Postscript

I am still in the afterglow of that which my journey has given and, just as five years ago, I am struck by how this is not just a long walk. It has an impact upon you, even if only temporarily. That most basic act of walking, the simplicity of each day's needs, the physical isolation and the detachment from the world, change your outlook on things; in having little you want for less. And there is a bond between walkers that buoys your faith in human nature, the knowing that if you have a problem you will not want for help and that in the evenings you will not want for company. There are no strangers on the Camino. 

By walking these routes you are not only making a journey across Spain, it is also a journey that takes you from a world of selfishness to one of selflessness, from a world where wanting for little seems to give you a lot and where faith in people and fortune is rewarded. And yet despite that shared nature of these trips I feel a difference in their character. These routes are as tapestries, tapestries showing a similar scene. Both are woven with the spirit of the Camino from threads of friendship and camaraderie, common purpose and isolation from the frenetic nature of the 'real' world. And as tapestries they both present a similar image. Yet this latest is more loosely woven; the same picture, the same fibres, the same spirit of purpose but a little less definition. 

When reflecting upon the two caminos there is the obvious difference of distance and isolation; the Via de la Plata is notably more remote and quiet. Not here the 'Camino families' of the Francés, disparate groups of strangers coming together for the duration. Far fewer walk the Plata and you are far more likely to find them walking alone or with an occasional partner. Maybe this explains an apparent lack of awareness and engagement by the areas and populace through which you pass. Yes, there are the hostels dedicated to walkers - cheap and comfortable - and places that offer a walkers' menu (although far fewer). But that all encompassing welcoming of strangers, the constant wish of a 'Buen Camino' from passing locals, is lacking. An abiding memory from five years ago as I walked into Pamplona is of a car pulling up alongside me, the grinning driver winding down his window and extending a thumbs-up while calling out 'Buen Camino' before then driving away. No such engagement here, even from passing pedestrians. Only from fellow walkers. Interestingly it was this absence that I found most marked in the early days of my walk. 

Ultimately though, the walk is about the walker. It may lack the gregarious nature of the Francés and the receptive nature of its locals but it still draws people together in a bond of shared goals and challenges.  Motivations and backgrounds may differ but the effect of walking hundreds of miles in relative isolation from the world and with time for reflection is the same: you adopt a life of simplicity focused on the basic requirements of your day and you become more accepting of issues you face, both in people and in the world around you. Whether as an individual you find the roots for that change in humanity, spirituality or Christianity will no doubt depend on your own background. But wherever you place it you are - even if only temporarily - a better person for it. 

Acclimatising

It is over two months since I set out for Spain and I am home. That simple life, propelled through the miles by my own efforts with a pace that lent a closeness and appreciation to the world through which I traveled and every day a clear focus, that is now a fading memory. I am home, home to a life where ‘modernity' smothers all I had before. A life of fuss and busyness, every need at the tap of a button and every minute relentlessly filled. Maybe Rudyard Kipling got it wrong. 

After so many weeks of detachment from its daily intrusion, the news makes a particular impression. News chosen for me by faceless others and mostly for its negative impact. Of wars. Of the poverty of many. And of the failings of society and organisations through their underfunding or their greed, opposite sides of a coin but we lose the toss either way. A diet feeding the schadenfreude for others' misfortunes rather than a celebration of what we ourselves have. And despite my weeks away and the efforts of the daily news cycle nothing I am hearing has really changed.

In my time away though I have largely avoided the news' seeping negativity, a negativity that at the very least frustrates given that we have no control over those events. And this, we are told, is an underlying cause of stress. Instead, the issues with which I have been faced are those over which I did have control. I would choose how far I went and with whom while enjoying the daily backdrop of the natural world, a benefit to both mind and body. Likewise I enjoyed the company of strangers, proper conversation with real people and not some neutered modern replacement remotely sent, technologically delivered. Without nuance. Without interpretation of physical expression. Just written words.

I know that in a short while I will have returned to 'normal', back to the trappings of a modern and relatively privileged life. That which I had as part of my daily routine in the last couple of months now requires effort to maintain: the association of strangers - helping and being helped; enjoying hours outdoors whatever the weather; and appreciating the simple things in life rather than immersing myself in consumerist luxuries. I have no doubt I will fail in this; my walk was like an inoculation to the shortcomings of modern living and like an inoculation the effectiveness will wear off. I guess a booster will be required at some point.

Day 56 - Home

Today was the day I headed home.

Russ and I had agreed to have breakfast in the 5-star Parador on the cathedral square. I’m not sure what the hotel reception thought when two bearded and scruffy men turned up at their upmarket establishment (and they made a point of telling us that breakfast would cost twenty-three euros) but they gave us a good table in the first floor breakfast room overlooking the cathedral square and the price was worth it with as much cooked breakfast and coffee delivered to the table as you wanted and a buffet for everything else. Afterwards we bade each other farewell and I made my way to the bus stop and the beginnings of a day of travel and my journey home. 

It was to be a long day: an hour's bus ride to the airport, an extended wait before flying to Gatwick, a train to London and coach to Corsham occupied the rest of that day and the early hours of the next morning. When I arrived home tired and weary it was two months to the day since I had left my house and I had walked some 780 miles from the south coast to the north coast of Spain. It's an experience that might take a while to sink in as I come back to reality; after two months of walking and being somewhat detached from the world my head will probably stay in that space for a few days more yet. In the meantime I intend to enjoy the comfort of my own bed, the luxury of being in the same place for more than two nights and with no need to submit to the constraints of living out of a rucksack.

Day 55 - Santiago de Compostela

It was a bright but chilly morning when I ventured out into the narrow streets around my hotel to get a coffee. There were already walkers arriving in the city, heading purposely down the old and narrow streets and towards the cathedral square.

I spent the first part of the morning in the small Pilgrim Museum next to the Cathedral and although I had already been there twice before on previous visits to the city it is an interesting place on the history of pilgrimage and of Santiago de Compostela. I then headed to the cathedral square to meet Russ, the Australian with whom I had spent time on and off in the last few weeks. We watched the comings and goings of today's walkers for a while, feeling the joy of their arrival while enjoying the fact that our efforts were now over and a day of relaxation stretched out before us. On leaving we agreed to meet up later at the fish stalls near the market to eat.

The afternoon was taken up with a leisurely lunch of plates of shellfish and glasses of wine, relaxing around the city and an afternoon siesta away from the heat of the day before making an early evening visit to the cathedral prior to meeting Russ again at the adjacent square to check out the evening music concert.  The square was already a sea of people and from the massive stage there came a mix of a live radio broadcast and live music, although mostly the former. After an hour however I had had my fill of unknown music and unknown bands and, with Russ having left a while before, I headed back to my nearby hotel where I managed to experience the rest of the concert into the early hours while trying to sleep in my room. 

Day 54 - A Coruña and Santiago de Compostela

This morning I awoke with no need to walk. It still has not sunk in and I feel I am trapped in some mental nether world between my previous days of walking and the yet-to-be normality of home life. The fact I will be flying home two days from now is slowly lodging itself into my head but I have no clear plan other than to get the train back to Santiago. I had hoped to visit a museum before departing but it seems Monday is the day when museums are shut throughout the city so I took a wander around the old town and ensconced myself in a cafe for a while before collecting my rucksack, loading it onto my back and making probably my last walk of the trip, the mile and a half through city streets to A Coruña station.

By early afternoon I was again in Santiago de Compostela's cathedral square, sitting watching today's selection of walkers and cyclists arrive, the whole place busy and alive with a buzz of excitement. I can't help but think this square must be one of the happiest places in Europe with its continuous stream of people radiating joy, arms raised in triumph, filled with smiles and buoyed by the satisfaction of a challenge completed while no doubt experiencing that strengthened human bond that the Camino seems to imbue: it is a heady mix. I drifted through the rest of the day, easily filling it with essential and non-essential activities: shopping, cafes, packing for my return, relaxing in my room. Although I am tucked away in a narrow alley it is not far from the cathedral square with its busyness and its hourly chiming of the cathedral bells so I am not expecting a lot of peace, especially tomorrow when, I am told, there is an evening concert in the square behind the cathedral and music in the streets. It should prove a lively end to my two months in Spain.

Day 53 - Sergude to A Coruña (12 miles)

Today is my last day of walking. It has not really sunk in. Even telling the only other two people in the albergue this morning and hearing those words spoken aloud did not seem to make it any more real; the certainty that after only thirteen more miles it will all be over remained an elusive phantasm that my mind seemed unable to grasp.

Towards the end of yesterday the open countryside was becoming dotted with houses. Today as the morning progressed those dotted houses coalesced into small villages and the villages slowly merged into the surrounds of A Coruña. As final days go it was going to be pretty forgettable for its beauty given that I was heading into a port city. I was blessed with no rain and there was a nice enough stretch along the river a few miles before the finish but for the large part, once I had entered the outskirts of the city it was mostly square blocks of flats and tourist accommodation built so as to snatch glimpses of the water. The last stretch was a long curving walk to the old town around what once was probably a beautiful bay but was now home to a fast main road, lined with shops on one side and with a backdrop of industry and port facilities on the other, until it finally ended by the city marina and a wide pedestrian area with outdoor cafes and restaurants. But you had to look hard to find the sea.

At just after midday I reached the 72 kilometre marker by a Romanesque church in the old town indicating the start of the route to Santiago and the end of my route from Cadiz, fifty two days and some 840 miles after I had started. I sat and reflected for a couple of minutes, although it now all seemed a bit of an anticlimax, before heaving my rucksack on my back and heading to a tiny bar in the narrow streets of the old town for a celebratory drink and a shellfish lunch.

I headed out to explore later in the afternoon. My destination was the Tower of Hercules, a massive construction overlooking the North Atlantic coast and the oldest extant lighthouse in the world; it was known to have existed in the 1st Century. It is probably A Coruna's most famous sight and I had originally been there in 2008 when I sailed into A Coruna having crossed the Bay of Biscay. Afterwards I walked back to the old town via the wide and busy coast road with views across the water to the rocky cliffs of northern Spain and a wide beach behind which no patch existed that wasn’t the tall, square block of a hotel.

I finished the day in a cafe in the old town eating seafood and drinking beer. It was quiet as it was still early for Spain although late enough for me; I was going to make the most of having a proper bed for the night. Tomorrow I have nowhere to walk to.

Day 52 - Poulo to Sergude (14 miles)

It was another drizzly day. Another day where the dampness of the weather brought out the smells and essence of the countryside. Another day where I spent much of my time in that countryside walking through the still air of dank woodland. There were some stretches along quiet narrow roads that took in tiny villages where on a couple of occasions I stopped at cafes, including one on the edge of the few scattered buildings that made up the small village of Ordes where I chatted with walkers heading from the coast as we sat in the shadow of a giant model dinosaur and large tractor based sculptures; I was in no hurry. Halfway through the day I passed the point where the routes from Ferrol and A Coruña join if you are heading south. I took the left route towards A Coruña and the steady flow of walkers heading towards me more or less dried up. 

It was my penultimate day. Tomorrow I reach the north coast and the end of my walk. But for today I am in a modern albergue in the tiny village of Sergude where I am alone apart from two young girls heading south towards Santiago. As I walked into the village and to the albergue Sergude seemed to have little to offer, just a string of small houses set back from the quiet road behind their tidy gardens. There might be more of a soul - a bar, a shop, somewhere to eat - but as my journey draws to a close and the final curtain starts to drop, for some reason I felt disinclined to leave the accommodation to find out. Tonight, instead, I am alone in the silence of this spartan albergue and quite content, working my way through the last of the food I have been carrying with me; I will not be needing it after today.