Sunday, May 25
The days blend a bit. The first, it rained all day. The next the sun came out, then hid again, and came out again, and continued the pattern even until now in O Pedrouzo. When we left Portomarín we found Juanito again, and I said to Larissa that here in Galicia something amazing happens every day. A shame the camino here always smells of dung.
Unfortunately after we found Juanito we lost him again. He was walking with a lot of pain. But perhaps in Santiago.
Sometimes we’ve come across Michele, or Virginia and Lucca, or Kasumi, or Diego and Ísabel, or Fabrizzio. In my mind it’s a fog, like the niebla we usually pass through in the mornings in the valleys and forests. We joke that O Cebreiro is hiding in the mist.
Tomorrow I’ll arrive in Santiago. It will be one month exactly since I left Saint Jean Pied de Port some 500 miles ago. It seems I’ll probably spend more than one day there. The arrival day, then the day to attend the mass and receive my Compostela. And then I’ll continue to Finisterre, another three days away. And then, something. What is “something?” Going home? Am I ready to go home?
Until now, Santiago never felt like an ending. Just a pit stop. But knowing that most of my companions will stop there brings a sense of finality to it all. Like the book ends tomorrow, and Finisterre will be an epilogue or a story in the appendices.
I’m not really sure what to say about it and the feelings are more than a little swirly, so I think I’ll leave it at that for now. Let’s just have some photos.