This is it. The last 100 km of my Camino. Except for the extra 100 km I did immediately after that because apparently I just hadn’t had enough yet, but that will come in another post.
This section was almost like a different Camino in itself. The massive influx of pilgrims made for a new atmosphere that was somewhat difficult for a lot of us who started way back in the Pyrenees to embrace. It was kind of like going from the quiet and seclusion of a nature hike to Main Street Disneyland—at Christmas.
Day 38: Sarria → Portomarín (22.04 km)
My usual early morning start lured me into a false sense of introvert security. Freshly arrived Sarria-starting pilgrims evidently aren’t morning people. By now I’d caught up to the thick fog that I had been seeing from above for the last few days. Through the mist I could make out a few cows and smell many more. At one point I thought I saw a calf but it turned out to be one of the big dogs common in this area.
The mist eventually cleared, the sun came out and so did the fresh pilgrims. I walked for a little while with Karissa from the US who is a college professor and brought twelve undergraduate students on the Camino. Talk about a logistical nightmare!
We crossed a bridge over a river so wide I wasn’t sure if it was a lake and arrived in the town. There were fish gaping up from the water far below. I quickly found an albergue and took care of another blister on my toe with my trusty needle and thread.
My friend Uwe from Germany found me and invited me to dinner at a fancy place he knew about which turned out to have service so terrible that at one point they told us we shouldn’t even be in the restaurant and later they were certain that we had paid in advance. At least the view of the river and the food were very good—I had the scallops. Conversation with Uwe was interesting. His English wasn’t completely fluent and yet he would often disagree with Google translate. I learned that he is a pianist and composes his own music and that he has done the Camino numerous times. I told him about the piano in the donativo in Pamplona and he was excited to stay there next time.
I spent the evening dealing with lame admin like changing my flight and making reservations in Santiago. I hadn’t planned on booking ahead, but the massive increase of pilgrims made me nervous. Don’t worry though, this doesn’t mark a change from my purposefully unprepared Camino lifestyle because I miscounted the days and would have to seek accommodation as I arrived anyway.
That night the culture change on the Camino really hit hard. There were fresh pilgrims making noise all night, seemingly oblivious to the fact that some people were going to start walking at the crack of dawn and had been doing so for weeks already.
Day 39: Portomarín → Palas de Rei (25.39 km)
I ended up leaving a little earlier than the crack of dawn (although it was hard to tell because of the fog) and ran into Brian from Florida who had recruited my help with translation in Sarria. Almost immediately, there was a fork in the path that we weren’t sure about but decided pretty much arbitrarily on the right hand path.
The misty morning interfered with Brian’s daily sunrise photo, but it got hot when it cleared up. Brian regaled me with tales of climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro, Everest Base Camp, and the Inca trail while I struggled to keep pace with him. I have to admit that I went for a double dose of pain killers to push through. The trail was as crowded as Disneyland, commercial characters in costume included.
I got a bit of a rest when we found Desi and Larry. We stopped for some zumo de naranja and then I was able to walk with Desi while the guys shot ahead and we kept track of them through the crowd by looking for Larry’s eye-catching hat.
Brian wanted to finish the walking day with me, so my legs were forced to push hard to the end. We arrived in town at about 1 pm and the municipal was already full, but I managed to get a bed elsewhere due to a cancellation. It must have been a no-refund cancellation because the woman behind the desk pocketed my cash and didn’t have me sign in. No complaints here, a bed is a bed. Uwe turned out to be staying at the same place but luxuriating in a private room.
I went to evening mass to kill time and then had dinner by myself because Desi and Larry weren’t feeling well. A new kind of loneliness caught me in this new kind of Camino: the loneliness of crowds. Being surrounded by throngs of energetic strangers made me nostalgic for the days on the meseta when I saw no one for kilometers.
Day 40: Palas de Rei → Ribadiso (25.5 km)
The land of mist was left behind and this day was spent hiding from the hot sun under arches of trees. I met Liz, a school teacher from Ohio, who had started in Sarria with her elderly aunt. Apparently they had both found the walk more difficult than expected and her aunt was taxiing ahead. I was surprised that such self-admittedly indoorsy people had chosen to come to the Camino and even more surprised that Liz had run with the bulls in Pamplona several years before. She told me how she and her college friends had mistakenly started early and been pelted with food and insults by the crowd. Sounds better than being gored by a bull to me.
I was tired from pushing myself the day before and thought I might stop in Melide, but when I got there it was only 10 am. I bought some fresas con crema from a street vendor. As I walked and munched I saw something familiar that I hadn’t expected to see again. It was Michelle sitting outside a café having a drink. She was having a hard time adjusting to the crowds as well.
I decided to keep walking and hopefully I would find somewhere to stop for the night before I reached the next crowded main-stage city of Arzua. I entered a couple of places but something about the vibe—and the rude service—made me keep walking. There was only one small town left between me and Arzua. I ran into Karissa the professor again and she wished me luck finding accommodations as she headed to her reservation to round up her class.
Karissa’s luck was in my favor. I found my new favorite municipal albergue right alongside another refreshingly cold river in Ribadiso. I soaked my feet for hours and watched pilgrims pass through. Some stopped to swim or soak their feet too. One girl went too deep and began to be swept under the bridge. She was rescued by Matt who was close by.
I practiced my conversational Spanish with several of the passersby and learned that the Camino Francés had merged with the Primitivo and we would all merge with the Norte soon. My attempted Spanish explanation of the needle and thread method for blisters was interrupted by a group of loud Spanish teen boys who went for a dunk together. Their teacher came back furious and cussed them out because he had been waiting for them up the trail for half an hour.
Turns out I wasn’t the only one of my acquaintances who was staying off-stage. I ran into Paula and several of the drinking gang at the restaurant next door. I joined them for dinner and helped translate questions about allergies.
The albergue was made up of old stone farm buildings. The bathrooms and showers were separate like at a campground, but the shower had plenty of bench space and hooks. My bunkmate was a pilgrim from Slovenia who was walking the Primitivo. He had already walked the Francés starting from his house two years prior.
I checked the map and realized my mistake calculating my arrival date in Santiago. Then I started getting anxious about making it to the post office in time to pick up the souvenirs I’d shipped ahead from Pamplona. All of this worrying would eventually turn out to be pointless, but one never knows that when one is busy worrying. I passed a somewhat restless night this way.
Day 41: Ribadiso → O Pedrouzo (22.12 km)
I failed to take any pictures on this day, although you’re probably bored of bad selfies with bridges anyway. I walked for most of the day with Vittoria and Andy from Wales. Their conversation was good and encouraging to my wandering, young self. Andy talked about regrets people have at the end of life and #1 was doing what other people expect instead of what you truly want. So I guess I don’t feel bad about not having any bad selfies to share from this day.
We stopped for breakfast in Arzua. When it was Vittoria’s turn to order some guy came up and ordered right over her head just like had happened to me so many times before. My alter ego, Spanish Victoria, sprang into action and told the guy in no uncertain terms that she was here first and he needed to wait his turn. He responded with a look of terror and confusion and admitted in English that the only Spanish he knew was his food order. The blonde hair and pale skin probably should have been a clue, but his food-order accent was surprisingly good. None of that changed the fact that he was cutting the line, of course, and I repeated it in English. He relented and Vittoria ordered her breakfast. It felt good to use Spanish Victoria’s power to help someone else. This truly did feel like the Transformation phase of the Camino.
Outside I saw Michelle again. Seeing her with a drink outside of a café was starting to feel like a running gag in a movie. I would find myself half expecting to see her everywhere I went for weeks after returning home from the Camino.
By now I’d forgotten to expect rain in Galicia and we found ourselves rushing to put on our rain gear as a thunderstorm broke overhead. The rain only lasted an hour, but it was very hot and humid all day. We seasoned pilgrims didn’t mind the weather much anymore. Andy told me about his travels in Kenya. Later we ran into Lori who shared her thoughts on the over-romanticization of “the Camino provides”. I resolved to keep it real with my blog and not sugarcoat things. I hope I’ve succeeded so far.
In town I lined up for the municipal with the same people I’d stayed with the previous night. The municipals in Galicia are generally pretty good, but they are all on a weird Wi-Fi system that requires each pilgrim to register and receive a login code via text. The big problem with that was that I could only receive texts on Wi-Fi. So much for fixing Santiago reservations or contacting the post office about holding my package. Maybe the post office here could help me. I wandered the main street for a while looking for it and found the whole drinking gang instead. I stopped with them for an Aquarius and we figured out that I’d already walked past the post office multiple times. I wasn’t sure how I could possibly have missed it until I went over again and discovered that it was the abandoned building with plants growing out of the basement windows. How they manage to get anything done in Spain is a mystery.
I gave up worrying about my mail and went back to the albergue for yet another shower misadventure. I assembled my stuff as usual and went into the women’s showers. There were three stalls, one in use, and as usual not enough hooks. As I was trying to figure out the best way to arrange my stuff without dropping it on the wet floor, the occupant of the shower came out. It was a man. I slipped speedily out the door, leaving my bag hanging. As I reached blind a hand in to grab it, the man said (in Spanish) that this was the men’s. I confirmed the sign outside the door and corrected him. Of course he was in too deep at this point so the only thing to do was to wait for him to finish. As I was walking away, he poked his head out and called after me. He’d forgotten his towel. He told me where it was and I found it and brought it to him, all the while practicing speaking with the tone of an exasperated superior Spanish lady. This event must have filled up his quota of embarrassment for the rest of the year.
Dinner was disappointing pizza and excellent ice cream. I still dreamed of the amazing four cheese pizza from El Dragón Peregrino and the low prices of Navarra. Actually, at this point I really wanted to go back to the very beginning of the Camino and start all over again. It didn’t seem possible that I was finally going to reach Santiago tomorrow. What were we all going there for anyway? I went to bed early but couldn’t sleep. It didn’t help that I was right between two extremely loud snorers. Up until now I’d impressed myself with how well I was able to tolerate snoring. I guess my streak was over.
Day 42: O Pedrouzo → Santiago de Compostela (19.88 km)
Around 4:15 am I fled the snore duet and took my sleeping bag to an empty top bunk across the room. I got maybe an hour of sleep before I gave up and got ready to walk. When I stepped outside it was pitch black and stayed that way for what felt like a long time. I walked very slowly through the dark forest to avoid tripping on the large roots sticking up from the ground. It was misty and few pilgrims were out. It reminded me of when I lived near Washington DC and worked night shifts. I would go walking in the middle of the night to keep myself awake on my off days and that’s why I’ve only seen the cherry blossoms in the dark. Now I was surrounded by eucalyptus and that same eerie feeling.
The first sliver of light brought hoards of pilgrims. They came in two different varieties. There were weathered pilgrims who said “buen camino” as they passed and there were pilgrims with clean packs and new shoes who passed in silence as if I was another tree.
The dew became so thick that it dripped from the leaves of the trees like rain. The entire drinking gang found me. I felt better walking with them. It didn’t seem right to reach the end alone when I’d met so many friends. We got to the outskirts of the city while it was still morning. I left the group to check the municipal albergue. It was still 3 km from the cathedral and wouldn’t open until 1 pm. I decided to take my chances and continue to the cathedral.
It wasn’t the majestic final walk I imagined. An old lady tried to con me into giving her money, the crowds got more and more dense with tourists closer to the cathedral, then I almost went in the back door by mistake. An employee corrected me and went around to the front where I caught up to the drinking gang. There’s no obvious end to Camino like I and others had imagined. There’s no wide boulevard leading up to the cathedral, no archway you walk through to mark the finish, no last shell on the ground. You just follow the yellow arrows through the narrow cobbled streets and find yourself where you knew you were headed for the last month but never really thought about. I cried a little, probably more from the lack of sleep than from finishing the Camino. I didn’t feel finished and knew by now that I was going to keep walking to Finisterre.
The gang split up for a while on separate missions. A few tried to get into the 12:00 mass, a few found a spot to get refreshments, and I beelined for the post office. It was full of pilgrims collecting luggage that they’d shipped ahead. I got my package no problem, not a word about my being a day late. I found everyone outside the selected bar. The ones who tried didn’t get into mass even though they lined up at 11:30. We rested and Dan helped me book an albergue nearby. I felt jittery and kept looking around for people I might know walking by. I didn’t see any friends, but there was a parade of Galician bagpipers and dancers circling around. Apparently it was Saturday, which explained the parade and why the streets were almost as crowded as the metro in Mexico City.
I checked into my hostel and performed the long overdue task of washing my hair before heading to the pilgrim office to get my compostela. I received two certificates and a congratulatory handshake, kind of like graduation.
I found Michelle there too. As far as I know, she was the only pilgrim who started and finished on the same day as me.
We met up with Lori who’d gotten a huge group together outside a restaurant across from the cathedral. Friends, acquaintances, and strangers who I’d somehow never met in the last five weeks came by to say hello and celebrate. By chance (like most of the Camino) Larry and Desi were there too and I was so happy to see them. The frenzied energy that had overwhelmed me when I first arrived was transmuted into pure joy and elation. To be surrounded by friends with whom you’ve completed a long journey means so much more than seeing a cathedral or receiving a certificate.
As per my usual M.O. I spent much of the afternoon wandering around lost and walking in circles through the narrow streets. Luckily, in a city of 100,000 people (not including the tourists and pilgrims) you’re bound to run into your friends. When I finally resurfaced from a mass of bagpipers, drummers, and dancing girls, there was the drinking gang enjoying their favorite pastime. Soon afterwards Desi and Larry found me showing off my compostela and I went to dinner with them at a place with basically free balcony seats at a rock concert rehearsal.
I got a great night’s sleep in my luxurious, noise-blocking, cubicle bunk (still a top bunk of course) that more than made up for the previous night.
Day 43: Santiago de Compostela
This was my rest day before continuing on to Finisterre and all I really wanted to do was see them swing the giant incense burner in mass. According to the pilgrim rumor mill at which I studied, the ceremonial incense is to cover up the smell of all the stinky pilgrims. Sounds about right. Despite the crowds and festivities of the day before, this was still Spain and therefore nothing was open in the morning. To pass the time I went to the early mass. Mistake. No big ceremony. I walked out the door. Huge mistake. There was a line wrapping around the building for midday mass and now I had to get in the back. I was still early enough to get in and get an ok seat, but an old lady who came in later than me was struggling to sit on the edge of a pillar. I couldn’t not give her my seat. I could barely see most of the ceremony through the sea of cell phones that people weren’t supposed to have out, but the giant incense burner swinging from the ceiling was impossible to miss.
Mission accomplished, I emerged from the cathedral hungry. After a disappointing lunch, I checked into a new albergue. It was an unusual place near the pilgrim office. The rooms and even individual bunks were of different qualities and prices. I had reserved one of the last available, which was a nice bottom bunk next to the window overlooking the garden. When I got there someone had taken it. She was obviously pretending to have made a mistake and betting I’d be a pushover so she could get a better bed. At first I was a bit of a pushover, but then I realized Spanish Victoria wouldn’t have stood for this and asked her to move. She did so without argument.
Sarah, Emma, Andrew, and Gillian walked into Santiago as nonchalantly as they’d walked every day before and I greeted them outside the cathedral. We met up with Geraldine and Troy and some of Geraldine’s family who came to meet them at the end of the Camino. They all totally convinced me to come to Australia, not that it took much convincing.
Of all the major cities along the Camino, I’m afraid Santiago was my least favorite. Maybe it was the crowds, or the sadness of saying real goodbyes instead of “see you down the road”. Maybe it was the unpleasantness of dealing with the bed-stealer making it hard to enjoy my nice bunk by the window. I just didn’t like Santiago, but that’s okay because the Camino was never about getting there. I’d walked 800 kilometers, my legs hurt, and I dreaded being alone again, but I couldn’t wait to leave in the morning. Something in me still needed to keep going all the way to Finisterre—the end of the world.
Victoria Castillo 
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