CAMINO, DAY 34: TRABADELO TO O'CEBREIRO; CRAZY LAUGHTER

Graffiti has been ubiquitous since I left Roncesvalles, on walls, underpasses, in tunnels, on signposts, guard rails, telephone poles, in cities and in the country, anywhere there's a surface. There have been scrawled drawings, political statements, new age loftinesses, messages from one pilgrim to another about where they'll meet, but above all there have been encouragements. "You can do it", "Overcome your pain", "Effort leads to wisdom", "Open your heart", "Don't ever stop", the ever present "Buen Camino", and one particularly memorable one from a few weeks ago, "There are two mistakes you can make on the Camino: Not finishing it and never starting it". So I was stopped in my tracks late this morning when, during a moment of particular self-doubt while going straight uphill, I saw written in very small letters on a sign, "Just Give Up". I started cracking up and if someone saw me at that moment, standing alone and laughing hysterically, soaked through with sweat, the flaps of my sun hat waving, they would have thought I was nuts.

And maybe I am just a little nuts at the moment. My recent post about being in a bliss state wasn't quite right, it's more of an altered state. Bliss is part of it, but there's also self-doubt, wonderment, perseverance, happiness, questioning, picture composing, and endless musings. 

Only when it's over and I'm home will I wake up from this dream and be able to make any sense of it. Many days I can't remember what town I stayed in last night, or the night before that. In fact it's starting to seem like one big psychedelic blur, with snippets and impressions of places and landscapes and cities and people I've met along the way, and hostels and albergues and hotels in which I've stayed. At least I'm keeping this journal so when it's all over I might be able to piece it back together again.

I miscalculated the walk slightly today and it was a little longer than I thought, 12 miles with about a 3000 foot climb. It was a long and challenging day but I did well. I left early, on the path just after six, the air cool and welcoming, and the first few miles just floated by, with a gradual uphill slope on local narrow little-travelled roads. I stopped for breakfast in a crowded unCamino-like truck stop where the road crossed a highway, packed with individual truckers, partners, and families with rowdy children. I waited a while for a greasy plate of fried eggs, bacon, potatoes and café con leche, but it was worth it--it hit the spot. Then a few more miles of easy slope on a road before the 4.5 mile very steep vertical on dirt and gravel paths.  I paced myself, stopped at all three bars along the way for cold water, was repeatedly thrilled by the rolling mountain views in countless shades of green, and finally arrived in O'Cebreiro, a beautiful small mountain town, situated at about 5000 feet above sea level, with ancient round stone buildings with elegant and complex roof thatching. The town appears well-off, a tourist mecca. Perhaps too well off in fact. The bar where I checked in for my room was so busy that I couldn't get anyone's attention, and when I finally did they were unfriendly, almost rude. Not just to me, it seems like it's the character of the place.

I'm now in my very small private room in a building adjacent to the bar, feeling a little worse off for wear today, my muscles a little more stiff and sore than they've been. But that's to be expected after today's walk. I've got the whole afternoon and evening to stretch out and relax before I get up and do it all over again. Oh, and I reached a major milestone today: less than a hundred miles to go.

CAMINO, DAY 35: O'CEBREIRO TO TRIACASTELA

My father, when we'd go out for pizza or Chinese food, or when Terry would make her signature walnut pie, would regularly say, in complete seriousness, "This is the best I've ever tasted!" His enthusiasm trumped objectivity. It was one of his most endearing traits and is one of my fondest memories of him. Well, at the risk of similarly losing whatever credibility regarding objectivity I have left after too many superlatives, today just might have been the most beautiful day of the Camino.

The spectacular views started when I walked out the door at 6:30 AM and continued all the way into Triacastela. The village of O'Cebreiro, essentially a small cluster of stone buildings, some with slate roofs and some with complex thatching, and with the oldest extant church on the pilgrimage route (9th century), is perched high on a mountaintop with grand views of the surrounding valleys. Clouds had rolled into the valleys overnight, leaving the peaks visible and the subtle early morning light made it seem like they were islands floating in the sea. As I walked, the sun eventually rose above the mountains and bathed everything in a golden light. Eventually the clouds burned off and the sun created stark and long shadows. For most of the day I took the little-travelled winding mountain road instead of the path because I've learned that's the best way to save my feet. It made the walk 15 miles long instead of 13, but a byproduct of it was that I had unobstructed views almost the entire day. I would be in awe of the view of one valley, walk another mile or so, round a curve, and an entirely different wonderful view would appear.

I've been so lucky with the weather recently. Constant sun. A couple of days have been somewhat humid, which I don't like, and a couple days quite hot, but that doesn't bother me much, though a lot of other folks complain. But today was like many of the previous days, cool in the morning and dry and sunny as the day wore on. Perfect for walking.

The scene in O'Cebreiro may not bode well for what I'm going to run into soon. It was packed with both pilgrims and tourists and all of the available rooms were taken. Luckily I had reserved one beforehand, as I try to do most days. Everyone's talking about how crowded the pilgrimage gets towards the end. Apparently in order to get a certificate saying you've done the Camino you have to have your pilgrim passport stamped for the last 120 km. Personally I don't really care much about a certificate, but to many folks it's very important. Curiously, a Spanish man with whom I was talking said that it's an important thing for young people to put on their resumes! Apparently employers look favorably on people who have done the Camino. At first it sounded far-fetched to me, but he spoke authoritatively. Tomorrow I'll walk to Sarria, supposedly where the crowds start getting bad. We'll see. Meanwhile I've showered, my wash is on the line, and it's time to be horizontal and rest these muscles for a while.

CAMINO, DAY 36: TRIACASTELA TO SARRIA

Another lovely walk today, though different in character. Omg I love the early summer mornings here in the mountains. It takes a while between the time the sun rises and when it's high enough in the sky to get over the peaks, and during that time the light is diffuse and everything glows in pale pastel shades, so subtly beautiful. And the air is cool and delicious. Later the sun can become strong and hard and the air baked with dust, but those early morning hours are exquisite.

Leaving Triacastela there was much more of an ascent than I had anticipated, so the blood got pumping right away. Visually the effect was similar to yesterday; again I was above the clouds that had settled in the valleys, looking down at peaks that looked like islands in a sea of greyish white. Yesterday I watched the clouds burn off but today was different. After reaching the highest point, a 4000 foot peak, I descended directly into those clouds. As I walked, the sun shone off the clouds and within the clouds and lit the landscape in a strange light, and gradually I was enveloped by mist and fog. Instead of the grand vistas of yesterday, the landscape was enclosed, immediate, intimate, grey. Sometimes visibility was reduced to just a few yards, and at times I was surprised at how close some cowbells were clanking.

I walked though several tiny mountain villages with small farms that seemed from a different era. Dogs lazed in the road, barely taking notice of me, cows grazed, roosters crowed. The smell of cow shit was as pungent as I have ever experienced, overwhelming at times. And the farmers went about their business, for the most part not acknowledging the passing pilgrims.

On a particularly steep and difficult downhill trail in the woods thick with exposed roots, I passed an older man on crutches. Both of his knees were thickly bandaged and he was moving excruciatingly slowly.

20K later I arrived in Sarria and I'm camped in a really nice hotel room. I've been going strong and have felt good, but I'm feeling a bit depleted. Since Astorga I've walked 8 days in a row, averaging about 20K per day. Compared to some people doing the Camino that's a stroll in the park, but for me it's an effort. I'm tired, my muscles are a bit sore, and my feet hurt. So I'm going to take a rest day tomorrow and recharge my batteries. I'll probably explore the city a bit and, knowing me, I'll probably take pictures, but I'll most likely skip my writing tomorrow-- I'm feeling a bit depleted in that department at the moment as well. I've committed to a 25K day on Wednesday, so it'll all start over again then.

CAMINO, DAY 37: SARRIA TO PORTOMARIN

You know how when you're pushing through a really tough workout, or through a particularly difficult stretch at work, you don't let yourself feel how beat you are until you're able to relax? Well I took a day off yesterday and it actually made me realize how tired I was. I didn't want to do anything. I went out for a 90 minute stroll around town and all I could think of was going back to my hotel and not moving. So I ended up spending most of the day luxuriating in my wonderful room, with a king size bed, multiple pillows, good AC, and a large shower with a strong flow of hot water. It was great.

It also gave me a chance to plan out the homestretch. I decided, with 72 miles to go, to do it over 7 days, not push myself. I arranged rooms all the way into Santiago, where, if all goes as planned, I'll arrive on July 7th. I know I shouldn't count my chickens and all that, but it's really seeming like I'm going to make it. After that I might take a bus to Finisterre, stay there overnight and return to Santiago before flying to Madrid on the 12th. I'm flying back to the States on the 14th, so that'll give me a day and a half in Madrid. One more chance to visit the Prado.

The Camino has changed dramatically and suddenly, just like the guidebooks and buzz have warned. To get the certificate at Santiago you have to walk the last 100K and loads of people start in Sarria, which is the closest town to the 100K. For the first time today the path was crowded for the whole walk. There were very few moments when there weren't tons of people ahead of me and behind me. And noisy. Large groups of high school kids, extended families, tour groups (I took a group photo of a bus load of about 50 Irish folks just starting out in Sarria at about 6:30 AM), as well as lots of individuals. I found myself alternatively thinking it was a good thing and trying to accept that it will be different for this last phase, and irritated that I will no longer have the silent reverie that I've so cherished.

Partly because of that I ended up walking for a couple of hours with an interesting couple, or non couple. I was trying to figure out their relationship. Both very attractive and interesting 40-somethings, they had walked together, at a very fast pace, all the way from the Pyrenees. She was an antiques dealer from Woodstock, NY, he a family therapist from Germany who is just finishing a year sabbatical from work, during which he has spent 3 months in India and Nepal studying and trekking, 5 months in Iran studying Farsi, and is now completing his second Camino, 12 months apart. They seemed like old marrieds, playfully bickering, pointing out character traits and flaws in their nearly perfect bodies, really at ease with each other. I asked them at one point, so are you a couple? And they both said, kinda, sorta. I joked that they had been together long enough to already start thinking about a divorce, and it hit a nerve, in a good way--they both started cracking up and they got a great kick out of it, even repeating the joke several times as we walked. But it turned out they've been staying in municipal albergues and churches the whole time, so the relationship is non-sexual. Interesting. They'll always have the Camino.

The walk today, about 14 miles, was mostly through tiny villages, which were really just clusters of small working farms. Very few public buildings, and unlike most of the route, almost no churches. Vegetables, some corn, mostly dairy. Tons of cow shit, again occasionally incredibly pungent. The entry into Portomarin was dramatic. You walk across a very long low stone bridge over the Mino River and, at the end of the bridge, up a very steep flight of stone stairs thorough the gate into the city. I was really beat by the time I arrived and all I wanted to do was get to my pension as quickly as possible so, aside from it being hilly, my impressions of the town are very vague. Once I gather my energy I'll go out, have a look around, and find some dinner. I'm going to break the next stage into two days, so they should be easy, only 8 miles per day. Looking forward to not having to push too hard.

CAMINO, DAY 38: PORTOMARIN TO VENTAS DE NARON

Portomarin, the first significant town after Sarria in the heavily travelled 100 kilometer "certificate" segment, is clearly benefitting from the exploding popularity of the Camino. It's teeming with bars, restaurants, albergues, and pensions, it has lots of attractive and substantial homes with lovely gardens, and the central square, dominated by an imposing Romanesque church/fortress, is filled with pilgrims and tourists in the evening. After relaxing from my walk yesterday I had my typical "pilgrim's menu" dinner--salad, chicken, potatoes, bread and the better part of a bottle of wine--on the porch of one of the restaurants on the square, about 25 yards from the church. For me, heaven!

When I made my way out of town this morning on the hilly streets and across two bridges it was chilly and damp. Clouds had settled overnight and the mist was thick. It was beautiful and perfect for walking. Though today's trek through the hills was only 8 miles, much of it was uphill so it was nice to not have to deal with heat and strong sun. The clouds slowly burned off over the few hours I was walking and as I write this I'm sitting on the patio of my albergue, drenching in strong low-humidity sun.

I got off to a late start today, 8:30, knowing that I had an abbreviated walk. Perhaps because of that the crowds were nothing like yesterday's. The path today led through forest and farms, and for a good hour I walked in total silence. As I went on, I saw more people but it never got oppressive. Now I'm in a tiny mountain village, Ventas de Naron, a handful of stone buildings with slate roofs. I'm looking at vegetable gardens and trees and the birds are singing and about 5 minutes ago a farmer guided about a dozen sheep up the driveway less than ten yards from where I'm sitting.

All across Spain there's a wealth of beautiful stone buildings. Many are in good shape and are occupied and kept up. But I've seen literally thousands of them in various states of disrepair, left to deteriorate. Some of them are too far gone, but many are not. Once in a while I see one being renovated and repurposed but I've been dismayed at how infrequently that's been the case. Today I was encouraged. I passed about 8 buildings with construction crews, shoring up walls, putting in steel supports, pouring concrete floors, repairing the stonework. I hope this is a trend. To me, putting a modern interior in one of these magnificent shells would be a dream project. I hope they end up being seen as a national treasure.

I'm down to my last 5 days and 50 miles. I'm getting really excited. I'm ready to be done, I don't want to be done, and I'm already feeling nostalgic about the experience once I will be done.

In the department of I might be losing my mind: I hear hundreds of roosters crowing every day, it's a ubiquitous sound. I never hear it as "cock-a-doodle-do", I never have. But at least half the time I would swear that they're screaming "BUEN CAMINO"! Seriously.

CAMINO, DAY 39: VENTAS DE NARON TO PALAS DE REI

What an exhilarating morning! I left my albergue in the village of Ventas de Naron--actually more an outpost than a village--at around 7:30 this morning and it was socked in by dense fog. It was moody, evocative and beautiful, with grey wetness dripping off the cluster of moss-covered stone and slate buildings. Shortly after my departure the sun started burning off the fog, and as it broke through, a golden glow lit up the forest. Blue sky appeared overhead. And then I rounded a bend, the view opened up, and it was breathtaking. A stream of clouds was flowing through the valley, and another ridge across the valley became visible, lit up high above the clouds. Instead of appearing to float in a sea, as I've described before, this time it seemed as if the mountaintop was floating in the sky. It was difficult to catch on camera, looking directly into the sun. But I stopped in my tracks, as did three other walkers, and we watched as the clouds floated through, and then after about five minutes they were suddenly gone, and the opposite ridge was completely visible. An amazing ephemeral moment. The next group of walkers would have no idea what they had missed.

I had a really enjoyable wine-fueled dinner/evening last night with three charming and funny maniacs. There was a 20 year old guy from Copenhagen, a German woman living in Austria who had turned 24 the previous day, and a 38 year old guy from Finland, uncharacteristically dark-skinned because his mother was Sri Lankan. They've been traveling more or less together since the Pyrenees. Maniacs because they're on course to finish the Camino in 22 days, the fastest I've heard yet. That's more than 23 miles a day, every day, without fail. I think they might be from a different species than I am. We hit it off talking across tables and they invited me to join them. I asked them what they did at home and found out that after 20 days together they had no idea what each other did. I couldn't tell if their communications just happened to be about the Camino, logistics, where to stop, etc., or if they were consciously avoiding knowing what the others did in "real" life. The 20 year old was a business student, the 24 year old a graduate student in clinical psychology, and the 38 year old works promoting the Finnish semi-state-run casino system. It was a riot hearing them interact after finding out what each of them did. The psych student was playfully riding the biz student and both of them were all over the casino guy. They all said they were so tired they weren't really hungry, and they picked at their food but they had no problem downing the wine. They were going to get up at 4 this morning because they wanted to walk 30 miles today. Wow.

My comparatively dinky little walk of 8 miles was like a stroll in the garden. Not much uphill or down, easy, through forest and farms once again. I finished early and easily, even wanting more, and I'm now on the outskirts of Palas de Rei in a farmhouse-turned-pension. But it's good for me to do this series of short days. I feel good and strong and excited, and I'm raring to go. I have two more short days coming up, each about 8 miles or so, and then two final 12+ mile days into Santiago. Hard to believe I'm so close.

CAMINO, DAY 40: PALAS DE REI TO MELIDE

Wow, I can't believe how close I'm getting. Though it feels like at least two months, it was only 3 weeks ago that I was stuck in Sahagun with ripped up bloody feet, thinking that I had at best a 50-50 chance of going on. Now I'm feeling as strong as I've felt the whole trip; my feet, which have continued to be my weakest link all along, are making it, and I'm totally psyched. In fact I'm trying to savor every moment. I walked slowly today, and each time I crossed a bridge, or passed through a village, or stopped into a church, or climbed a gentle hill in the forest, I wondered how many more there'll be until the end. It's like the meal is coming to an end soon and I want to taste the flavor in every bite.

Today's walk was about 10 miles, again through forests, rolling hills, and a couple of villages whose stonework was mesmerizing. So much variation in style, sizes of stones, the amount of cement used to set them, the amount of space between them, the way the windows and doors are framed. Once again I was happy to see how many of them appeared to have been recently repaired. I stopped into a small, particularly beautiful 14th church in the village of Lobreiro and was surprised to see frescoes, I assumed 16th century, that looked like they were of German or Northern influence. And when I got to the city of Melide, it was bustling. Rock music blaring in one of the main squares, the ubiquitous octopus restaurants overflowing, tons of pilgrims and locals filling the streets. And for some reason people are setting off fireworks--what a coincidence, on the 4th of July! My walk was prolonged a bit because I couldn't find my small, basic hotel, situated on a short, obscure, side street. I stopped into several bars, and the friendly and helpful owners enthusiastically pointed me in various directions, but three of them didn't have it quite right. So I ended up walking in circles for about a half hour. But I finally made it.

I'm going to head back out now because I need some food, then it'll be relaxation mode. Three more days, only 33 miles to go. I'm super excited to get to Santiago, but right now I'm sorry it's getting so close to being over.

CAMINO, DAY 41: MELIDE TO ARZUA. AND I THOUGHT THAT TRUCK-STOP HOTEL WAS FELLINI-ESQUE?

About three weeks ago I wrote about a truck stop hotel in which I stayed in El Burgo Ranero, a couple hundred yards off the Camino. With tractor-trailers lining the parking lot, and a jarring combination of truckers and pilgrims populating the dining room, it was a strange harmony to what I had been experiencing. But it was nothing compared to yesterday.

When I arrived in Melide in the early afternoon I was struck by how bustling it was. Was it a festival day? The ubiquitous octopus restaurants had lines out the door, the outdoor cafes were packed, locals and pilgrims were everywhere, loud recorded rock music was coming from a stage that appeared to be set up for a live band, motorcycles and cars jammed the roads, and unseen people were setting off really loud firecrackers in alleys and side streets. But the action hadn't really started. Turned out there was some sort of motorcycle festival/ convention/ exhibition, and by late afternoon it was really swinging. It reminded me of the low rider scene in the Mission District in San Francisco that we used to go see in the early 80s when we lived in the Bay Area. A sort of fetishistic display, with biker guys and biker chicks dressed up in futuristic-looking heavily-padded motorcycle outfits, with people wearing colors and styles representing clubs from all over Spain. They rode the bikes in a slow-motion parade, but the bikes were souped up so they could make these super loud high pitched engine noises. It was deafening; hard to tell what was louder, the over-amplified rock band, or the bikes. And to top it all off, there were high-heeled bikini-clad strippers caressing and humping the bikes while squeezing soap-filled sponges over their breasts. And they knew what they were doing. What made it completely Fellini-esque is that this all took place directly on the Camino route, so the whole time perplexed-looking pilgrims, dusty under their backpacks, were walking through the crowd. I thought it was a gas, and for the umpteenth millionth time I was reminded of what a messy, complicated, diverse real world we live in.

When I left town this morning, crews were cleaning up the trash left from yesterday's excesses, and in another part of town folks were setting up for what looked to be the Sunday morning farmers' market. Totally different scene.

Today's walk turned out to be 9 miles, again through some tree-canopied forests, open farmland, and small villages. There was a particularly nice old Roman bridge on the way into Ribadiso, the last village before the mostly modern looking town of Arzua, where I'm spending the night. With a population of 6000, it's the last significant population center before Santiago. Two days, 24 miles to go, and I'll be at the end of my journey.

CAMINO, day 42: Arzua to Pedrouzo; Not your father's Camino!

As some of you know, when I was 20 I took a year off from university and spent most of it traveling. About 6 1/2 months of it was in Western, Central and South Asia--Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, and Nepal. When I arrived in Kathmandu in December 1973 it was a magical place at a magical moment. It had been opened to foreign visitors only in the mid 1960s and the only Westerners there were hippie-freak hardcore travelers, either coming overland from Europe along the silk route, or through Southeast Asia from Australia and New Zealand. Infrastructure was almost non-existent. It took 19 hours to get a phone call through to the States; you applied at the central post office and when it was ready they sent a courier to notify you. There were something like three paved roads in the country, no streetlights, no hotels. There were a handful of guest lodges and rooms available in private homes and the main gathering places were a bunch of pie shops on what was known as Freak Street. The Western travelers were an extraordinary bunch, with a disproportionate number of artists, writers, musicians and other creative folk. The reigning heroes were Allen Ginsberg, Bob Dylan, Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs, John Lennon, and the like. It was a creative heaven.

When Terry and I went back in 1982, it had changed radically. Kathmandu was still a magical place, with its ancient temples, shrines, and palaces, warm friendly people, fantastic smells and sounds and sights everywhere. But roads were paved, streetlights lined the main thoroughfares, you could essentially direct dial an international call, and there was a huge range of hotel options, ranging from very basic to 5 star, replete with Olympic size swimming pool. Bus loads of Japanese tourists and their cameras crowded the streets. It had become a major tourist center, a stop on the Asian grand tour. When I tried to show Terry the home in which I had rented a room for 7 weeks, not only was the house gone, but the whole neighborhood had been razed and rebuilt. It was great for the local economy and I'm sure many if not most of the locals welcomed and embraced it. But that untouched quality of just a few years earlier was gone.

My friend Rich walked the Camino about 15 years ago and he recently mentioned that during his entire walk he encountered something like 6 Americans. That brought into high relief how extraordinarily different today's Camino is to how it was then. During my walk I've talked to many dozens of Americans, and overheard conversations of literally hundreds. Not to mention all the people from loads of countries around the world. The popularity of the Camino has skyrocketed and continues to do so. Each year thousands more people do it than the year before. Popular movies like "The Way" and books like Paolo Coelho's "The Pilgrimage" have brought the Camino into the popular mindset. The guy I walked with a while back who guides a spiritual Camino each year or two said that in Europe doing a portion of the Camino is seen as a great, cheap two week physical vacation. And for Spaniards, doing at least the final 100 km to get the certificate seems almost like a national sport.

Mostly I think it's a good thing. More people get to have this amazing experience and absorb Spanish culture. The infrastructure is growing by leaps and bounds, with new albergues, pensions, bars and restaurants opening all along the route. Even in the few years since I walked short portions of it in 2010 and 2011, I've seen a tremendous change. Here in Galicia, tons of buildings are being renovated, and I wouldn't be surprised if much of that is a result of money being pumped into the economy by pilgrims.

But it does change the nature of it. Especially in this last portion, the mood is different. Though sometimes you still have stretches of silence and solitude, more often than not the path is crowded and noisy. I've seen people throw trash on the ground. Garbage bins are overflowing. Huge crowds of kids go by--I actually stopped today and let a group of 65 high schoolers pass me, loudly chattering in a high-pitched mating-ritual cacophony. I'm trying to keep an open mind and open heart and see that it's all a positive thing, but honestly it can get a little trying at moments. But who am I to complain? Ultimately I'm just another schmo adding to the crowd.

Today's walk, from Arzua to the beginning of Pedrouzo, was a little under 12 miles. I know it's subjective, but the last couple of days have seemed like perhaps the least interesting of the entire Camino. Much of it has been in tree lined woods with limited views and past rather ordinary farms. Nice enough, but it could be pretty much anywhere. The stonework in the villages blows me away, but there have been very few truly distinctive buildings, and far fewer churches than previously. It actually surprises me that this is the part of the route that is so disproportionately traveled; there have been far more culturally interesting and physically beautiful sections.

That said, I'm down to the wire. One more 13 mile walk and I'll be in the center of Santiago. I'm excited to finish, but sad that it'll be over. I'm really pleased to be ending feeling as good as I do. I had some rough spots, but I'm feeling really strong right now and I'm looking forward to striding into town tomorrow.

CAMINO, DAY 43: SANTIAGO

Being human, at some points in our lives we all face the abyss of the incomprehensiblity of the universe and our place in it. I've been afflicted with the habit of peeking at it probably way too often for my own good, but it's just who I am. In fact I can pinpoint my first encounter. I was five years old and we had recently moved into our new house on Pilgrim Road in White Plains. I can remember it clearly, lying in the bathtub, the smell of the Ivory Soap floating in the water, the steam on the square blue ceramic tiles, even how white the grout and caulking were. And I started to think about the farthest reaches of the universe. And what came after that? And what came after THAT? And then I switched to time. What came before the universe? And before that? And what comes after the end? But there is no end! And so on and so forth. My first encounter with the ungraspable notion of infinity. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, and I can still feel that palpable sense of vertigo and wonder.

Over time this sense of not being able to understand the most fundamental concepts of existence became a central part of my world view. I tried talking to friends about it but soon realized it was not a topic a lot of kids liked to talk about. As a teenager and in my college days I thought if I could just read the right philosopher, or the right religious text, or really understand the concept of the theory of relativity, or really get high level math, that I'd find the key that would unlock the secrets. I read philosophy, I read Einstein, I read about Zen Buddhism, I looked further into Judaism, I read Nietszche instead of doing my homework, but no answers appeared. I learned meditation, dabbled in yoga, took psychedelics, read all sorts of literature, traveled to exotic countries. It made me who I am, but I got no closer to the answers. Religion seemed directed at people who were capable of believing in things without evidence, physics kept changing its approach every few years, philosophers seemed to be playing with words. For years I felt angst about not being able to find the answers I hoped for, but finally I accepted the fact that maybe we're just not equipped to get there.

I say all this as preface to the inevitable question as to what have I learned on this Camino. Of course I'll have to let it sink in over time before I know for sure. I didn't come looking for answers, I came to have the experience of walking across Spain and to drink in as much as I possibly could. I've done that and it's been wonderful. The one thing I can say I've learned for sure is that my feet can hurt in more ways and more places than I ever thought possible. Other than that, it has just reinforced what I've already thought: Embrace it all. Embrace the not knowing and the not being able to know, embrace the seedy entrances to cities as well as the great cathedrals, embrace life. Make and look at art, make and listen to music, read and write, love and be as good as I can to the people in my life.

I realize I risk sounding way too lofty here, but what the hell, I've just walked 500 miles and I've had way too much sun.

I'm here, I made it, Santiago looks like a beautiful city to explore, and I'm not sure what I'm going to do the next several days. I'm flying to Madrid on the 12th and back to Boston on the 14th. And of course after that my journey continues.

Of course I'll keep posting my musings and photographs, but this brings to an end my Camino journal. I want to thank my friends and family for indulging my thoughts, and I especially want to thank all those who have made so many wonderful comments, given such great feedback, and "liked" so much stuff. It made me feel connected while being on such a solitary journey.

CAMINO, Postscript: Finisterre

After arriving in Santiago I spent two and a half days there and felt somewhat ill at ease. For many pilgrims Santiago is a peak experience but I felt aimless. I was done with my Camino. I was perfectly comfortable, and was really happy my hotel had good AC when it got up to 95 degrees. But I guess after 7 weeks of having a destination and purpose and knowing exactly what I wanted and needed to do, I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. I relaxed, wandered, walked the streets, explored interesting buildings, but I felt like I was killing time before heading home.

Then I decided to bus to Finisterre for a day. Some people walk the final 90K to Finisterre, and at this point I'm kind of sorry I didn't. My experience there far exceeded my expectations and it seemed like such a fitting end to the Camino, completing the journey from the French border to the Atlantic.

Finisterre is located on a narrow peninsula that juts out into the Atlantic. You can walk from one side of the peninsula to the other in about a half hour. The town itself is picturesque, a small port with brightly colored buildings and boats, a bunch of small shops and restaurants and dwellings. I was on the peninsula about 24 hours. On Friday afternoon I wandered the town and the countryside around it and stayed in the hills overlooking the town. On Saturday morning I walked to the "end of the earth" and found out why it's called that. The town is at sea level and the path leads about 4 km straight uphill along the coast, rising higher and higher above the sea, until you reach the tip of the peninsula, way high above the ocean on all sides. It's spectacular, with vertiginous views. For part of the walk up I actually kept my hand on the guard rail because it was dizzying. At the very end it was overwhelmingly beautiful and I felt way more emotional than I had expected, I guess maybe what a lot of folks feel in Santiago. It did feel like the end of the earth.