Week 6: Camino Santiago de Compostela - Finisterre
There are many things I like about the Camino de Santiago. The sense of accomplishment and fulfilment, the intense connection with nature and your own body, the inward focus to finally deal with shit, the weight loss, the camaraderie and companionship... Your pores standing wide open to feel, suck up every crumb of life more passionately than you ever held possible. Everything seems to be lying right under a magnifying glass, positioned between the outer world and your inner perceptions.
What I liked most, however, is that you’re nobody on the Camino, which means at the same time you’re everybody… anybody. Labels of daily life are gone, you can’t hide behind titles and costumes – acts and words are all you have left. I’m not a person with such-and-such education, making or failing to make so-many-figures-income-streams, I’m not a vegan, not a nomad, not a metalhead… I’m just another hiker. And so are you. Hikers that wear the same ugly hiking-crap, carry the same pilgrim-shell and just wake up every single morning and walk the hell out of that trail. No need to proof yourself, no complications, no layers.
What I liked most, however, is that you’re nobody on the Camino, which means at the same time you’re everybody… anybody. Labels of daily life are gone, you can’t hide behind titles and costumes – acts and words are all you have left. I’m not a person with such-and-such education, making or failing to make so-many-figures-income-streams, I’m not a vegan, not a nomad, not a metalhead… I’m just another hiker. And so are you. Hikers that wear the same ugly hiking-crap, carry the same pilgrim-shell and just wake up every single morning and walk the hell out of that trail. No need to proof yourself, no complications, no layers.
But that was about to end soon.
I was about 100KM away from Santiago de Compostela. A vague fata morgana which was never the point, but somehow the goal.
31: Airexe / Ligonde - Melide
One thing I was downright terrified of before starting the Camino were the early alarms. I just can’t. If you don’t have at least 2 hours of breakfast, can you even call it a morning? The online Camino-community had scared the shit out of me with horror stories of 5 ‘o clock wake-up calls and hikes kicking off at the inhumane hour of 7AM. On Day 31, however, I can quite joyfully conclude that not even the Camino can beat it out of me. Instead, I developed more and more creative ways of daybreak-time-wasting and getting what I want by observing hospitalero-routines and habits like a sneaky hyena. I can get really proactive when it comes to certain excrescences of my morning-laziness. Another thing I thought I’d learn but absolutely didn’t is travelling light. 10% of my body weight? Hmmm, in a parallel ‘Murican universe perhaps. I guess if you roam the world for 5,5 years with 18KG on your back and another 10KG on the front, 13KG (mainly in canned vegan provisions) seems as light as a feather – except of your wallet, as money definitely stays in when you outsmart the marketed-as-cheap-but-actually-really-overpriced-for-what-it-is ‘pilgrim menus’. For the price of 1 menu I ate about 3-4 days, all 3 daily meals and snacks included.
I was about 100KM away from Santiago de Compostela. A vague fata morgana which was never the point, but somehow the goal.
31: Airexe / Ligonde - Melide
One thing I was downright terrified of before starting the Camino were the early alarms. I just can’t. If you don’t have at least 2 hours of breakfast, can you even call it a morning? The online Camino-community had scared the shit out of me with horror stories of 5 ‘o clock wake-up calls and hikes kicking off at the inhumane hour of 7AM. On Day 31, however, I can quite joyfully conclude that not even the Camino can beat it out of me. Instead, I developed more and more creative ways of daybreak-time-wasting and getting what I want by observing hospitalero-routines and habits like a sneaky hyena. I can get really proactive when it comes to certain excrescences of my morning-laziness. Another thing I thought I’d learn but absolutely didn’t is travelling light. 10% of my body weight? Hmmm, in a parallel ‘Murican universe perhaps. I guess if you roam the world for 5,5 years with 18KG on your back and another 10KG on the front, 13KG (mainly in canned vegan provisions) seems as light as a feather – except of your wallet, as money definitely stays in when you outsmart the marketed-as-cheap-but-actually-really-overpriced-for-what-it-is ‘pilgrim menus’. For the price of 1 menu I ate about 3-4 days, all 3 daily meals and snacks included.
All my hopes on better weather in Galicia were washed away with more rain, awareness of suffering had turned into acceptance (and suffering I most definitely did, after the hole-in-foot-debacle described in the previous report). In this last stretch I was just here to show myself some balls, build that physical but above all else mental strength brick by brick (blister by blister) and wrap it all up. It’s very easy to romanticize memories of this kind of adventurous endeavours, but at this frozen time frame I had lost all pleasure in this previous so joyful journey. Once again, life under a magnifying glass: No peaks without lows!
I passed the town of Casanova – only noteworthy for its name, instantly triggering me to burst out in loud 90’s solo-karaoke (if THAT’S not their city marketing tune, do you want to be there in the first place?!) and was physically forced to stop in Melide. An extremely ugly township, famous for its pulpo (seafood) I don’t even eat.
Night spent in: Xunta Melide
I passed the town of Casanova – only noteworthy for its name, instantly triggering me to burst out in loud 90’s solo-karaoke (if THAT’S not their city marketing tune, do you want to be there in the first place?!) and was physically forced to stop in Melide. An extremely ugly township, famous for its pulpo (seafood) I don’t even eat.
Night spent in: Xunta Melide
You can see the Camino Frances in pink
32: Melide – Santa Irene (Pedrouzo)
I remember Johnny Cash singing “get some sand in your shoes”… scratch that and replace it with ‘blood’ – welcome on the Camino. But the journey goes on, so I smashed those stumps of ragged flesh together once again and pushed them into those structures hardly recognizable as shoes anymore. This morning I felt more wrecked than ever, as where usually the albergues are balls-shrinking cold, here I was boiling so fiercely I wish I could’ve taken my skin off. Plus, that one roommate underlining his diarrhoea outbursts with loud slams of the bedroom door with a 5-minute interval surely didn’t contribute to my night rest.
Where the Camino had transformed me into this peaceful being the previous week, I noticed I started losing my patience. Especially with people. Like a bewildered, feral cat biting and scratching when folks approach them… folks of all sorts and types, the Camino has ‘em all:
I remember Johnny Cash singing “get some sand in your shoes”… scratch that and replace it with ‘blood’ – welcome on the Camino. But the journey goes on, so I smashed those stumps of ragged flesh together once again and pushed them into those structures hardly recognizable as shoes anymore. This morning I felt more wrecked than ever, as where usually the albergues are balls-shrinking cold, here I was boiling so fiercely I wish I could’ve taken my skin off. Plus, that one roommate underlining his diarrhoea outbursts with loud slams of the bedroom door with a 5-minute interval surely didn’t contribute to my night rest.
Where the Camino had transformed me into this peaceful being the previous week, I noticed I started losing my patience. Especially with people. Like a bewildered, feral cat biting and scratching when folks approach them… folks of all sorts and types, the Camino has ‘em all:
- The amicable, back-patting softy sprinkling around compliments and positive encouragement in his tireless pursuits to be everybody’s friend.
- The macho, walking for 3 days since Sarria thinking he’s now the King of the Camino as well as God’s generous gift to women – generally to be spotted walking around the dormitory shirtless, snapping at other males whilst sharing made-up heroic events of previous courageous undertakings and near-dead experiences.
- The teenage introvert (usually Asian), wide pupils and screen-lit face hidden behind a flashy apple sign, jumpy if bumped into.
- The self-proclaimed hippie, walking barefoot over the never-washed freezing tiles of the albergue, lazily (/stoned) scratching his/her dreadlocks that came into existence somewhere along the journey somehow – usually carrying an out-of-tone guitar or ukulele.
- The extremely loud group of 50+ housewives, usually walking only a short stretch of the Camino, unable to bear the sound of silence for a more than 3 full seconds, continuously interrupting one another with juicy gossip and complaints about their babysitters and husbands.
- The athlete: A lean, stringy man wearing leggings, a fluorescent long sleeve, and a buff knotted on the top of his thin-haired/bold head. His white sunscreen isn’t properly smeared out. Wears an extremely light pack and only high-end gear.
- The social walker, only on the Camino for ‘the experience’. Responsible for nightly merrymaking, filling everyone’s cup, cracking (usually sexually themed) jokes and loudly playing terrible trance music from his mobile phone.
- The struggling couple. They (read: she) thought it was a good idea to ‘do stuff together more often’ and ‘find a shared passion’, but in this very moment, 24/7 crammed in each other’s already limited space while going through physical discomfort and tiredness, they find their relationship and mutual tolerance being put through the test instead.
- The patriot - his bag embellished with flags of his native country, unsolicited sharing anecdotes and news updates of his homeland, and purposely playing loud music sung in his native tongue in public spaces, while loudly singing along to underline his point. Can easily be recognized by the same boring opening sentence “So, where you’re from?”
- The einzelgänger, hiding in dark corners of the dormitory, the overall facial expression (and sometimes body smell) scaring everyone right out of his/her aura.
Yes, you’re daily life labels might be gone, but within the pilgrim-category new ones float to the surface.
32KM had disappeared under my shoes. There was not one dry piece of fibre on my body. The central heating was covered in everything I owned. Almost. Almost there.
Night spent in: Xunta Santa Irene
32KM had disappeared under my shoes. There was not one dry piece of fibre on my body. The central heating was covered in everything I owned. Almost. Almost there.
Night spent in: Xunta Santa Irene
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33: Santa Irene – Santiago de Compostela
I could have basically kayaked towards Santiago, looking back on the extreme rainfall of the previous 2 weeks… but today Galicia definitely couldn’t rain on my parade. Generous sunrays kissed my face once I jumped out of my bed, suddenly full of energy. It was simply meant to be.
33 days of walking, through laughter and pain, through snow and heatwaves… today I was going to finish it with a loud and glorious exclamation mark. It’s a hard reality to sink in, one that triggered violent outbursts of spontaneous singing and hysterical laughter. I never had the slightest doubt if I was going to finish it or not, it’s simply not in my character to disappoint myself, but now the time had come my whole inner being was celebrating. I fucking did it. Do you hear me, I FUCKING DID IT!
The last 20KM passed by in some pink trance. Physical discomfort was still present, but the pain impulses didn’t reach my brain. I probably talked to people, but I forgot their faces. The only vision clearly projected onto my retina was the cathedral of Santiago.
One step more, come on, one other step, almost there.
I could have basically kayaked towards Santiago, looking back on the extreme rainfall of the previous 2 weeks… but today Galicia definitely couldn’t rain on my parade. Generous sunrays kissed my face once I jumped out of my bed, suddenly full of energy. It was simply meant to be.
33 days of walking, through laughter and pain, through snow and heatwaves… today I was going to finish it with a loud and glorious exclamation mark. It’s a hard reality to sink in, one that triggered violent outbursts of spontaneous singing and hysterical laughter. I never had the slightest doubt if I was going to finish it or not, it’s simply not in my character to disappoint myself, but now the time had come my whole inner being was celebrating. I fucking did it. Do you hear me, I FUCKING DID IT!
The last 20KM passed by in some pink trance. Physical discomfort was still present, but the pain impulses didn’t reach my brain. I probably talked to people, but I forgot their faces. The only vision clearly projected onto my retina was the cathedral of Santiago.
One step more, come on, one other step, almost there.
I entered the city walls. Bagpipe music reached my ears, as apparently that’s not so much a Scottish but an overall Gaelic thing (hence: Galicia). Passengers-by gave me high fives and pats on the back, I couldn’t wipe that maniacal smile off my face. I started accelerating, not forgetting to let every impression sink in deep to make permanent marks on my memory. Santiago de Compostela. I was there. I yelled, I yoo-hooed, I hugged random strangers. I didn’t have to cry, I could only smile – but looking back on the video I made I feel the tears welling up. Such a full, honest expression of pure happiness. This is why you walk 800KM, to fucking feel like this. This stuff doesn’t come to you whilst hanging on the couch.
As tradition required, I headed to the pilgrim’s mass, hoping that if my grandmother could look down from her well-deserved cloud in heaven this would be the exact moment. I met up with Ana, a sparkling local Couchsurfer living the spirit of Galicia within her whole being. Not only did we share home-made food, Spanish wine and engaging conversation in her comfortable historical apartment right next to Santiago’s cathedral… she had a bath! There was literally no one else in entire Spain – okay, besides maybe the other hikers that finished their pilgrimage that day – that deserved that hot, foamy bath more than me. Richness certainly hides in the small things in life!
For the first time in 5 weeks I styled my hair and smeared some make-up on my face. I was going out! Be it in a Nike’s legging and socks-in-slippers, but hey, who cares: I wear the pilgrim’s attire with pride! If there’s one thing to end the Camino with in style, then it’s with a proper full-on Galician party.
Night spent in: Couchsurfing
For the first time in 5 weeks I styled my hair and smeared some make-up on my face. I was going out! Be it in a Nike’s legging and socks-in-slippers, but hey, who cares: I wear the pilgrim’s attire with pride! If there’s one thing to end the Camino with in style, then it’s with a proper full-on Galician party.
Night spent in: Couchsurfing
34: Santiago de Compostela - Negreira
Although… end the Camino? Not quite yet! I mean, Santiago is a lovely (be it overly touristy) town, but the sea, what about the sea?! I don’t know exactly when the tradition was rooted, but pilgrims have been enjoying their final 100KM stretch towards Finisterre as a concluding chapter for several centuries now, collecting a shell at the shore to remember their life-changing pilgrimage. Well… what’s an extra 100KM after 800KM down the drain already?! Nothing for people like me, who have a hard time to accept that it’s over anyway… using any extra mileage as their phase of denial. Taking a bus seemed simply insincere, just like I would rather cut off my feet than ever taking a bus or cab for even the tiniest part of the Camino, or lighten my load to send my pack ahead… I’m sure many people have their age- and health-related reasons, which I respect, but to me the Camino symbolizes life in its purest form, including both sunny and rough patches. Everyone walks their own Camino, and mine would end in Finisterre, the ‘end of the world’ (I must add, I already visited the ‘fin del mundos’ in both France and southern Argentina, so this would just be another addition to the collection – gotta catch ‘em all!)
I allowed myself a day to regain my strengths in Santiago, visiting the historical centre, some Galician dance classes and the Santiago museum (coming to the conclusion that Mr. Santiago is an A-class prick, literally murdering his way towards salvation). My overpriced laptop saw its last days in Galicia, reason of collapse: water damage. Seems legit. Soooo, I figured I might as well start walking after only 1 extra night!
Although… end the Camino? Not quite yet! I mean, Santiago is a lovely (be it overly touristy) town, but the sea, what about the sea?! I don’t know exactly when the tradition was rooted, but pilgrims have been enjoying their final 100KM stretch towards Finisterre as a concluding chapter for several centuries now, collecting a shell at the shore to remember their life-changing pilgrimage. Well… what’s an extra 100KM after 800KM down the drain already?! Nothing for people like me, who have a hard time to accept that it’s over anyway… using any extra mileage as their phase of denial. Taking a bus seemed simply insincere, just like I would rather cut off my feet than ever taking a bus or cab for even the tiniest part of the Camino, or lighten my load to send my pack ahead… I’m sure many people have their age- and health-related reasons, which I respect, but to me the Camino symbolizes life in its purest form, including both sunny and rough patches. Everyone walks their own Camino, and mine would end in Finisterre, the ‘end of the world’ (I must add, I already visited the ‘fin del mundos’ in both France and southern Argentina, so this would just be another addition to the collection – gotta catch ‘em all!)
I allowed myself a day to regain my strengths in Santiago, visiting the historical centre, some Galician dance classes and the Santiago museum (coming to the conclusion that Mr. Santiago is an A-class prick, literally murdering his way towards salvation). My overpriced laptop saw its last days in Galicia, reason of collapse: water damage. Seems legit. Soooo, I figured I might as well start walking after only 1 extra night!
As Stephanie-tradition requires, I left far after midday, because of low season limiting myself to a meager 20KM only (the next village with an open albergue was +17KM down the road, which limited daylight didn’t allow me to walk). 20KM turned out to be enough though, as I planned my day of departure so exquisitely well that I had to plough through an extreme storm… so rough, it even had its own name: Cecilia. But I was following through, no matter the cost. If I make a promise to myself, I rather die than not follow through. I mean, if you can’t even count on yourself, what do you have left to lean on?
Soaked to the thread, but nevertheless quite pleased with the lovely scenery en-route, I arrived in Negreira. There was supposed to be one Xunta Albergue, which was open every single day of the year… except that one day I was there. FML. So I (and all the other masses of pilgrims) had only one private albergue left, and the worst of its kind. Not only did they dare to charge an outrageous €12 for a bed (a price I only paid in Roncesvalles before), their thirst for squeezing every bit of cash out of you for the absolute rock-bottom minimum seeped through in every excess of this pathetic excuse of a shelter: Two showers a gender (gym-style one naked person next to the other - even a wall in the middle was too much to ask), no kitchen so you have to buy their food, mattresses as thin as a pancake, worn-out drooling spots decorating the pillows… The lights automatically turned off after (I timed it) 8,5 seconds, so even if you run, you’d still need a headlamp to find your bed. Man, it was -2 outside, and that 1-meter piece-of-shit of a central heating was turned off after 8PM! Do you know how fucking wet everyone was? They might be so proud to be Gaelic here, but even Scotland had drying rooms in literally every hostel. I simply grabbed the hairdryer from behind the reception in order to dry the insides of my shoes… I’ve never seen a face so utterly disapproving as that of the woman owning this place, once she found out. In short: Albergue El Carmen is a nay. If the weather would be a tad less Galician (maybe in summer) you’re 100% better off pulling your sleeping bag out in the various ruins of houses along this stretch of the trail, true story bro.
Night spent in: Albergue El Carmen (privado)
Soaked to the thread, but nevertheless quite pleased with the lovely scenery en-route, I arrived in Negreira. There was supposed to be one Xunta Albergue, which was open every single day of the year… except that one day I was there. FML. So I (and all the other masses of pilgrims) had only one private albergue left, and the worst of its kind. Not only did they dare to charge an outrageous €12 for a bed (a price I only paid in Roncesvalles before), their thirst for squeezing every bit of cash out of you for the absolute rock-bottom minimum seeped through in every excess of this pathetic excuse of a shelter: Two showers a gender (gym-style one naked person next to the other - even a wall in the middle was too much to ask), no kitchen so you have to buy their food, mattresses as thin as a pancake, worn-out drooling spots decorating the pillows… The lights automatically turned off after (I timed it) 8,5 seconds, so even if you run, you’d still need a headlamp to find your bed. Man, it was -2 outside, and that 1-meter piece-of-shit of a central heating was turned off after 8PM! Do you know how fucking wet everyone was? They might be so proud to be Gaelic here, but even Scotland had drying rooms in literally every hostel. I simply grabbed the hairdryer from behind the reception in order to dry the insides of my shoes… I’ve never seen a face so utterly disapproving as that of the woman owning this place, once she found out. In short: Albergue El Carmen is a nay. If the weather would be a tad less Galician (maybe in summer) you’re 100% better off pulling your sleeping bag out in the various ruins of houses along this stretch of the trail, true story bro.
Night spent in: Albergue El Carmen (privado)
35: Negreira – Olveiroa
Nevertheless, overnight a miracle happened. I rubbed my eyes several times when I stared out of the window in disbelief… but somehow it had stopped raining in Galicia. What is this sorcery? Life had suddenly turned into some cheesy musical scene: With a queer little foot clap I grabbed my pack, ran away singing and glanced up to the rainbows and glowing fields with starry eyes. Wow, Galicia, you might be an ice-cold moody bitch at times, but at least you’re mind-boggling pretty!
35KM was on the menu, and honestly, that’s the best possible news on a staggering day like this. All I wanted was to be one tiny nuance of this picture-book-landscape, soaking in every shining inch and patch on this extraordinary good day on the Camino.
I walked until far after sunset, conquering the last sweep of the trail in the pitch dark. Life wasn’t done spoiling me yet, as not only did I plunge my sleeping bag right next to Alejandro’s*, a wonderful excrescence of humanity who I was lucky enough to meet already on three prior occasions on the Camino (in Samos, Melide and Santiago), he also brought along two equally magnificent individuals, Guillaume and one of my new favorite human-beings: Richi. I had been resisting friendships stubbornly in the purifying pursuit of clarifying solitude, but now, in the final sprint towards Finisterre, it was time to open my world to some valuable additions. Life lessons, Leo: If you set the barrier as high as you did on the Camino, instead of always trying to dance in the shiny centre of the masses, only the best will filter out. It was me and these beautiful three musketeers going for a home run.
* Alejandro, who I met several times on the Camino, once had the time of his life walking this route with his best friend, illustrated by the twinkling light in his eyes when narrating past experiences and anecdotes. Memories he’d like to bring back walking these trails alone after his friend lost the battle against an auto-immune disease.
Night spent in: Xunta Olveiroa
Nevertheless, overnight a miracle happened. I rubbed my eyes several times when I stared out of the window in disbelief… but somehow it had stopped raining in Galicia. What is this sorcery? Life had suddenly turned into some cheesy musical scene: With a queer little foot clap I grabbed my pack, ran away singing and glanced up to the rainbows and glowing fields with starry eyes. Wow, Galicia, you might be an ice-cold moody bitch at times, but at least you’re mind-boggling pretty!
35KM was on the menu, and honestly, that’s the best possible news on a staggering day like this. All I wanted was to be one tiny nuance of this picture-book-landscape, soaking in every shining inch and patch on this extraordinary good day on the Camino.
I walked until far after sunset, conquering the last sweep of the trail in the pitch dark. Life wasn’t done spoiling me yet, as not only did I plunge my sleeping bag right next to Alejandro’s*, a wonderful excrescence of humanity who I was lucky enough to meet already on three prior occasions on the Camino (in Samos, Melide and Santiago), he also brought along two equally magnificent individuals, Guillaume and one of my new favorite human-beings: Richi. I had been resisting friendships stubbornly in the purifying pursuit of clarifying solitude, but now, in the final sprint towards Finisterre, it was time to open my world to some valuable additions. Life lessons, Leo: If you set the barrier as high as you did on the Camino, instead of always trying to dance in the shiny centre of the masses, only the best will filter out. It was me and these beautiful three musketeers going for a home run.
* Alejandro, who I met several times on the Camino, once had the time of his life walking this route with his best friend, illustrated by the twinkling light in his eyes when narrating past experiences and anecdotes. Memories he’d like to bring back walking these trails alone after his friend lost the battle against an auto-immune disease.
Night spent in: Xunta Olveiroa
36: Olveiroa – Corcubión
We could have gone straight to Finisterre… but why end the dream? If life is shining you bright in the face, the best you can do is just surf on those sunrays. The weather just couldn’t stop kicking ass, the mountain views on the shore were almost too generous to process and I was spending time with exactly the people I was longing to meet on this Camino, without even knowing I did. I felt like I was secretly starring in one of those terrible Coca Cola commercials, portraying life so excessively blissful it’s hard to take it seriously. It was a final pat on the shoulders of the universe, “well done girl, you fucking did this shit”. I had beaten all the levels and final end-bosses and saved the princess, allowing me to ride into paradise.
As an extra high five life granted us probably one of the best donativo hostels on the entire route. Or maybe the rainbow-shaded filter sugar-glazed every single impression, further glorified in even sweeter memories. What a time to be alive. 10KM to go.
Night spent in: Albergue San Roque (donativo)
We could have gone straight to Finisterre… but why end the dream? If life is shining you bright in the face, the best you can do is just surf on those sunrays. The weather just couldn’t stop kicking ass, the mountain views on the shore were almost too generous to process and I was spending time with exactly the people I was longing to meet on this Camino, without even knowing I did. I felt like I was secretly starring in one of those terrible Coca Cola commercials, portraying life so excessively blissful it’s hard to take it seriously. It was a final pat on the shoulders of the universe, “well done girl, you fucking did this shit”. I had beaten all the levels and final end-bosses and saved the princess, allowing me to ride into paradise.
As an extra high five life granted us probably one of the best donativo hostels on the entire route. Or maybe the rainbow-shaded filter sugar-glazed every single impression, further glorified in even sweeter memories. What a time to be alive. 10KM to go.
Night spent in: Albergue San Roque (donativo)
37: Corcubión – Finisterre
This is it.
There are many places where you can end your Camino, including Muxia at the northern coast or simply Santiago, but mine ended here. I felt it in my entire inner being… how the Camino functioned as a symbolical representation of my life story, the ‘end of the world’ symbolizes the end of my Camino, the water representing the dive I had to take into a new direction of life I had suddenly all figured out. My head was clear and peaceful… I had dealt with extreme stress and trauma caused by the close experience of cancer suffered by one of the most important people in my life, given it a place… I had made decisions about my work and travels for the year to come… clear visions and realisations about my relationship had forced themselves into my brain when I couldn’t hide behind pleasant distractions and ever-present mental noise. I know who I was, physically and mentally, and what I’m capable of. My strengths but most definitely also my weaknesses had been presented to me on a silver platter, myself being my only true companion. What a crash course in life itself! I was done, I graduated an exam not by peeking at other people’s answers, but by realizing we all received a different question paper.
This is it.
There are many places where you can end your Camino, including Muxia at the northern coast or simply Santiago, but mine ended here. I felt it in my entire inner being… how the Camino functioned as a symbolical representation of my life story, the ‘end of the world’ symbolizes the end of my Camino, the water representing the dive I had to take into a new direction of life I had suddenly all figured out. My head was clear and peaceful… I had dealt with extreme stress and trauma caused by the close experience of cancer suffered by one of the most important people in my life, given it a place… I had made decisions about my work and travels for the year to come… clear visions and realisations about my relationship had forced themselves into my brain when I couldn’t hide behind pleasant distractions and ever-present mental noise. I know who I was, physically and mentally, and what I’m capable of. My strengths but most definitely also my weaknesses had been presented to me on a silver platter, myself being my only true companion. What a crash course in life itself! I was done, I graduated an exam not by peeking at other people’s answers, but by realizing we all received a different question paper.
I watched Richi blindly cutting off his hair and tossing it in the ocean, his exhilarated shouts echoing over the rocks. I didn’t hear Alejandro’s ukulele music flowing along with the smoke of our burnt clothing, I felt it. A frozen moment in time like a rough diamond, over the years to be polished into something so utterly perfect by memory itself, as nothing in life ever stands still, not even the past. We’re always on our own Camino.
Night spent in: Alberge do Sol e da Lua (privado)
Night spent in: Alberge do Sol e da Lua (privado)
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- Climbing Mount Vitosha: Bulgaria's most famous mountain
- Hitchhiking Transylvania: The green heart of Romania
- Why are Koreans the world's most enthusiast hikers? Read more about Korea's national parks!
- Check out all Camino Frances stories right here!
- Hiking Poland's longest mountain trail (550km) with a tent: Glowny Szlak Beskidzki - check the reports here!
- Check out Budget Bucket List's FAVORITE HIKING DESTINATIONS worldwide!
- A life-changing volunteer experience in Roatan, Honduras: Subject of the Camino Fundraiser!
- Rats on my face in another context: Torres del Paine, Patagonia [Chile]
- Discover more of Spain: Barcelona, Malaga & Sevilla!
- Visit Portugal: Exploring the Algarve & Lisbon
- Europe's best skiing & hiking: Get your ass over to jaw-dropping Switzerland!
- Visit Europe's mini-countries: Gibraltar, Liechtenstein, Luxemburg, Kosovo & Wales!
- Complete hiking guide to Cameron Highlands [Malaysia]
- Borneo's main hiking destination: Kuching - in's & out's
- Peru's hiking capital: Huaraz! The best overnight treks & day hikes!
- Tripping on Ayahuasca [Valle Sagrado - Peru]
- Hiking Argentinean Patagonia: The best walks in Bariloche, El Chaltén, Esquel and Ushuaia
- Going off-grid in Bolivia: Multi-day hiking trips in the mountains of Sucre & Sorata
- Hike the national parks of Brazil!
- Boiling hot hiking: Natural endeavours in Paraguay
- 2 months in Boquete: Panama's Hiking Capital!
- Discover New Zealand: The world's best hikes crammed in 1 country!
- The Austrian Alps: Top Ski Resorts
- Climbing Mount Vitosha: Bulgaria's most famous mountain
- Hitchhiking Transylvania: The green heart of Romania
- Why are Koreans the world's most enthusiast hikers? Read more about Korea's national parks!