It’s a peculiar thing for me to be so keen to get to a Mass, whilst I really value the Eucharist I never ever thought I would be one to have pushed myself so hard, just to get to a church service. This walk to Santiago was more than a walk I came to do a pilgrimage and to attend the pilgrims mass at the end of the walk did seem like an important thing for me - even if I knew I would not understand much of it.

With this in mind as 6.15 I was fiddling around trying to start getting ready by torchlight and not disturb Wraenna, at least until her alarm went off at 6.30am. I was sitting on the bed lacing my boots up at 7.01am and there was a knock on the door to check I was ready, I think Martin was keen that if we were going without him we would go at our rescheduled time. So boots on, bumped my case down the stairs (no lift at the hotel but they had taken it up the night before) and straight out of the front door, no coffee, no breakfast and into the taxi to Lavacolla.

It wasn’t entirely light and there was quite an eerie quality to the day, with more rain scheduled but it wasn’t cold. My feet were not great, by this time I was sporting 4 blisters mostly from having shifted my foot around to protect the first one a bit. Every time I stopped I had to hobble to get walking through the pain. My first delight of the day was a steep uphill stretch where I could get my heart rate up and warm up. Although there were some pretty villages there was more surburbia, than we had really seen until this point, starting to give the sense that we might be nearing the big city.

The walking was not greatly inspiring and it began to rain, around about the time we passed the television studio and a big place that looked like a timber factory a bit like Snows in Glastonbury. Propped up against the wall was the most uninspiring sign for the Mount of Joy - bent out of shape and rusted and in the wrong place but it rather summed up how I felt. The cafe on the corner of the factory was frustratingly closed. This caused us all to increase our pace as the need for a loo stop became more pressing. A long down and up along a very boring road seemed to go on forever as it started raining. There were less mile markers than there had been for most of the route and we did have a few times when we really did wonder if we had lost the road, because we had started to early there was no ant procession and we were often walking with no-one in front or behind us. Eventually we reached a left turn and a very modern cafe with a wonderfully welcoming chap who looked very sympathetically at us as we came in from the rain. My first coffee of the day, with added sugar and a churros gave me the ooomph I needed to keep going.

It was not long before we reached the Mount of Joy, I had spotted the statue from halfway down the previous hill but it seemed much bigger up close. - well as close as you could get to it. I would say on that day in sideways rain it was not the most joyous place to be. I took the obligatory photo from the panoramic view point where it was not possible to see much at all, or stand upright for long, let alone the Cathedral spires.

Down, down, down into the wider metropolis of Santiago, over the motorway in a howling gale and on. We reached a roundabout with a big Santiago de Compostela sign and a statue of some pilgrims behind it - I was beginning to realise why Martin was so keen to keep us all together for the walk into the city - it was in order that we didn’t get run over! Mandy was quite good at looking the wrong way first when crossing the road and there were a couple of hairy moments.

From this point the route was pavements all the way, interspersed with zebra crossings and crazy Spanish drivers who knew they ‘should’ stop but didn’t always. Having walked in such beautiful countryside the dull city walk, with nothing much to look at and in the rain, made us up our pace covering the last 6km in what seemed like no time at all.

As we walked into the heart of Santiago we finally saw a glimpse of the Cathedral spires, having missed them due to the rain earlier. The closer we got to the cathedral the more tourist shops we saw giving us a clear idea of how close we were. Down some steps and through an archway where a young man was playing the Galician pipes (they sound quite like bagpipes and in a confined space were extremely loud) turn left and there was the big square in front of the Cathedral of St James. We had made it and it was only 10.15am! Celebratory photos and selfies ensued. We had a quick look around inside the Cathedral (having placed my rucksack in left luggage). The Cathedral is being renovated in preparation for a big anniversary in 2020, the giant thurible (which I have always affectionately termed the giant swinging handbag) is removed from its usual position but can still be seen - be it all behind bars. There are no masses being held in the Cathedral at the moment, this I did know but it meant that we still needed to locate the alternative location for the mass - finding the right church in a Spanish city can be a challenge because there are quite a few, but the give away is that St Francis Church is at the end of St Francis Street and connected to St Francis convent. As we sat in the church, a good half an hour before the start of the service it began to fill up around us. By 12noon it was standing room only, we were surrounded by fellow pilgrims from all over the world plus I suspect quite a few tourists. The church was a much simpler environment than the Cathedral which I personally prefer.

The mass was almost all in Spanish but I recognised a fair degree of it having sung liturgy in Latin. A young nun led the singing which included some Taize chants which I did recognise and could join in. I think I recognised the reading as Pauls conversion on the road to Damascus which seemed very appropriate for the end of a pilgrimage. We shared the peace with those around us, I recognised when the Lords Prayer was said and the Angus Dei, although some of it was in a different order than I am used to.

The prayers were in English which was great. As we received communion we sang Ubi Caritas et Amour, Ubi Caritas Deus ibi est. Where there is charity and love God is there - the words are taken from the foot washing liturgy of Maundy Thursday which makes it very appropriate for all the sore footed pilgrims. I found singing it the most poignant moment of the whole service, followed by being sent out from the church with a blessing (in English) from the priest that celebrated our pilgrimage and what had brought us to this place, and sending us on our journey into the world taking Christ with us.

After the church service Mandy, Yohanna and I made our way back to roughly 600metres before the Cathedral on the pilgrimage and met up with the rest of our group. As they crossed the road towards us I came alongside Anne, I had been told she had a story for me.

As I had come down the lift on the morning that we stayed in Melide I met Anne’s husband Sean taking their cases back up in the lift. I knew Anne had not felt well that morning but other than concern for her well being I didn’t give it much more thought, they got a taxi to the next hotel and we’re fine that evening. It turned out that at 6am Anne was attempting to creep out of the hotel in Melide without any of us knowing. She had had such a difficult day the previous day (the one that for me felt like wading through treacle). She had booked a flight home! Not a flight from Santiago, she was so desperate to leave she had booked a flight from Barcelona on the other side of Spain! She came down to reception in the hotel that morning and asked the man to book her a taxi to the airport to which he replied “you no go to airport, you walk Camino”. And she did, after a days break she managed the long wet day of the 22km into Amenal and the final walk into the Cathedral and I think was so glad to have achieved it! I was certainly proud to know that she had stayed and carried on.

Some tears from those who were relieved to be at the end of their walking, the obligatory group photo (although I was missed from it due to having gone to retrieve my rucksack before heading to the hotel - thank heavens for photoshop). We then all followed Martin, who was waving a walking pole like a guides umbrella, through the increasingly busy tourist part of town and headed to the hotel. Check in, final stamp in the pilgrim passport and then Martin collected them up and headed off to the pilgrims office to get our certificates for us.

I had a soak in the bath and a celebratory beer whilst I awaited his return, then headed off with Wraenna to see if the tattoo shops were open. One wasn’t, one was but really expensive so we decided to leave tattoos until we were back in the U.K. and did some souvenir shopping.

Dinner was in a restaurant a little away from the hotel and mostly I haven’t commented on the food but I have to say the starter that evening does require mention. It was a white fish sauce, with a kind of orange coloured gravy and slimy red peppers. I’m afraid I christened it fish sludge, somehow it reminded me of tapioca but made with fish! Fortunately the main course was delicious and made up for it.

The group began to break up as people were heading off to bed for early starts. Martin had already left us and was preparing to start with another group walking from Sarria on Monday! Some had booked early trips to Finnesterre and others were leaving for early flights.