DAY 2 18 July 2017 Kwelera

July 19, 2017

Hurtling down the longitudes I arrive in Johannesburg at 7am. Here they announce airport security like an exciting and sophisticated fashion trend.

I'm on my way to East London, a city-port in the Eastern Cape 1000Km east of Cape Town, on a domestic flight. It's 18 degrees when I arrive at 11am. I'm met by Claire Cockott, friend from my York days. She and her husband George run an artist's residency near Kwelera.

Enroute home is a visit to a seed merchant in the back streets of East London, to buy chicken feed, followed by the St Bernard's Hospice charity shop to buy a present for a neighbours daughter's birthday. Sadly, they were right out of fairies....

Kwelera is a tiny village with a few shops and from there it's a 15 minute drive to Driftwood Studios. The studios and house are tucked behind the sand-dunes in an area of ancient dune-forest and I can hear the thunder of the Pacific Ocean in the garden.

I remember that exactly a year ago I reached another ocean. The Atlantic at Finisterra on the Galician coast, at the end of the Camino de Santiago de Compostela.

There, the sea was a peaceful iridescent powder-blue, here it roars dark; sucking and rumbling over black basalt pebbles, strewn with abalone shells and driftwood.

George and Claire beside the Pacific

George built the house on what was an old caravan park behind the dunes; it's a beautiful modern house with long arcades of wooden columns and polished concrete floors. My bedroom is on the ground-floor over looking the vegetable garden (which is regularly raided by troupes of monkeys) and has a lovely ensuite shower room with a hand-made sea-cobble floor.

The first floor colonnade

Their family consists of two children, Angus and Anna, eight chickens who all have names, a cat and a dog called Buttons - who chases the monkeys!

But it's cool because it's midwinter here and I'm very glad I bought a hot water bottle, warm socks and pyjamas!

George and Claire's children are sleeping over at a friend's house, so we go out for supper in a local restuarant- then it's time to lie out flat. I'm going to sleep well after my sky-wandering last night.

Amazing seaweed amongst basalt pebbles

DAY 1. 17 July 2017

July 18, 2017

A South African Residency

I set off for Heathrow on the 65 bus and suddenly I'm on my way to Johannesburg. The South African Airways flight takes off at 7pm and I watch the sky turn to a deep azure blue along the wing of the plane. Trying to sleep sitting up is a struggle, but there's something uncannily cosy about a night flight; hundreds of dreaming people hurtling through the pitch black sky.

SEA WELL, 2017Fresh water, sea water (Finisterra, Spain), glass, light — SEA WELL, 2017
Fresh water, sea water (Finisterra, Spain), glass, light

One year on...

July 15, 2017

On the 12 July 2016 I reached the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. And a year today I was on my way to Finisterra, staying at a private albergue in the hamlet of Santa Marina, enjoying a lentil stew.

The year has been a living response to my journey; I catch myself walking up escalators on the tube using the same measured breathing pattern and pace I engaged to climb steep hills; the conscious change of speed between gradients. I approach tasks more slowly and expect them to take as long as they take.

It has taken a while to make work about the experience, but it has unfolded as the year has slipped by. The first piece was entitled ‘Washed in Other Waters’ and was made for the Porthleven Fisherman’s Institute Public Auction to raise funds for a renovation project. The piece was a painting; water from the End of the Earth painted onto a piece of timber baulk that once formed the inner-harbour defenses, but was smashed by catastrophic storms in 2015.

In Other Waters (video)

SEA WELL was shown as St James’s Church Piccadilly.

I transferred the two waters (sea and well waters) I collected at the End of the Earth from their Spanish plastic bottles into laser etched glass chemical reagent bottles; denoting their power to effect change.

Censing was installed in early June 2017 and was made was made in response to the giant censer in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, ‘El Botofumerio’, which weighs 80kg, carries a load of 40 kg of charcoal and incense and takes 5 men to haul up and swing high over the heads of the of amazed Pilgrims. Mine was less ambitious.

Censing was suspended from a majestic Horse Chestnut tree and installed for 2 days as part of the London Open Squares and Gardens Scheme.

Censer (steel, stainless steel, rope and fixings) 800mm diameter x 250mm

DAY 93. 8 AUGUST 2016. TOWARDS HOME.

August 8, 2016

On Sunday night I watched the sun set over the 'End of the Earth'; Finisterra. On my previous visit in July there was thick cloud and no views, but this time several hundred of us watched the sun slip slowly under the horizon. A very special time to complete my Camino.

Then we walked down The Cape in the deepening dusk to join the 'Razor Clam and Pirate Fiesta' in town for a final seafood feast - sadly I forgot to pack my pirate costume.

Yesterday Ian and I returned to Santiago by bus; a glorious ride along the coast with pine forests, long silver beaches and fractured-granite uplands.

Now, I'm sitting in the airport savouring my last Santiago cake and cafe con leche.

I receive a daily poem from an online forum. Last night I opened its daily offering; it could not have been more appropriate. David Whyte is one of my favourite poets:

CAMINO

" .... remember, you were given that name every day

along the way, remember, you were greeted as such,

and you needed no other name, other people

seemed to know you even before you gave up

being a shadow on the road and came into the light,

even before you sat down with them,

broke bread and drank wine,

wiped the wind-tears from your eyes:

pilgrim they called you,

pilgrim they called you again and again. Pilgrim.

DAY 88. 3 AUGUST 2016. A CORUÑA.

August 4, 2016

Mermaid decoration carved on the base of a medieval granite pulpit.

Then in the beautiful Romanesque church of Igrexa de Santiago in A Coruna she appears. A mermaid, supported on a scallop shell, interlinked with mermen carved in granite on the base of a medieval pulpit... now I can return home.

DAY 87. 2 AUGUST 2016. VIGO.

August 3, 2016

El SirenoFrancesco Leiro, 1991. — El Sireno
Francesco Leiro, 1991.

During my 550 mile journey I have been watching the coastline carefully. Looking for mermaids; those beautiful and treacherous beings. Even amongst the chill foam-washed granite off the Galician 'Costa da Morte' she was not to be seen.

Then today while waiting for a bus; a crone tells me that this is El Sireno. A man:fish split on the vertical axis. What does this mean?

His expressionless face gazes intently and chillingly down at us and out to sea. Held captive, high on two tall granite columns under a searing blue sky he is an otherworldly being. From some view points he has human legs from others he is being consumed by the fish.

DAY 72. 18 JULY. FISTERRA. "THE END OF THE EARTH".

July 22, 2016

Meindl boots and my pilgrim feet; not a single blister thanks to sheep's wool in my socks. A wonderful piece of advice from my friend Hazel who walked the Camino over 10 years ago.

So this the last blog entry of my Camino and I'm feeling sad that I won't be observing my life in the same way. I've often spotted things during the day and made a mental note "I must remember to tell them that...".

As I reached the top of the Cape this statue was awaiting me

A more leisurely start today. The hostel is laid out in cubicles of 8 beds so I had a good nights sleep.

I go to a local bar for breakfast and bump into the Brazilian couple who greet me with kisses and "artista". They give me their email address incase I'm in Brazil.... There's a thought. I down a café con leche and a large slice of cake! The Spaniards seem to prefer a sweet breakfast; at least I'm burning the calories at the moment.

I start the ascent to the cape about 9am; it's a long but gentle climb up along the main road with pine trees on either side, but not much shade.

It's very quiet when I arrive, the tourist buses have yet to arrive and I walk beyond the Faro (lighthouse) and onto the rocky promontory. Granite boulders and bracken and then a dramatic cliff dropping into the Atlantic; I can hear the ocean on the rocks below, but my eye is drawn to the extraordinary powder-blue horizon softened by a silvery mist; the Edge of the Earth is indiscernible in the far distance.

There seems to be no one but me here, but occasionally someone stands up from their hiding place amongst the granite boulders and I realise I'm not alone. Mainly pilgrim types as it's still too early for the tourists.

I spend a lot of time looking; I don't think I've seen anywhere so extraordinary with such a sense of the liminal. I sit between worlds and I'm not sure which ones.

I reflect on what can be achieved by taking single steps; it seems impossible that 'little me' can walk 550 miles and probably more. The rugged mountain paths and oak forests of the Paes Basco seem a lifetime ago. It has taken a certain intent to keep going; resolution even. Though in my heart I didn't doubt that I would arrive here.

Strangely the yellow arrows become almost invisible when out of pilgrim mode, but it would have been impossible to make the journey without them. They've been constant, but slightly erratic companions and guardians.

My Spanish remains embarrassingly poor, but somehow I've got by with the patient forebearance of the Spaniards. They have been good humoured at my attempts and we usually have a good laugh once some clarity has been achieved. They have been immensely kind, perhaps big city life has inured me to a gentler way of being in the world. I'm resolved to practice "kindness to strangers", I have received so much...

As I look out into the silvery blue, I remember my loved-ones; those who have already slipped beyond the End of the World. The sun rising over the Cape behind me, shines thousands of sparkling lights out towards the western horizon. Medieval writers called the Atlantic the El Mar Tenebroso; the dark sea, but today it's full of light.

There's an information board by the side of the path; it records that there's a immense under sea mountain off the coast of Finisterra with ravines 4,000m deep. A place of silver light and utter darkness then. I can sense Janus on his stone pillar facing both....

By midday it's very hot and even factor 50 sunblock isn't working and so I make my way back to the town. By now the Cape is full of tourists, buskers and hawkers.

My phone now contains 3,700 photographs which won't upload to the iCloud, for some reason. I've had to delete all my music, books except the essential Camino ones, apps, games and videos. Before I came away I put out a request for suitable music and books to bring with me. Only Cheri replied, she wrote: "just listen to the sounds around you" and how right she was. I haven't read a single book or listened to any music on my phone since I arrived. I have walked with one change of clothes and two pairs of shoes and the all important wet weather gear. My most trusted possessions are my phone, bank card, rucksack, poncho, boots, socks, sheep's wool and walking poles. I could have survived without anything else.

I buy my supper in a supermarket for tonight; just fruit and vegetables. I need a night off from Menu del Dia! I also buy water for the plastic bottles.

All of a sudden at about 6pm fog rolls in from the sea; it's dense and reduces visibility down to about 50 feet! It's also cold and I have to put on extra layers. No wonder it is called Costa del Morte; lethal for pre-radar ships plying a craggy granite coast.

At about 7.30 the Hospitalero and I go to collect water from his neighbour's well, carrying a new pale blue plastic bucket. It's a lovely sound to hear the spare water crash back down into the depths.

I then go to collect the sea-water from a beach near the harbour and take a series of photographs of the water in plastic bottles, with the fog forming a misty, myopic backdrop. I had in mind a lovely sparkling powder-blue Atlantic with a silvery horizon, but the 'End of the Earth' had its own idea and refused to be photographed.

RESPECT.

So I have completed my journey to collect waters from the 'End of the Earth'. Tomorrow I'm walking to the villages of Lires and then Muxia and from there back to Santiago by bus; where I will become a tourist and fly to Seville and onto Cadiz by bus for a holiday.

One of the photographs will become an edition of postcards that will be printed in Santiago de Compostela; the distillate of 550 miles of walking.

So this is my final Camino blog. I feel I will be returning to a different country to the one I left on 10th May. I sense unsettled times ahead; the need to guard an inner stillness and a clarity of vision.

So dear Friends: SEA WELL.

THIRST: from the End of the Earth. Sara Mark, 2016Digital photograph — **THIRST: from the End of the Earth.**
Sara Mark, 2016
Digital photograph

DAY 71. 17JULY. CEE TO FISTERRA

July 20, 2016

Looking back at Cee in the morning light

I'm nearing the end of my journey. Finisterra (the modern town is called Fisterra) is the official final destination of the Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage.

It's a fairly short undulating walk through woods with some lovely white beaches enroute. I have breakfast at a bar on the beach at Estorde, consisting of toast made on a wood-fired pizza oven, served with olive oil and peach jam. Nice!

Then onto Finisterre. First I have a hill to climb, but suddenly views of the sea open up. The last few km were on a delightful stone-paved path meandering under pine trees, with the sound of the ocean beyond the sand dunes. There's a huge long beach here and even though it's Sunday, there are very few people in it.

My first view of Cape Finisterra on the left

I make my way into town; it's a busy working fishing port, but with enough tourism to support plenty of bars, sea-food restaurants, hotels and albergues. There is Municipal albergue, but I choose a new private one for €12. The best so far I think!! It's run by a very nice youngish Spaniard and it's spotless and comfortable with the all important towel included! He shakes my hand and shows me round. I settle in. The woman in the adjacent bunk is French.

It's a modern town with an older area and a bustling harbour area, not picturesque exactly, but surrounded by a soft misty blue sea and distant mountains.

Finisterre was believed by the Romans to be the most Westerly point in the known World, but it's actually Cabo da Roca in Portugal about 10 miles further west.

In Celtic and Neolithic times there was an important solar-temple here; Ara Solis and there is also a stone circle at Monte San Guillermo nearby. So it was an important place of pilgrimage thousands of years previous to Santiago!

I've been reading some fascinating stuff about the pre-Christian origins of the Camino de Santiago on the Internet.

"Some scholars believe that another clear antecedent to the Camino is the “Callis Ianus” named after the god Janus, who occupied the highest rank among Etruscan-Latin divinities and represented the “Earth’s Axis”... Janus was the God of gods – the god of beginnings and transitions, thence also of gates, doors, passages, endings and time; the god of motion that caused the starting of action and change; and master of the four seasons (he still stands at the door of our New Year: January) and transformation. He is depicted as having two faces, since he looks to the future and to the past... and holding a key that opened the gates of the invisible world."

www.iberianadventures.com/a-pagan-history-of-the-camino/

The cape is 3.5km to the west of the town; a slow steady 238m climb above sea level and so has spectacular views of the Atlantic and the rising and setting sun.

In the afternoon I walk to the Municipal Albergue in town to get my Credencial stamped with the sello stamp which officially completes my pilgrimage. Done.

Sello of Fisterra. The official end of the Camino of St James (Xacobea in Galician).

The albergue is staffed by helpful Spanish volunteer hospitaleros who give me advice about walking to Muxia. Then a late lunch. Very delicious roasted razor clams with a glass of white wine by the harbour. Perfect.

Then more wandering to the beach for a swim. It's pretty chilly but refreshing when I finally manage to submerge. Later I bump into the Italian family and little boy and in the evening have a beer on the harbour side with the German guy who ate too much chorizo, who's called Andreas, and a couple of other Germans. More post BREXIT disbelief. I think we underestimate the effects on the rest of Europe.

I'm turning my mind to the logistics of collecting water for my ongoing series of works called THIRST. They all involve finding, collecting and carrying water. This iteration consists of collecting water from the End of the Earth; fresh and saline. So the hunt is on for a well- there must be one here somewhere?

I mention it to the Hospitalero on my way to the shower and he whisks me off to see his neighbour... in bare feet and still clutching my towel and soap. There in his neighbour's courtyard is a glorious and wonderfully deep well full of fresh water, but no bucket. They'll sort it out mañana.

The evening light lingers until 10.30pm and it's a nearly full moon tomorrow. Bed to my bunk. Another great day.

DAY 70. 16 JULY. OLVEIROA TO CEE.

July 18, 2016

Another super hot 30 degrees day! I get up at 5.45am and manage to leave at 7am. It's wonderfully cool with a breeze. Fields of maize, isolated meadows, undulating hills and dappled woodland paths. I have breakfast and plenty of water at Logoso and then set out on a fairly demanding, but very beautiful route towards Finnisterre. I reach the fork between the two routes at 8.30am; one road goes to Muxia and the left-hand one to Finistre.

At 10.30am I reach the stiff 450m climb up onto a plateau; it's a tough landscape of granite outcrops and gorse. One field contains a scattering of cairns or perhaps they're the remnants of tumuli? This is a weathered, ancient place; only the line of wind-turbines on a distant ridge intercepts with the Modern world. This area is famous for dolmens and megaliths but I don't see any on the route of the Camino.

I meet a very elegant couple en route; they introduce themselves as Brazilian although he is Spanish by birth. They met in Santiago 23 years ago and have come back to walk the Camino de Finisterra together. We pass each other several times throughout the day.

It's scorching hot and dry and I'm relieved to reach the spring of San Pedro Mátir just after descending the ridge. As I fill my bottle and cool next to the fountain an Australian couple introduce themselves. She walks with an umbrella to provide some shade which is an excellent idea. There are very few people about.

After a steep descent, a view of the sea suddenly opens up and the Brazililan couple walk-on by and I call out 'Mar' pointing frantically. She turns towards it, calls out in amazement and bows to it.

I arrive at the village and port of Cee at 12.30pm and find the very nice private Alberge Moreira. I'm the only one there and it's spotless and well equipped. The hospiterlo is helpful but doesn't speak English, but we managed to ascertain that today it's a Fiesta of the barcos (boats) and he directs me to the adjacent village of Corcubión about 1.5km away.

The fiesta has a fun fair, a concert stage and down at the quay hoards of people are being packed into the sardine-fishing fleet of modern trawlers all decked out with bunting, evergreens and blue hydrangea. It's very Spanish; the boats list over as the crowds throng on board for a voyage around the harbour; several large trawlers and lots of little boats trying to avoid one another, successfully thank goodness, but with lots of siren blasting and sudden changes of direction. Then the fireworks start.

At first I thought they were safety flares; almighty flashes and bangs that resound, thundering off the surrounding mountains. I expected them to be released from the Life-Boat, but no. A man in a small white van is letting them off on the quay side. He holds the stick-end of the rocket in one hand and lights the fuse with the other; then WHOOSH to several hundred feet.... BANG. That's more like it!

I find a bar and order a beer, wait for the heat to die down and walk back to the Albergue. The hospitalero tells me there is a Procesion at 8pm so I go off to a restaurant for a quick meal, but no sooner had the Galician cabbage soup arrived, I heard the sound of bagpipes and somber drums and the Procesion was approaching along the street. Lead by altar boys in white robes carrying the Cross, followed by an elderly priest in a white base-ball cap.

A crowd of women escort the statue of the cream-veiled Virgin and Child, which is being carried by four men. It's followed by the bag-pipers in the black and white Galician costume. I am spell bound; it's unbelievably ordinary and very beautiful at the same time.

I follow them down to the quayside where a choir sings the 'Ave Maria' and about thirty rockets are let off my the rocket-van man. This is to bless the sea and the boats that land the sardine catch.

We watch the rockets whoosh and bang. The sound rebounds off the mountains all around.

At this point I begin to feel nauseous and weak and have to head back to the albergue; perhaps dodgy food, but more likely too much sun. I'm really miffed, I really wanted to sample the sardines that were being grilled over vast charcoal fires on the harbour (the fire brigade were on hand) and dance the night away to local bands. Instead I'm fast asleep; the only other pilgrim in the dorm is a German guy who ate a whole chorizo sausage the night before and has been ill all day! Perfect pair.

I get up about midnight to watch the fireworks from the dorm window; with more rockets being let off from the quayside.

The bands finish playing in Corcubión across the water about 3pm; thank goodness for ear plugs. It's been a very special day.

It wouldn't have been the same without him!

DAY 69. 15 JULY. SANTA MARIÑA TO OLVEIROA

July 18, 2016

I walked only a short distance as it was 28 degrees by midday and I could only managed 13km. The walk was as lovely as ever; shady woods and large fields of maize.

At 9 ish the huge reservoir lake of Embalse de Fervenza came into view in the valley below me and I walked for a while looking down at its deep blue waters.

The uplands are littered with granite outcrops and boulders and the wind turbines continue their slow gyrations on the mountain ridges. There's a road sign on this route; it's called the RUTA DA FÀBRICA DE LUZ which translates as the 'the route of the factory of light' on the 'coast of death' because so many ships were wrecked on its misty rocky shores.

I reach Olveitoa about 12pm and stop at the Albergue de Hórreo for a beer, but soon decide I've had enough for the day and order a Salade Mixte. I'm the first to check in, so get my pick of bunks by the window. It's a private albergue with a bar and pension next door. Just the thing.

The Hórreos (granaries) in this area are a different design again; they are made from narrow granite blocks with un-mortared joints to provide ventilation.

A couple of Canadians also turn up and we have the inevitable BREXIT conversation. We agree that we couldn't make it up and that the UK has become a laughing stock. We think the Icelanders got it right when they jailed their bankers and politicians for gross misconduct and incompetence post the banking crash. It should be an offence to knowingly lie to the electorate - why isn't it? I've been reading that we now live in a time of 'Post-Truth' politics; I suppose the Virtual pigeon has come home to roost.

How I do my washing most days. Cold water and a block of washing soap.

We order the Menu del Dia and I'm in bed by 9.30pm. A couple of Spanish men are having a loud conversation about mileage in the bunks opposite; I tell them to be quiet but it doesn't make any difference. Some people spend a lot of time planning their routes and mileage, but actually you don't have a lot of choice except to trust the yellow arrows, listen to your body and stop when you see a nice albergue.

DAY 68. 14JULY. NEGREIRA TO SANTA MARIÑA

July 15, 2016

I left rather late, but it was still cool with a breeze; at least for a few hours. I stopped for breakfast in a bar on the edge of town and asked the barman to make me a sandwich for lunch. The bread was delicious; a huge, very handmade wholemeal circular loaf, slightly burnt on top with Serrano ham and tomato. I watched him carefully machine-slice the ham and assemble it on the plate and present it with pride. These moments are such gifts; the "fierce-attention" as the poet David Whyte calls it, that transforms the 'everyday' into revelation. I'm falling in love with Spain - I'm sure it has faults but there's something both humble and proud about its people.

So I set off late on Tarmac and then dusty tracks through woods, meadows and now extensive fields of maize. It's still hilly, but not as steep as yesterday; there are numerous arrays of shining white wind-turbines on the ridges. I love the slow elegance of turbines; patiently making electricity out of the air.

About midday I come across a Pilgrim Shop in a wood in the middle of nowhere, where I buy a can of lemon and a peach. There sitting under a shady pine are the Italian family and the little boy. I congratulate him on how well he's doing on his "little legs" and he smiles proudly; these hills are no mean achievement. They are stopping in the next village as 12 km is their limit.

The Camino generates revenue along its route.

I meet a Belgian woman on the next stretch, she walks fast and is a good pace-setter for getting up a long dusty track. It's her first Camino and she walking the Camino Finisterra for a week. We walk together to Santa Mariña where I'm planning to stop for the night. She is walking without her pack and is being picked up and taken to her pension.

The way is dotted with very small villages but we eventually reach Santa Mariña about 2pm in the full heat of the day.

Just in time for a cold beer and an agua con gaz. Casa Pepe is a private albergue that costs 12€, but it's very nice and definitely a step up from a Municipal. I get a bed again which is a real treat after so many bunks.

I spend the afternoon doing washing, sitting in the shade of the vines on the terrace and eat my sandwich in a meadow up the road.

Supper is the Menu del Dia; not the greatest but ok. Mixte Salade and lentil stew followed by an orange; I couldn't cope with the huge plates of fried bacon, eggs and chips that emerged from the kitchen. There are three American women, a German woman and several Spaniards staying here tonight.

Just across the road from an Angel perch.

DAY 67. 13 JULY. SANTIAGO DE COMPOSTELA TO NEGREIRA

July 14, 2016

On the road again...

Fisterra also known as Finnisterre; the End of the Earth.

The first thing I do is walk to the post office near the Pilgrims' Office and post 1.5km of stuff home in a box. My sleeping bag and bits and pieces I won't need and boy I can feel the difference!

Walking the quiet shady paths again; a little granite bridge over water.

It's a wonderful day to the start the Camino Finnisterra. After the bustle and crowds of Santiago I'm back on narrow undulating tracks amongst bracken, wild-flowers, oak and pine forest and birdsong. Thrushes, blackbirds, tits, robins, warblers and lots of linnets on telephone wires in the meadows. I'm alone most of the morning. I meet Felix, a Spaniard who has walked from Barcelona about 1400km. I'm a mere beginner! Then later an Italian family with a sweet little boy about 7 years old. They are wheeling one of their rucksacks on the boy's scooter through the woods!

Through oak and pine woods full of birdsong

About 11 I stop for a coffee in a nice roadside bar; there are far fewer amenities now. I order a take away ham sandwich for lunch. Everything's freshly made including the pressed orange juice.

Then I'm on the road again. It's a stiff two hour slog up a never ending 300m ascent. Luckily with lots of shade because it's now very hot.

A Camino gatepost in one of the villages

It's a good long walk down the other side too, through small villages until I reach Ponte Maceira.

An amazing place with a roaring weir and a long winding Medieval bridge. I eat my picnic sitting on the steps of an old mill watching the water thundering by and then flowing on between huge granite boulders. The village has a few houses, but it's deserted of people at this time of day.

Then a gentle shady riverside walk until I reach Negreira, where I book into the municipal albergue which is at the far end of town up another hill. I'm in the pine panelled attic in a real bed! The Italian couple and boy are opposite; I'm very impressed he's managed that hill. Felix the Swiss guy is miles ahead probably!

Washing washed, a big Salad Mixte eaten in a local bar and then bed. I'm tired it's been an 18 mile day.

DAY 66. 12 JULY 2016. SANTIAGO DE COMPOSTELA

July 13, 2016

In the 'Field of Stars'

I wake about 7am and decide to stay another night in the Alberque; it's only 2 miles from the Cathedral and I don't have to worry about my pack.

Santiago is a large modern city and I walk into town through the usual suburbs and highway engineering, but the bustle of traffic ceases at the Porto Santiago as I enter the Old Town. Concrete and tarmac remember granite and terracotta. Old palaces, churches, monasteries and arcaded streets begin to appear.

The  "Compostella" is the official stamp to say I've completed my pilgrimage to Santiago. — The "Compostella" is the official stamp to say I've completed my pilgrimage to Santiago.

There are a few early-bird pilgrims in the Cathedral square, but no queues at the Pilgrim Centre, where I have my Credencial stamped with the "Compostela"; the official sello that confirms I've completed my pilgrimage to Santiago. The man behind the desk shakes my hand and I feel he understands what it means to have made this epic journey; I sit in the courtyard to appreciate what I've achieved and the support team of hospiterlos, waiters, cooks, pilgrims and the many kind Spaniards that have made it possible.

My certificate says I've walked 805km (498miles) but I'm rounding it up to 500 miles to cover all those detours I made... it's probably a lot more.

Next I head for the Cathedral. It's smaller than I imagined; Romanesque with Baroque additions. The facade is under scaffolding and I can hear the reassuring tapping of masons' chisels on granite.

The chancel is a riot of silver and gold with huge pink cherubs supporting a golden canopy over the statue of St James; all reminiscent of a magnificent fairground carousel. Glorious.

St James in his silver shrine is hugged by thousands of pilgrims! The giant  silver incense burner (botofumerio) is in the foreground. — St James in his silver shrine is hugged by thousands of pilgrims! The giant silver incense burner (botofumerio) is in the foreground.

I visit the shrine of St James and as invited, embrace the ornate silver cover on his shoulders and thank him for the journey. The words that come to mind are 'fear not' which is different to 'be brave' and then 'endeavour', which is both a verb and noun.

The Romanesque church is elegant and simple

Endeavour (n.)

Early 15C., "pains taken to attain an object," literally "in duty," from phrase put (oneself) in dever "make it one's duty" (a partial translation of Old French mettre ...from Old French dever "duty," from Latin debere "to owe" (see debt.) One's endeavors meaning one's "utmost effort" is from late 15c."

The incense was originally to cleanse the air on the arrival of thousands of smelly mediaeval  pilgrims. — The incense was originally to cleanse the air on the arrival of thousands of smelly mediaeval pilgrims.

There are bagpipes playing in an arch beside the Cathedral; they bring tears. Their plaintive flow are embedded in the heritage of this part of Spain and remind me of the majestic and rugged beauty I have experienced. This journey has taught me about embodiment and encounter; my body and its relationship with the ground under my feet and the beauty and decay before my eyes. Everyday I have encountered Place; it's people, culture, scenery, flora and fauna.

Santiago is full of souvenir shops selling everything a pilgrim or tourist could desire... staffs to lean on, gourds to drink from and shells to wear on your pack.

Then there's thousands of silver bells, statues of St James, tee-shirts and painted plates. But what will I take home I wonder?

I spend most of the day quietly sitting in bars writing and sorting photos. Coffee and cake, a Menu del Dia lunch of delicious lentil stew followed by a mixed salad.

Then a visit to the Cathedral Museum, sadly all the text was in Spanish but still amazing. The granite carvings were once covered with gesso and painted so the cathedral must have been covered with colourful stories.

A painted granite carving in a church near the Cathedral.

I attend the Pilgrim Mass at 7.30pm. It's all in Spanish of course, I wish I could have understood the homily. All the way through I could see arms protruding out of the shrine to hug St James; he has given us a wonderful journey. Then the 2 mile walk home and bed. A wonderful day.

DAY 65. 11 JULY. SANTA IRENE TO SANTIAGO DE COMPOSTELA

July 12, 2016

The early-birds are up at 5am; it's pitch black outside so I'm not sure how they're going to walk? The lights are programmed to come on at 7am and I leave at 7.30am under a glorious pale blue sky traversed with a silver jet trail.

I have the first hour alone and enjoy the solitude of the woods and the unfolding path ahead. I come across several memorials and pilgrim cairns. I pass Santiago airport and hear planes for the first time in two month.

I stop for a coffee at 11.30ish and there in the queue ahead of me is Morris and Susy is sitting outside; the couple from London. An other lovely Camino moment.

We walk together until we come to the outer suburbs of Santiago and the juxtaposition of two realities: the fast, bustling modern city and the hundreds of pilgrims slowly threading their way towards the Cathedral.

We stop for lunch in a bar and I'm kindly treated to squid and chips. Morris and Susy head for the centre and I retrace my steps slightly to the Residencia de Peregrinos San Lázar.

It's a very nice modern albergue. The Galician authorities have really invested in their pilgrim accommodation and they are well designed and run by the municipal authorities. Unlike other municipal albergues I can stay here for three nights and it costs 10€ with paper sheets and REAL towel! Luxury!

A siesta and shower and I'm ready to resurface after a couple of hours. I realise I'm tired! I want to pace my walk into Santiago; to arrive slowly and fresh. I will walk into town tomorrow morning and head for the Pilgrims Office and visit the Cathedral. Having time is a real privilege.

I set out to buy some ingredients to make supper and am directed to the local shopping centre and giant Carrefour super-store.

It's a terrible culture shock. I manage to put one tomato in a bag and then have to flee. The mind-numbing grossness of mass-consumption is bewildering and grotesque. Stacks of garden chairs, huge areas of baby wear, aisles of cosmetics, so much food.

So to console myself, I find a small old fashioned restaurant and order a very delicious gazpacho, salads mixte and una cuppa vino tinto. Delicious.

DAY 64. 10 JULY. BOIMORTO TO SANTA IRENE

July 11, 2016

Well, breaking all personal records I'm on the road at 6.30am; it's still misty and dark and I'm alone. This is the last stretch of the Camino del Norte and I'm savouring the peace and tranquility; a walk through mossy woods and flowing water; on the edge of the village I come across a spring issuing out of three stone spouts.

My tummy is not feeling great and I need to ask a farmer to use his loo. He's just finishing milking his cows and his wife is cleaning the yard. I try my best Spanish, but it's met with total incomprehension and I resort to my app. Very kindly I'm shown into their yard bathroom and then met by their farmyard pets: four dogs, two cats and a terrapin.

At Arzúa I stop for my picnic breakfast on a bench in a back street- it's my goodbye to the Camino del Norte. In a few yards I enter the Camino Frances; it's 9.30am.

A last look back at the Camino del Norte

Ola. I was expecting Oxford Street at Christmas but no; the Camino graciously gives me a few more hours of quiet. I soon notice some differences. Lots more bars, coffee shops and hotel signs. And a much broader age range and levels of fitness. For many it's a gentle stroll rather than a walk and for some it looks extremely painful. It's good to see families with young children with day-packs, with teenage children and grannies with dogs (one woman was carrying a small dog basket.) Groups of young people sit chatting in the cafes; it's a much more social affair. This mix would have been impossible on the del Norte; it's too demanding and demands a certain resolve.

I realise that 'del Norte' has gifted me a strong gaite and a good speed and that I've learnt how to use walking-poles! There's a lot of ineffectual pole-wafting going on!

I'm now 34km away from Santiago and part of me wants to arrive there and another wants it to be days away.

I've chosen to stay at Santa Irene because I liked the look of the albergue but it's a long 18 mile stretch with quite a few ups and downs and I'm very tired when I arrive there at 2pm. Time for a shower and siesta.

I have a snack lunch at the local bar and return there in the evening for an omelette sandwich and a canned peach - I couldn't face the 1.5km walk to a restaurant!

It's a full dorm of 25 people but I'm fast asleep by 10pm.

DAY 63. 9 JULY. SABRADO DOS MONXES TO BOIMORTO

July 11, 2016

As usual I'm one of the last. The pigeons are flying around the towers and it's hard to leave. It's a strange otherworldly place. I stop for a croissant in the bar in the square and then I'm on my way.

I'm expecting a flat walk but it's still quite hilly with tracks through mixed woodland. It's very quiet and I hardly see another pilgrim.

At 11am its starting to get hot and I stop in a bar for a cold shandy and the London couple turn up. Good to see them again but they're aiming to get to Santiago for Sunday. I've decided to have a short day as there's a very nice municipal albergue in Boimorto and I can then reach Arzua in good time tomorrow, as it will get busy from now on.

At Arzua I'll be hitting the Camino Frances tomorrow and the thousands of pilgrims on it. I'm not looking forward to the crowds.

I get to the albergue at 1pm and ring for the hospitalero. He arrives, gives me my paper sheets and leaves. This is a DIY affair, but it's very spacious and clean. I have a whole airy room to myself. The albergue is rather in the middle of nowhere set back from a main road. It's surrounded by reedbeds and a fishing pond.

I have lunch in a local bar; a very nice smoked salmon salad. Then I catch up with the blog and do washing- all the usual Camino things. Several sets of French people turn up during the afternoon but it's hardly full. A few cyclists too.

I'm finding I'm eating two big meals day! Or double meals- one after another! So I go to the supermarket for tomorrow's breakfast and then back to the restaurant for fresh tuna salad, half a bottle of white wine and an orange.

In bed by ten- I'm aiming to leave early before the heat kicks in. Tomorrow is my last day on the Camino Norte. I shall be sorry to leave it; a majestic and challenging route. It's given me a wonderful adventure and beautiful encounters.

DAY 62. 8 JULY. MIRAZ TO SABRADO DOS MONXES

July 10, 2016

I delivered my pack to a nearby bar/albergue at 7.45am and rather nervously left it in the foyer and set off for Sabrado dos Monxes. Walking without 8kg strapped to my back felt like flying; a day of being a bird rather than a snail. Hills were almost effortless!

The first part of the day was over granite

About 9am a yellow Correos van shot past me on a minor country road. I rather fancy my pack was sitting in splendid isolation in the back, enjoying the ride.

The walking today was glorious - a distance of 26km on granite uplands. Domes of exposed rock and huge boulders littered the purple heather and bracken. Black pools of standing water reflecting the blue sky. The flora is unlike anything I've seen before- delicate mosses and pale starry saxifrages.

There's a slight chill in the air to start but it became very hot in the afternoon.

Pilgrims start cairns all along the route but some become more sinificant. Boots often feature....

There are very few villages and they are almost deserted. I lose the yellow-arrows at one point and have to ask an old lady in a very tumbled down house for directions. I eat my left-over ham sandwich from breakfast for lunch, on a bench in a hamlet. There are no shops or bars.

I catch up with the gang of girls on a few occasions; they're chatty and fun and are wearing little skirts, trainers and day-packs like they might be going to the beach. On the edge of the District of Sobrano I pass a large reservoir covered with water-lilies that is the most dazzling blue. I thought I must be almost there but no...

I arrive in the town of Sobrano dos Monxes about 3.30pm, but the albergue doesn't open until 4.30pm, so I join Davide and the usual gang for a siesta in the front courtyard in the shade of a pine tree. It's an amazing place; there's been a monastery here since 952 AD.

The Monastery church is imposing and built entirely of granite.

The whole complex is built of grey granite. The main church is vast and the facade covered with carvings, but it has only two small windows. It is covered with golden lichen, lush weeds grow on the ledges and cornices; a flock of pigeons swirl around the towers and swallows squeal and dart from the belfries. There's a deep and heavy peace.

The monks in their black and white habits open the gates promptly and I join to queue to pay my 6€ donativo, but first I need to find my pack. There it is safe and sound, propped up with a couple others against the cloister wall.

The Cistercian order having been offering hospitality to pilgrims since the Middle Ages. I'm greeted and shown round by a friendly English monk, whose been living here for 20 years. We talk about BREXIT and a Danish pilgrim says "we are very sorry for you". It's a strange emotion to be pitied by a complete stranger.

The dorms are in almost dark stone chambers on the ground floor of the cloister but are clean and dry. I shower and hang out my laundry in the sun and go to explore. The church is vast, labyrinthine and uncanny. The granite walls are streaked algae-green where water steams down from the roof and the floor glistens. It's not used as a church and is empty except a long altar covered in a guano-splattered white cloth. Space after space unfolds.

Pantheon-inspired domes and passages with stark shadows cast from the clear glass lanterns. The second inner cloister has a nicely renovated chapel but I'm glad to emerge back into the warm sunshine and the land of the living.

People are immensely kind. The man in the supermarket offers and washes my apple for me.

I have supper in a cafe in the square; squid salad. Then back to the monastery for Compline; the final office for the day.

The monks' chapel is upstairs and is completely different! It is softly lit, has pine panelling and red glass windows, smells of incense and is warm and cosy. About 10 monks stroll quietly in wearing white hooded robes with very long sleeves; the entire office is sung by three monks. Very beautiful.

The gates are locked at ten- there would be no breaking into this place!

A special day.

The notice board in the monastery porch is covered with layers of announcements of funerals. Remnants and staples.

DAY 61. 7 JULY. BAAMONDE TO MIRAZ

July 9, 2016

A superb day. It started out misty with a long walk on a quiet main road to reach a railway crossing and then we were over a fast flowing river into woodland. Most of the walking was in deciduous and conifer woodland on tracks interspersed with sunny meadows and the occasional vegetable garden. Kale and cabbages.

The lichen and mosses on the trees are amazing, delicate pale-jade filigrees and frills; it must be wet here. I imagine there are low mists for much of the year.

A modern maize store with traditional design

We're in granite country and the farmhouses are built of giant blocks and the field boundaries are large slate slabs set in end- very distinctive of this area. It reminds me a lot of Wales; foxgloves and bracken and numerous streams of fast flowing water. Mist on the uplands obscures the wind turbines, that clears in the afternoon. They sneaked up on me this time.

About midday I pass a house behind a wall with loud music playing. At first I think 'teenagers', but then I look through the gate and discover it's a stone-mason's yard and house. He's working on a huge granite carving for an Albegue garden with the cross of St James and text on the reverse. But I'm more interested with a granite carving of a Celtic looking horned-man with enormous ears and shell-like hands.

He invites me into the house to show me a column holding up the ceiling. It's carved all round with his family tree intertwined like a vine. While I'm looking round he offers to stamp my Credencial- the last space I discover later. He seals it with a cross in red wax - I'm delighted that it's completed with such a flourish. Another meeting with a craftsman-artist. Wood, metal and stone. The Chinese system of elements would include Air and Fire too. Perhaps they'll turn up?

I'm staying at Miraz tonight. The albergue is run by the Co-Fraternity of St James based in Waterloo and has British volunteer hospitaleros/as. It's very comfortable and has a sunny garden and spin dyer which is good news. I meet the two English walkers in the garden; they've come to eat their picnic and get a flavour of Albergue life.

Later Davide and the Italian guy with the dog turn up. As well various other people I've seen before. One if the hospitaleras takes us on a tour of the charming local church.

I have decided to do something ground-breaking tomorrow! For 5€ the Correos (Post Office) will take my backpack to the next hostel! It's a 26km walk tomorrow with a 250m ascent so I've decided to walk with a minimum of weight. It's a fantastic system. You just email them and leave you're money in an envelope attached to your rucksack and they come and collect and deliver it. I wish I'd known before...

Menu del Dia and bed....

DAY 60. 6 JULY. VILALBA TO BAAMONDE

July 7, 2016

I lost one of my earplugs at some point last night and woke to find that there was a mega-snorer in the dorm. I had to find my torch to retrieve it, so I could get back to sleep. I reckon that snoring must be responsible for a vast amount of sleep-deprivation.

I slept until 7am and woke to discover that most of the dorm was empty. The men always leave before the women for some reason.

Off to a local bar for breakfast and then in the road. It's a lovely day with not a cloud in the sky.

I come across my first bus-pilgrims. The group is dropped off at the start of the day, everyone has a small day-pack containing 1 litre of water and are collected later in the afternoon. But the funny thing is that the bus magically appears from time to time to pick up anyone who's had enough.

About 11am I come across a small bar in the middle of nowhere; there's the bus and the Italian Viking, Davide, having a coffee! I stop too, but the 'Viking' is such a photo opportunity with his forked beard, tattoos and tall wooden staff topped with feathers, that the bus-pilgrims want their photo taken with him. He kindly obliges!

It's a nice sunny walk through pastures with lots of derelict slate farmhouses and tumbled-down barns. I suppose the Dordogne looked like this before the Brits snapped them up. But it signals the passing of a way of life.

The field boundaries are mostly large slabs of slate set in the ground to form walls and there a plenty of maize granaries to admire.

Painted granary with traditional ridge tiles

The Albergue is in a converted school and is very nice; with a loggia and a garden. Davide has already arrived, as have the Spanish girls from last night, the group of boys, a Swedish man and a Brit; Chris, who is a Catholic priest and icon painter from Yorkshire.

A quiet afternoon doing washing and blog; Chris asks me if I would like to attend Mass? Two of us sit at one of the small cafe-tables in the loggia overlooking the garden.

It thunders and pours with rain later, so my plans for a wander around town to look at the Romanesque church, have supper and a drink are literally awash. Luckily Davide, who is cook when not on Camino, is making pasta for supper. Delicious. Chris and I venture to the supermarket for bottles of wine and picnic supplies- it's an evening of international chat and Camino stories. An Italian guy with long dreadlocks and Bruno, a small black and tan dog arrive drenched after walking for hours in the rain. They are camping in the garden tonight.

DAY 59. 5 JULY. ABADIN TO VILALBA

July 7, 2016

I walked in low mountain cloud this morning; it blew in drifts across the path and after a while I stopped in a bus shelter and doned the 'red hunchback'. It's an atmospheric walk and after an incline it's a undulating sort of day. Gentle light and gentle gradients.

I'm back amongst oak woods and beef-cattle wearing bells. I stop to chat to a young horse and a couple of friendly dogs. Dogs are generally chained and bark wildly when anyone walks by- some are very scary and jump wildly at the ends of their chains.

I see my first motorway sign for Santiago which says it's 131km away. Slowly I'm creeping up on it!

I cross a clear dark river, a Medieval bridge in a birch wood and ford a small stream. The cloud begins to lift about 11.30am and blue sky peeps through.

There have been a few modern maize stores on the route built from air-bricks raised on concrete legs. Interesting but they lack the charm of the traditional wooden ones. On the outskirts of Vilalba there is a cemetery with an amazing concrete filigree boundary wall which I make a short detour to photograph.

I arrive at the Municipal Albergue in the outskirts of town at 12.45am but decide to walk into the centre to a private 10€ one, as I wanted to see the town. It's clean and I feel refreshed after a hot shower and change of clothes.

It's a nice place with a large parish church and a larger fortified tower. I eat my picnic lunch in the town square in the sun and then find a bar with wifi to catch up with the wider world. All very depressing on the Brexit front.

At 5pm I go in search of the Parochial office where I can get a new Spanish Credencial, since mine is almost full of stamps. I don't think they get many pilgrims ringing the bell!

While wandering around I meet a British couple from London in a bar. They are walking without packs and are staying in the hotel in town. It's nice to speak English again.

I find a good Menu del Dia in the local bar for 9€. A very delicious kale soup followed by meat balls and almond 'Santiago' tart with a full bottle of white wine which I share with the Belgian guy. He's off early tomorrow as he has to return home in a few days.