Yesterday we squeezed in one more evening with the Portuguese guys, which of course meant dinner dragged on until 10 p.m. With them it always ends the same: full plates, empty glasses, and conversations that stretch longer than the road to Santiago. Over dinner we tried to plan the last two days – mainly where we’d sleep in Santiago. The city swarms with hikers and tourists, and while there are plenty of hostels, beds disappear fast. I honestly didn’t care where I’d sleep – I’d take a mattress in a basement – but the others insisted on being in the center. Classic. I’d settle for a dark corner, they wanted a cathedral view. After calling around, we finally found a place where we could all stay together. What can I say – the closer we get to the finish, the louder the party.
When we reached the hostel, the others headed to the kitchen for yet more food, even though they’d just eaten a mountain-sized dinner an hour earlier. I gracefully excused myself and went to bed. Chronic sleep deprivation has pushed me to the edge – a bed is the most romantic date I could dream of.
Morning: departure at 6:30. Massimo and Anita went for coffee at a gas station on the way, but I skipped it – I hadn’t yet handled my “morning business”, and coffee is a guaranteed wake-up call for the bowels. Camino romance or not, some things are better handled on a toilet than behind a bush.
I was dead tired. Weeks of too-early mornings had started to wear down my system. A few days ago I’d agreed with Anita and Massimo to walk together all the way to Finisterre and Muxía. But that morning, I changed my mind – I decided I’d just bus it to Finisterre and rest a few days like a normal human being. When we regrouped in a café, I broke the news. Cue Italian emotions flying high. I tried to stay calm and promised to give them my final decision by the end of the day’s stage.
After that Viktor and I set off at our own pace – faster. The path was asphalt, so I even typed up my notes from the previous night while walking. I had no clue what villages I was passing – I was just following the rhythm of Viktor’s sneakers. Suddenly the sound behind me disappeared. I thought I’d lost him, checked the app – nope, I was still on the right trail. Turns out he’d gone for a little “business” in the woods.
I reached the next village, where we planned to shop for supplies. Four kilometers uphill from the hostel. I parked myself in the shade outside the store and waited. And waited. Forty-five minutes later, I gave up and went for my survival kit: beer and cigarettes in the nearby bar. Without cigarettes, I’m not exactly “friendly Tina,” and beer has saved many a tense mood. Just as I finished, José called – they were finally in the store. I downed my last gulps of beer and joined them… only to find them leaving empty-handed. “Why?!” I asked. Their answer: first we’ll eat at the restaurant, then we’ll go back for groceries. I told them that was pure idiocy – why not shop now if we’re already here? But no, apparently Spain and Italy can’t survive more than an hour without a proper meal.
So off we went to the restaurant. I had a burger, they devoured a three-course menu. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe anyone could eat again after last night’s feast, this morning’s breakfast, and a snack. That stop took nearly two hours, and my nerves were unraveling. In the end, I left them behind and marched on alone.
The climb wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked on the app – I wasn’t scooping my lungs off the ground, and shade was a loyal companion. Soon I reached a pretty little village decorated with lights. “Fiesta again,” I thought. “Another night without sleep.” The others caught up half an hour later. The hostel was already half full, and the hikers inside looked like they’d just walked straight from a funeral. For a moment I thought I’d stumbled into a morgue. Which made me extra grateful for my crew, who always show up with jokes and laughter.
After showering and laundry – boom boom boom! Fireworks. At first I thought it was New Year’s or that we’d been drafted onto the frontline. Anita and I joked it was a welcome party, since we’re practically at the finish. Honestly, it was better than Santiago – at least here there was peace, if you ignored the explosions.
That evening we gathered in the kitchen. Viktor whipped up fruit salad with yogurt, and then came another wave of Italian romance. Massimo suggested we leave at three in the morning to reach Santiago by six, when the city is still empty. My kiwi almost got stuck in my throat. I told him I’m not in love, I don’t need to impress anyone – I need sleep. That’s the height of my romance. He looked crushed, but Viktor and José backed me up.
Then I sweetened the mood: I told them I’d changed my mind and would walk to Finisterre with them after all. Wolf fed, goat intact.
We walked 35 km that day.