My Way

My Way Walking the Camino Santiago de Compostela (8/2-8/23, 2012)

 I’m afraid I didn’t achieve the spiritual awakening that I was supposed to experience doing the Camino Santiago de Compostela, of The Way fame in the USA, after the Emilio Estevez movie with Martin Sheen. I’d been planning this since I learned about the pilgrimage from my Spanish colleagues in the immersion Spanish program I volunteered for as an English speaker, Pueblo Ingles, in Alberca, in 2008.This and a 2-month exploration of Spain's and Italy's Mediterrenean coast kicked off my retirement celebration and traveling spree . However, my traveling schedule prevented me from making this trip, bypassing 2 opportunities to join friends in the endeavor. I then made it top scheduling priority when I hit upon the idea of celebrating my 70th birthday in a different way. I planned to do the entire Camino Frances, the 800 km ancient pilgrimage route from St Jean Pied de Port in France, to Santiago in Galicia and arrive in Santiago on my birthday August 25.

With other travel dates already booked, I didn’t have enough time to reach Santiago on August 25 so I said it doesn’t matter where I am in the camino on my birthday so long as I’m on it. I set my date with 10 days allowance for sightseeing and rest days, from the recommended 33 days. After googling blogs and forums and websites about the camino I decided to do the entire French route alone, rather than what my friends did, which was to walk with a group and do only the last 100 km from Sarria, the minimum distance required to earn a certificate of completion or compostela. http://www.santiago-compostela.net/

After 3 days in Paris, I took the TGV from Montparnasse to Bayonne then a local train to St Jean Pied de Port in the French Basque, and registered on August 2 for my credential, the passport which will be stamped officially along the route to document my pilgrimage and qualify me to be awarded a compostela when I reach Santiago. The local train was filled by peregrinos and there was excitement and spontaneous camaraderie. There were many languages spoken but somehow we understood one another with body language and varying skill level with English. On this train were young people from Turin, Barcelona, Seville, Salamanca, Murcia, England, Germany, a father-son duo from South Korea, and a young lady from Austria with whom I kind of bonded immediately. She just graduated from college, and had never been away from home and she wanted to do the Camino to challenge herself. She was doing the whole French route solo and I encountered her again on the road then got texts from her along the way. I stayed in a B&B that first night, recommended by my registrant, and it was here when I sensed that things will not always be the high minded and uplifting experience that many said walking the camino will be.

My landlady was from hell! The other pilgrims( regardless of your purpose, everyone is a pilgrim in the camino) in her house were closer to my age than the kids I met on the train, but she treated us like we were juveniles. We had to do exactly as she says, conveying this with excited gestures and commanding tone which we hardly understood because she spoke French basque and didn’t understand any English. We had to take off our shoes at the landing, pay her, and told us we had to return by 10 pm because the doors will be locked after that. As she announced that breakfast will be be at 6:30 am and that we had to be out by 8, I was up at 6 Am to get ready. I was at the dining room at 6:30 but the whole house was dark. I flipped the light switches on and looked for her to see what’s up. She came out of her bedroom all growling and eyes flashing at me for creating what I interpreted as a racket and waking her up. She postponed breakfast to 7 AM but didn’t allow me to eat until I got all my gear down and have them ready by the landing. She wanted all of us to be on our way after our coffee and toast and forbade us to return to our bedrooms. And all throughout breakfast she was gesturing to the others about my transgressions. I reminded myself I was a pilgrim and just signaled I was sorry and said goodbye and thanked her.

 I got lost in the Pyrenees. After Orisson, the halfway rest stop for lunch, I was falling behind and found myself walking alone. From Orisson, I estimated I had 14 km to Roncesvalles, and I had walked almost 10 km and no one had appeared to overtake me on the road. My back pack was getting heavy and it was late in the afternoon. I knew then I was off course but I concluded I must be on the main road to Roncesvalles instead of the walking path, so I continued hoping to get a road or directional sign or to ask someone. But no one came along and I got from the open road with farms alongside into a hilly beech woodland, then emerged into an open landscape of smooth white boulders, where I hoped Roncesvalles would be. I then found a Camino directional sign pointing in the opposite direction to where I came from and I couldn’t bear the fact that I may have to walk back 14 km to Orisson. I had walked 8 hours in mountain terrain with a backpack and I was exhausted. I remember having a phone number for the tourist information in Roncesvalles and thankfully there was a cellular signal so I called and what a relief when someone live answered and could speak a little English. She was so helpful and was able to figure out where I was when I described the landscape. She got so concerned and said she’ll send the red truck to pick me up, meaning the fire truck. I was horrified and told her just to send a taxi. It took over an hour for the taxi to arrive and the sun was setting and it was getting chilly, but I had everything in my backpack including a sleeping bag, and I had half a sandwich left over from lunch and plenty of water, and there was no one around so I made the open landscape my comfort room and waited.

All’s well that ends well. Stage 2 was arduous, mostly downhill, with some segments very steep and the path was uneven with sharp edged rock outcrops and paving of loose irregular sized stones than can get slippery. My backpack was almost 20 lbs after packing water, 10 lbs over the recommended weight, and I have bruises on my arms from improper hoisting technique, and my left foot is blistering from the forward push on the toes of the downhill slope. I had to stop numerous times to rest my knees, and nurse my blister and I’m telling myself there’s no way I can walk all the 27.4 km to Larrasoana in this state. AlI I could think of at that time was putting one foot in front of the other and avoiding pain. I was going to have a rendezvous with Aritz in Pamplona for the weekend, and he already booked 2 nights in a hotel for me as I wanted to explore Pamplona and the extra rest day will give my blister time to heal. As soon as I completed the steep descent into Zubiri, a small village on the banks of Rio Arga, I called him to pick me up there instead of Larrasoana, still 5.5 km away.

 Aritz was an exchange student who stayed with us 20 years ago when Doobie was in high school. He lives in Bilbao, and we’re both excited to see each other. He brought along his delightful 9-year-old daughter to meet me. Pamplona is on the literary map because of Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, and made Sanfermines, the weeklong fiesta celebrated on July 6-14 with the running of the bulls, popular among foreigners. He is big here with a Paseo Hemingway and a statue in the Plaza de Toros. Aritz is Basque, and it was special to have a knowledgable guide. We took a 42 km side trip south of Pamplona to the preserved medieval town of Olite, a national monument. Gastronomy starts in this region rich in fresh products and shares wine production with the neighboring La Rioja. We indulged in tapas in the medieval square and a superb lunch in the Parador, the renovated old palace, and in the evening we did dinner the Spanish way, very late and preceded by bar hopping for tapas and wine. Grilled chuleta de ternera, braised white asparagus, Navarre potatoes, and a salad of mixed garden vegetables were all from the region and full of natural flavors.

 After this indulgence I was back on the road. My blister has healed, and I relented and engaged a mochila (rucksack) transport service. A good decision since the path to Puente La Reina climbs steeply on a ridge up to the wind turbines then to the summit of Alto del Perdon, where there is a bronze memorial to pilgrims, before descending on rough loose stone path to cross the Romanesque bridge over the Rio Arga, the Puente La Reina. Stage 5 to Estella is peaceful, walking over natural paths on gently rolling farmlands and vineyards. And when we arrived in the town, they were on the 4th day of a weeklong fiesta. Everyone is costumed in white with red kerchief, and the squares were spilling over with partying locals, eating,drinking, singing and dancing on the streets. In the main square there was a stage and a live band performing, in another children’s games are organized, a parade would burst out every so often, there was a wall of chicken being roasted on stacked rotisseries, that can only be purchased as whole chicken, but the tables are communal and was a perfect opportunity to join the locals. The revelry went on all night and my hotel was right on the square, so I couldn’t sleep. When at last sleep was possible after the music stopped at 4 am I was awakened at 5 am by the rumble of garbage trucks. So I started later than usual, which was lucky because they were running the bulls that morning. After missing this spectacle in Pamplona I got a feel for what it would have been like here. We were all excited to set out for Los Arcos from Estella today because we’ve heard about the fountains of wine along the way. And it’s true, the wine was free flowing from the spigots of Bodega Irache side by side with the water fountains. The Way after this was over open farmlands, spread out on gently rolling hills, but with very little shade, and it was hot.

I wanted to experience communal accommodations, and to see for myself what the community of pilgrims was like kicking their boots off at the end of a long day. The albergues or refugios can be booked only by those holding a credential or pilgrim passport and this is stamped with an official seal at every stop. For EU 8-12 you can get a bed space in dormitories for 4-10 individuals with shared segregated bathrooms. Some allows you to reserve a private room, which I did, but its a nuisance to get dressed just to go to the bathroom. The kids have more energy and they socialize in the common areas, playing cards, checking their hand held devices, watching sports, doing laundry, or chitchatting, which none of these interests me. Some are reading or updating their journals. I’m tired and like me, the other older pilgrims just eat dinner and crash. After this experiment I decided I will book the most desirable accommodations in the area, and whenever there is a Parador I used it especially after I learned that pilgrims can get as much as 40% discount.

 Stage 7 from Los Arcos to Logronio is long , 28.8 km and over open farmlands with very little shade, and when I found out there’s a bus leaving for Logronio that afternoon I decided to be on it. I spent the day sitting in outdoor cafes watching locals come and go, and watching children play, I explored the narrow cobbled streets, and sat in the shade in the park occupied mostly by town elders socializing, playing cards, reading the paper, I visited the church, where old women were occupied with chores helping the parish, cleaning, straightening the altar, preparing pamphlets. The small towns on the camino, there was one with a population of 50, are surviving because of the pilgrims business, and those not in its path are dying, and the population in these places is old, and stooped from osteoporosis, men and women alike. But its amazing that their medieval villages are intact and they’re still living in dwellings that their ancestors occupied. One thing one can’t miss is the presence of the church, the most impressive structure in any locality, and how religious rituals still govern the fabric of life.

 I left Navarre after Los Arcos for Logronio, the capital of La Rioja, the province whose name is the wine itself. Aritz joined me again to take me on a tour of its spectacular bodegas. Marques de Riscal’s bodega was designed by Frank Gehry, of Bilbao’s Guggenheim, and Bodegas Ysios, by Calatrava, sits low on the plain, with undulating roof line that traces the silhouette of the Cantabrian mountains behind it. Alas Bodegas Antion, architecturally impressive with subterranean spaces, golden hued, and blending into the landscape, was caught in the clutches of the economic collapse, abandoned with 30M Euro debt. In Haro, the wine capital, there are hundreds of bodegas and its old town square is lined with tapas bars and wine cellars, offering wine tasting. In the area, Aritz’s great grandfather had a winery and his grandmother inherited part of it, but at that time wine production was not the industry it is now, so she did not hold on to her share. Now Solabal, that winery is a thriving award winning business run by his uncles. We stopped by for Aritz to collect his father’s month’s supply and some for his own and had a private tour and wine tasting with his uncle. I had the most memorable food and wine experience in Logronio. In the narrow streets of Calle Laurel and Calle San Juan, just steps away from my hotel, are wall to wall tapas bars and every evening especially on weekends, the street is packed with the whole world going bar hopping for the most imaginative, unique and delicious pinchos (tapas) and special wine pairings. It was obvious to me quickly that this activity is best enjoyed with a group, so more tapas can be shared and tasted, just like a dimsum outing. Still, I hopped until I dropped. La Rioja breathes food and wine in its pores. It is designated Spain’s Gastronomy Capital for 2012. The tapas chef near my hotel recommended this young chef’s restaurant, Marinee, and Idor, the chef came out to describe personally what’s in this sauce that’s so intriguing and I can’t quite place. I had pork loin with sauce and topping of techno mixed coffee grounds, candied apple, mushroom, almonds. Wow, it just popped my taste buds. He only serves the chef tasting menu, and it changes daily, but you can’t go wrong, and the price is right.

After arriving in Logronio on a bus, I embraced the idea that I can skip walking some stages, and that way I can make it to Santiago on my birthday as I originally planned. Now this pilgrimage is really shaping up to be My Way. Instead of proceeding to Najera, Stage 8, I took a detour and asked Aritz to drop me off at San Millan de la Cogolla, to visit the monasteries of Suso and Yuso, a World Heritage site, believed to be dating back to the 6th century, the oldest monastic community in Europe. In Suso, with Visigothic, Mozarabe, and Romanesque characteristics, an anonymous monk first wrote down the Spanish language, Castellano, and later embellished by the poet monk Gonzalo Berceo. I thought this was profound. After Mandarin and Hindi, Spanish is the 3rd widely spoken language in the world in terms of native speakers, and English is 4th though it has the most global influence. I am determined more than ever after this to be serious in learning to speak Spanish. I stayed for the night in the luxurious Hospederia de San Millan, the converted monastery, and next day googled the detour route along the main road to join the camino again in Santo Domingo de la Calzada. On a picturesque stretch of sweeping and gently rolling checkered landscape of vineyards, sunflowers, and golden wheat, an old man walking to the next village stopped to chat asking me where I was from, and telling me stories about the camino, and assuring me I was in the right direction. Saint Dominic of the Road is important for the camino because he dedicated himself to mapping out the routes and building the roads and bridges of the pilgrimage that we walk today. The medieval town is home to his Miracle of the Cock, its souvenir shops hawks various renderings of this rooster and in the cathedral there is a stone chicken coop with a live chicken and rooster in it! “Santo Domingo de la Calzada, where the chicken sang after it had been roasted.”

 I skipped Stage 10-11 as the route to Belorado, in Castilla Y Leon follows the main road and offered little shade and although it’s befitting to arrive in Burgos on a horse, it is after all the land of El Cid, I took the bus instead. This medieval World Heritage city is filled with architectural jewels starting with its breathtaking Gothic Catedral de Santa Maria, the 2nd largest in Spain after Seville, and houses a wealth of art treasures and artifacts. I stayed 2 nights so I can take a side trip to Atapuerca, the excavation site of the Homo Antecessor, believed to be the oldest human species found in Europe. There is ongoing archaeological research in the area. From Burgos the camino enters the Meseta, the long stretch of the Spanish heartland, high plains rimmed by mountains, passing through the provinces of Burgos, Palencia and Leon in Castilla-León, and includes Castilla-La Mancha, Extremadura, and chunks of Aragón and La Rioja.The people of the Meseta are said to be ascetic and courageous, with a touch of the visionary or mystical or madness which inspired Cervantes in Don Quixote, and shaped the likes of El Cid, and the Saints and Mystics from the realm. Stage 15, from Castrojeriz in Burgos to Fromista, the camino entered Palencia, called Tierra de Campos (Land of Fields). Climbing out of Castrojeriz we traveled on an old Roman road and crossed the boundary at Rio Pisuerga, on the medieval arched bridge, Puente de Itero. There is a delightful rest stop just before crossing the bridge, in the 15th century Ermita de San Nicolas, converted into a hostel, and run by an Italian confraternity without electricity and phones, but with modern bath and toilets in a rear building. There are only 12 bed spaces, with breakfast and dinner served in candlelight.

The Meseta in summer is a dune-like golden landscape of crew cut shaved wheat fields meeting the horizon, under a clear shimmering blue sky, sublime but feels like eternity to cross on foot. It offers no shade, its tiny villages are scattered far in between, it is silent with only the chirping birds and the buzz of the heat for company. Being Filipino, I know about using umbrellas in the sun. Seeing me inspired some peregrinos to buy one in the next town. It takes 10 days to cover the distance from Burgos to Astorga. After Fromista, I walked away from the sublime and jumped into a bus to Leon, bypassing Stages 16-20.

It takes some skill and asking around to travel on regional buses in Spain, between these tiny and remote villages. No single bus line offers service and you have to know which bus companies stops at your destination and some villages have no direct service , so you have to know the connecting bus lines. To Leon you have to take a connecting bus from Fromista to Carrion de los Condes, which only has one weekly service. How lucky can I be that the bus was scheduled to run that day? Otherwise it is a days walk, 20.5 km. So I am in Carrion waiting for the afternoon bus to Leon and have time to kill. I was wandering around the meandering narrow cobbled streets of this medieval village when I came upon a plaque marking the birth home of Miguel de Benavides y Añoza (c. 1552 – July 26, 1605) a Spanish clergyman and sinologist, the first Bishop of the Diocese of Nueva Segovia, the third Archbishop of the Archdiocese of Manila, and founder of the University of Santo Tomas in Manila.[1] Serendipity indeed! I am to find these connections in other places as well, especially in Galicia, and in the Basque country, where many Spanish sailors and adventurers and clergy sailed for Islas Filipinas in search of fortunes , souls to save and fame during the colonial years.

 Leon is a bustling metropolis that combines the old city with the modern seamlessly. It is not wanting in possessing all the magnificent artistic and architectural legacy of its long storied past with the Visigoths, the Romans, the Moors, and finally the Reconquista. Gaudi built a neo-Gothic palace here, Casa de Botines, which was a turning point in architectural practice, the first monumental edifice constructed with secular, private funds, rather than with religious or aristocratic patronage. The city’s museum of contemporary art, MUSAC is housed in an avant garde building and was holding an exposition on Spanish Femenismo when I visited. I stayed in the luxurious Parador San Marcos*****, a former monastery and cloisters, a Renaissance masterpiece with a sumptuous Plateresque facade. The Rio Bernesga spanned by its 16th century stone bridge can be viewed from its windows. The river is a center for recreation among the Leonese, with picnickers along its banks, strollers on the promenade along its length, anglers and colorful kayaks in the water. I have decided to be in Santiago for my birthday so I fast-forwarded to Astorga on a bus and skipped Stage 21-22.

Astorga is still rimmed by a medieval wall and sitting on a ridge, it has spectacular views of the surrounding countryside. That weekend is pre-fiesta preparation for the weeklong celebration of Festividad de Santa Marta, held on the last week of August, and there were many events scheduled. Alas, Peter Blanchette, who was to appear at the Museo Romana de la Ergastula, was a no show for his baroque concert. Over 30 people were disappointed. However, Astorga is the chocolate capital, they even have a Museo de Chocolate, so it was easy to get over the disappointment. I stayed in the Hotel Gaudi, in the shadow of the spectacular Gaudi Bishop Palace, which does not house any bishop, but the fascinating Museo de los Caminos. Dinner was the local specialty, Cocido Maragato . The Maragato tribe’s numbers are dwindling but this dish will live forever, a hearty thick soup of garbanzos, cabbage, potatoes and 7 kinds of meats to include chorizo, Iberian pig’s snout and ears, shoulder, chicken, smoked meat, beef meat or chops, served separately, starting with the meats, and finishing with soup.

 After Astorga, the camino begins to climb the mountains through the pass of Irago to its highest point at Cruz de Ferro, 4934 ft above sea level. I regret bypassing this segment because I had wanted to place stones at the foot of this ancient iron cross, to participate in the symbolic pilgrim ritual of the camino. However the route is described as arduous and demands your full concentration and the descent steep and dangerous with many pilgrim injuries reported. Moreover the way marks are said to be inconsistent and the weather unpredictable. And heading into Galicia into O’Cebreiro the climb is even steeper and arduous, the small villages in the mountains are just being reawakened to life by the resurgence of the camino, so facilities for pilgrims are still sparse. I learned you can get to Sarria by train, so I made my decision. Remembering that I got lost in the Pyrenees, I’m inclined not to test my luck so soon. To be awarded a compostela it is compulsory to walk the last 100 km from Sarria to Santiago on the French route. It doesn’t count if you have walked over 100 km before. I have walked 165.7 km at this point. I figured if I start on August 19 in Sarria, I will have plenty of time with allowance for flexibility, to walk the 5 stages of this segment and reach Santiago by August 25. I missed the first train to Sarria, the direct run, due to language handicap on both myself and the train master, but not a problem. The next and last train out of the station would be 3 hours later which will give me time for a leisurely lunch, but there’s a transfer in Monforte de Lemos. The train master, was very clear this time and even endorsed me to the train conductor, instructing him about walking me through the process to be sure I transfer on the right train. I had further guidance from the crowd, which transferred en masse for the same journey.

 The Sarria segment is a very different camino from the one that I started in St Jean Pied de Port. The town is terribly crowded with tourists and pilgrims, and backpackers. Some locals may have exhausted their hospitality with the nonstop daily arrival of pilgrims, that’s maybe why I got a rude waving of the hands away when I tried to ask for directions to the Pilgrim Office. Some estimates that around 2000 pilgrims arrive in Santiago daily during the peak months of summer, and many of these start in Sarria, to satisfy the requisite 100 km for a compostela. There were 183,366 pilgrims last year and during a Holy Year, when Saint James’ feast on July 25 falls on a Sunday, the last was in 2010, the number doubles. The next Holy Years are 2021, 2027. There are big groups doing the camino from Sarria, something I never saw from St Jean. These are tourist groups, church groups, charity fundraising groups, youth groups, family reunions, organization groups, and a mass of young backpacker types walking alone or with a group of friends. The organized groups wear matching T-shirts, or hats, and carry very light day packs as many have transportation supports which ferry their luggage. They are non-stop talking and socializing among themselves, and at times crowd you off the path or laugh loud that I felt intruded upon. Gone is the camaraderie and fellowship between strangers who connect while engaged in mutual pursuits. The groups give a feeling of excluding those who are not members. Meanwhile, the young backpackers seem to be in a hot race to Santiago. And in the rest stops, these big groups occupy the place and inundate service staff, displacing the lone walker. But it appears everyone is having a good time and I decided to take the initiative and get to know what they are about. So maybe the camino did something for me despite my aloofness to its deeper tradition. My initial disapproval quickly dissipated, I did not get pissed off as I would normally respond and did not give others what I think they deserve. I was Ok with the idea that the camino is for everyone, for whatever reason one decides, and for whatever purpose one chooses, the camino is a unique and amazing experience. The Sarria segment maybe a different camino, but it doesn’t make it the wrong camino. But make no mistake, the physical aspect of this segment is a romp in the park as compared to St Jean.

The walk is easy and the Galician countryside is a refreshing green landscape of rolling hills, farms and pastures and the mostly natural paths are in shaded woodland, tree-lined roads or under stands of eucalyptus. I reached Santiago on the 23rd in the early afternoon. Most started in the dark, trying to reach the cathedral by 12 noon for the pilgrim mass and walked at a furious pace. They come up from behind you with the sound of pounding boots as if a stampede is approaching. Five km to Santiago we climbed the hilltop at Monte de Gozo, where pilgrims since medieval times first had a glimpse of the spires of the Cathedral in the distance, and exulted with gratitude and joy. The excitement was palpable. I held the view in silence to contemplate the enormity of this. But there is still distance to cover to reach the cathedral square, and it seemed forever slogging through the outskirts of the city on concrete pavement, and cris-crossing with busy traffic until I reached Puerta do Camino, the gateway to the medieval city. I was really excited to see the cathedral at this point, but it was elusive. As enormous as it is you can’t see it on approach until you run right smack into it. But there are signs that I’m getting closer. The crowd on squares start to swell, entertained by street performers.There’s a string quartet playing Mozart, a couple doing a tumbling and juggling act, a bag pipe player, costumed living statues. Then after descending a narrow and deep staircase tunnel, it opened into an expansive square and there it is, the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela! Parador de los Reyes Catolicos, where I will be staying for the next 3 days, is right next to the Cathedral. On the square, Plaza Obradoiro, is the whole world. There is a procession and chanting of saffron clad Hare Khrishnas, there are souvenir stands, pilgrims sprawled on the cobbled floor, tourists taking pictures, costumed medieval pilgrim pretenders, a long line at the cathedral steps. I decided to check in first at my hotel and freshen up. Before I could unpack a dozen red roses arrived, from my sister Nancy, for my 70th birthday. How special!

 Rested and showered, I set about to execute the pilgrim rituals. The Portico de Gloria and the Tree of Jesse is encased in scaffolding for restoration work, so I entered from a side door, but I could peek to see the kneeling figure of Maestro Mateo in the back of the column but I couldn’t touch my brow to his, and could only take a picture. I went to the High Altar to ascend to the statue of St James and touched his back and thanked him for my safe arrival and to bless all my loved ones. I went down to his crypt and paid my respects. I stayed for the 4 PM Pilgrim mass to complete the ceremonial acts. One of the unique experience here is to witness the Botafumeiro, the swinging of the giant incense burner. It is no longer done regularly during the pilgrim mass because it requires at least 8 attendants or tiraboleiros to control the path of the burner as it is swung across the aisle of the transept and it is expensive costing at least 250 EU. It is now only done on important holidays or when there is a request accompanied by a donation. Before I took my leave of Santiago, I returned to the Cathedral for the 12 noon Pilgrim mass hoping to see the Botafumeiro lighted, and I was not disappointed. To complete my camino ritual, I went to Finisterre on my birthday and returned unscathed from the edge of the earth. Meanwhile in a distant cosmos, far, far away, Voyager 1 is nearing the edge of the solar system after 35 years of space travel.

 I may return to walk the the segments I skipped, doing them in several stages, then when I’ve done all, repeat the last 100 km for another Compostela, maybe on my 80th birthday!