Arriving to Santiago begins about 100 KM out and culminates in joyous ejaculation in the main Cathedral square of Santiago de Compostela. It’s nothing like the moment of gaining one’s sword as described in Paulo Coelho’s The Pilgrimage.
As I approached Santiago, I drew close with the friends I had made on the walk. We either didn’t want to spend time apart or were destined to walk together, because, despite our varied paths, we either bumped into eachother at lunch, slept in the same hostels, or found eachother on the walk constantly. We broke off from eachother on the second of three days it took us to walk the final 100KM to Santiago, but were mostly together, and definitely so at the end.
I did the first 80KM like a madman, the last 20KM differently. On the first of the three days it took to arrive, I walked all day and late into the night. After climbing Dragonte, I felt powerful at night — my fears of being eaten by wolves were gone — and I stopped to examine water in the night, which apparently continues its work of flowing, unperturbed by darkness. Everything drips in dew and the site is awe-inspiring under a sky full of stars and the Milky Way. I arrived into my hostel on the first of the three nights to find an old friend from the beginning of the Camino, a quick walking and lonesome Spaniard named Carlos, the center of a group of Spaniards, chatting and joking his ass off in hard-to-follow Spanish of a northern dialect. Still a sweetie, he would end up joining into our 6-person apartment for two days of celebration upon arrival in Santiago. I found the apartment, PR BLANCO, for about 150 Euro/night, which split between six people was no problem.
I also met my friend Silvia, from Italy, who was coincidentally the second pilgrim I met throughout the entire trip. I said hello to her in the office where I received my pilgrims credential in St. Jean Pied de Port, France, where I began my pilgrimage. She became much like a sister to me, over the course of the trip. I found it difficult to place her age as her opinions, maturity, life problems, and opinions seemed all over the place. Maybe thats always the case when we’re truly honest with eachother.
My German friend, Christoph, wasn’t with me on the first of the three nights heading into arrival, as he had forgotten his wallet, and walked a full 45KM the day prior, and did not want to walk as far as I did. He would catch me early the next day.
Episode II Attack of the Clones
The second to last day we had just 25KM to walk. Each of us took a different path. Each of us took a distinctive path. I fucked up one last time, and tremendously.
I have a little troll inside me that jumps up and down and screams like a child in Toys R Us every time I’m confronted with an opportunity offering an ignominious concoction of danger and mystery. Sometimes I tell myself no, but more often on this trip I say why the fuck not. If not now, then never. That + faith took me to the top of Dragonte and I’ve learned it’s powerful. It’s also dangerous and I need to learn how to balance it better.
Christoph powered through to Azura, the final city, where he talked to his girlfriend and worried about myself and more so Silvia, who was actually off by herself being proffered by drunken men, late into the night.
Silvia parted with me in the morning after two lunchtime beers with myself and Christoph and stopped into a raucous roadside bar (with a reputation) called El Puente Verde (if memory serves). I walked past the very same, saw her backpack, and decided my fate lay elsewhere. I also could tell people were getting crunk AF in there. Turns our the famous bar was actually closing doors forever in two days, and so they were having a blow out.
I heard about a mountainous detour and wrestled myself into saying I’d do it. I struggled to find the entrance to the mountain loop, but eventually did after a few Spanish conversations. I walked through a forest with towering trees and arrived into a little mountain farm village, where I was able to find a man who happily pointed me toward the mountains but was totally flabbergasted that I intended to climb the mountain. He found it funny but was also clearly concerned. I found that concerning but also invigorating.
For about an hour, i poked around farm fields for the so called ‘Caminito’ that would take me to the top. I found nothing and gave up, deciding to walk parallel to the highway until I reached Azura. It was 5:15PM. Sunset occurred around 6:30PM. I began to see roads that clearly headed up into the mountains. I tensed up inside, as I fought the urge to, again, try to surmount and find the cross. I decided I’d find that motherfucking cross in that motherfucking mountain, and I took off running.
I told myself I had 30 minutes to find the cross. The man in the village had told me it was 30 minutes into the mountain, but I knew that those directions might presuppose knowledge of the mountains paths or who knows what, so I decided I’d run it. I sprinted and trudged when my face ran with sweat and the weight of my pack forced me to rest to catch my breath. I always chose what appeared to be the main path as I ran up the mountain.
The path got smaller and smaller..
The path disappeared and I fought through brush until I gave up. I had run for 20 of my 30 minutes and I had chosen the wrong path.
In the distance, I saw a clearing in the trees. I thought maybe this was the location of the cross I fought over to the clearing, through thorn bushes, and arrived where machines or fire had carved away a square kilometer of forest. With some time remaining, I sprinted across, seeing in the distance my starting point as well as the city of Azura. It seemed so close and, in my haste, I decided I’d try to descend down the side of the mountain and I’d lose the path that had taken me up. That path was so long, and Azura appeared so close, and I was losing light. Perhaps I would make up some time.
Nope. I didn’t make up any time. In fact, I flipped open Google Maps to find that there seemed to be a road about 500 Meters off (close, right?) and I descended through a deep amazon jungle coral reef of bullshit bushes and thorns that ripped at my forehead, wrapped my arms, and a few times brought me to my knees, totally ensnared. I was sweating bullets when, caught up in a nest of thorns, I heard a heavy-footed animal approach. I trust myself against almost anything with trekking poles in hand (read: I’m a mean swordsman), but my mobility was extremely limited due to the thorns. If I was attacked by a warthog, for example, I was toast. Luckily, the animal seemed uninterested in meeting me and plodded away.
I continued to fight through heavy foliage. When I was not able to what and stomp my way through a stretch of forest, I backtracked and ambled in another direction.
You can imagine this was a time-consuming affair. I neared panic as the clock hit about 6:15PM, and I decided I’d get back to that path no matter the toll my body took. I crossed a creek with water up to my thighs. I climbed over a fence, and into the back yard of a humongous mansion. I almost walked to the back door, but I wondered if they had a big dog, and so I climbed the fence again and approached their front door.
DOONK DOONK DOONK
“Quien es?”
“Estoy un peregrino! Estoy perdido! Necesito ayuda!”
A sharply dressed fat-man in a yellow sweater and smoking jacket opened the door with concern on his face. His dainty wife soon followed, wine i hand. Inside, I could see multiple fire places roaring. I knew this was a very wealthy family and I hoped they’d invite me inside. The man asked if I needed anything desperately. Whiskey ran through my mind. Wine followed on its heels. Water, I said, and the woman brought out a big glass goblet of it, which I gulped down quickly. They explained they could not drive me, but I could walk along their driveway to get back to the road. They were clearly concerned for me. I thanked them for their time and set off into the darkness, resisting the urge to sprint until I was out of their eyesight. The man called after me and asked where I was from. I answered and asked his name... “Carlos Ruiz Zafon.”
I really wish he invited me inside lol.
I arrived, clothes tattered, with a 1000 mile stare, into my luxury hostel where a tall metrosexual man, seemingly irritated with life, the universe, and everything checked me in.
I made a mistake that day. I chased glory, and my luck failed me, and my grit made up for it, but the cost was in humility and irritated skin that had been poked and scratched by mildly poisonous plant life.
Silvia arrived some hours later, in a among party of drunken men, including a player from Spain’s national volleyball team. She told me the next day each man had tried to sleep with her and one even offered money.
On the final day, we walked just 20KM. We never stopped. After 4KM waking, we had washed away our yesterday’s sins and were firmly set on our arrival.
Silvia tried to soak in every sight. I tried to calm a rising irritation that told me to go-go-go-go-go like that voice in Counterstrike, and Christoph seemed relaxed and excited to arrive.
After hours that seemed like many more, we arrived into Santiago. The city dead ends into a massive central square, boxed by monolithic gothic edifices, and we dog piled onto Carlos, rolled onto our backs, and basked in the culmination of our journey and the sun.
A strange Japanese man approached us and asked to take pictures and told us he once did 300KM on the Camino four years ago. Fuckin’ A, man. Fuckin’ A.
There isn’t too much to say about the days of celebration. Happiness. Exploration. I met some hippies. Met some beggers. I established something of a rapport with a one-legged man who said “increible” when I refused him money (after Silvia had given him a full 10 euro note that same day) and when we passed eachother in the streets we would just shout back at eachother “increible” ... incredible. I also met a guitar player who played with a mask. I never saw his face, but I bought a CD and he said he was from Uruguay.
Leaving Santiago felt like leaving Dragoncon, which chokes me up even to write lol. The energy lets out like a balloon, and the people trickle out, until there is just one bastion of people left, and then they begin to trickle out. I attended a mass in the Cathedral of Santiago that ended thusly. I hung on, but the river of life flowed regardless, and I knew I had to go. And go I did, onto my next Camino and next adventure...
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