This is not the end

I used to casually say to my friends that “my goal is to finish Camino de Santiago after the PhD”. Only when I had spent some time walking towards this goal, I realized that this formulation was incorrect. The Camino is a journey, not a destination. It traditionally ends in Santiago de Compostella, in the cathedral, touching the crypt of Saint James. I was never motivated by the vision of me standing in front of the cathedral. This journey was never about completing it. There is something profoundly relaxing about not chasing a big goal. I allocated time and space in my life to get lost in time and space. I promise myself to repeat it again!

I did set some goals in the beginning, but I didn’t make a conscious effort to work on them. My goals were to get in shape and get some ideas for my next steps in life. Goal 1 – achieved: I did get in shape. Goal 2 – achieved: I didn’t see any yellow arrows pointing towards my next life destination, but I got a Camino gift worth all this effort – inner peace. Thanks to that, I enjoyed the following months of unemployment instead of worrying about my place in the world. I am so grateful for this long time off!

So what really motivated me to keep walking? I guess I simply wanted to prove myself that I can do something difficult. When I face something difficult in the future, I will have a firm voice resonating in my head:

“You are stronger than you think. Remember the PhD, remember the Camino!”

Juan and I were only two days away from Santiago. If you think that at this point the walk was sunshine and rainbows, you were wrong about the rainbows. Galicia surprised us with sunshine, but also prepared one last labor for Juan.

After reaching Santiago it’s possible to walk all the way to the ocean to Fisterra, literally meaning the land’s end. It costs five extra days. We planned to rest for a day in Santiago and continue walking to the coast. Since Santiago was not our final destination, we did not feel the rush to get there. Instead, we slowed down a bit to enjoy our last days. Slowing down meant spending more time drinking beer with Matthias during the day. Spaniards (especially in Madrid and in Andalucia) have a custom to provide free snack with every alcoholic drink that you order. One pub gave us olives and tortilla de patatas. We ate our own sandwiches, so Juan was the only one hungry enough to eat the tortilla.

The weather was beautiful and I enjoyed one of my little Camino pleasures – I changed into shorts, for the last walking hour of the day. Soon after we arrived to an albergue in O Pedrouzo, Juan’s stomach started loudly asking for attention. After two rounds of explosive diarrhea Juan was not feeling any better. “Cariño, bring me a bag!” I panicked, I had nothing big enough for vomiting, so I quickly gave him a zip lock bag where we usually kept our cosmetics. Juan gave it one sad look and forced himself to run towards the bathrooms. Oh no, the bathrooms were closed! The host of the albergue was just cleaning them. Luckily he hadn’t reached the handicapped bathroom yet. I closed the door after Juan, shielding other people from dinosaur-like sounds. When it was all over, I found him a bucket, left him suffering in bed and walked to a pharmacy.

At this point it was clear that this food poisoning would take a while to fix. Tortilla de patatas is made of sliced potatoes mixed with eggs and fried like an omelet. Spanish like the eggs soft and mushy, I don’t. The tortilla that Juan ate was exactly like that. It was also home-made according to the pub owner because they have chickens at home.

This is a story of Juan attacked by salmonella.

So glad that Marco, Matthias and I didn’t feel attracted to the tortilla! Nobody in the albergue would be able to use the bathrooms.

The pharmacist recommended me to buy activated charcoal and rehydration salts. The charcoal helped and Juan felt a bit better. Marco and I were starving, so we had to leave Juan and find a restaurant. We followed our nose to a dark pub, where several Galician men were watching football on TV. Everyone was eating steak. The waiter brought us meat on a hot metal plate, so we could fry it a bit more if we wanted. It came with garlic sauce, potatoes and salad. Wow, Galicians really have amazing beef. I felt a bit guilty enjoying the meal knowing that Juan was suffering. However, there was nothing more I could do. Salmonella was his own dinosaur to slay.

A new day had come and Juan did not feel considerably better. I suggested that we stay in O Pedrouzo for a day so he could recover. He refused. Santiago was only 14 km away. A 54-year-old man, completely exhausted, found enough willpower to keep his legs moving forward. He wasn’t able to keep any food in his stomach and he looked deeply miserable. I forced him to eat an apple and it worked! It gave him a tiny bit of energy. Every time there’s something wrong with my digestion, I must eat an apple, it always helps.

Since it was raining outside, we frequently stopped in pubs for a cup of camomile tea and a passport stamp. I preferred drinking my menta poleo (mint tea). Spanish people were often surprised when I ordered it during with my meal. Tea is considered a dessert here, just like coffee.

The weather got worse – so foggy that we missed a spectacular view of Santiago from Monte Gozo. Step by step, very slowly we made it to Santiago de Compostella. We were slowly building up an excitement as we were approaching the city center. Then we passed the cathedral from the back side. As we were making our way to the cathedral square, we heard the well-known voice “Hiiiiii!” Taxigrina Nora appeared out of nowhere as usual. She was the last person in the world that I wanted to see at that moment. Waiting in the rain until she enjoys her cathedral moment was also not an option, so we moved forward together with her. We stepped on shiny cobble stones and faced a huge cathedral, partially under reconstruction.

Before we could enjoy our moments of victory, Nora remarked: “It’s a bit anticlimactic”.

Of course, it’s an anticlimactic ending to a taxi holiday. She completely killed any emotions that Juan and I had. Juan was about to cry! What was left was discomfort. My feet hurt, I was wet and hungry. Santiago felt like another stop on the Camino.

We left the cathedral square and headed towards the pilgrims’ office to pick up our certificates. The bouncer was giving me a lesson that in Spain it’s not allowed to wear a scarf instead of a covid mask. He made us fill out an online questionnaire in the pouring rain, even though there was enough room in the hallway. Once it was our turn, people working in the office asked us where we came from, stamped the pilgrim’s passport and wrote our name in Latin on the certificate.

That was it. No thank you, no praise, no kind words.

They gave us a piece of paper into our wet hands and served the next pilgrim. We had to figure out how to protect the certificate from the rain. We found empty cardboard boxes lying in the corner they worked ok for this purpose. Later we saw other pilgrims carrying the certificate in a fancy cardboard cylinder. We returned to the office to buy it, it was actually quite visible. Why didn’t the employees offer it to us? Why didn’t they mention it when we asked for the cardboard box? Well, there was a simple explanation – they just didn’t care.

Taxigrina also got her certificate, I wasn’t surprised. For people like Juan and I, the certificate of completion is just a meaningless piece of paper. For people like Nora, the Camino is the destination. She can show the pictures and the certificate to her friends and nobody will suspect that she “walked” the Camino on four wheels. At first, I found the existence of taxigrinos offending, but then I realized that the Camino is not a different world. There are cheaters too, just like in the real world. They were not cheating me from my experience (except the cathedral moment), they were only cheating themselves. They missed a wonderful learning opportunity and I felt sorry for them.

Two French girls and their Chinese friend nicknamed “Jackie Chan” learned a lesson at the pilgrims’ office. Bureaucracy is unforgiving to people who don’t follow its rules. Even though the girls came walking from Lyon, they were not eligible for the certificate. Why? The group didn’t collect two stamps per day in the last 100 km stretch of the Camino. Since the certificate was important for them, they had to walk the last 100 km again.

Marco continued walking towards Fisterra on the next day. Juan and I sat down to plan our last walking days. We called to book several albergues on the way to the ocean. Most of them were closed because of covid and lack of pilgrims. So now we would have to walk around 35 km a day to reach the open albergues. Neither of us wanted to do that. Moreover,

Santiago was in lockdown, it was raining non-stop and Juan was still not feeling ok. Suddenly the thought hit us – the Camino is over.

It’s time to go home. We booked the flight home for the following day.

Despite covid restrictions, there was still a mass in the cathedral. I expected to see a huge swinging ball of incense called botafumeiro. The mass was not even in the main room. Once I realized that there was nothing interesting to see, I refused to suffer through an hour of religious rituals and lead Juan out. Another disappointment. At least we had dinner with Matthias and managed to say a proper goodbye.

As I was sitting in the plane, I felt full of sadness. Sad that I didn’t reach the ocean and the Camino ended so soon. I was moving backwards towards Barcelona, way faster than I was used to. I looked at the forest near the runway where we had walked two days ago and where sick Juan almost gave up. Thank you for the memories Camino! Bittersweet ending transformed into a strange emptiness. I didn’t know how to fill it until my friend Stéphanie suggested to write about my experience. I didn’t make any notes, I didn’t have to. The hours of memories were still playing in my head in high resolution.

Thank you for following me on my writing journey, this is not the end!