Today most of the group leaves Santiago to head home.

It will be very sad saying goodbye. We’ve shared some extraordinary experiences together. But I think the friendships formed will last a lifetime.

Here below are my favourite photos of each of them –

Peter –

Julie –

 Peter & Julie

Ken –

Angie –

Angie and Ken –

Angie and Julie –

Arlene –

Steve –

Arlene & Steve –

Greg –

Donna –

Donna and Greg –

Ken again –

Marie –

Ken again –

Catarina –

Jennifer –

Ken again –

The group –

Notice Ken behind Arlene….

Happy and safe travels home guys –
Bill & Jennifer

It’s been a hell of a day.

If I can say that in terms of a pilgrimage.

I decided to leave early – at 6am – an hour and a half before sunrise. I wanted to do this for two reasons – 1) because I wanted to get the Compostelas for the others, (a Compostela is an official document to verify that you’ve walked the Camino) and 2) because I wanted to walk by myself this morning into Santiago.

I walked an hour before I found a place to have breakfast – a truck stop.

I then hit the road again, eschewing the yellow arrow paths and sticking to the National Route – the highway. I knew the highway would take me to Santiago, and I didn’t want to get lost in the dark.

At about 8:30am I left the highway and joined the Camino proper, following paths that cut through farmland and small villages.

But it very quickly became urban –

As I got closer to Santiago, I started to feel more dislocated. I kept asking myself the question that Steve had asked me: Which are you, a pilgrim or a tour operator?

I knew the answer to that question would become apparent to me today.

Let me explain about the Compostelas. The way it works is that at the start of a Camino pilgrimage, you are given an official Credential, which is dubbed The Pilgrim’s Passport. Each day you get this passport stamped by a hotel, or an albergue, or a church, or at a registered cafe or restaurant.

When you get to Santiago this credential is then examined, to determine whether you’ve actually walked the Camino, and if it all checks out you’re then given your Compostela. This year for the first time there are two Compostelas; the regular one, which is free, and a fancier one which costs, and details how far you’ve walked, where you started from, etc.

Last night I’d gathered up all the group’s credentials and I had them with me in my backpack. My task was to get into Santiago early, go to the Pilgrim’s Office and collect all the Compostelas on behalf of the group, so that they didn’t have to queue for an hour.

Yesterday, 1500 Compostelas were issued. 1500 pilgrims arrived in Santiago having walked a Camino. That’s just in one day. The office was expecting even more today.

Perhaps because I’d set off so early, I walked for most of the day alone. And because it was Easter Saturday, there was hardly any traffic on the road. The air was cool, there was cloud overhead with the threat of drizzle, but it didn’t rain.

We’ve walked the entire Camino without one drop of rain.

Within no time it seemed I was on the outskirts of Santiago, feeling decidedly weird. I passed a concrete column, on which someone had written the word ANGEL. Why write it there? Why write it at all?

The scrawled letters, and on a busy street on a concrete column, all seemed totally incongruous.

Anyway, I knew I had to get the Compostelas quickly, before the group came in. But I also had an overwhelming desire to first go to the Cathedral, and stand in the square. I knew I had to do that first. And then it occurred to me – I must be a pilgrim, if that was my priority.

Me, a non believer.
Me, a non Catholic.
Me, a non Christian.

That’s what I did. I walked into the Cathedral square just on 11am – as the bells peeled off the time, the ancient booming sound resonating through my body. I stood there for some time, letting the energies of the place seep into me.

It’s indescribable.

I watched other pilgrims arrive. I took photos for some of them. And I asked a lady to take a photo of me.

I felt proud to have walked the Camino Portuguese. Even though it’s relatively short, it’s a gnarly little walk with some very tough sections. And 240kms in 12 days – 20kms a day on average – is an achievement.

But for me, it’s not about distance or average kilometres or pace – it’s about walking another pilgrimage route. It’s about following in the footsteps of others over the centuries. It’s about seeing around me every day the reminders of what an ancient path I’ve trodden.

I called Catarina and we then went to the Pilgrim’s Office. Already it was packed, with a line stretching out into the street.

Johnnie Walker, the Camino’s Administrator, had very kindly fast-tracked me – he’d pre-prepared the Compostelas – so Catarina and I walked right to the head of the queue and picked them up on behalf of the group.

We then walked back to the square, and who should we see coming towards us, doing a little jig, was Steve.

He’d gone ahead of the others. We went and had a drink and he offered some gum to Catarina. Later, after much mastication, she put it with the spent olives.

It offended my delicate sensibilities – but it would pale into insignificance compared to what she would do later…

The group then arrived – we hugged and congratulated each other – took a shot, then checked into the hotel.

Catarina had picked up a neat car parking spot very near to the hotel, (she was very proud of how close she’d got the van to the hotel) so we unloaded the bags and each of retreated to our rooms to begin to process in private what we’d just done so publicly.

Jennifer wanted to go get something to eat – so we had a meal up the road in a favourite cafe. it just so happened that in this crowded cafe, there was a table by the front window.

While sitting there, I happened to look outside into the square and I noticed a vehicle about to be towed. There were police cars everywhere, and this black van was being hooked up to a tow truck.

Hah – I thought. Same type of van as ours, but ours doesn’t have that railing on the roof.

Or does it?

I rushed out of the cafe. The tow truck operator had now lifted the rear of the van off the ground, and was about to tow it away. The cops were writing it up.

I raced up to them, told them it was my vehicle, that I was a tourist and didn’t know any better, and that I was also a pilgrim – and that they should have mercy on my soul. Or at least my wallet.

A pilgrim driving a brand new black Mercedes van didn’t seem to hold a lot of sway with them. They kept writing it up.

Meanwhile tthe rest of the group had wandered up, and was watching with barely concealed mirth.

The cops needed to see the rego papers, so I scooted back to the hotel, (luckily it was really close) to get the van keys off Catarina, who was asleep. I called her room, told her what happened, and she was mortified. “But it was such a great parking space,” she mumbled, half asleep.

€173.50 later, it was sorted.

Catarina had parked the van in the morning, along with several other vehicles that had parked there. But she’d failed to notice a sign which said you couldn’t park from 10:30am on. It was 3:30pm.

The whole incident provided us with a lot of laughs, some embarrassing photos, some lessons for a young driver, and another example of PGS.

If Jennifer hadn’t suggested we have a bite to eat at that cafe, if that table by the window hadn’t been free, if I hadn’t spotted the tow truck and wandered out… then the van would have been impounded, we might not have got it back till after Easter, and it certainly would have cost a whole lot more.

Later that evening we had dinner together, and I handed out the Compostelas. Everyone clapped as each of us got the formal document, in archaic text and script, to say that we’d walked the Camino.

Peter then said some very kind words on behalf of the group – thanking Jennifer and myself – and Ken, bless his socks, read out a poem he’d written about the tour. It was very funny and insightful. He’s given me his permission to publish it separately.

I in turn told everyone that Jennifer and I had been so fortunate to have such an amazing group of people. And that each day for us had been enormous fun. And it had been. And I in turn thanked them, for making it so easy for us.

I also thanked Catarina. Her parking prowess aside (“But Bill, it was such a great parking spot!”) she’s been a huge asset to the tour. Funny, gorgeous, always incredibly helpful, she’s been terrific. If we were to do another tour, then she would definitely be a part of it.

It was a low key dinner – I think because we all had the sudden realisation that after two glorious weeks, it was coming to an end. Tomorrow, Easter Sunday, would be our last day together.

Over drinks after dinner, Donna asked Peter and me whether walking into the Cathedral Square was more emotional second time around, than the first. Peter and I both agreed that it was – Peter saying that today he knew his way to get to the square, so he could anticipate more, and it hit him more deeply.

I agreed, and also told Donna that last time I’d been confused – confused that I should have felt something when I didn’t. I felt very flat last time. This time I did feel very “zoned in,” as though I was walking in a bubble, and all sounds were muted, and my vision was limited to only what was immediately ahead of me, what would lead me to standing out front and looking up at St. James, and sensing the enormity of the occasion.

Not the enormity of what I’d done, because that was by no means enormous in any sense of the word, but in following the footsteps of millions of others. That’s enormous – what what pain they’ve gone through, what suffering and deprivation, what faith and belief they must have had, to do what they did.

Standing there in the square, looking at the hundreds of people milling, I told Steve that I believed we were witnessing a shift in human consciousness. The Camino is becoming a cultural phenomenon. Why? Young kids are walking the Camino, old people, sick people, people from all over the world. What’s going on here? The Camino is hard. Don’t anyone try and tell you otherwise. I’ve now done two, and both have taken the stuffing out of me.

But I would do it again.
Why?
I really don’t know.

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday, with a big mass at the Cathedral, followed by a large Semana Santa procession. It will be an incredible last day.

I’ll make this post quick – because it’s now well after midnight and I have to be up at 5am to leave early – to walk the last day into Santiago.

I will do this post with pictures largely –

I saw Jennifer and Marie leave the hotel in Caldas de Reis from my breakfast table through the window –

The walk today was about 23kms, through beautiful wooded glens along leaf strewn paths. It was overcast and at times slightly drizzling – but it never rained.

I walked with a number of people, including Tim and Cathy (delightful people), Steve (a true animal whisperer), I bumped into Jennifer and Marie at a church (where else would those two hang out?) and Angela and Julie, and Julie and Peter.

Look at these faces. These people look happy. This is the Camino. Jennifer and I call it the “Camino Shine.” You can see it in their faces.

This is a magic walk.

It was a long day – our feet were hurting as we walked into Padron, where we knew there was going to be a Good Friday Semana Santa procession. Steve and I bumped into some of the participants dressed up in their gear, walking to the town.

There was a mass at the town’s church, with hooded participants waiting to commence –

This hooded man, while waiting for the procession to start, did a quick check of his emails…

The procession wound its way through the street, to the heart pounding beat of drums, and the stamping of the wooden crosses on cobblestones. I am not a Catholic – as I’ve said many times before – but I found this deeply affecting.

Disturbing.

Effigies were carried along in the procession, and you really did get a sense of what it must have been like, carrying Christ to his cross.

Tomorrow we enter the holy city of Santiago –

Today we will walk to Padron. Tomorrow we will walk into Santiago.

It’s all gone way too fast.

And yet, when I think back on the day we left Porto, walking up the coast on that beautiful boardwalk, it seems like another lifetime ago.

Here are some pics I quite like, which I haven’t published yet…

What am I – a pilgrim or a tour organiser?

Steve posed this question yesterday, and also asked why would I want to do more of these?

This tour has been an opportunity for me to walk the Portuguese Camino with a bunch of friends. Some have been people I’ve got to know off the blog, others have been people I’ve only met a couple of times, or not at all.

Steve and Arlene are like two buddies I’ve known a lifetime, yet never met face to face.

But we’ve all come together as a group in a very profound way.

Jennifer and I are very fortunate in that these are the nicest people – as a group, and individually. Genuinely wonderful caring funny people. That’s made our job soooo much easier.

But getting back to Steve’s question: why would I want to do more of these tours?

For me, the Camino is about the transformative power of the soul journey. That’s where the Camino is different to other “walks.”  The Camino carries, with every step, the soul imprint of everyone who’s walked The Way before.

That soul imprint seeps into your very being In sometimes the subtlest of ways, and sometimes explosive ways. I’ve witnessed both with some people in this group, even within this short period of time.

(the soul imprint is the cosmic residue you leave behind – the shadow and echo of the soul connection you make with The Way with each step you take.)

Have I undergone any subtle or explosive transformations? I don’t know. I’ve certainly learnt a lot. I’ve learnt a lot from observing the pilgrims in this group. They’ve taught me heaps.

But as for anything powerfully transformative – well, what I discovered from the previous Camino is that your deeper lessons sometimes blindside you weeks or months after you return home.

I met a fellow today – a young Korean chap. He was walking fast. He’d already walked 40kms when I met him. He’d walked 36kms yesterday. When I asked him why was he walking so fast, he said he didn’t know.

He then told me this was his 4th Camino.

I asked him if he’d done his other Caminos at this blistering (literally) pace.

He said he had.

I asked him why was he walking the Camino. He said he didn’t know. And then I suggested to him that if perhaps he slowed down a little, the answer to his why would catch up to him.

Some of us live fast busy lives. We keep ourselves distracted through furious activity. But we move so fast that we don’t allow our soul to catch us up. We’re disconnected from our true purpose, our true selves.

Slow down, and let the “why” catch you up…

I slowed down today, and took some shots… (from Pontevedra to Caldas de Reis – 23kms.  Two days to go now to Santiago.)

The Way works in the subtlest of… well… ways.

Today is our 9th day, and I see amongst the group several people starting to open up, starting to reassess their lives, starting to question their way of doing things.

I won’t go into specifics, because of issues of privacy – however I see the Camino really starting to work on them – get into their bones, into their souls.

Many will leave this Camino having undergone some fundamental changes.

Will these changes be permanent? Who knows. That’s the challenge, once you leave the Camino. And perhaps it’s one of the reasons why so many like to come back.

As Steve said the other day, the Camino is not the real world. I agree, it’s not – but maybe you need to step outside the real world for a while to see how unreal your real world is.

Only then can change happen.

Couples who’ve walked together the past week are now, quite amicably, wanting to walk alone. They need the “alone” space to think things through. The other respects that. And often the other wants that time alone too.

Allegiances have shifted. So too the dynamics between people. It’s subtle, and fascinating to observe.

What about me? Have I undergone any changes?

It seems my changes this time – or at least the lessons I’m learning – are coming to me through the refraction of others.

There have been a few occasions when one of the group has broken down and started crying – not because the walk has been tough. Not because their feet hurt. But because they’ve suddenly faced a realisation they’d been denying for so long. Or they’ve suddenly seen a way forward that hadn’t been apparent before. Or they’ve suddenly understood a universal truth that hadn’t been clear before.

Or they suddenly realise they’re surrounded by love. Their emotional overload has required a release. And so they cry. And they feel much better for it.

It’s only been a relatively short period of time – but it’s been an intense time – and some of our group have had, or are having, some deeply affecting experiences. Some have had experiences that cannot be easily explained.

Would all this have happened if we’d walked across Tasmania for 9 days? Or the South Island of New Zealand? I doubt it. This stuff is a product of the Camino – the ancient energetic lay line that seeps up through the ancient stones, that swoops down from the lichen covered stone crosses, and wheedles its way into your heart.

Today.

Today I felt great.

Yesterday I felt crap.

Last night I was woken periodically by insistent pain from my left heel. Sharp stiletto pain.

I got up, put Betadine on some of the reddened skin – it hurt like hell, but I went back to sleep thinking it would do some good. It didn’t. I took Ibuprofen, against my better judgement. But it worked. It put me back to sleep.

When I woke at 7am, all the pain was gone, and I felt like I could walk half way across Spain again.

Today’s walk was short – only 13kms – from Arcade through to the old pilgrimage town of Pontevedra.

Leaving Arcade was beautiful – fresh clean light as we crossed the old Roman Bridge leading out of town. I walked with Donna and Greg and Julie this morning. I hadn’t spent much time with them up until today.

Greg dropped off the pace – he wanted to walk by himself for a while – so Donna and Julie and I kept going, chatting all the time – marvelling at the beauty around us.

After about three and a half hours walking we stooped at a small cafe to have breakfast. I had my requisite Coke Zero and ice, times two – plus some yummy scrambled eggs. The Spanish do eggs amazingly well.

Tim and Cathy – our two friends from Virginia in the US – walked up and we chatted for a while.

We’ve been criss crossing paths for near on a week now. Cathy very kindly read my book, liked it, and on my handwringing insistence she wrote a very sweet review. Tim last year walked the Appalachian Trail – some 3000kms. This Camino must be easy peasey for him.

Julie, Donna and I got to Pontevedra before midday –

i did my laundry, did some work chores, waited for my beautiful wife to arrive then we wandered around the old town.

Jennifer can’t walk past a church without walking into it. Pontevedra has a church dedicated to Camino pilgrims. The church seats have a res scallop shell etched into them.

We only have three more days walking before we get to Santiago. It’s all happened so fast. But a lot has happened, a lot has changed.

That’s the magic of the Camino.

I woke up this morning not wanting to walk.

Yesterday I felt like I could walk halfway across Spain. This morning I would have been quite happy taking the van.

But I can’t do that. Nor can I offload my backpack, which with water and iPad etc is coming in at about 10kgs.

I went down to breakfast and witnessed with mine own eyes something which had been rumoured about in hushed tones by the other pilgrims –

Caterina eats bananas with a knife and fork.

Caterina is embarrassed about this. Evidently on previous mornings she’s built a screen around her plate with napkins. This morning she tried to hide it from me, but I can be persistent.

I got the shots I needed to prove to the world that she does indeed eat bananas with a knife and fork.

I think she probably believes that anyone who eats a banana with their hands most probably has a prehensile tail as well. (As most Queenslanders do…)

Anyway, my spirits were momentarily lifted by this anomaly in Caterina – shortly after, I headed out with Steve.

Steve is a truly fascinating bloke.

Some of you might already have formed an opinion of Steve – but most probably that opinion is wrong.

Steve is 71, divorced just recently from his third wife, and has stated clearly that the only reason he’s come on this tour is to spend time with me.

Steve and I met through this blog. A friend of his last year had alerted him to the blog, and he joined as a follower on day 12 of my Camino. He then started his own blog – and I became a follower, because he and his previous wife began their Camino Frances a week after I finished mine.

While I walked he commented on my blog – while he walked I commented on his blog. And in the process, we became mates.

An unlikely mateship.

He’s Texan, a bodybuilder, almost churlish with his economy of words. His reading list is mainly books on Navy Seals – my reading list goes from Dickens to Salman Rushdie to Jo Nesbo.

He regards our differences these ways: Says Steve – I’m better looking, I’m smarter, I’m more affable, I’m definitely sexier, and I have pecs not boobies. Women love me, he says – and dogs too.

Arlene says our differences are: Bill, you’re taller, you have hair, you have an accent (Australian), you both have terrific smiles – and it’s a draw when it comes down to who’s the more sexier…

(I think Arlene is being very kind to me…)

Anyway, Steve and I walked 23kms today and we talked most of the time. Here are some of the things I learned about Steve today –

• By the age of 35 he was one of the largest independent crude oil traders in the world.
• He had a personal net worth of $35m
• He had a company that had an annual turnover of $4b. Yes, $4 billion dollars.
• He was half owner in another company that had an annual turnover of $8b. Yes, $8 billion dollars.
• His company was the largest supplier of jet fuel to British Airways.
• He had 150 people on his payroll, in Houston, Denver, New Orleans, Bermuda, and London.
• One day he went to lunch in New York. After lunch walking back to his hotel he passed a Rolls Royce dealership. On a whim he walked in – and walked out a short time later having bought two Rolls Royces – a new Cornishe Convertible for himself, and a 2nd hand Silver Shadow for his CFO.
• At age 32 he got his pilots license. Within a few years he had both a commercial and instructors pilots rating. Ultimately he was a multi-engine instrument instructor.
• He had three private jets – two of them were worth $8m. He had on staff three pilots, a mechanic, and a secretary that were devoted solely to his “air force.”
• His office rent was $100,000 a month. $1.2m per year.
• His watch (Corum) was worth $30,000 – it had four rows of diamonds surrounding a five dollar gold coin.
• One year he got a tax refund from the IRS for $12m.
• His house was worth $7m.
• He had a $2m house in Aspen.
• At one point the US Department of Energy alleged he owed them $108m in profits that they claimed were “ill gotten.”
• At one point his companies and himself personally were $55m “upside down” – that is, he owed $55m to various creditors.
• He could have, had he wished, squirrelled monies away in various offshore assets or banks and set himself up for life – but he regarded that as immoral.
• In the big crash of 1985-86, he pretty much lost everything. he had investments in real estate that went sour, and the price of crude oil went through the floor.

All this I learned today while walking with Steve.

He loves dogs, and dogs love him.

He helps people with their backpacks.

He walked over to kick away a screw that he saw on the road – he worried that it might puncture a tire.

You might think you know Steve, when he poses for photos – you might have formed an opinion about him, but you don’t really know him.

I certainly know more about him after our walk today…

He says that he’s happier now than he was back then, at the height of his wealth and power. He now lives within his needs, not his means.

And he now lives without expectation and judgement.

He has a pared down existential view of life – forged by his extraordinary backstory.

By the way, I wrote this blog with Steve’s full concurrence and approval. He vetted this post before I published it.

I decided to leave early this morning.

I walked out of the hotel shortly after 6am – the street already festooned with hanging lights in preparation for Semana Santa.

Cafe chairs were stacked high, gleaming gold in the light from the street lamps, which must have been made during the age of gas.

I was wearing a headlamp – here is my attempt at a selfie…

Even with the headlamp though, I still missed a few key yellow waymarkers. But soon I picked up the route, which led past ancient churches out into the countryside.

The sun doesn’t come up till about 7:45am, and so I walked about 6-7kms before colour started to tinge the sky. It was a glorious morning.

I mused at my luck with weather. This is my second Camino, and both times now I’ve lucked out with perfect weather. On the Camino Frances last year, I only had 2 rain days in 28 days of walking.

A week ago, the rain was pouring down. The day we started this pilgrimage, the skies cleared and we haven’t had so much as a drizzle since.

(Now that I’ve said this, stay tuned for tomorrow – it could well pour down!)

Steve, bless his socks, had been watching the weather charts for weeks and months before this trip. He would email me, with a thinly veiled sense of despair, telling me it was raining in Portugal.

Each of us in our own way tend at times to worry about things that are not worth worrying about. We get ourself into a state – then only later do we realise that it was for nought.

I needed to walk be myself this morning. I needed time to think – and it was a perfect time to reflect, in the dark – then later as the sun came up. The temperature was cool, but ideal for walking – and it reminded me of those mornings I set off last year before sunrise. Some of my strongest memories of the Camino Frances last year were sunrises over spectacular countryside.

I thought about our lunch yesterday.

I wondered whether on Palm Sunday we should have had such a boisterous lunch – but none of us are devout, except for perhaps Marie – and Jennifer in her own way. I found out during that lunch that one of the reasons Jennifer and Marie have been late arriving each day is not because they walk backwards, but because they pick up litter.

Wonderful people.

I thought about Steve, and the lunch, and what constitutes strength. And what is strength.

My mind then began to wander into what it is to be a man. This is something that’s perplexed me for a long time. What is a man? What qualities does a man – should a man, have?

I wear girly scarves. I look at the world in a way that sometimes could be construed as “feminine,” in that I see beauty around me, and I’m not afraid to express that beauty through my films, or my photography, or my words.

I also express vulnerability. I express failings. I talk about my feelings. These are feminine traits. Men don’t do that. Men work hard to keep themselves impervious to vulnerability. They have to. It’s been bred into the gender, to keep the species alive. Men have to protect, they have to provide, they have to do things a man has to do.

Expressing feminine qualities sends out mixed messages to the world.

I have no answers to any of this – these were just my wandering thoughts this morning as the sun came up.

I needed to walk into a sunrise. I needed that infusion of clean bright energy. And I needed to walk alone. I needed to let my thoughts off the leash. I walked surprisingly fast. The air was clean, the track was soft, I quickly shifted into a rhythm that became hypnotic.

I was constantly reminded that this was an ancient pilgrimage route.

Stone crosses covered with lichen. Stone bridges, worn down by myriads of feet and cart wheels and horses’ hooves. The centuries lay before me and around me – telling me that millions of pilgrims have trod the same path I was now treading.

It humbled me.

You can walk the last 7-8 kilometres into O Porrino two ways – one way is along a dead straight road through an industrial zone. Trucks hurtle past, factories spew out smoke.

The other way is an alternate route through shaded woody glens, following creeks and streams, avoiding the industrial zone altogether.

I chose the industrial zone.

I did this because I felt I could learn more about the town if I scratched its underbelly. I’d walked all morning through beautiful woods, beside tinkling streams. I wanted another experience.

I’m pleased I did.

Sometimes the un-scenic route reveals more…