The moon hung low, casting an eerie white glow on the edges of the hills, a silent guardian watching over our passage. Each step carried the weight of the journey’s end and the promise of the pilgrimage’s culmination. The early morning air was crisp and filled with the quiet rustle of footsteps, the rhythmic sound of walking sticks tapping the earth, and the occasional murmur of hushed conversations.
As the sky began to lighten, the first hints of color painted the horizon. Our hearts, however, were heavy with a peculiar blend of excitement and anxiety. The excitement manifested in a restless energy that seemed to vibrate through our very beings, prompting us to pause frequently. Coffee, electrolytes, sandwiches, and pastries were consumed in hopes of calming our nerves, but nothing seemed to quell the anxious anticipation that marked our steps.
The trail led us through a tapestry of landscapes, from lush, verdant woods to the bustling outskirts of Santiago. Suburbs gave way to the historical heart of the city, where the architecture transformed before our eyes. Wide modern streets narrowed into ancient cobblestone lanes, and the familiar hum of contemporary life was replaced with the echoes of history. We were now surrounded by towering stone buildings adorned with intricate carvings, each edifice a testament to centuries gone by.
As we made our descent towards the Plaza del Obradoiro, the distant sound of bagpipes grew louder, welcoming us into the sacred space. The sight of the grandiose Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela emerged, its spires reaching towards the heavens, a beacon of our pilgrimage's end. The plaza was a hive of activity, a melting pot of emotions. Pilgrims arrived in waves, each greeted by a cacophony of cheers, laughter, and the jubilant ringing of bells.
The emotions that surged within us were indescribable: a mix of amazement, anticlimactic realization, overwhelming joy, and a strange sense of normalcy. The experience defied words, unique to each pilgrim. Amid the celebrations, we witnessed various rituals of arrival: a group of hikers chanting names as individuals ran and jumped onto a pile of backpacks, others knelt in silent prayer, some embraced loved ones, while a few simply sat in quiet reflection.
The heat of the midday sun began to assert itself, urging us to seek respite. We meandered through the labyrinthine streets towards our pension, but not without first indulging in a celebratory vermouth. We raised our glasses in a toast to our accomplishment, savoring the bittersweet taste of the moment. The rest of the day unfolded with a strange normalcy, our epic journey punctuated by mundane routines.
A nap provided much-needed relief from our exertions, and as the afternoon heat abated, we found ourselves drawn back to the square. The throngs had thinned, and the fading light cast a golden glow over the cathedral's façade. We captured a few more photos, attempting to imprint the memory into both film and our minds.
As evening descended, the city was alive with festivities in honor of St. James Day. The air was thick with the sounds of music and laughter, the streets filled with revelers. We sought solace in the quiet of our room, enjoying a simple dinner of hotel-room salads, followed by a nightcap as we reflected on our journey.
The day's fatigue eventually overcame the lure of the festivities, and we retired to the comfort of our beds. The sounds of celebration outside mingled with our dreams, a final reminder of the significance of our pilgrimage. The path to Santiago had been more than a physical journey; it was a passage through time.
We will take a rest day tomorrow, and then do the five day hike to Finisterre - "end of the earth".
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