8:16am.

We left a little late, taking a coffee in the village instead of walking an hour first. We were also further delayed by watching the running of the bulls in Pamplona, again. I had no idea that they run those beasties every day for a week! It was just as terrifying watching it a second time. And just as annoying for Cecelia who had to listen to me shriek all over again.

We hit the road at what we thought would be a leisurely pace. We only had 20K to walk after all, with reservations (at a hotel!) at the end of it. I was certainly punchy. Couldn't stop singing "I believe in miracles....where ya from? You sexy thing, sexy thing- yow!" Oh it was in my head for days afterwards. In Marilyn's too I'd say. I think the excitement of the day must've overcome us because we were flying. We left the cafe at 8:16am and arrived in Santiago at 12:45. 13 miles in 4 hours including some mandatory stops to get our credencial stamped. . On this section, the last 100K, of the Camino a pilgrim is required to get two stamps a day in order to prove that he or she has walked the Camino.And almost every cafe or little store on this section of the Camino has a stamp. Since these 65 miles are the minimum one needs to walk to obtain a compostela, this is where most of the cheating goes on! So even if we didn't want to stop, we had to stop. And to be honest , we didn't stop very long, just long enough for the five of us to stamp our credencial and maybe have a quick pee.

The walk was fairly flat and mostly through forests of eucalyptus and pine. The eucalyptus trees were brought into Spain from Australia after Capt Cook's expedition of 1770. They're farmed for pulpwood , ie paper production. Environmentalists have some issues with them as they're somewhat invasive and non-beneficial to indigenous animals, but they are lovely to walk through. The trees soar above your head, like towering, leafy, clipper ship masts. Breezes circulate their aroma through the forest. On a sensory level they really suck you right into nature, making you feel like such a part of it as it wraps itself right around, and up and over you. At the same time, you are keenly aware that you are such a small and insignificant part of this big ol' world as you walk and walk , dwarfed by these giants. Yet another revelation on this Camino. You're only as big as your last step. And that step was just a mimic of another's, and another's, and another's going back centuries.

We know we are near to Santiago when we reach the airport. You don't know its an airport really, as you climb uphill towards it and there are no rental car drop-off lots, or arrival or departure signs to be found. Its only when the plane roars up and over your head on takeoff do you realize that "Hey! I think this is the end of the runway!" And soon you actually do walk around the end of the runway. The Camino must've passed right through the runway years ago. Well, I mean to say that the runway must've been paved right over the original path. One literally walks straight towards it (though there are so many trees and no other 'development' around you don't realize what it is) then you are forced to take a sharp right, another sharp left where one passes by all the lights and the reflective equipment, and then another sharp left up the opposite side of the runway. Its not the busiest airport in Spain either, so one could possibly walk all the way around it and not even see a plane. We are walking by it in the late morning, so we got the airshow. Brief though it may have been.

Soon we are nearing Monte de Gozo. The Mount of Joy. This is the famous hillside outside of Santiago. Traditionally it was the spot where pilgrims could first make out the spires of the cathedral, hence the joy. Nowadays, one sees nothing but modern development. Part of that development is Monte de Gozo itself. First there is a small chapel where, when we arrived, a group of Spaniards were deep into the rosary. Many groups stop or start here to say the rosary before they head into Santiago. In fairness, this chapel would hardly be called modern or developed, though you did have to pass all kinds of stores and cafe's on your approach to it. If you turn to your left, however, and look up the hill you will see the truly modern: the massive, modern sculpture erected in honor of the visit of John Paul II to Santiago in 1989. It is a giant stainless steel sculpture sitting up on the hillside that over looks the city. I don't think they built this hillock up, but I'm certain they cleared all the trees from around it for a

'mejor vista' . It is an interesting sculpture, but it shrieks of modernity, and really stood outfrom all the other monuments on this ancient path. I didn't like it much. We did take a photo there -the mums and the daughters. So regardless of my opinion on the sculpture, it will still be a nice memory.

Another nice memory is the walk from there. I was desperate for a pee at this point. I assumed we'd find a toilet, because here, on Monte de Gozo, is located the final albergue on the camino before you enter the city itself. Hundreds of pilgrims stay here every night. I think they have 500 beds in a compound just below the sculpture. But, where is the compound?!! We start down the road, we see no sign of an albergue and we think, "crap! We're walking away from it." Mary is also desperate for a pee. We look up the road; no pilgrims are coming. We dart into the bushes. they're big bushes and thorny too. We now have little, bloody souvenirs of our last day streaking down our arms. We push through and suddenly find ourselves in nature's equivalent of a port-a-potty. Dollops of toilet paper everywhere we look. We are not as clever or ingenious or daring as we think we are. Hundreds have ducked into this clearing before us. We then realize, that not all of them came to pee. Yeccchhh. We are sickened. But we are about to wet our pants, so we don't leave. We finish what we came here for, laughing at our desperation, tolerance, and our control over our own gag reflexes. Mary claims its another highlight of my Camp Gordita. I will bring my clients in there for one last, desperate attempt at shedding some weight. They'll pee, maybe poop, and probably throw up all in one spot. Voila! Weight loss.

We stumble out of the overgrowth killing ourselves with laughter. Once again, we have stretched the limits of maturity. Proving again that you're only young once, but you can be immature forever. A few steps down the road we see Marilyn, Mia and Cecelia turn left off the road. When we arrive a few moments later to that spot we look and see the entire pilgrim complex laid out in front of us. Cafes, laundromats, sleeping quarters and -toilets. Figures.

As soon as we leave this complex (after the other three have a civilized pit-stop) we descend into the city of Santiago. The city is not as I would've pictured it. Its not over-developed, but it is not a place that has missed the modern age. There is a roundabout and a highway cross-over as soon as we descend from the hills. We cross over a large bridge. There is the sign: "Santiago" . We have officially arrived. But we don't see anything medieval or even ancient. We are still really in the outskirts. Its another 15 minutes before we hit the old town. The streets suddenly narrow and splay off of each other. It occurs to me that we are in a car-free zone. Old men gather at corners for discussions. Groups of school children huddle in small piazzas. We are getting closer. Cecelia and Mia have left us. They are somewhere up ahead. Oblivious to any kind of ceremony that we adults might have in mind to mark the end of this journey. We look for yellow arrows, but they too have suddenly disappeared in the old town. Too ugly? Too reminiscent of the graffiti that adorns most of Spain? We look for the scallop shells. There they are: brass shells embedded into the pavement. We follow them. Suddenly up on our left is the baroque monster that is the cathedral. We are at its northeast corner. It is so ornate, and dark and ominous. And it is what we have been walking towards for so long now. Goose bumps are pushing up. I can feel a lump in my throat and tears gathering in the lower lids of my eyes. Is this really the end? We walk by the Semanario Major across from the Praza da Immaculada. We hear the unmistakable wail of bagpipes. We are reminded once again that we are in Galicia, home to Spain's Celts. There is a piper in the tunnel that leads to the Praza Obradoiro and the main entrance to the cathedral. We pass him, and come out through the tunnel into the light and the massive, open plaza that is the end of the road for a pilgrim. Now I'm really having trouble seeing; the tears are flowing. Why? Who knows. Clearly release. Besides blisters, I would say that the most common pilgrim experience is tears. Cecelia and Mia are sitting on the ground, smack in the middle of the plaza, waiting for us. Cecelia knows that I'm crying even from 100 yards away. (Maybe that's why she bolted off ahead of us; like she needs to deal with Mum's waterworks again.) But, she gets up to greet us nonetheless. She is not having the same reaction as I am. I think she is just relieved to be done walking. That is her joy, for now. I'm sure she is not the first pilgrim to feel this way. But nonetheless, I'm still glad she decided to walk the Camino. I felt that it would be an incredible experience for her, even if it takes her years to acknowledge it. I'm feeling a little isolated however. Cecelia is glad to be finished, as is Mia. I can't gauge Mary's response to the end of two weeks of trudging. Marilyn has only walked a week. I didn't expect her to be overly emotional. I'm the only one crying. I feel like something or someone is missing. I think of Stefania and Kerstin and Claudio somewhere behind us. That is what's missing. I wish they were here with us.

Suddenly we are wrapped up in documenting the moment. We are taking the obligatory photos with the cathedral as our backdrop. Tourists are staring at us; we have all the markings of pilgrims. We are definitely grungy. Our clothes are stained, our skin is bronzed, our hair is wind blown and yet still matted from sweat and dirt. Oh, and we have rucksacks. Big ones. With big scallop shells hanging off of them. I funny, strange feeling sweeps over me; I feel proud. And I think rightly so.

End of the line...

Our final day on the actual Camino. Sigh....We slept a little late this morning (til 6:45) as we got in late last night. Late for pilgrims that is- 11:00pm!!. Our final night on the road was spent in a town called Arco do Pino. Its a strip of a town just 13 miles or so outside of Santiago. We made decent time yesterday, and all of us made it into the private albergue before it filled up. We tried to save beds for our Spanish family by paying for them ahead of time, but the hospitalero refused. Luckily, Manu, Andrea and Guillermo were the last three pilgrims admitted. We were so pleased by this. We shared our last meal with our band of brothers. Well sort of. There are so many of us now that no restaurant could possibly fit us all at one table. But since there was only one restaurant up at this end of town, we were all dining virtually ensemble anyway. I guess not many of us wanted the evening to end because there we all were, at the bar after dinner, having another....Who you may ask?

The German hand-holders that I met at the peace prayer in La Faba. This adorable couple was always together. They seemed to be in their early 50's. She a blonde and a tad on the pudgy side. He was short, stocky, balding and hearing impaired (hearing aids in both ears) Both of them with a ready smile. And both of them always arm-in-arm or holding hands. We had a bet that they were newlyweds. Hah! It turns out that they had been together for 14 years. But here's the kicker: they weren't married!!!

Next, "the English". They weren't really English; they were Bavarians. But Alwin had such a kicker of a sense of humor. When they made a major navigational faux-pas in a village a few days back, he explained that it was because "we are English", all in heavily accented German. One of those "had-to-be-there" things, but also a saying that he would repeat until our goodbyes. There are three of them: Alwin and his girlfriend Stefanie, and their friend Jurgen. Jurgen is an amazing carpenter. He fashions houses out of whole timber logs. He showed us some photos of his work. Beautiful. I'll never forget the first time I saw him. He looked so Bavarian. He was wearing big-ass hiking boots, the type that rise way above the ankles. They were made of thick leather and had stiff vibram soles. He also wore a pair of hiking shorts that resembled lederhosen in all but the fabric. They were not made out of leather. On his head, he wore a hat with a feather stuck in it. They only thing not stereotypically Bavarian about him was his build: he was as lean as a thoroughbred- not an ounce of fat on him. He had almost no English, and was shy to boot, so our communication was limited. But you could tell from his smile and his eyes that he was a lovely person and a good friend of Alwin and Stephanie. Who else would be a third wheel for 500 miles?! Stephanie, we figured out after several days, was Alwin's girlfriend. Now maybe the two of them figured that out around the same time as we did, I don't know, but suddenly we noticed a little hand-holding, and close whispering now and again. She was a software engineer, with short-cut hair and big, 80's-style eyeglassses. She loved to laugh and to connect with people. Her English wasn't bad, but I think she deferred to Alwin as he was much more confident in speaking than she was. If you talked to her on her own, she fared just fine.

Kelly. Kelly is a teacher at a private high school in Ohio. SHe's 30ish. She has popped in and out of our lives since Astorga. I think she started there. She is fun, fit, and has an appropriately dry sense of humor for our little crowd. She is a delight to bump into when we do. Always ready to share a glass (or bottle of wine) and chat. She is also impressive in her independence; she finds her way and her walking partners each day it seems.

time they're a group of Spanish guys from Burgos. Mary and I are wondering which one she has "a thing" for! No matter, they all seem very nice. One of them was nicknamed Sid Vicious by Cecelia and Mia. He earned this not because of his temperament; he walks with, and dotes on, a lovely mutt. Nope, despite his piercings and punk appearance, he acquired his moniker solely

from a Sid Vicious t-shirt he apparently wore. I never saw it.

Also burning the "midnight oil" (at 10:30pm!) was Manu. He was buying everyone their last drink. To be honest, I don't remember if I had one. Knowing me I did, but...! Marilyn was there of course, as was Kelly. We were so enjoying ourselves when we suddenly realized, in Cinderella-esque fashion, that it was five minutes to eleven. The albergue locks its door at 23:00! Suddenly all of us are chugging our beers, and not all of it making it into our stomachs, with the dribbling, backwash and snorting. We dash across and up the street just as the hospitalero is closing the door. One by one we squeeze into the foyer. We huddle together, checking to be sure we are all inside. After several hours of beverages and belly laughs we are suddenly forced to whisper; there are pilgrims asleep just a few feet around the corner. This is not an easy task I'll tell you, not with a belly full of beer and the giddiness of your final night upon you! And giddy we were. It was if we were transported back to our college days, sneaking into the dorm or the summer cottage, all liquored up. Kelly has it easy; she got a bed on the first floor. She bids us all goodnight and tiptoes around the corner. The rest of us have to navigate the 20 steps up to the second floor. The place is very airy, with high ceilings and tile floors- all the better to amplify the snickers and chortles. There is very little light, and like all albergues at this hour, there is now an obstacle course of shoes and backpacks and bunkbeds to navigate around in order to reach one's own bed. But then we have to back track this same course because we have to pee and brush our teeth before we retire. This was not seamless or silent, need I add. Again, very sophomoric, but we were enjoying it all!

The three of us, Marilyn, Andrea and I, are finally back from the toilets, getting into our sleeping sheets when suddenly, from out of no where, I have a funk attack. The song "I Believe in Miracles" has jumped into my brain. From where or why, I still have no idea. I lean over towards Marilyn, whom I can barely see through the "curtain" of her drying underwear and socks, and sing " I believe in miracles...where ya from? You sexy thing, sexy thing yow!" We lose it. A chorus of "shhhhhhhs" erupt. We lose it some more. I sing it again. Though this time softer. More snickers. More "shhhhhhs" . More memories. We fall asleep, smiling.