It seemed like today’s stage was going to be tough but I wasn’t too worried on the whole. Even if I had to reach Santiago at night with one of my legs dragging behind, I was determined that today would be the day I’d pay my respects in memory of the Apostle and all those who travelled the Camino before me, and then afterwards sprawl out in the Plaza del Obradoiro to just take in the moment. I went down for breakfast and after packing my rucksack for the last time, I set off on my forty-kilometre journey to the Galician capital. The path to Santiago doesn’t have too many ups and downs and so I marched my way through the first few kilometres at a good pace. Despite the fact I’m looking forward to reaching the finish line, I can’t deny that I’m going to miss all this; the feeling of being free, not having to stick to any timetables, with your only worry being what you’re going to eat that day and where you’re going to sleep. This is, undoubtedly, one of the Camino’s biggest charms, the fact that it gives you the chance to break free from your routine, look at reality with a little perspective and assess your life, all in a setting like no other and surrounded by people who you have more in common with that what you think. Needless to say, it’s done me the world of good.
While walking this path, I’ve been thinking a lot about the people of my generation and those who are just behind me. I thought about my younger sisters, who are now joining the world of work or are about to finish their University studies, quite a lot while writing these lines. I thought about the situation they are walking into and the difficulties they’re going to encounter or are already encountering to get a job and keep it after all the effort and sacrifices they’ve made. These difficulties affect me too but the difference is that I already have previous professional experience and a healthy track record, mainly abroad, which gives me more room to manoeuvre. Or, at least, that’s what I believe. I thought about them and all the negative messages they’re receiving due to the blasted crisis. I’m not trying to set any examples but, by means of these lines in which I’ve narrated the adventures of my professional beginnings, I’ve tried to send them a message of encouragement by implying that it doesn’t matter what other people say or think or how grim things are looking, what’s important is what we think and where we want to steer our path in life. And with “time, hard work and determination”, as Óscar said, we’ll come through. Didn’t our grandparents come through after a fratricidal war which left them totally and and utterly miserable? Now that was a crisis, lest we forget. I don’t think that the Spanish youth are in crisis, how could they be when they have their whole lives ahead of them and the energy to change their fate? Those who are in crisis are those who are governing us, those who got us into this situation, those who got too greedy and left us to suffer the consequences, those who still say that this is the way forward and that these are just black clouds that will pass. It’s them who are in crisis, and seriously at that; and no matter how much they stick by their principles, we have to make it clear to them that they can’t be the answer for the very fact that they’re part of the problem.
I also hope that these lines have helped to give some friends and colleagues of mine, who aren’t particularly happy with their jobs in various sectors, a different perspective and show them that a different working reality, such as that which I was lucky enough to experience, is possible; I’m referring to all the young people who are having to endure this so very typically Spanish leadership which goes something like, “you’ll do this and you’ll do it like this because I bloody well say so”, who go into the office every morning already feeling quite bitter, waiting to see what type of mood the boss is in today, accepting the fact that this is the price you have to pay nowadays for having a job; you’ve got to take crap for a few years and then things will get better. I don’t think things will get any better with this attitude because there’ll always be someone above you who’ll take advantage of your good nature and ensure that you continue taking crap. And if this is the system that you’ve been immersed in right from the very beginning, then it’ll be difficult for you to apply a different one to the next generations because you’ll come to the conclusion that this is the right one. That’s exactly what I’ve had to listen to in Spain from people who are supposedly very well-qualified graduates from the best business schools in the country: apparently one of the qualities that a good manager should have is knowing how to inspire fear in their subordinates so that they deliver, as apparently people work better with a certain dose of fear. No-one should have to listen to this nonsense… My experience has taught me that things don’t have to be this way. I’ve spoken about Gavin here before, but I’ve also been lucky enough to have other bosses who were, above all, people too and that’s exactly what they instilled in me: Vicente, Alfonso, Captain Pareja, Usama, Paul. Despite the bad name the banking sector gets, it was there that I met some of the most honourable and righteous people, many of them in the City of London. Real English gentlemen in a place where they make us believe that only voracious sharks lurk. The problem arises when organisations prioritise profits over people and give the promotions to those who not only say three-bags-full to the “company policy” but who also generate the highest profits, without caring about what means they use to do so. Rewarding this type of professional profile is like lighting up in a petrol station. And I think that’s exactly what’s happening…
I lived and worked abroad for eight years and no-one ever disrespected me in my professional duties. I got things wrong in my job, of course I did, and I was corrected as firmly as I deserved, but always in the most polite and courteous way. In Spain, things are different, and I wish I only meant a tad. There is a widely-spread business culture in our country which we’ve inherited from way back when and which we need to change if we want to go out into the world and be taken into consideration, as nowadays nobody buys into all this ‘huffing and puffing, showing you’ve got balls and raising your voice so that the staff deliver’ palaver, and Spain can’t go on being an autarky governed by the same four gangsters. I really hope that, instead of waiting around for the State to solve all our problems with a government job or different kinds of benefits, this so-called crisis creates a breeding ground for many young people to find the necessary conditions and support to create new companies where they can implement a new philosophy that will make you feel part of a project, where there is no peer-envy, where we’ll try to learn from that outstanding employee rather than wishing for their fall from grace, where the spirit of self-improvement is rewarded, where your boss teaches you without worrying that you’ve got your eye on their job and understands that they only shine when you do and that’s why they are your boss after all, as they have supposedly gotten to that position on their own merit and not for being someone’s son, daughter or friend. Then things would start to change and the people who have the drive to do things, but to do them in a different way, wouldn’t be forced to emigrate and the ones who would have to go and wash dishes all over the world would be the incompetent leaders themselves who are encouraging us to leave because the experience will do us good. And if we did strike this balance where they were the ones who went off and came back and those who want to change things and fight for a different future didn’t, then Spain would be a less mediocre country than what it sadly tends to be nowadays. Or at least that’s what I’d like to think, although I know I can be a bit too utopian at times…
Fifteen kilometres after I left, I arrived in a town called Salceda and decided I would stop off to get something to eat and drink. The Lithuanian, Ruta, had sent me a text message advising me to visit “A Casa Verde”, a rather unusual little bar apparently, run by a woman called Sonia who she asked me to say hello to for her. When I walked in, the bar was quite quiet and it didn’t seem to have anything special except for a load of graffiti and phrases written on the wall by pilgrims along with photos. Out of all the phrases, and there were a lot believe me, the one I liked the most said: “Just live your life and don’t give others any shit”. There was a young woman serving at the bar who I thought must be Sonia and a young lad of about twenty or so who I later found out was her godson. The chef peered out of the kitchen, inspiring confidence in me with his huge belly and rosy red cheeks, so I decided I’d have something to eat. I ordered a house-speciality empanada and a Coca-Cola, which they served me right away and which didn’t last any longer on my plate than what a sweet would at the school gates. I went over to Sonia and told her that the Lithuanian girl who was here in the bar a couple of days ago says hello. I described Ruta and her face lit up as she said that of course she remembered her. She suggested that we make a toast to the Lithuanian with a shot of their very own home-made coffee liqueur and, although it didn’t seem very sensible to start drinking at midday with the twenty-five kilometres I had still ahead of me, I thought one wouldn’t hurt. And one definitely wouldn’t have hurt, but the half a bottle of the stuff that I polished off did. After the first shot came a second, then a third, and what with the music, dancing with the people that arrived, more shots, the Mexican wave we did at the bar, Sonia’s godson trying to lift the chef up... I almost didn’t make it out of there. Sonia told me that I wouldn’t be the first one who came in for a piece of empanada and ended up staying a week. I really was enormously grateful to her for the good time they’d given me, one of the best of the Camino, but I told her I didn’t want to put off my arrival into Santiago any longer and that I should get going. A Casa Verde, now that sure as heck is a magical place on the Camino. Thank you Sonia and company!
I left Salceda at around two in the afternoon, a little sozzled to be honest, and under the blazing sun. After a month of rain, hail, snow, wind, and with only one or two exceptions, moderate temperatures, the last thing I needed was for the hottest day of my whole pilgrimage to be today of all days. I bought a litre and a half bottle of water which I decided to glug as I walked so as not to get dehydrated or waste any time. An hour later I stopped off in Santa Irene and sat down to rest in a tavern where the walls were covered in football scarves. I have to admit that that hour between two and three in the afternoon nearly finished me off what with the intense heat and the effects of the coffee liqueur that had kicked in. After resting for half an hour I left the town and three kilometres later arrived in O Pedrouzo, the theoretical end of the stage as stated in most guides if you split the distance to Santiago into two parts. I only hung around O Pedrouzo long enough to buy another bottle of water and have a brief look around the main streets of the town.
The next few kilometres ran through Galician woodlands and the truth is that it was quite a pleasant walk. The trees protected me from the intense prevailing heat and it was around this time when, after all I’d sweat and how well-hydrated I was after drinking three litres of water, I finally managed to shake off any hint of drunkenness I’d felt after leaving A Casa Verde. I received a message from Tim from Kansas telling me that he was with Michael from Boston and that they would wait for me for dinner. Sadly, they also told me that Eva and her father had left Santiago that morning but that they had finished the Camino together and looked really happy. I have to say I was really pleased to hear that the Californian girl and Dave had put aside their differences and finished their pilgrimage together. This news along with the fact that I had virtually reached the finish line put me in an even better mood. The Camino will always travel with me and I know that once I reach Santiago, it will hold a special place in my memories. This pilgrimage has, without shadow of a doubt, exceeded my initial expectations. Well, I know my mother and grandmother think that I just need to fall in love, find a white blackbird as my grandmother says, but this sort of thing starts to get a little complicated at my age. I think my grandmother knows that too. The last few times we’ve been in each other’s company I got the impression she’d thrown in the towel and written me off as a lost cause. At one of the last family gatherings, she took me aside and told me that she needed to talk to me. I told her I was all ears and, as if she was one of Al Capone’s deputies, she whispered, “Not here, let’s go into the kitchen”. I followed her, intrigued, and once we were over beside the stove, she said, “I’ve found you something in town, an only child with two flats in Zaragoza; you know what that means, don’t you? H-E-I-R-E-S-S! So get your socks on before somebody else gets in there first!” My reaction mustn’t have sounded as though I was too convinced because she then added: “come on son, do me a favour and don’t turn into one of those single forty-somethings who are alone in life”.
My only expectations before starting the Camino were to be able to overcome the challenge, fulfil a desire I’d had for some time now and to have a few weeks to reflect and get some perspective on the last few years and on how to deal with the ones to come. I achieved all of that and much more. This trip has reinforced my belief that life is a Camino with only two moments we can be sure of and which we don’t get to choose: life and death. What we can choose however, is what we do in between those two points. I wouldn’t say that doing the Camino has helped me to understand why my friend Alberto had to leave us, just as it hasn’t made me regain the little faith that I had back then, but it has helped me to finish coming to terms with it and to understand that people leave but their memory remains, and that by means of his example of always being there for people who need you and by means of that pilgrimage I couldn’t join in on all those years ago, Alberto was actually following the example of someone called Jesus Christ, who preached exactly the same thing many centuries ago, which for me is the essence of this Camino: stop contemplating your own navel and start thinking about others a little more. Or just open your front door and walk 800 kilometres with no destination in mind. The majority of people who embark on this adventure want to meet others and share their hopes, dreams and fears and, in my view, that is what makes the Camino so wonderful. If this Europe which is coming undone stopped contemplating its navel and went back to its roots, to the Europe of towns and people, not economic interests, then maybe, just maybe, things would be very different.
It was tough-going getting as far as the perimeter of Santiago airport. I thought I’d never get there; the path just kept on going. What’s more, the Camino brought me down a peg or two one last time for having got on my high horse the last few days thinking that I was unstoppable in the shape of a couple of painful blisters, one on each foot, which gave me hell. I walked through woodland running alongside the airport runway and then joined onto a main road which passes Televisión Gallega and the regional offices of Televisión Española. I thought I’d be on the Monte do Gozo (otherwise known as the Hill of Joy) by now but it took forever to get there. I was especially looking forward to reaching this point because I thought that I’d be able to see the spires of the Cathedral of Santiago, the goal after so many kilometres on the road. I finally reached the Monte do Gozo and was disappointed like you wouldn’t believe. I couldn’t see them at all. The little I could see was hidden by a row of trees which some bright spark decided to plant on the line of sight of Santiago city centre. It’s hard to explain what I felt at that particular moment. I suppose the tiredness, the little bit of dehydration I felt and the half a bottle of coffee liqueur that I drank at midday will have played their part, but I was bitterly disappointed. I had gone over this moment in my head so many times, arriving at the Monte do Gozo, seeing the Cathedral in the distance and sitting down for a while to go over my whole trip in my head, stage by stage, before finally making my way down to the Plaza del Obradoiro and concluding my journey. I just couldn’t believe that all I could make out were concrete blocks and trees. It was the same feeling I’d gotten as I arrived in other cities such as Logroño, Burgos or León, and I really thought Santiago would be different, special, an image that would remain imprinted on my retina. Nevertheless, it just wasn’t the case and I was left devastated.
I bought a couple of small bottles of water and sat down on the steps that lead down to the city from the Monte do Gozo, with the ring road to my right. Not one bit how I’d imagined my entrance into Santiago to tell you the truth. I took off my shoes and socks to let my blisters breathe a little. I then rummaged around in my rucksack and took out the t-shirt I have with Bud Spencer on it, one of my childhood idols, which I bought myself a few years ago but still hadn’t been able to wear because it was too small for me. Now, without that awkward moment of the scales glaring up at me, it was time to see if I’d lost a few kilos during the course of the Camino. The t-shirt fit well which improved my mood somewhat. I tied my cachirulo scarf from Zaragoza with the Basilica of the Pilar printed on it around my neck and put on the txapela I inherited from my grandfather Andrés. I put my shoes and my rucksack back on for the last time before tackling the last four kilometres to the Plaza del Obradoiro. I walked through San Marcos and the streets around the town where people were making the most of the good weather by spending the evening out on the bar terraces. I gradually headed further into the Old Town and found I was in a much better mood as I met other pilgrims and tourists who were cheering me on to the finish line, especially given that it was almost nine o’clock at night. As I arrived at the Plaza de la Inmaculada and the Palacio Arzobispal, the noise the seagulls were making made me look up at the sky and there, for the first time, I saw the spires of the Cathedral. I really thought I would have seen them before on the Monte do Gozo, but I can’t deny how overjoyed I was to gaze up at them defying the skies and, just then, I began to feel my body trembling ever so slightly. A couple of bag-pipers were gathering up their things in the arch leading into the Plaza del Obradoiro and, after saying a friendly hello, I asked them if they would play one last song to accompany a humble pilgrim, who had been walking for a little over a month from Canfranc station in the Aragonese Pyrenees, on his arrival into Santiago. They said they’d be delighted to and asked me what type of song I was after: happy, a little melancholic or just pure sad, to which I replied happy, of course. And so that’s how, to the sound of those Galician bagpipes playing the Muñeira de Lugo, without being able to hold back the emotion, 37 days and 883 kilometres later, I made my way into the Plaza del Obradoiro...
In loving memory of my dear friend Alberto, also affectionately known as Pasi…
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