64
by police whilst walking through this
region, so I decided to insert the wooden
pole down my left trouser leg. I ended
up walking with one straight leg for at
least an hour before I dared attaching
the pole to my bag. What a sight I must
have looked all crusty and dirty, hobbling
along the roadside in the middle of the
countryside!
I lay the orange flag out on my bed
and with a black marker pen, I draw a
big smiley face with a peace sign in each
corner of the flag and vertically along the
inner seam I write ‘London – Finnesterre’.
After hearing that Finesterre is the Celtic
end to the pilgrimage and it is where
a lot of pilgrims continue on to after
Santiago, I make a solemn oath to carry
this smile all the way to Finnesterre in
Galicia.
After another holy evening, eating
fish in the local restaurant & drinking lots
As I march the last 20km to Santiago I have a strong
of red wine, I bed down to a chorus of
snoring in several different languages!
sense of feeling complete. I realise that for these last
Each completely unique! This reflection
only lingers for a moment, luckily I’m
200km, it’s as if I had found within myself what I had
drunk enough to fall asleep without
come to find. The only reason I am continuing to the
being bothered by this international
orchestra of late night grunting. The
end is to physically complete the pilgrimage.
following morning I sleep until 6.55am.
Once up, I slip on my boots, throw my
clothes in my bag with great haste and
efficiency, then charge out onto the
& moving like pistons on a steam train. 11pm, silence after 11pm and lights on at
pilgrims path with my orange flag very
Half way up I pass Patrick & ask if he 6am, everybody out by 7am” on hearing
obviously protruding from my backpack,
would like to walk alone, he says yes, so this I can’t help but smile sarcastically,
smiley face waving in the cool morning
I continue on. When I reach the top the every inch of me cringing inside. Up until
breeze.
view is immense! Dreamlike feelings now I have followed my own flow; my
Rain, storm or Sun. I walk towards
wash over me; I am above the clouds own rhythm of walking, waking up &
Santiago, following my feet like I’m
and looking down upon what seems like sleeping. Just the idea of being kicked
following my dreams. Through the
a kingdom of snow and marshmallows. out of bed early every morning when
eyes of every person I meet along the
After some profound contemplation I all I want to do is sleep late fills me with
way I can feel the gushing vitality of life
rocket down the mountain & swing into contempt for ‘the rule makers’. She
washing away my sorrows. Every step
the alberge hostel on the other side of shows me to my bed and I immediately
I take towards my goal I am becoming
the border (the first Spanish stop en set myself the task of making myself a
more myself. When the sun is at its most
route, Roncevalles). The alberge is an flag.
intense I take to the path, my rhythmic
enormous hall filled with bunk-beds. It is A few weeks earlier whilst walking
heart beat orchestrating my feet. Sweat
run by Dutch volunteers and on entering through the Pyrenees in the Basque
drips onto the dry, dusty dirt of the
the building I am welcomed heartily by country I had found a bright orange road
pathway and with every step the road
a blonde haired, middle aged lady. She flag on a wooden stick by the roadside.
becomes me.
advises me of the rules. “No shoes worn The memory amuses me. I remember I
It’s 8am. Laura and Patrick are
inside, doors closed and are locked at was afraid of being caught with the flag
readying to leave. Robert’s just left
avantoure
|
adrenaline rainbow
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