The End of the Way. Pt1.

The final day of walking. Amazed at myself for being brilliantly resilient since all that was thrown my way since 21st May in Leeds, UK; bit vain too!

Of all the guys who left the final cafe this morning only the two Germans and I made it to this 3* Hotel(my only extravagant expense since leaving France); over a dinner of fresh tortilla and salad, tarte compostella and a bottle of Alberino we discussed which wine, movies, books we'd take to a desert island. I assumed they meant a book they'd not read before as you'd need something very long, interesting and unknown to you previously?

Late rise for me was just prior to seven. I am packed and will bathe again; I noted this morning the mozzies gave me one stinging in Bruma. Much welts!

Time for breakfast has come and gone and I'm on the final stage. Leaving hotel saint vincent lighter mentally and financially. The town that disliked people: Siguerio. Sure it won't let you down?

Checking down the way markers we break into Europe's The Final Countdown! Ochei heut act eight eidada.

Third or Fourth day straight when my GPS ain't registering so I can't measure my speed and distance. Not that it has any meaning as the end is nigh: 6.193k.m. The early morning chorus of cockreals and sparrows; missing are the cookoo from Aubrac and forever swallows swoooppping! Woosh and the moon hangs spinning with the north face disappearing.

Just gone midday I have reached the Oficina Del Peregrino. Found another helpful lady for two nights accom. Must now wait in a queue like a good boy awaiting a compostele; a qualification for simplicity. I missed a regal passage into the core of the heart. Twice bitten. There is no way I am clinging to that pathetically unreal need; listening to my heart is simple. Compostele can wait. If the crowd disappears at seven then I'll take Linda's advice and I will leave Santiago with a limit to my time in purgatory?

First call Vinoteca O Beiro and a glass of house Godello DO. Valdeorras with a Racion Salchichòn Iberico Bellota, vast green olives and pain. I wait in anticipation of Linda, and co. Passing my locale about 1pm. The WC Fields nosed local I saw last time on this street is dwelling with a 1906 cerveza.

I moved to the crossroads on the final corner of the way to eat queso and a Spanish Riesling or two. Off the conventional track. Guerilla. And I never knew a pilgrimage had undone so many.

Where is the trusting Santiago part deux? 21st left behind as we 0.01% watch in awe the horrible 0.99%. I was rescued twice in Santiago. But the rivers here run upwards in rumbling running bounding throngs. I wait for the answer here. I stopped for a wafer in Pontedeume. Faux town drunken Peregrino is back to watch me dissolve again. Life is thin so I ask for a Barrica Elisa Collarte four months in Barrique implant a density and happy vanilla mocha. I feel a coffee ice cream to finish. A feel lucky to have been given this once in my lifetime opportunity to come across most of France and Spain; eat, drink, walk and sleep. No matter that Santiago de Compostella sucks my left testicle. It looks beautiful and all roads had to lead here. Don't run run run anymore. Time for fun oh and there goes an Arabian knight? No! No, he's selling phoney watches and that's all folks.

I returned to pay my nights accommodation and find those pilgrims I lost by being so thoughtless and fast. So alone in the square opposite Saint James homage I look at the small groups, couples or individuals waiting for any of the faces I know to join me.

As I came through the square I felt a tangible elation and the smile felt a leap of my chest and I wondered if anyone had climbed the nave, or transepts, on the outside. But really there is no treasures here. The sky stretches and reaches beyond the horizon but I fear that has been cut out and sold by the square inch and all that is perhaps Chinese and never ever again the original.

There is nothing solumn in pipes played never ceasing. You simply don't need any back drop to the beauty of the star that dropped here and led prehistoric men onwards to any joy. Just let the world breath.