The slow revelation of the final vista has been one of the joys and challenges of our daily walking. First comes the anticipation of a fresh horizon, then the dawning comprehension of the terrain involved, followed by a calculation of the physical resources required. Susan and I are both wearing watches that track the distance covered, so we know when these final kilometres are approaching. Our daily planning has included guidebooks and apps that describe the expected terrain, including gain and loss in altitude. We usually also know the weather forecast.
But we can’t anticipate the lived experience of walking: who our companions might be, our energy reserves, the strength of the sun, wind or rain, and how frequently we will find coffee, food or a toilet. One constant, however, has been the inevitable challenge of the final 500 metres, and the relief of stopping. The last hill and the final steps seem to be just as hard after 15 kilometres as 25. There seemed to be a ratio between expected distance and personal reserves. When the final steps of the day proved difficult, like the times it was still raining sideways or when our accommodation plans fell through, something extra was required beyond our ‘pre-primed’ resilience. Staying open to other possibilities seemed to be the key.
Every day the Camino trail provides options that can become unexpected gifts. Choosing, for example, a longer/harder ‘supplementary’ route that ended with an idyllic 5 km tree-lined river walk into the centre of the old city, rather than trudging past endless factories and car yards on the main trail. Or walking a few extra metres off the path to check if a half-seen cafe is open, to find good coffee and spare chairs near the heater and then lingering just long enough for a surprise meeting with a Melbourne acquaintance. And then the choice to persevere reading the English translation on interpretative signs, once finding a magnificent pre-Christian archeological site freely accessible and just over the hill.
Who knows how many serendipitous opportunities we walked past? The steady momentum of walking (and its associated routines) holds an element of comfort that is compelling, especially when you are tired. It is easier to walk the well-trodden path. Balancing these ‘stretching’ choices and a realistic assessment of our limitations proved important, especially as we approached the final vista of our Camino Frances pilgrimage. While my feet were becoming accustomed to the daily kilometres, by week 6 my sensitive digestive system was increasingly unhappy about the dietary options of the trail. With energy levels lagging, it was a relief to know that the end would soon be in sight.
Walking into any Spanish city we passed through the familiar phases of the semi-rural outskirts and the industrial zone, before moving into the new town. On the last day of our Camino, this introduction to the city seemed to pass slowly. Then the streets narrowed and we started winding our way through the old town. Finally, the first spire of the cathedral appeared.
Our pace quickened as we heard the Galician piper. We were close.
Through the tunnel, and just around the corner…
We had arrived.
And in the crowds of people celebrating, a familiar voice called our names. It was Heidi, a Dutch pilgrim we had met on our first night. We had walked with Heidi occasionally over the weeks but hadn’t seen her for some time. These chance intersections, rich throughout the walk, are especially joyful at its end.
Some stats … Our ‘warm-up walk’ on the Voie de la Nive (Bayonne – St Jean Pied de Port) was 52km (+ 20 km by bus). We walked 819 km on the Camino Frances, using alternative routes where available (700 km to Sarria and 119 km from Sarria to Santiago). The main trail is 780 km.
And ‘all’ it took was one step at a time and the determination to do it.
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