14/10/2025 - Final day of the Camino.

I made it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wow. I can’t fully process it yet. It feels surreal.

I started to write yesterday, but the aftershock of arrival hit me hard. My body couldn’t cope with anything anymore. I finally got my period on the way to Santiago, which now feels symbolic. My whole system perfectly synchronized with my mind and the experience itself. I had been tense for a week, carrying the accumulation of fatigue, and my body must have stored every last drop of energy just to make it. Then, once it knew it could finally rest, it let go completely.

On top of that, I caught a small cold, congested nose, coughing, barely breathing. Nothing dramatic, but it added to the delirium of it all. Half ecstasy, half collapse. That’s exactly how I felt, utterly alive and completely spent.

But let’s go back to yesterday, because it’s a day I’ll remember forever.

I woke up around six with the group. We got ready quickly, and I started walking with Fabi, the german guy, Ed. We shared memories from the Camino, moments that had marked us, funny stories too. We laughed, already nostalgic for something that wasn’t even finished yet. We stopped at a café for breakfast and joined the rest of the group there.

We still had twenty kilometers left to Santiago, enough time for the excitement to build between waves of exhaustion. I flirted lightly with Fabi, though my feelings were mixed. On one hand, I felt comfortable around him, connected, curious. On the other, I could see clearly that our lives, and maybe our desires, were going in different directions. And I just can’t build fantasies on potential anymore.

It’s not even about restraint, it’s that I’m no longer able to project. I see people for who they are, and for how far they can meet me. And I no longer want to lead, fix, or pull anyone toward me. Fabi is a wonderful man, kind and open, but we’re at different stages of our becoming. We both feel it. What exists between us is connection, attraction, tenderness.

And strangely, I’m at peace with that. For the first time, I can enjoy the company of a man I find beautiful and magnetic without needing to possess it, even for a moment. Of course, there are urges, flashes of wanting to be held, kissed, touched, but I can let them pass easily. I know what I truly want, and I’ve learned that discipline of the heart is also love. The Camino taught me how to commit again, to hold vision through discomfort, to see far beyond the impulse of the moment.

I talked with Teddy again on the way. I love her presence, tender, brave, thoughtful. She speaks slowly, with care, and it makes every word feel meaningful. We discovered that we both have Venus in Cancer, and laughed at how perfectly that fits our deeply romantic nature. In ancient astrology, Cancer was symbolized not by a crab but by a crawfish, a creature that, like swans or penguins, mates for life. We both desire love that commits entirely, body and soul.

I spoke with many others too, but for the last hour, I chose to walk alone, at the front of the group. I wanted to honor my own journey, to remain in my energy. The others were kind, but their conversations drifted toward light topics that didn’t belong to the moment. I preferred silence, presence. It felt like the natural continuation of how I had walked this entire way.

It made me realize something about belonging. In the past, I would have taken it personally if people didn’t include me fully, but now I see it differently. They had been walking together for weeks, I joined only for the final stretch. Their batteries were running low, their dynamic already formed. I didn’t expect them to make space for me, and I wasn’t hurt by it either. In fact, I enjoyed being the outsider dipping in and out. There’s a freedom in that. A sovereignty.

I could have attached myself to many groups along the Camino, but I always chose to listen inward and follow my rhythm. That’s what made this journey so personal and rich in meaning. If I had been part of a group, I would have had different memories, yes, but also less solitude, less confrontation with myself. The Camino gave me what I came for, to meet myself, in full self-reliance, and still connect deeply when life offered it.

The last hour of walking was the hardest. The group kept stopping, bathrooms, snacks, stamps, and I grew impatient. But soon I realized they weren’t avoiding walking, they were avoiding arriving. Everyone was afraid for it to end, afraid to return to their lives. I spoke about it with Fabi, who was already planning his return to Berlin. It made me realize how grateful I am for the life I’ve built. I didn’t see the arrival as an ending but as a celebration. The Camino is a chapter, my life is the book.

I’m not returning to “reality” as something less magical. My life itself is magical, because I make it so. I refuse to see adventure as something that happens only on holidays or faraway roads. I want to live every day awake, inspired, alive. And if someone calls me privileged again, I’ll remind them that I built this life, brick by brick. I dared to act, to speak truth, to believe I was worth every dream I chased. Nothing was handed to me, I reached for it all, with courage and faith.

When I finally stepped into the square of Santiago de Compostela, my body surrendered. Everything I had held inside poured out at once. I cried uncontrollably, from joy, exhaustion, relief, pride, grief, love. Every emotion I had felt in the past five weeks merged into one grand release. I had expected tears, but not this. Not this holy unraveling in the middle of a crowd.

The cathedral stood in front of me, vast and fierce. Pilgrims and tourists filled the plaza, radiating gratitude and awe. Some hugged, some sat silently staring at the stones. I stood still, tears streaming down my face, until strangers came to me, one hugged me, another held my hand, another offered a coronation red flower. For a moment, we were all family. Faces I’ll never see again, eyes overflowing with compassion.

It took me fifteen minutes to come back to myself. When I finally could, I called my dad. He watched me crying through the screen, and I thanked him for being my anchor through this whole journey. Sharing that moment with him, even from afar, meant everything. And when I hung up, I looked up and saw the man who had told me a week ago to take the ancient forest path. We hugged softly, like old souls meeting again. Then I rejoined the group, and we all embraced, united by the joy of completion.

We went together to the pilgrims’ office to get our certificates. The process was smoother than expected, and soon I held mine in my hands, proof of something no piece of paper could ever really measure. My body was giving in by then, period cramps, feverish exhaustion, so I left the group and went to my hotel. It wasn’t as nice as I’d imagined, but it had a bathtub, and that alone felt sacred.

I stripped down and sank into the warm water. No lights, just silence. I had dreamed of this moment for a month, the stillness, the warmth, the safety. It felt like being reborn.

By then, I had barely eaten all day, so I found a café nearby and ordered a salmon and avocado toast with a matcha latte. Both were average, but it didn’t matter. Two men sat beside me and struck up a conversation. They were from Mali and Guinea, and we spoke about the Camino, migration, and belonging. They told me how Galicia, their new home, was built by immigrants, and how its people welcome everyone as equals. I thought of my grandfather, who once left this same land to build a life in France, as an immigrant too, and I felt proud.

Eventually, I went back to my hotel and collapsed for a nap. Later, I met Jess and Olivia, friends from earlier on the Camino, for a drink. They were with Rose, a radiant 75-year-old pilgrim, her son, and Gary, an Australian with a loud laugh. I tried to stay present, sipping my wine, but I was drifting away already. My body was there, but my spirit was dissolving into rest.

Before heading back, I texted Fabi, asking where he and the group were, thinking I might stop by. I ended up eating a bowl of noodles at a small Asian place instead, then finally returned to bed.

I fell asleep almost instantly, my body sinking into the soft sheets, my heart still racing from the intensity of the day. The exhaustion, the arrival, the emotions, everything blended into a quiet, sacred silence.

And now, as I write these last lines, I’m still too tired to tell you about today. But I will. Tomorrow. For now, I just need to rest, and realize that I have completed a crazy, intense, powerful adventure. I will forever remember the ecstasy I've tasted on the Cathedral place today. I'll carry it with me like a totem.

*This entry is the final one I'll share here about the Camino, and the rest of them will be found in the book I'm writing which will be completed in February. I hope you enjoyed traveling with me, and I'm excited to share more of myself in the future.

With love, Loune.