Yesterday we crashed into bed at 10 pm. I desperately need sleep – I’m on the verge of tears from lacking it. At home, Friday means you’ve got two days to catch up. On the Camino, that luxury doesn’t exist. Every day it’s wake-up hours fit only for bakers, not normal mortals.
At 3:30 my bladder – the ultimate saboteur of rest – dragged me out of bed. On my way to the toilet, I caught the scene of the century: Massimo and Anita actually heading out at that brutal hour. I almost laughed out loud – couldn’t believe they’d really gone through with that nonsense. I, of course, went straight back to bed. These days, my bed is my church – the only sacred thing I still follow without excuses.
My alarm went off at 5:30. Since my backpack is always packed the night before, I gifted myself 15 extra minutes of lying down. José had already left – slower walker, so he wanted a head start. He knew he’d never keep pace with me and Viktor if we set out together. So he went half an hour earlier. The paradox of the Camino: the fastest always leave last.
I was already outside, Viktor still fussing with his backpack like he was setting off on a two-month Himalaya expedition instead of a 17 km “stroll.” Outside: pitch dark, the wind flexing like it owns the place. Viktor in the morning walks like a tornado – Guinness-record pace. Me? Puffing beside him like an old steam train. But it’s true: walking in the dark is easier with company.
Today’s stage into Santiago was just 17 km, three-quarters downhill. A walk in the park, really. And it was. We caught José at the 4 km mark and stopped for coffee and breakfast together. Of course, it took almost an hour. Alone I’d have done it in under twenty minutes.
The last 100 km were nothing like the Sarria–Santiago circus, where the path swarms with hikers. This time, we had the trail to ourselves. Beautiful – silence, peace, the feeling of marching into the cathedral like VIPs. Pure poetry.
Over coffee I called Massimo, since we’d agreed to check in when there were 10 km left. He and Anita were already in Santiago, sipping their first coffee. I told him we’d be there in two hours. The road wound gently through villages, just enough uphill so we’d arrive at the cathedral with a “pleasant aroma” – not perfume-ad ready, but not corpse-level stink either. And then, finally, in the distance – the cathedral.
Smile on my face. We’d made it. I was proud of myself – proud that despite the brutal heat I hadn’t thrown in the towel, hadn’t jumped on a bus when the pain was unbearable. I endured.
On the way, I met wonderful people I can honestly call friends. Goodbyes are always hard, but on the Camino they cut deeper – because you part from those who shared your miles, your laughter, your exhaustion, your pain.
One of my favorite things in Santiago: the bagpipe player. God, how beautifully he plays! Bagpipes are my favorite instrument, alongside guitar and drums. I’d missed him. Hearing him again hit me straight in the heart.
And then – the square. Already overflowing with pilgrims, all glowing with happiness. I admit it – that square has its own energy. It’s always beautiful to arrive here with your Camino companions. Joy, hugs, tears, group photos, all of it.
Afterwards, Viktor, José, and I went to get our diplomas. This time I wanted mine – because I had walked the Camino de la Plata and the Camino Sanabrés in the worst conditions possible. Yes, I’m proud: I stuck it out. I walked alone on the loneliest path and finished it. I healed my injured foot. I adapted. I sacrificed my original plan of finishing in 25 days – because what mattered more was walking with people who had become family.
Finally, I completed the Camino de la Plata – in hellish conditions. Even if I’m still missing 80 km, tomorrow I set out again with Anita and sentimental Massimo. But first, tonight: celebration with the whole crew. Two will leave us tomorrow, and we’ll say goodbye in proper Camino style.