Day 27: Arzúa – O Pedrouzo 19.4 km

I awake in the dorm, my mind skips around in the dark, the muffled light snoring entering my ears through my plugs is a comforting sound, but not enough to send me back to sleep. The last few days have seen our little group become very close. Tomorrow is the beginning of the end of that particular form, and the end of 28 days of walking for me. The thought of this starts some waves of overwhelming emotions. I lie in bed in a dorm room and sob silently for an hour or so. Is this just the end of the journey for me, and for our little group (we later call ourselves I Primitivi - The Primitives), or is it something else? I don’t really know. It just keeps coming out of me, and doesn’t appear to stop. I get a hold of myself enough to go to the toilet, freshen up, walk back and it erupts again. Over breakfast, the tears flow freely over my jammy toast, into my coffee. The sad, thin tissues in the dispensers on the table aren’t absorbent enough to cope. Something has come unstuck inside me.

The most recent time this happened was listening to quite a beautiful song called “Hasta La Raiz” by an extremely talented Mexican singer-songwriter called Natalia Lafourcade. I listened, translated, and just erupted. I wondered why. Where did this come from? Why does it resonate so much with me? Did I not finish the mourning my failed relationship properly? Have I been holding onto this sadness for some time, and just locked it up inside of me? Pulling thorns from my heart? Sacred smoke to clean every memory?

Sigo cruzando ríos,
Andando selvas, amando el sol.
Cada día sigo sacando espinas
De lo profundo del corazón.

I keep crossing rivers,
Passing jungles, loving the sun.
Every day I keep pulling thorns
From the depths of my heart.

En la noche sigo encendiendo sueños
Para limpiar
Con el humo sagrado,
Cada recuerdo.

At night I keep lighting dreams on fire
To clean,
With the sacred smoke,
Every memory.

Arzua doesn’t have much to recommend it as a stop for pilgrims aside from it just having a few supermarkets, most of which were closed on Sunday anyway - even the 24 hour place is closed as I walk past in the morning. I gather myself enough to walk along its single main street in the dim morning light to meet the other two Primitives. I walk inside, greet a few familiar faces, and walk back outside for some fresh air. Our little group starts walking, together at first, then separately, respecting each other’s need for space. Walking in our thoughts, driftwood on this stream of humanity. I’m lost in conversation with a pilgrim when I finally arrive at my destination, and overshoot by several kilometres. My friends have already arrived so I trot back to the town to join them. I don’t want to miss a second of this last day.

The afternoon and dinner in O Pedrouzo is a such a sweet final day on the trail. We sit in the afternoon sun soaking up some cool beers. Later joined by an Australian, and a Peruvian Tattoo artist Abraham. It’s our last rest before the final push, and it couldn’t be more perfect. I check in, and freshen up with a dip in the albergue’s unheated pool. Drinks in a beer garden, fine food with my two walking companions for dinner. It’s a fitting and sweet last evening for us to share together. Lots of laughter and tender moments. The Italian Primitive shares his strategy for going for a lungo (long one - you work it out) in the woods using a tree branch as a perch. It’s quite genuine and ingenious and has us in fits of laughter. I walk back with a warm, companionable feeling inside of me.