Day 22: camino finisterre: it’s not a race, it’s a challenge within a challenge

All roads lead to Santiago, right in front of the Cathedral of St. James. You can’t miss it. This is where the odyssey ends. The square is swarming with hikers – some look like they’ve survived a war, others like they’ve seen the Virgin Mary. And some look like they just spotted E.T. Then there are the tourists, arriving by bus or car. The square is flooded with souvenir vendors and street musicians. The city is full of bars, restaurants and shops. This place breathes noise and money. A circus. Not my vibe. Capitalism greets you hard. There’s no red carpet here for hiking to the finish line.

Santiago has never given me “the big O” – those moments happen on the trail. Santiago’s more like a guy who says after sex, “I see myself with you forever.” Bro, you still holding that black pistol?  So, all the magic happens before the “confessional” (read: cathedral).

Okay, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t cry that first year when I reached the Finish. But I cried because I was so damn stubborn – I didn’t throw in the towel despite insane pain. That year some people from my hometown said Tina and I wouldn’t even make it to the starting line, let alone the finish. Well, we shut them the fuck up. Though I think they were mostly just taking the piss.

First year, I even took almost an hour to go to confession. Kinda cool – you sit and tell your sins to a priest who only speaks English or Spanish while he grins at his phone. There are like eight confessionals inside. But for the last few years, I’ve skipped that part. I’m not living sin-free, and I regret nothing.

The trail matters – not the finish.

But it would be a sin to be in Santiago and not break down. This is a hikers’ city. The breakdown is essential – when everything gets worse, but in a good way. So that morning, Andrea, the Frenchman and I headed out for the “breakfast of champions”: started with a small beer, then bottles of wine, and finished with a solid gin tonic. It was a bar crawl back to the hostel. We did around 20 km that day just wandering – our place was 4 km outside the city. It was also Andrea’s farewell bash – next morning he took a bus to Muxia for his final hike from Muxia to Finisterre. When the Frenchman and I woke up the next morning, he was already gone. Strange feeling – being with someone 24/7 for 20+ days and poof – they vanish. So, the day wasn’t super joyful. The only thing that cheered me up was the news that Lucca would arrive that day. I hadn’t seen him in a while, which meant: laughter, chaos, and another glorious meltdown.  On our last day in Santiago, I asked the Frenchman how he wanted to tackle the Finisterre hike. He said, “You know, I was thinking... If you did it in two days last year, maybe we can do it in one?” I looked at him like, “You alright, mate?” Had he already forgotten how “amazing” we felt after hiking 66 km last time?

He said it was high time I got challenged for once – since I’m usually the one challenging others. And reminded me how good it feels when you push past your limits and actually do it. Like Andrea – he thought he’d only reach Leon with the time he had. But he finished the entire Camino in 21 days, then even had time to walk Muxia to Finisterre. Pretty badass for someone who doesn’t hike much in his free time. Respect. So, I accepted the challenge. We’d rested two days, walked 820 km already – stamina was there. Plus, I’d rather walk all day than hang around in some nowhere-town. And Andrea’s goodbye felt weird – we decided we’d surprise him the next day.

Plan: wake up at 3:30, eat, drink coffee, hit the road by 4. And of course, sleep by 7 p.m. But such a mission needs a proper dinner. So, we went for kebab and fries. Then Lucca messaged – he’d just arrived. So, we met for a beer. Okay, a few. Full system breakdown again. My “kid” (the Frenchman) was wise – had one beer and went to bed. “Mum” partied in town till 1 a.m. We all know alcohol makes you invincible. Waking up at a stupid hour for a 69 km hike? Piece of cake. Well, I did oversleep. Didn’t hear the alarm. Or the Frenchman trying to wake me. But my internal clock saved me – I shot out of bed at 4:20. Panic. He was gone. I was pissed. I threw my stuff in the backpack and power-walked like a lunatic – no coffee, no food, just Coke on the way. Deal is a deal. I texted him asking where he was. He wasn’t that far ahead – already out of town – but also already lost. He thought the trail to Finisterre followed the main road. My “kid” got lost. Again.  While he was doubling back, I reached the edge of town and sent him my location. We regrouped – 30 minutes behind schedule. I admit, I felt like crap. Sleep-deprived, toxic body. Perfect day to die. Luckily, the weather was kind – no sun, cloudy with wind and humidity. Better humidity than 35°C.

First coffee after 25 km. Of course, the store was closed – just my luck. We walked 50 km without food. Finally, we found two fat pieces of toast with olive oil and tomato sauce. Heaven. I even thought we might actually make it. But I also felt a nasty pain creeping into my right calf. Dessert: a blue pill. Not Viagra – Nalgesin 550[1]. The Frenchman had one too.

This wasn’t a day for mistakes. Or long breaks. Neither of us wanted to walk in the dark. So, we only stopped three short times. We even stopped looking at the markers showing how many kilometres left – they were screwing with our heads.

When the pill kicked in, we were flying. No pain. Insane what good timing with a pill can do. I couldn’t stop grinning. Not tired at all. On the way we bumped into some hikers from our Santiago hostel. A few hugs on the trail – exactly what you need on a monster hike. That day we were the stars of the Camino – the craziest duo out there.  But no time to celebrate just yet. Not before the last 20 km. Once we reached that final stretch, I knew we’d make it. I knew the path – mostly downhill and a bit of flat at the end. We even ran downhill. Final stop: another pill + small beer. The legs kicked into 10th gear. I swear I was the happiest person on the trail at that moment. At 6 p.m., I messaged Andrea: “We’re coming to Finisterre. Chill the wine and beer.” He was shocked – and thrilled. We’d get one more night and morning together. When we reached the little fishing town of Cee – 13 km from the finish – I told the Frenchman I’d meet him in Finisterre. He’s slower than me, and it was getting dark. I wanted to reach the finish before sunset. I zoomed through the narrow streets out of town and started the final climb. I knew the way. My “kid”... got lost again. Repeating the morning story. I told him I’m not turning back – sent him my location and said: “Follow it or find the main road. It’s the only one heading to Finisterre.” Despite my effort, I did end up walking in pitch black for the last 45 minutes. Along the main road. Suicide mission. Wind trying to knock me over. I legit feared for my life. “Nice. You almost made it to Finisterre in a day – and now you’re going to get hit by a car.” Great headline for the Slovenian news.[2] But I made it.

Andrea and I agreed I’d text him when I was 2 km away from the hostel so he could come meet me for a drink. At that moment, it hit me – I did it. Something most people think is impossible. I walked the whole damn thing in one day. Even more epic – I’d only slept 3 hours and partied 7. And I made it to Finisterre before the Frenchman. Dopamine through the roof. Especially when I saw Andrea waiting for me at the bar opposite our hostel.  I’d told the Frenchman on the trail: once I arrive, I’m not sleeping – I’m partying with Andrea. That’s the whole point of this madness. Thanks to the pills, I had all the energy. Over beers with Andrea, I looked down – my legs covered in red dots. Too many kilometres. Didn’t care. Didn’t even shower. Just waited with Andrea until the Frenchman finally arrived – 15 minutes later. That sweet feeling of beating the youngster. So... fuck you, Tanguy!  We all went to the legendary hippy bar for a few beers. I instantly hit it off with the bar boss and the cook. They offered us a free meal and a shot to celebrate our madness. I declined the food – wasn’t hungry, just thirsty. Food would’ve knocked me out, and I was not ready to stop the party. The Frenchman was thrilled – got a massive burger with tons of fries. Andrea and I partied with the bar boss till 1 a.m. He left one beer before us. We’d have stayed longer, but the bar closed. Time to crawl to the hostel.

Mine was at the start of town, his at the end. I hadn’t checked in yet and didn’t know where my bed was. Andrea explained earlier, but my brain was fried – it felt like a maze. Some rooms were locked, others full. I thought someone had taken my bed. Too late to turn on lights – no one wants to get murdered over bad hostel manners. So, I called Andrea and asked if he had a free bed near him. Told him I wasn’t sleeping under the stars tonight. I got lucky – the bed above his was free. I still had to walk almost a kilometre. But classic Italian gentleman – he met me halfway and carried my backpack. First time ever I let someone do that. I was that done. No shower. Straight to bed. Next morning we went back to the original hostel. Andrea showed me where I should’ve gone. Turns out I had been there – I just saw a white thing and thought it was a storage room. The cocktail of pills, booze and exhaustion did its thing. We laughed hard about it. Nothing beats waking up by the sea – Atlantic breeze, seagulls singing.

Somewhere on the trail, I read you should name your blisters – they’re personal. I finally got two. One’s named “89” and the other “Finisterre.”[1] Nalgesin Forte 550 mg is a prescription-strength nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug (NSAID) containing naproxen sodium. It is commonly used to relieve pain, reduce inflammation, and lower fever associated with various conditions, including arthritis, muscle and joint pain, menstrual cramps, headaches, and postoperative discomfort.

[2] Slovenske novice is a Slovenian daily tabloid newspaper known for its sensationalist headlines, human-interest stories, crime reports, and entertainment coverage.