Reason number one is that my feet didn’t hurt. Because there was no rain forecast, I was able to wear my backup hiking shoes. They're Hokas; though they're not not water-resistant, they do have extra toe room. My blisters have been healing up, thanks to my hard-way acquired knowledge of how to properly bandage the sores. And, the expensive bandaids I bought yesterday seem to have been worth the price of admission. I walked 12 km today, and my feet didn’t hurt when I got here! Did I mention my feet didn’t hurt???
There was no rain forecast, but it did rain, just for thirty minutes or so, not hard enough to get my shoes too wet, but enough to give everyone a good drenching. The rain dimmed my mood not a whit. As I counted down the last kilometers, I was so happy to be here. Up hills and down hills, rain and sunshine and fog and cool mornings and hot afternoons. Sore feet and calves and tired legs and upset stomach. Beautiful remote countryside and small hamlets and big towns. Good people, so many good people. The kind of people who wake up one morning and think perhaps it might be a good idea to go walk across Spain.
I did it!
Well, almost, I’ve done it. The town of Fisterra is 3 km from the end of the trail, and I decided to put off going to the very end until tomorrow, for several reasons. One: My feet don’t hurt, but I wasn’t sure that would still be the case if I added another 6-8 km trek to my day. Two: I want to go in the morning, when I think the trail might be quieter. (There are a lot of people who bus it here from Santiago, and just walk the last few kilometers.) Three: I’m out of clean clothes. Laundry needed to happen.
There’s something bittersweet about reaching the end of my long walking days. I mean, I thought I’d be totally thrilled to put my limping entries into town after town in my rear view mirror. I didn’t anticipate the sense of loss, the same sort of feeling I get when reaching the end of an excellent book. No matter how tidily the author has tied up loose ends, it’s still a jolt to realize the world of the story is not the world in which I spend my days.
Thanks to my friend Rose, who has been watching hearth and home for me, I’ve been able to walk without a single concern about problems on the home front. (If any arose, she’s been kind enough to handle them without letting me know anything happened.) In fact, I must admit, outside these daily missives, there have been several days where home hasn’t even crossed my mind.
I have been able to be here. In this place, in this now. Before and after were of no concern, there was only now. It has been a wonderful gift.
Tomorrow, just a short walk…
Photos: One of many roosters I’ve seen on this trip, announcing the morning; my morning cup of café con leche - a “I can’t quite believe I am here” moment; Fisterra, on its narrow strip of land (that line in the background is the sea)
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