We are home. At least the body is. The head space missed a connection and is stuck in a transfer lounge in some timeless airport cathedral. It will get here eventually.

Flying is a great way to go somewhere but a lousy way to come home. 36 hours, 3 bus rides, 1 train ride, 5 flights, 7 movies which merged to became one huge long complicated plot. How can you savour all the memories of a wonderful experience while going through all that. I should have started walking from Santiago and just come home slowly. Barbara always can’t wait to get home, me not so much.

We were proceeded by an angel. There was fresh milk in the fridge, the hot water had been turned on, there was a welcome home sign. We saw hundreds of images and statues of angels in Spain. I know a real one right here.

The battery charger is hooked up to the van, the first load of washing is on, there still seems to be enough money for the insurance and the rates. Home.

We went round to our local cafe and Trevor had forgotten our regular order. He always used to know two long blacks and brioche. He and Vivienne want to do the Camino next year so we talked about our experience but I just didn’t know how to explain it. Barry joined us. He walked the Camino last year and talked non stop about his journey. I didn’t understand much of what he said.

Barbara wanted to go to the beach, her happy place. So we walked down there. The tide was in and the waves were smashing against the sea wall so we didn’t actually go onto the beach. I thought this is where we should burn our boots and walking clothes. Not the lighthouse at Cape Finisterre. This is where our camino ended. There was a sign “Light no fires”.

The first load of washing was done. After the beach I even felt good about that. Until I discovered a red paper tissue had been left in a pocket and was now in a zillion pieces on every item of clothing. Welcome home. 

Tomorrow I will open the shed. Get the bikes out. Go for a little ride up to Peka Peka. We haven’t been on a bike for 8 weeks. We live on bikes. It will be strange at first but after a couple of kilometres it will again seem like the bike is part of your body. Welcome home.

When we awoke and looked out the window this morning the mist level had risen from about our knees up to just over our heads. We thought about having a quick breakfast, being mountain goats again, and going back up to the lighthouse in the hope of the views being better. About two seconds later we decided, nah. 

A long leisurely breakfast, at least by our standards, and the day was getting clearer with no rain. We could have caught an early bus but decided to stay and wander around the village until lunchtime. Finisterre is a delightful village. A large working fishing fleet, snorkelling, kayaking, nice sandy beaches and a popular holiday destination. The village and boat harbour are on the protected inland side of a peninsular with some wild surf beaches on the exposed Atlantic Ocean side. We easily filled in a couple of hours before coffee and going to the bus terminus.

The bus we came down on was an “express” and had taken two hours. The return bus was a regular hop on, hop off bus and took just over three hours. That was okay because it was a flash new double decker bus. Some very non-saintly use of the elbows and a bit of foot tripping by Barbara saw us in front row seats on the top level. It felt like we should be actually driving the bus.

About half the distance back to Santiago is along the coast and is very picturesque. Lots of seaside towns full of marinas, hotels, acres of umbrellas and tables. I would say they are very popular for weekends, holidays or a place for a holiday house for people from Santiago. Very much for the locals as this area is not part of the camino highway.

The bus drivers are amazing. I don’t know how they fit the huge buses through narrow winding streets, dodging cars, pedestrians, dogs. Never missing a beat. Yesterday in the rain we weren’t enjoying Finisterre much but after this morning’s lovely walk and an exhilarating dodgem ride this afternoon we were much happier.

We are back in the same monastery/hotel for our last night before flying home. The hotel kept our bags here so we could travel light going down to Finisterre. Went out and bought the obligatory tee shirt this afternoon, although I wondered why. The tattoo will be a reminder of our camino far longer than any tee shirt.

We will go out shortly for our last peregrino meal and bottle of vino tinto.

On the way home I will try and put together a few thoughts on our camino.

Finisterre, for the Romans, finis terrae, the end of the world. For them the most western point in Europe and beyond, nothing. It’s not strictly true. There is a cape in Portugal and another in Spain that are slightly more to the west.

Finisterre is on the Atlantic coast about 100km from Santiago. You can walk from Santiago in about four days and some do continue their journey. We took the bus – 2hours.

There are some rituals relating to Finisterre. Pilgrims wash themselves in the ocean and burn their boots /walking clothes. We never saw an ocean. Maybe there was one. The rain and mist made lighting fires impossible.

Getting the bus was a bit stressful. Seats are not able to be pre-bought or reserved, strictly first come first served. On Sundays there are four buses, the first at 9am,and we didn’t know how many would want to go out there. The bus depot was a twenty minute walk from the hotel which we turned into a forty minute walk by missing a street turning. We got to the ticket counter (for some reason up on the second floor!) a couple of minutes before nine. The ticket seller told us rapido, rapido, so we ran for the bus and just got on. Only two empty seats on a sixty seat coach.

Finisterre was rainy and totally shrouded in mist. We retreated to a cafe for coffee and santiago cake while trying to get our bearings and find our hotel. We had lousy directions and hadn’t done any research and it was Sunday morning so the place was deserted and everything closed. When asked, the Spanish always feel obliged to give you directions, even if they haven’t a clue. So they are not always helpful, although we usually can’t understand what they say anyway. Eventually we stumbled across our hotel and of course they weren’t ready for us. It would be at least an hour. The helpful man at reception suggested we go and look at the faro, lighthouse, on the headland, and the “traditional”  route started from the hotel and was only 2km, shorter than going up the road. Yeah right!

The track was traditional for goats, narrow, twisting, muddy, no directions. Eventually it changed into a dirt road and passed through something dark which may have been a forest. In the mist we couldn’t see a thing and after an hour were sure we were lost. Some parked camper vans emerged from the mist and we stumbled across a road and then a coach and car parking area. We searched about for a bit, may or may not have seen a building, a cross, a brass boot, some burnt clothes. A stranger appeared, took our photo for us and disappeared. I never ever saw his or her face. There are stunning views and fabulous sunsets here. Who knows?

Finisterre looks like it is a lovely little fishing village. If the rain and mist clear I will go and have a look this evening or tomorrow morning. We are back in the hotel and have dried off a bit. Not much to do so I might have to watch TV.

Every single cafe, bar and restaurant in Spain has a large screen tv in the corner and the volume is turned up LOUD. There are only two things on Spanish tv: sport and game shows. The sport is 90% football and maybe a bit of motorcycle racing.

The game shows are the same as everywhere else in the world. But in Spain, no matter what crazy, inane action is going on, there is always one common ingredient. Outrageously attractive young women in tight skirts perched on high stools. They are a permanent fixture on every set. The really creative thing is how the producers have made them an integral part of any and every show.

It’s still raining and the tv is on. I’m not much interested in football so will just change channels. A ha.

Sorry, I got a bit distracted there, lost my thread.

Barbara is asleep so I’ll put the tv on mute. The sound is pretty irrelevant to these game shows anyway.

Catch you later.

A very relaxed, laid back sort of a day. It was nice to wake up and not have to Vaseline the feet, carefully put on the toe socks, lace up the shoes, load the daily needs into the pack, swot up on what we will see today and remember to take the directions to, and name of, the hotel we are heading to.

A slow breakfast and a wander round some of the squares and narrow streets. I like it when they are empty, the street cleaning trucks have left the cobblestones wet, only a few earlybird cafes are open and it is so quiet. A few souls go into the churches for the early mass. The 500 pilgrims who arrived yesterday are still in bed sleeping off last night’s celebrations. It is far too early for the 500 new pilgrims who will arrive today.

At 10 o’clock we were waiting outside the information centre to check out the buses to Finisterre which we will use tomorrow. Then we settled into a table in a strategic cafe on the Camino path to watch the pilgrims come by. In the warm morning sun, over coffee and chocolate cake, we wished them buen camino as they navigated the last few streets. Some were bright eyed and eager, almost skipping along. Others limped, slightly stooped under their loads, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other. Everyone has their own personal camino.

At 11.30 am we were at the Sagrado Corazon tattoo and piercing parlour. Not for a piercing, but a tattoo. We had decided before we left NZ that if we completed our camino we would follow one of its ” modern” traditions and get a tattoo. Just a small one, in a discreet location. A lovely young Frenchman, with a steady hand, did the deed. We now each have a stylised scallop shell on our leg, just above the ankle. We chose the leg because for the last five weeks the legs have done all the hard yards. The Camino may not have changed us in any profound way, but now part of it will always be with us, we can never forget it.

Last night we went to mass in the cathedral to see the swinging of the Botafumeiro (“smoke-belcher”), a giant incense burner that hangs on a thick rope from high in the dome. The ritual requires half a dozen attendants, tiraboleiros, to get it swinging. Originally it was used to fumigate the sweaty and possibly disease ridden pilgrims. This is a large cathedral and seats 1,000. We arrived an hour early and already every seat was taken. At least another 1,000 of us were standing and eventually the doors were closed to stop even more from entering. It was a full mass and communion with a lot of singing. The singing was lead by a nun who had an amazing voice and with the organ it was magic.

The swinging of the Botafumeiro was started with an almighty blast on the organ. Straight out of The Phantom of the Opera. At the beginning of the service they said there was to be no photography but as soon as the swinging started a thousand iphones, tablets and cameras came out, all popping off their flashes. We were not in a good location so didn’t get a good view due to the large crowd.

Our hotel here, the San Martin Pinario was a huge monastery (20,000 sqm) built mainly in the 17th century and is now a hotel, church, museum, hostel and seminary. As with most of our accommodation it is beautiful, a mixture of the old and the modern. It has three cloisters and is on the south side of a plaza, facing the north side the cathedral. This plaza is one of the sunniest and so attracts a lot of buskers and street performers.

All day people arrive in the square in front of the cathedral. The tradition is for walkers to lie prone on the flag stones, and cyclists to hold their cycles above their heads. Early this morning a group of horsemen rode in dressed in ceremonial costume. They were Cavaleiros de Paz from Brazil. They performed some form of ritual that involved kneeling and a sword being placed on their head. A bit like being knighted by the queen. We heard reports these guys drank an awful lot of beer on the way to Santiago and it was only because the horses were sober and knew the way that they got here. Two other guys on beautiful small horses also arrived. We had seen them yesterday on Monte del Gozo.

Tonight we met up with a bunch of our friends Helen, Carolyn, John, Jackie, Peter, Alison, Vee, Evelyn and two other Aussies for a celebration drink. Everyone was pretty happy to have made it. I had my first Spanish beer. I have been drinking vino tinto all the way and had decided I would wait until I reached Santiago before a nice cold beer.

We’re here! Arrived in the square (Praza do Obradoiro) in front of the Compostela Cathedral at 11.45am. It was absolute chaos. Half the square was a mass of hundreds of pilgrims most either in a state of ecstacy or collapse. A large area was fenced off into little pens. In each was a guide with about 30 tourists. Each guide had a placard on a stick and an air horn. The guides yelled at their charges and every minute or so sounded off the air horn. Another area was fenced off so kids could race around a track on bicycles or go-carts. It was crazy.

We took the obligatory photos and decided to get out of there. We went to the Pilgrim Office, Oficina del Peregrino, to get our Compostelas. Inevitably there was a long queue and it took 90 minutes waiting in line before we reached the issuing counter. Our pilgrim passports were full with all the required stamps, dates and signatures. I was issued a Certificate of Distance and the second class Certificate of Welcome because I walked as a tourist and not for religious or spiritual reasons.

They obviously had advance warning that Saint Barbara was approaching and saw the halo above her head, as she got a Certificate of Distance and the coveted Compostela for those who have completed their journey for religious reasons. She swears it was all a mistake and misunderstanding. But you can’t fool God.

We retired to a cafe for a peregrino lunch and celebratory vino tinto. When we went back to the square it was a different place. All the pens, guides , air horns, tourists, kids, go-carts, gone. It was quiet with small groups of pilgrims sitting or lying on the cobblestones looking happy and contented.

So how do we feel?

A mixture of feelings. Grateful to have made it. Not smug or self satisfied as we met people who tried so hard and suffered so much.

Releived not to have to walk tomorrow. Not that at anytime did we want to give up.

It feels a bit of an anticlimax. We had never really concentrated on the destination, we were just happy to be experiencing the journey, and now the journey is over.

Our passports full of stamps mean more to us than the certificates we collected today. Every stamp is a memory of somewhere along the way. There is a stamp from every accommodation we stayed at. With the passport, the blog and the photos we can relive our journey. The certificates will be put in a drawer and forgotten.

A bit confusing and a shock to be back in a city again. It would have been nice to have walked in with our friends but they are all a day behind us and will arrive tomorrow. We hope to catch up with them tomorrow afternoon before we all go our separate ways.

Tonight and tomorrow we will explore this vibrant and colourful city before going on to Finisterre.

Today’s walk was pretty easy, only 15km. Everyone was in good spirits as you would expect. We went around the end of Santiago airport and under a large red and white striped structure which only contained a few runway lights. There were three large sculptures on the way into Santiago. The first is on the top of Monte do Gozo, Mount of Joy, and commemorates the visit of Pope John Paul II. The second is of two pilgrims looking toward the cathedral. The cathedral spires are now hidden by sprawling suburbs. The third , on a traffic roundabout, is a tall structure with reliefs of notable historical figures connected with the camino.

Today was the easiest walking day so far. Temperature was cooler because of cloud, the path was under the shade of trees and there were no big hills. The path was mostly compacted clay. It makes a huge difference to your legs and feet depending on the surface.

The very worst is probably ankle deep mud and cow dung. But after that the surface from worst to best is: uneven cobblestones, rocky ground, concrete, asphalt, compacted clay or dirt. The last with a layer of dry leaves is absolutely the best. You can tell what the path has been like by the tenderness of your feet and the tightness of your leg muscles.

We crossed over a huge abandoned civil engineering project today. At first I thought it was a canal, then maybe a motorway. Turns out it was part of the high speed train network, abandoned in the 2008 financial crisis.

We didn’t see our adopted singing children today but did spy the blue stealth bus, lurking in a quiet farm lane.

We had some walking alongside a busy road but the vast majority was through woodland. A lot of eucalyptus again today. Several of the 134 Australian species were introduced here in 1865 for use in construction, for which it proved to be unsuitable. It is fast growing, has no natural controls, drives out local species, messes up the ground with its leaves, nuts and bark and is enormously consumptive of water. Today the only difference we have noticed is the Australians we meet are enormously consumptive of alcohol.

Today was our penultimate day, only 15km to Santiago. We are definitely looking forward to a rest. We have kept fit, healthy and strong but there is an accumulating background fatigue that is slowly wearing us out.

The secret to our camino has been Barbara’s ‘Revive and Restore miracle muscle balm’. She was first introduced to it at the Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge. It is anti-inflammatory, muscle building, tendon and ligament strengthening, circulation promoting and scar tissue reducing. It contains organic beeswax, organic hydrosol of manuka, arnica and calendula infused in almond oil, castor and rosehip oils, oils of black pepper, cajeput, elemi, eucalyptus, radiata, ginger, immortelle, lemongrass, nutmeg, peppermint, lavender and vetiver. The 21st century miracle needed to complete the Camino.

Saints are pretty big in Spain. I can only think of two towns in NZ named after saints: St Arnaud and St Bathans.

A brief biography of St Barbara: legendary virgin martyr, allegedly killed ca. 303. Her father imprisoned her in a tower to keep her from men’s eyes. When she became a Christian against her father’s wishes, he nearly killed her, then handed her over to a judge who condemned her to death. A lightning bolt killed her father. Barbara protects against sudden death and is the patroness of things that go boom: lightning, artillery, mines and explosives. Emblem :the tower.

A brief biography of St Paul: Roman, known as Saul before his conversion on the road to Damascus. With Barnabas, took the message of Christianity to gentiles all over the eastern Mediterranean. Missionary and writer. Beheaded in Rome. Emblems: sword and book.

Ipod theme song for the Camino :Louis Armstrong, When the Saints go marching in.

We are travelling in the footsteps
Of those who’ve been before
But we’ll all be reunited (but if we stand reunited)
On a new and sunlit shore (then a new world is in store)

Oh when the Saints go marching in
When the Saints go marching in
O Lord, I want to be in that number
When the Saints go marching in.