The end.

Tonight, I was greeted as a peregrina at an albergue for the last time. I’ll pack my backpack in the morning, but carry it only 300 meters to the bus – my first non-peatonal transport since September 10.

I’d thought that nothing could rival the excitement I felt at Finisterre, but….

Back up.

It’s 0715 on Wednesday morning. We were up late due to the sunset viewing and subsequent 2.5 km hike back to the albergue, and the blogging/toothbrushing that evenings hold. We are tired. We are unmotivated. We spoil ourselves with a breakfast of hot eggs and avocado with bread, then hit the trail – er, road. A wrong turn (by me) leads us up 3 flights of stairs; my legs nearly can’t lift the load. My backpack has grown to 59.2 pounds (no scale available, but I’m sure I was very accurate and unbiased with my estimates). The sky is soon light, but without sunshine. It is windy and humid, the sky dripping at intervals just random enough to force us to keep rain gear donned and make personal sweat saunas as we hike up from sea level. I am wearing a shirt that has seen three days of hiking without washing, and am wishing every nose – including mine – far hence. Ivy and I stagger over rocky roads, kicking far more stones than typical, looking very much like we chose to enjoy too much of the most popular peregrino bebidas. Our feet drag, our eyes sag. At the 15 km mark, we stop at a café and order hot drinks to go with our sandwiches, packed at breakfast. We joke – comment – hint at calling a taxi for the final 16 km.

We pack up again and slump up the craggy concrete slope, moving slower, if possible, than before our break. It seems that whatever wind was left in our weary sails had relocated to the hilltop, threatening to topple us as we leaned into it. “Last day…last day…last day…” I told my creaky left knee, squeaky right ankle, and throbbing heels with each step.

Then, the 5 km remaining mark. The clouds split, the sunglasses came out, and my mental soundtrack quickly switched to (no joke) the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah. Pep was back in my step! I once again found (some) joy in pounding my feet against pavement again and again and again and again…and again. 3 km later, a detour to the beach to drop our bags, gather sand on our backsides, and soak in the sun and views of the surf. Promises of ice cream at our destination have just enough oomph for us to unfold our crumpled bodies and heft our bags again.

Muxía.

We arrived at about 4:30, overjoyed to see the sign marking the city limits (and yes, took a selfie with it), then continuing uphill toward our reserved albergue. We were greeted by an exceptionally welcoming middle-aged hospitalero who gave us directions addressing us by name and by “mi amor”. After receiving our paper sheets, it took me an exceptionally long time to get to the shower; I sat on my bed and stared for at least 10 minutes, reveling in the rest for my feet and legs (which continued to ache, but not in the continually escalating manner). Ivy and I agreed to share a dryer, so handwashing laundry was next – we decided fellow pilgrims were more forgiving of our Eau d’Camino than passengers on buses and planes. Then off for ice cream (Hallelujah!) and a last trip to the supermarket for breakfast foods (it only took three tries to find one that was open; ask me sometime about what I think of the schedules of shops in northern Spain).

Here’s what really sealed the deal on my love for Muxía: they FED US. For FREE. Vegetarian style. I ate my fill of homemade lentil soup, then overfilled on potato soup. The cracks were filled with joy (autocorrect on my iPhone, but it works); rather, hot applesauce made from manzanas picked from the hospitalera’s tree. Yummmmmm.

Finally, off to explore the town. Muxía’s name stems from something along the lines of “monks place” (Monxia), as this rocky outcropping was once a pagan holy place, then Christianized centuries ago. We creaked our way toward the sea, once again overwhelmed by the views.

Life had returned to my legs. I found myself scrambling from rock to rock, inspecting the view from all angles, admiring the awesome roar of the surf against the rocks. We watched the sun dip behind the clouds, and shared a watermelon on the rocks.

This was worth it. It was worth the steps and the hills and the aches and pains, the body parts taped back together. The miles upon miles through forest and on roadways, through mud and over scree. The early mornings and restless nights. The raw feet and sore shoulders. All of it was worth all of this.

Emotions are varied: exuberance, weariness, joy, satisfaction, pride, exhaustion, disbelief, contentment.

I have a intangible yet distinct feeling that this Camino has changed my life. I’m willing to keep going to see. 😊

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o those of you have been following this journey, thanks for joining me. You were an encouragement and a joy to share this experience with!

I will continue using this platform to record other events of Mi Camino, though at a much less frequent schedule than I have the past three weeks. Whether you choose to continue following, or to leave a bit more space in your email inbox, keep in touch – and Buen Camino.

–jms