The Frenchman and I slept in, since we only had a short distance to cover. At 6 a.m. we were the last ones left in the hostel. Meanwhile, Andrea started dancing at 5:30 like some overachiever. The morning was stunning – fog rolling through golden sunrise, and not a soul on the trail. Then I reached the stone that reminded me – only 100 km left to Santiago. Fuck. Mixed emotions. Part of me was proud – I made it this far, mostly pain-free. But I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t smiling, I wasn’t dancing. Because the Camino happens on the way, not at the fucking end. It was the kind of day where you want to turn around and walk back to the start.
Cloudy skies, but I wore sunglasses anyway – didn’t want anyone seeing my sad face. Restlessness followed me all day. I chatted with some hikers over MSN and they were in the same weird mood. I seriously considered ditching my "21 days to the finish" plan and just turning back, back to where the friends are. But EGO is a bastard, so I put myself on funeral mode for the last 100 km. If before I was mostly walking alone, that day I overtook at least 300 people. Dressed up like they were headed to brunch, smelling of fabric softener and perfume. Women with full makeup, styled hair, painted nails, taking selfies at every damn milestone marker. I wanted to puke. Men in pink shirts with 100g backpacks. My soul was screaming: “Pussies. You can’t even carry your own gear for five bloody days?” They ship their stuff ahead by taxi. Absolute disgrace to the male species. A pack doesn't even weigh 50 kg anymore – it’s 25 tops. So do yourself a favour and walk 100 km around your bloody house instead of this embarrassment. I wouldn’t even bother packing a backpack for 100 km. And the pace – like a funeral march. Slow and miserable. I mean, I get it, kind of. But I still rolled my eyes and made fun of them – I’ve walked 820 km. I’ve earned it. I fucking can. Because of these soft twats, I spent over an hour searching for a bed and ended up walking 10 km more than planned. Every damn hostel full of people chasing that shitty diploma for walking the final stretch. That’s when the Camino de Santiago dies, and Camino de Money begins. Where I could, I chose routes along the road – anything to avoid the crowd. That day felt like rush hour traffic on Celovška[1] road in Ljubljana. Pure nerve warfare. I was not happy.
But then, everything flipped. The Frenchman messaged me: he wants to do the final 70 km with me after all. I burst out laughing – I knew he’d change his mind. And now he owes me a gin and tonic – he lost the bet.
I finally found a hostel with a spot for me and Tanguy, got in just before 3 p.m., washed my clothes, massaged my legs, then went grocery shopping for today and tomorrow. Frenchman arrived about an hour later.
Tomorrow’s going to be brutal – around 15 hours of walking with barely any breaks. We’re starting at 4:30 a.m., hiking the first two hours in the dark. Good luck tomorrow, Kekec[2] – and good night.
[1] Celovška Road is one of the longest streets in Ljubljana and one of the city’s four main arterial routes.
[2] Good Luck, Kekec (Slovene: Srečno, Kekec!) is a 1963 Yugoslav/Slovenian adventure film directed by Jože Gale. It is the third and final film in the Kekec trilogy, based on the popular stories by Josip Vandot. The films follow the spirited mountain boy Kekec and are considered iconic in Slovenian cinema.
