The Way to Land's End

• Starting Point: Muxia
• Ending Point: Ultreia 

As dawn breaks, I head out alone to hike around Muxia and reflect on my journey. It has been the adventure of a lifetime. And it seems like a lifetime ago that I started out that first day in St. Jean Pied de Port. Eric, the owner of the albergue that first night in St Jean, was right when he said I would learn so much about myself. I learned exactly what I’m made of, the good and the ugly. And somewhere along the Way, I learned to celebrate the good and made peace with the ugly. 

Laura and I had talked about how we were one day shy of walking 40 days. Forty is a significant number in the Bible. It is the number of days Jesus  fasted and was tested in the desert, the number of days Moses was on the mountain, the number of years the Israelites wandered in the desert and the number of days it rained when Noah was on the ark. Each of these 40 day periods represented a time of testing, trials and lessons which prepared the person(s) for a new path. I too hope that I take all the lessons I learned on this hike into the next season of my life. And so, it’s in this spirit that I will consider Day 40 of my hike to be from Muxia to “Ulteria”, or onward! I walk down to the beach,  take a stick and draw the word into the sand. Then as I sit on the rocks, the seagulls surfing the air currents above me, I watch the tide come in and wash the word away. 

As I turn to leave the beach, I notice a crevice in the hill to the right of the staircase. It had escaped my attention as I walked in and now I am fascinated with how it resembles a womb. The Celtic people here were worshippers of the Sun, Moon, stars, Earth and all things Nature. In that spirit, yesterday I paid my respects to the life giving Sun. I pause and consider this gift that has entered my path. Here is my chance to pay my respects to Mother Earth. I approach the cave, carefully navigating the rocks near it, step inside and quickly step out. It is pretty darn creepy in there, my stomach flutters with nerves. But I still feel drawn to explore it, to pay homage to Mother Earth.  I step inside again and let my eyes adjust. The cave is long and narrow. There is a single flat stone in the middle of the cave floor and a tumble of rocks along the back wall. Roots and vines hang from the side walls and the ceiling. It is quite dark and again my nerves get the best of me and I step back outside. But I know that I want to sit upon that single stone and say a prayer to Mother Earth. I gather up all my courage and enter the dark cave one last time. I sit upon the flat stone, offer my prayers to Mother Earth and step back out into the sunlight…

As I ascend the stairs, the church bells start to ring. And ring, and ring. It is not the normal hourly bell chime. Something special must be going on, I think. I decide to follow the bells and they keep ringing as I walk from the beach, along the wharf, through town, near the church and they auspiciously stop as soon as my feet reach an old stone staircase that runs up alongside the small mountain next to the church. It was as if the bells had stopped on cue. The timing was so eerily coordinated that it gave me goose pimples. Whether it was coincidence or fate, I will never know, but I took it as a sign to follow the staircase. 

The staircase turned into a small trail. I passed another woman on the trail so I didn’t think twice about continuing. But then the trail narrowed and began growing steeper. It climbed a few smaller rocks and then before I realized it I was on the side of a huge rock, very high in the air. I looked down and my heart jumped into my throat. The wind was very strong. I had a shoulder bag around  my arm and so was not quite prepared to go rock climbing. Those who know me can attest to my overwhelming fear of heights. I looked up to where the trail continued and it grew steeper and rockier. For a moment I considered going back down, but that looked more dangerous. Here I was stuck on the side of a mountain! I laughed at myself. “You have really lost your ever loving mind, Michelle. First, you go spelunking in Mother Earth’s womb and now you are following bells up a rocky mountainside”. I briefly imagine Laura realizing I’m missing and the Spanish rescue workers having to retrieve me off the rocks. I start to feel panicky and lightheaded. “Okay, Michelle. Get a hold of yourself. You can do this.”  I gather up every bit of courage in my body and start climbing the rocks. I drag my shoulder bag behind me. My knees become scrapped, my hand brushes against some stinging nettles and my fingers bleed. At last, the tip of the monument at the top of the mountain comes into view. I know I’m almost there. I scrambled up the last few rocks and emerge at the top of the mountain, next to the white cross. My body is shaking as I sit down on a large rock and cry. The tears are partly pride and joy at overcoming my fears and partly relief at not falling to my death! Once I’ve pulled myself together, I look around hoping nobody has seen this spectacle. To my relief, I am all alone on this small mountain. I stand up and take a few more steps until I’m standing on the highest point. I stare out into the sea, the wind whipping around me. In that moment, I know my pilgrimage has brought me here and that this is a fitting end to my journey.  I lift my arms in victory. 

​ Afterwards, I walk back down the mountain on the official, sanctioned path and visit the sacred rocks in front of the church. The sea today is choppy and sea water sprays over the rocks. It has been an amazing, crazy, magical morning. But it is now time to return home. After all I have experienced and learned, I know I will see things differently back at home. In The Four Quartets, a poem book I left behind many weeks ago in an albergue somewhere on the Camino, T.S. Elliot stated it perfectly: 

“And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” 

Thank you for reading!