Thirty one kilometers today! Our record for the trip and it will stand because we don't have that far to go any more!
We leave Melide walking back up through the city. It isn't long before we're out in the country again, though. There are many more pilgrims now and we have lost sight of anyone that we have known along the way. There is a greater police visibility. All the guidebooks warn about watching out for pickpockets and petty thieves on this part of the Camino. We haven't had any problems, but perhaps that's because the police are present. In only one or two instances prior on this trip has there been just a moment when I have felt a little frightened and vulnerable. Once, when I was walking by myself and for just a couple of moments, the Germans a couple hundred yards ahead of me were out of sight and whoever was behind me were out of sight and I was going under an overpass. I remember thinking, "If there were still bandits wishing to do harm to a lonely pilgrim, this is where they'd be!" and looking over my shoulder for a few moments until I got in sight of the Germans again. The only other time was walking through all the drunks in Sahagun. But on this day, another couple of strange incidents occur.
First, we are walking in a rural stretch with some fields and woods when a couple of military or police looking humvees drive very slowly up the road where we are headed. Who are they? Why are they here? Are they just patrolling or is something going on? We don't find out. A little later, while climbing up a small hill in a wooded stretch, we come across a small forest fire that doesn't seem like it is being attended. Was the earlier patrol looking for more signs of fire? Later yet, we are walking through a pine forest, thick in shade, and silent with a deep blanket of needles. Again, Stella and I are headed up hill with only a few other pilgrims within shouting distance. Suddenly, several men in green jumpsuits, black skimasks and helmets, gloves, boots, the whole works, with little black leather nametags, come zooming into our woodsy retreat. They come riding by looking at us. It's unnerving to say the least. Their outfits look like the flightsuits I was used to in the Navy with the little leather name tags, but who are they - paramilitary, police - are they good guys, bad guys, what? They don't stop; they don't say anything; they don't take our picture! It just feels very strange. We are told later that they do actually have Camino police making sure that people don't cheat (this seemed a little heavy-handed for that!). I think (hope) they are just regular police making sure the pilgrims are safe and protected, but it is an odd feeling to want to be protected from the very people who are there ostensibly to protect you!
At some point, we walk separately again, Stella listening to her music and I go on ahead a bit. I stop in one small village, Santiago de Boente, for a mid-morning break and, as usual, there is a little church open for visiting and for prayer. I go in. There are little prayer cards available in a number of different languages.
On one side is a picture of the colorful little statue of St. James they have in their sanctuary. On the reverse is this prayer:O Apostle Saint James, I am here, as thousands of pilgrims have been all through the centuries, offering Our Lord the tiredness caused by following the Way of Saint James. I have come here to learn how to walk through the way of Life, which is Christ. Help me O Saint James, thou, who followed the Master to the point that thou gave your life for Him. Give me a big and generous heart, as thy heart, so I can also be an apostle of Christ. O Blessed Virgin Mary, Queen of the Apostles, let me feel thy heart's love and affection. May thy smile and Maternal love help me to walk the way of life with the happiness of the sons of God.
- Pray for us, O blessed Saint James,
- That we may be made worthy of the promies of Our Lord Jesus Christ.
Let us pray. O Lord, accept our pleas to Thee, through your Apostle Saint James, and make that the pilgrimage to his Sepulchre, beacon light of Christian unity, lets us get ready to follow together the path which leads to eternal glory. Through our Lord, Jesus Christ, Amen.
From there, of course, I head to a little cafe for the aseo and my regular tee con leche. There's a nice little table and chairs on the sidewalk to enjoy it. Just as I'm finishing, Stella arrives. I wait for her and we leave Boente together. The towns are beginning to run more and more together as we get closer to Santiago, and oddly enough, the alburgues, despite more pilgrims, are getting further and further apart. We will have to adjust our walking accordingly.
We stop in Arzua for lunch. It's a mostly modern, not terribly attractive, town, set in the middle of dairy country, known for it's cheeses - apparently, people from the Basque region (remember their sheep cheese?) came and settled here sometime after the Christian reconquest of Moorish territory. I continue to have my egg sandwich, however, instead of the heavy cheese.
There is not much in the afternoon except a few little villages that string along our way. I am a little ahead of Stella and reach the top of the hill just before Santa Irene, our destination for the evening sooner. There is a bar/cafe on either side, so I pick one, get a cold drink and sit outside to wait for her, since I am not exactly sure where to find our alburgue. It's been a long, hot afternoon, and it feels good to sit down for a while.
There are a few rowdy folks inside, but they're just having a good time. It's only about ten minutes before I flag Stella down on the opposite side of the road. After a brief break, she and I are ready to find the alburgue. We have a bit of trouble, as it isn't quite where we expect it to be, but we finally get there.
It's very attractive, but as we've found, the closer to Santiago, the more the price. It's upscale country Spanish in furnishings, with a pretty courtyard outback. 
The bunkroom downstairs isn't too huge; upstairs seems to already be claimed by a family of clompers, but perhaps that can't be helped. 
We're right by the front window, so we get a bit of fresh air. There are a few sort-of familiar faces which is nice. Dinner is a traditional Spanish meat stew.
There is Santiago Cake for dessert! The cake is a one-layer cake made mostly of ground almonds. It has powdered sugar rather than icing on top. It is dense in texture and rich.
For us, it is a quiet evening afterwards, though apparently the locals are having some festival because it sounds like a combination of canon fire and fireworks someplace and the people running the alburgue have disappeared!
We´re starting to think about the end of our adventure. It is with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction and accomplishment that we approach Santiago. Tears start to form everytime I think about it. It has been a part of my thinking and then planning for a long time and now, soon, it will be a part of my past, though, of course it will always be a part of me. I still don´t know exactly why I have come and I still feel that I don´t need to know. It has certainly been an adventure in every sense. Stella and I have talked about journey stories - Wizard of Oz, Forrest Gump and others - what the journey means, what coming home is about, does it change us, does it change how we see things, both, does it help us change the world, just exactly what difference does the journey make and do we ever understand the difference fully? Perhaps not. It will unfold in a much longer period of time than what it took to make the journey. For tonight, we are ´home´ here in Santa Irene. Soon, we will be home with our loved ones.
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