A600AASS Day 20 - Salceda to Santiago de Compostela
03.10.22
27 Km
I collapsed on to the bed and closed my eyes. The French doors were open on to the street and the square and happy sounds and a gentle breeze washed over me.
A guitar started to play, and a sweet, strong voice started to sing:
She’s got eyes of the bluest skies,
As if they thought of rain,
I’d hate to look in to those eyes and see an ounce of pain
Sweet Child o’ Mine by Guns ‘n Roses wasn’t the first song I expected to hear after I arrived in Santiago. But those few lines — sung as they were — unlocked my soul and set it free for a precious few minutes. My mind slowly began to reconnect to my body.
We walked 27 kilometres today, the first 25 passing almost in a blur. People talk about the gravitational pull of Santiago and how it draws you in faster and harder in the closing days. But 1.5 kilometres out, time distorted and the unfelt fatigue of the morning’s work landed on me all at once.
Geraldine, a generous-hearted Irishwoman who we’d been bumping in to since sharing a meal and a dorm in Villar de Mazarif, fell in with us. Her gentle, wry humour wrapped its arms around me, lifting me just enough to keep me going. In turn, she hitched a ride on Chris’ remaining energy, and we became a sort of spirit train, steaming as best we could to the finish.
I had hoped for Chris’ sake that I might feel some sense of elation at standing in front of the cathedral, but it was all I could do to not hurl and turn in to an ugly mess of tears in front of the friends who had come out to welcome us.
I needed to lie down.
First, the socks came off. Red, itchy bumps covered my feet. Three new blisters glowed translucent. Then the shaking started. If I hadn’t been fighting some kind of bug for the past week, I might have sworn it was a demonic force leaving my body, but a fever and exhaustion are the more likely and mundane causes.
Out on the street, that same sweet, strong voice started:
When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fuckin' special
But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here
Creep by Radiohead.
Chris held me close. I let myself go.
I was here.
I was done.
I could rest.
And I could just be.
