, no matter how much I tried, to actually get lost here.

One of the reasons for which this place is famous is the lighthouse located a few kilometres outside the town proper. It has, in time, become a secondary ending point of the Camino, as pilgrims, basically the early incarnations of tourists, wanted to see the place where land gave way to ocean, which stretched as far as the eye could see. Thus the end of the world idea. The memorable thing about the place was not the lighthouse itself, but the rocks beyond it, where pilgrims had left small sacrifices from their journey across the Camino. Whether a pair of socks tied to a rock, a pair of underwear, one of boots, a small silver angel hidden in a nook in the stones, or just soot from the fire of pilgrims who decided to burn some possessions, objects with a certain meaning for people, things they had carried throughout their journey, lay strewn all over the place, turning it into an altar of sorts.

After visiting the lighthouse and leaving something of my own behind, my friend and I enquired about a beach, unwilling to let such a sunny day go past without going for a swim in the Atlantic. After getting lost in a forest and backtracking from a nearly impassable path, carved by some unknown animal, the beach was reached at last. I threw myself completely into the ocean and quickly threw myself back out for the water is unbearably cold.

Later, at 22.16, to be precise, I went back to the beach and saw the sunset. Obscured by a random cloud in the last minutes of the day, the sun still put on a wonderful show and once again reminded me, trapped between the mountains and the sea, with both the sun and the moon in the sky and surrounded by a handful of other pilgrims, how small individual people are when facing the forces of nature. As I lay now in bed, I realise that the cold ocean and the wind hid the real strength of the sun from me. I am all red and shivering after spending so much time in the sun. But it was worth it. Today was the best day so far.

Offerings at the end of the world

Today was a day with a bit of everything. I switched from a raincoat to a t-shirt and back to the raincoat. The area traveled was probably the most mountainous so far and it offered beautiful sights, revealed by the rising fog. Said fog turned into a very low ceiling of clouds, threatening to pour some of their substance at a moment’s notice, further torturing the bodies of two lonely pilgrims. Although still wet and slightly miserable, I dealt with the challenges of the environment much better with the aid of music. It’s amazing how music can change my perspective so strongly. How some songs speed me up and others bring into focus little bits of nature I’ve until then ignored. Also, navigating a flooded area of a road is a lot more fun when you have a soundtrack to do it on.

Today was also the day I walked the longest. 35 kilometres. At one point I knew that if I stopped for only a few seconds I would not be able to start walking again. Moving my feet became a conscious effort as each step had to be persuaded out of my body. I later found out that I had developed a few massive blisters, one of which could easily pass as the sixth finger of my right leg. However, when I reached the ocean, I felt a sense of achievement stronger than the one I felt when I finished my last university exam, just weeks ago. I felt like I saw it for the first time, although I’ve been living next to it for three of the past four years, and I felt a strong urge to go sailing.

My friend and I stopped for lunch in the first coastal town that crossed our path. The plan was just to rest our feet for a short while before pushing for our destination. It was the kind of small cute place where they don’t even have a menu, and the waiter tells you what kind of food they have today. We decided that some hot soup would do nicely, as the weather was still bad. Acknowledging that we have ordered soup, our waiter proceeded to utter words which I recognised as rabbit, chicken and cod. I replied rabbit and minutes later we were served a slightly disappointing rabbit-less noodle soup. The surprise came when, after finishing the soup, as we were getting ready to leave, she brought a massive tray with two or three sacrificed rabbits on it and enough French fries to feed a family of four. Apparently, in my unfortunate, or perhaps fortunate, for the rabbit was excellent, grasp of Spanish, I had ordered soup and rabbit. And, since I was already there, I finished it all with a delicious local cheesecake. It’s the small things which can turn a bad day into a good one.