Day 50 - Deseiro de Abajo to Santiago de Compostela (6 miles) to Sigüeiro (10 miles)

The one thing that struck me after I set off at 7.15 this morning was for just how long the city was held at bay by the countryside. Heading in from the east on the Camino Frances you seem to be embraced in an urban sprawl quite a long way from the city. Today though, I saw a three kilometre Camino marker and I was still on a tree-shaded cobbled path alongside a small stream. Admittedly I could hear the steady drone of traffic on a main route into the city somewhere across the valley but it was not so close as to overwhelm the rural feel of my surroundings or change the mood of my walk. Soon after that I almost happened upon the city as I crested a small hill on a quiet and narrow road and before long I was amid the bustle of its busy streets. Following a climb up to the old town, I was walking into the Cathedral Plaza after fifty days and nearly seven hundred and fifty miles of walking.

First Sight of Santiago

Finishing the Camino is an unusual experience. You might expect elation for having accomplished so much and maybe a little disappointment for something coming to an end. But as I walked into that cathedral square, mingled with my sense of achievement was also a feeling of emptiness, a sort of 'is that it?' for my efforts. For nearly two months I had made the path my home, the people I shared it with my close confederates, and now after hours of walking day after day everything had suddenly come to a halt. During those weeks I had also become detached from the life I had lived before I started my walk, replaced by the daily focus of the Camino. Now it was as if my whole reason for getting up each morning had suddenly been swept from beneath me; I felt briefly unanchored in the world and at the mercy of unknown tides and currents that flowed from a world beyond my walk. I've been told there is a name for that void, that sense of loss, that comes to some once they finish. For me though, the expression ‘Camino Blues’ seems far too jaunty for the flatness it is meant to describe.

I think in part it was this feeling of loss of purpose that prompted my decision later in the morning. I had met Patrick and others for breakfast and it had been good to catch up but afterwards I had tried to find an albergue for the night and all those I had rung were full (I have been hearing a lot about how crazily busy the Camino Frances is this year). A check of hotels online produced prices I was not willing to pay for the convenience of a night in Santiago, particularly as I already have two nights booked here in a few days time. So rather than pursue finding a room in a busy city that I was starting to find overwhelming I decided to leave. I had made the decision a while ago that after Santiago I would walk the 'Camino Ingles' north to the port of A Coruna and so effectively complete a 'coast to coast' of Spain. Instead of a night in Santiago beforehand I would begin my trip to A Coruna today and work out how to extend it by a night to match my hotel reservation in Santiago for next week. 

So I walked. It was a good decision: not only was it a beautiful woodland route once I got out of the city but it just felt right to be once again walking in the countryside. At the moment any sense of home - of belonging - lies for me in a journey and not in a place and I do not think I am quite ready to face crowds and city streets just yet; Santiago had been quiet when I arrived early morning but even in the short time I was there it felt like it was filling up as more and more walkers arrived, striding down its old streets towards the cathedral square.

It did feel strange walking away from somewhere that for so many weeks had been the ultimate destination for all my efforts but it also felt good to leave the city, albeit a beautiful one, behind. It was also strange to see so many walkers coming towards me as I headed in the opposite direction to their route. A couple I talked to told me how quiet the Camino Ingles had been; I guess you do not notice the numbers when you are drifting along with them. 

Ten miles on and I am sitting in a bar in the town of Sigüeiro enjoying a glass of wine before I head upstairs to my room. A young blonde sits on the adjacent stool and drops her small rucksack on the floor, her make up and hair perfect, her lips filled and her walking clothes fashionable, pristine and worn to show off her body rather than ease her travels. It sticks in my mind because it just seems so incongruous and she must form quite a contrast to me, no care for my image and carrying the evidence of hundreds of miles on the road; two people at opposite ends of a spectrum. I am intrigued by her story but can not bring myself to ask so instead I check the distance I might walk tomorrow. The total distance from Santiago to A Coruna is forty seven miles so if I am to spread the walk over five days I will not be going far.