PostScript

Back in Santiago again. In transit back home. Here as a tourist I suppose. Ironically, after all the rain, by the time the bus arrived in Santiago and I had got to the albergue (walking in a light drizzle) the rain had stopped and the rest of the afternoon was sunny. Perfect tourist weather. And the tourists were out in force.

Tapas (or is that "Pinchos") - being a tourist in Santiago

I reorganised my bags in preparation for the flight tomorrow. After living for three weeks out of, I must say, well organised pannier bags (I knew where everything was and everything had its place) it was frustrating having everything randomly thrown into a large bag. I had made this remark to Hans in the morning and he pointed to one of the backpacks on the floor in our room (it belonged to one of the still prostrate youths). "They manage to live in a state of chaos." The contents of the backpack were strewn partly over the floor, clean clothes mixed with dirty, crumpled papers and a toothbrush. "I have a daughter who lives like that." 'And I a son' I added.

Backpacks and Bikes (and my shopping bags)

The atmosphere on the bus back to Santiago was restrained. The luggage hold below us was laden with backpacks and a few bikes, all bearing mute testimony to the Camino and the many adventures they had been part of. Inside the bus there was almost no conversation; most people were probably trying in their own way to deal with their particular 'morning after the Camino before' feelings -  perhaps wondering how they were going to deal with 'normal' life again, and whether anyone back home would really understand the tales they would surely tell.

My trusty steed wrapped up for the return to Lisbon

In the morning Hans had stayed as I wrapped up the bike (in cling wrap as a result of the lack of cardboard boxes - thanks for the idea, Rowan). Then we headed into 'town'. Hans was going to stay another day, but move to another albergue; one evening of hippies was enough for him. We went in search of an open café. And then a 'Camino moment': "So you made it to Finisterre, Geoff". It was a guy I'd met in an albergue some time ago. So the three of us had café con leche and then I said my goodbyes and got on the bus. Hans now had a new friend in Finisterre; the guy was staying at the albergue Hans was going to.

The bus ride was long; the result of it doing the 'milk run' along the coast, stopping at many small villages and picking up or setting down local people. We finally arrived in Santiago some three hours after leaving. I got off at the train station and walked the fifteen minutes to the albergue. I was glad that the bike had been carrying this weight for the last three weeks, even if it was only about 12 kg!

In Santiago I went to the Franciscan church to get their special 800 year anniversary Compostela. That was another thing I'd heard about on the Camino; unfortunately after I'd been to Santiago. Luckily I found them open on the Sunday and so was able to get the certificate on my second visit to Santiago. I now have not one, but four 'diplomas' to commemorate my Camino.

Then my final Pilgrim dinner (three courses, a bottle of wine, bread and coffee, all for the princely sum of ten Euros) and back to the albergue where I find a guy is snoring with serious intent; just to give me one last dose of Pilgrim life.