Arrival in Santiago de Compostela - Saturday, 23 August 2025
I stood before the Catedral de Santiago de Compostela close to 1.30pm - on my granddaughter Milan's birthday. I hadn't planned it that way, the dates had just fallen into place.
Tears had been flowing many minutes earlier, as each step of those last few hundred metres led me to this magnificent, holy ground.
And then there it was. The spires of the cathedral rising above me, pilgrims all around. Some were sat on the ground, hugging their knees, others clinging to companions - eyes glistening as they gazed up at the cathedral. Some had walked much farther than I, others less. But in that moment, what united us was unmistakable: we were pilgrims. We had followed the Way. For many, it may have been a religious journey. For all, I am convinced, it was a spiritual one.
I must have looked a little alone and all teary because when I asked a young girl to take my photo, she looked at me and asked, "Would you like a hug first?" I bawled like a baby as she gave me a gentle embrace.
The walk from Padrón was more than 25km with long, steady climbs that tested already weary legs. Yet there was little lingering in cafes or souvenir kiosks that day. The anticipation among us on the Portuguese Central Way had been building over the past week and this final day, I could feel it in the air. Every kilometre, every hamlet was bringing us closer to our destination. Crossing the Roman bridge over the River Sar, you sense that you are literally walking in the footsteps of centuries of pilgrims.
I remember starting this journey boldly: "I am going to walk from Porto in Portugal to Santiago de Compostela." I had done the training - or so I thought - daily walks, walking up hills every weekend back home. But nothing quite prepared me for the Camino.
It humbled me. It strengthened me.
A Sunday of sacred moments
There was a crispness to the morning as I made my way to the Cathedral. Streets were clean, laneways hosed down, ready for the arrival of more pilgrims.
I went to the Pilgrims Office, arriving well ahead of time for a special Mass held for a tiny congregation in the chapel.
As I was quietly saying my Rosary, a volunteer approached and asked if I would like to do a reading. Of course I would. With no one else offering, I did both readings, the Responsorial Psalm and the Alleluia. To stand there, in Santiago, at the end of my pilgrimage, sharing the Word with others - it could not have been a more perfect, personal moment.
My dearest friend said today she still could not understand why I put myself through this. At this moment, all I know is the sheer joy of being here, of having walked into Santiago de Compostela on my granddaughter's birthday, of being carried along by the spirit of the Camino.
Perhaps, when it sinks in, I will have an answer.
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