Notes on walking to the end of the world

A pilgrimage through Galicia’s Death Coast

Yesterday was beautiful, minimal rain and gorgeous views, rivers rushing out with the waters from the last eternity of a rainy season we had.

I honestly thought I would be filled to the brim with words now, myself a river, but similar to last year’s pilgrimage, my mind is quite silent these days.

Then you come back and the world tries to pull you in all these ways, business as usual - this is when your real pilgrimage starts, back in society. You yourself need to tenaciously stick to your path, even, especially, when no one else sees it. To me, that is when words start rushing in, to remember me of my inner rivers.

Before we came the weather forecast said it was raining all the way, and from everyone what we got was what’s the need of going right now? What’s the need in carrying your own backpack? Walking all that way, what’s the need?

The need is urgent and collective, the need to bear witness to this planet - Earth doesn’t need saving, it needs to be experienced.

Once at the end of the day my legs were aching and I thought I had to call it, honestly feeling I couldn’t finish the last few Ks, each second dragging on forever and my legs shrinking with each step.

I then started invoking everything I was walking past, walking with, summoning them to help me finish the day, to reach the inn, and I cannot name that many plant but I called them and they heard me because my legs were going further, Robert's geranium, broom, daisies, capuchinhas, the slugs I was careful not to step on, and even the thousands of eucalyptus trees that leave a bitter after taste in my mouth

even them would reach down with their top leaves and pull my backpack so it wouldn’t bite my hip bones so much. They didn’t ask me to love them, they whispered how much they missed the koalas munching and napping on them, and I wondered

how do you know about they koalas you have lived in Galicia all your life

and they heard me I am sure because my backpack felt lighter when they asked

don’t you miss the time when you knew how to love the earth back

and nodding I kept calling, the purple bells and the spiky dental floss and every established oak brought tears to my eyes,

I kept pleading

soon enough not even a plea, but a human being counting blessings and there it was - a miracle after another, two ladybugs mating, wild red roses, and wisteria trees, my personal favourites

and people would cross paths and our smiles would tell each other

look how strong and mighty we are we can climb mountains and withstand the storm and most of all we can smile at each other and make it better, we really do, and I can feel my heart cracking open again just by writing this and it rushes to my eyes liquifying

because life is in the thousands of steps along a river and laughing with a stranger when you trip over and stopping to catch your breath after a particularly steep hill and looking around being completely disarmed by the magnitude of it all and you being born into this.

Now I am back and friends ask me how was it, and I fail to pick the right words proceeding instead to tell the tales of hail in my face, walking in a storm for hours, the amazing views and dramatic cliffs of the Death Coast, and how people are so kind and food portions huge - I try to sound exciting and descriptive, the pilgrimage a finite journey with a beginning and ending, a palatable takeaway, a destination ticked off the bucket list

but I still have moss in my hands and mud on my legs.