The Two Gorges.

He had walked out of the gorge, a place of fertile chaos, and into the foothills of a new reality. The underpass, "el primero de muchos," was a sign of what was to come—a world of underpasses and overpasses, of man-made barriers and concrete paths. He had chosen to follow the yellow arrows out of the multiplex, a wart of a place that promised many options but delivered only one answer. He was a Son of Seth using Cain's own tools to escape the trap of the world he had created.

He found a quiet, hidden reward for his choice. The bull ants at his feet, small and determined, were a living testament to a world that would endure. The yellow arrows, which he had once seen as a symbol of external order, were now a sign of his own freedom, pointing not to the aisles of a supermarket, but to Santiago. The Carrefour and its meaningless aisles were buried in its own gorge, a void that had consumed itself with its own consumption.

He was a pilgrim in two worlds now. The olives on his right and the grapes on his left spoke of a world of quiet labor and abundance. The drystone terraces and the irrigation ditch were a testament to a world of patient, enduring care. A white butterfly, a fleeting moment of grace, danced around his head for a moment, and a cock crowed in the valley, a sound of a world that lived on a rhythm that was not governed by the clock. And yet, a radio noise, a low hum of distraction, followed him up the Camí Sant Jaume.

He was walking into a city, into Manresa, with a pocket full of herbs, a handful of blackberries, and a sense of quiet accord. The pilgrimage was not a flight from the world, but a way of moving through it. He had found a way to carry the quiet truths of the Earth into the heart of the city, and he knew, with a certainty he had not had before, that his journey was not about reaching a destination, but about living the Way.